October 14, 2004

• It's the third year in a row for me. It's the only time I write, because I am given specific permission to be really bad at it. The community can be great - high-strung, but playful and creative.
• I've already decided that I'm going to do it. Can't wait to see how bad or how good I can be. Let's come back to this thread to share our experiences, OK? (Assuming we remember.)
• Can we read the results? Or extracts? Yay for you, anyway, chaps, and more power to your elbows!
• This will be my 2nd official year. I participated two years ago "unofficially" since I found out about it 2 months too late. I was thinking of going with a sequel to last year's novel, but I'm not sure I have the energy to write another in the first person present.
• I tried it last year, but things in my life got a bit hectic, and after about ten days I'd only done three days worth of words, so I gave up before I'd even started the plot. Here's what I started writing last time... far too many adjectives. Ugh. Any other monkeys willing to show off their past efforts? Maybe I'll do it again this time. Maybe I'll do it... better.
• I'm seriously thinking about this year. But I hate that stupid abbreviation.
• The timing's finally right for me; I've been promising myself to do a novel on a specific theme for over 20 years (which means it'll probably end up an '80s period piece...)
• flashboy: Turnpike Blues, my ongoing effort at 1950's detective fiction. The ending just keeps getting further away...
• how's this? Stripping off her bathing-suit, she walked into the huge shower. She pulled the lime green curtain across the entrance and then set the water for a tepid 75-degrees. The spray felt great against her skin as she ducked her head underneath the nozzle. Closing her eyes she concentrated on the tingling sensation of water flowing against her body. Suddenly another sensation entered, Ashley felt two large hands wrap themselves around her breasts and hot breathe on the back of her neck. She opened her eyes wide and giggled, "I thought you drowned out there snorkel man." Tommy O'Malley was naked and at attention. "Drowning is not an option", he said, "unless of course you beg me to perform unnatural acts – right here in this shower."
• I've been waiting for a thread about this... I'm trying for the first time this year. I'm already scared.
• 's fun. This'll be my first official time. Last year I caught on a bit late. I'm thinking pan-dimensional time traveling war versus the vegetables. Damn leafy greens.
• Another first timer here. I've been promising myself I would start writing again, and this was the perfect excuse to start. That and, for the first time in the three years since I found out about NaNoWriMo, it will actually be feasible to squeeze it into my life. Definitely nervous about it though, given that I don't think I wrote 50,000 words in all of college (well, maybe if you add up all the drunken emails) but I think it will be a great experience (or crush my dreams of writing forever -- it's all good), and I really like the idea of having our own little Monkey support group here.
• My first time, too. Crossover SF/ PI/ speculative/ dystopia for me. My beginning:

  This was the first time he'd had to run for it. He was losing his breath; the enforcer was gaining on him. He turned a corner, no longer knowing where exactly he was, and tried to hide in the shadows, hoping to regain his breath before fleeing again. It was a futile attempt at escaping the trooper, and he knew it. His capture had been assured from the moment he had been observed. The enforcer turned the corner, looked directly at him, and approached warily, her gun pointing at his head. "It's over," she said. "Come quietly, now."

  Do we use this thread as our monkey crutch (bearing in mind Monkeybashi's 500 post limit on threads), or should we set up an email list/ blogger group blog/ whatever?
• Skrik, I like the idea of an open thread. Let's keep this one...
• Or maybe? ...since the posted-in threads float to the top over there, although you do have to be registered.
• As I said over there, I'll post in both places.
• So, let's get started using this thread. I read this description of a writer's working method the other day, and thought it might be of use.
• Marx, don't steal from O'Reilly!
• And here's the snowflake method for writing a novel. I've not tried it, but I may attempt an abridged version of this technique.
• A million years ago, when I worked for one of the last good personalities on radio, he did a recurring exercise with his audience: "Let's All Write a Novel". He'd start it out with an introductory paragraph that would win a prize in the Bulwer-Lytton contest, and then every person at the station (from the Newsman to the Traffic Reporter to the Engineer, Interns and Office Receptionist) would contribute a setence or two, attempting to drive the plot in whtever direction they wanted, and then all the listeners who had the nerve to call in would take turns writing a snippet of the group 'novel'. It was atrocious writing but seriously entertaining radio. I could certainly see us doing this here, in a dedicated MoFi thread, but I know that if I, personally, started it, Monkeybashi would go all Turkmenbashi on my assbashi. So, anybody else want to write the first words for the MoFiNaNoWriMoFooFah?
• It was a dark and stormy night when Daisy_May first posted her horrible words ....
• Haw! Cry, if you must, Cave canem. Yes, I cannot blame 'em. Seems the arrows we shoot at each monkey galoot, like the teeth we let nip within 'good fellowship' must result in a more biting denoum- ent.
• ... But Daisy_May was the least of ActuallySettle's problems that morning. Toothpaste. Why hadn't he bought any toothpaste at the shops the previous evening? Now he would have to go to work reeking of the post-pub-crawl vindaloo he'd devoured at 2am...
• I haven't set up the comment limit yet, so go for it. And Wendell, you know I love you, right? Just not so much the blogstop thingy.
• tracicle, I just hope you noticed that I wasn't the one to revive the blogstop thingy the latest time...
• ...Assuming he could get to work. First he had to navigate the maze that his flat had become. He didn't remember it being this dirty and blood splattered when he'd left last night. Perhaps he'd cut himself? As he looked down he saw...
• ...that he was only wearing one sock. A black one. He turned to halfheartedly search for its mate but was quickly and willingly distracted by...
• ...A red sock. He loved red socks! Why was he wearing a black sock? Clearly something deeply, colossally disturbing had happened last night...
• ...Ring Ring, the phone clamored. "Hello." "This is ActuallySettle." "What d'ya mean?" "Who the hell is quidnunc?"... I may give this a go. It's going to be quite a change as I've been working on flash-fiction for the past month or so.
• This is really really tempting but I just don't see any way I can do it with the other commitments I have in November. Even as a "professional"* writer, I find it incredibly hard to motivate myself to put fingers to keyboard, and any motivational device is always welcome. But damn, that's a lot of words. Maybe if they made a clone for screenplays, it would be more up my alley. *I call myself that despite not having made much money from it yet- it makes me feel like a big man, OK?
• Self link time: I'm blogging my writing process, but I won't be posting my MS (I still have an ounce of pride).
• Ah, go on, Skrik. Maybe there's a special excitement about work in progress, but I really think that the texts by flash and f8x are pretty promising - certainly better than a number of published novels I've read - and I hope they carry on with them. I'd love to see yours too.
• Green couldn't remember how he came to fall off Foot. But he must have. He wasn't sure if he'd slipped away from Left Foot or Right Foot. Right Foot was his friend, even if Right Foot weighed heavily on him all day long. Right Foot was the best Foot and had to put himself forward. Green knew that. That was what being a Foot was all about. That and smelling. Left Foot turned in slightly at the toe, so the pressure of the nail on the great toe chafed Green. And Left Foot smelled even stronger than Right Foot. Green tried to avoid him whenever possible. So he thought he'd probably fallen off Right Foot. Until now, Green had seen very little of the world, for he'd usually been deep inside one of the Shoes...
• Bees, you know that you've just made a colossal mistake giving away that you write (semi-)extended prose as well... now twelve thousand monkeys will be all over you begging for the sequel, or the expansion, or the prequel, or the script for the tv serial.
• ...A red sock. He loved red socks! Why was he wearing a black sock? Clearly something deeply, colossally disturbing had happened last night... He bent down to pick up the red sock and gasped in horror and outrage. This was not one of his favorite red socks, but an ordinary white gym sock drenched in blood. Repulsed, he flung it across the room, and turned to pick up his pants and leave the room.
• Picking up his pants, he saw that they too were covered in blood and that one pant leg was had been torn. Looking down, he saw a bandage on his left knee but he felt no pain there. Feeling frantically through the pockets of his ruined pants for his wallet and his keys, he found nothing but a cocktail napkin from the...
• PF, 'twas only an experiment. Wot isn't?
• but a cocktail napkin from the... Trader Vic's in the Beverly Hilton and a matching Mai Tai parasol stirrer. Something was written on the napkin, but sweat and more blood had made it unreadable except for what looked like two capital "j"s... or maybe they were "z"s... But on the parosol was clearly written the number 474-3346 and the name... I've included a couple clues as to what the name SHOULD be and will give brownie points if you come up with it in your own post, but still, the purpose of this exercise is to write whatever YOU feel like...
• ...and the name... Vihctoria in green letters. His legs were growing cold, so he tossed aside his ruined pants, the crumpled napkin, and the flimsy parasol. God, I wish I had a drink now, I wonder if there's any rubbing alcohol in the bathroom. He began limping towards the ...
• ...hall, where a yellow light shone out of the bathroom onto the grubby carpet. He paused, though, when he realised two things: one, that his front door was wide open, and two, through the open front door he could see a dark mound of indeterminate form on the step. Suddenly he had two options: find out what the mysterious huddle was, or have the drink he so deperately craved. The choice, of course, was obvious...
• he went to the bathroom to relieve the pressure that was building in his bladder. He reached for the knob to the bathroom door only to discover that...
• ... it was slick with Vaseline. He couldn't get a grip on it. He reached into his overcoat and hauled out a deck of cigarettes. Yanked on the ripcord, and the cellophane ribbon unspooled itself. He tore through the silver foil, then got a filter between his teeth and jerked the smoke out all the way. Snapped the top of his lighter open, spun some Zippo wheel. The flint struck sparks, then flame. In the doorknob, he could dimly make out the reflection of ...
• ...the bottle with the rubbing alcohol! Standing on the edge of the sink! Seizing it, he unscrewed the top, lifted it to his lips and gulped steadily until the fluid burned his esophogeal tract. Throwing the enpty bottle aside, and with his throat flaming, he...
• wrapped his overcoat around his otherwise naked body, and staggered back out into the hall. The hem of his coat was stiff with blood, the alcohol mixed with the spices from the previous night's vindaloo rose in his gorge, and he shook his head like a dog with a tick in his ear at the thought of Daisy Mae's words. ActuallySettle picked up his lucky left sock and shoved it into the right pocket of his overcoat. He stood at the front door, gagging as he looked down at ...
• ...a black plastic sack, splitting open to reveal a sprawl of garbage and a diapered baby, gurgling, uttering preverbal sounds as it waved and kicked vigourously amid the clutter of old pizza boxes, crumpled napkins, empty juice cans, and coffee grounds. Whose brat is this, dammit, dumped on my doorstep? he wondered as he...
• ... scratched his balls. Then it hit him. His mind raced back these past nine months. It hit him like a vindaloo that's gone out of date hits the bottom of a drinker's stomach. Please God no! He shook his head slowly at first. Anything but that! His headshaking was growing ever the more vigorous, until he had to hold on to the door-jamb to steady himself. But it was no good. He knew whose baby he had helped make, and no amount of headshaking would dislodge the memory from his diseased, maltreated mind. Her name thundered though his very consciousness: ...
• ...Lassie! It had been just one of those crazy flings with a frisbie, down by the lake. He leaned over, squinting, to peer at the tiny face. Yes, the telltale sign: a wet nose! And a set of tiny black whisker! He groaaned and ...
• ...the baby replied with a long, low howl. It was then he remembered the words his friend Billy the Squid had told him months ago, after the guilt and disgust and smell of Alpo had nearly consumed him and he had to tell somebody! "SettleDude," the squid wrangler had told him, "Lassie was always played by a boy dog. Either you've got one more thing to feel shitty about, or somebody was committing Identity Theft on the ol' dog, and the only woman I know who could pull this kind of thing off is..."
• Lassie! I don't believe this story any more; you're just making this stuff up.
• He mumbled a string of expletives to himself then gently moved the sack to the door of the apartment down the hall. He slipped back into his apartment, as he was closing the door he noticed over by the window a large...
• ...bowl of Halloween Snack Size candies. Approaching the bowl, he suddenly realized that they were all packs of Reese's Pieces in the "ET's Favorie Candy" wrappers, meaning that they were, what... fifteen... twenty years old. He was about to empty the bowl out the adjacent window when he saw in the alley behind the building none other than... Skrik, if you bring up Lassie again, you are going DOWN! OF COURSE WE'RE MAKING THIS STUFF UP! THAT'S THE WHOLE IDEA!!!
• ... "Lassie! What news, girl?" ...
• his mortal enemy, Skrik! He eased the door closed, and stood, back to the wall gulping deep breaths of stale apartment air, then began searching the closet shelves frantically. Where did he put the shoebox containing his Mintos, silver cross, kryptonite, and long red underwear. He sank to the floor with his hands tugging his hair--Where did he leave it? He groaned as he realized ....
• the plot thickens! and diverges
• Will he ever leave his apartment?? Where did all the blood come from? Where was his other sock?? All these questions and more on the next episode of "Actuallysettle: Lost In His Apartment"
• ...as he realized that not only was his shoebox gone but the bucket had been taken as well! The bucket of deadly brown Norwegian cheese that he had secretly, or so he had thought, purloined from those Nordic terrorists. If it fell into the wrong hands it could decimate the nation's cheese industry. Suddenly, he knew what he must do, it was time to call in...
• ...Lassie, his ever-faithful companion and bedmate, she of the varicoloured tresses and artfully wagg;ing tail. I have been faithful to you in my fashion, girl
• = muttered. Not to be confused with mutt-herd
• ...looked back out the window, spotted the bits of brown cheese curds on the steps of the fire escape and was about to call out for Lassie (and not in the oh so sexy way he used to say "Where's Timmy? Can you find Timmy, girl?") when he realized the beautiful collie was not alone. Someone was sneaking Lassie down the alley! And that someone was...
• his mother! What the hell was she doing with Lassie? He wondered as he leaned out the window to get a better look knocking one of the...
• ...flimsy wondow-props, so the sash descended violently across his back, pinning both arms under his chest. "Oof!" he grunted, and hearing that involuntary expulsion of breath, the ever-faithful and vigilant Lassie tore herself from the palsied fingers of the old harridan and came tearing back. He struggled to free himself, but ...
• ..the sash remained locked on his wire-frame torso. Someone was holding it down. "Get his legs, Diesel!" Instantly, Actually felt two gigantic hands engulf his ankles, pulling him out of the window, landing him evenly on the flat of his chin. Simultaneously, Lassie burst through the window...
• ...her clawed toes splaying, digging into the small of his back. He screeched as the collie launched herself at whoever was behind him -- he heard other screeches, the collie's excited barking, and then the thud of shod feet racing away. A bewhiskered wet nose thrust into his hand and ...
• then his crotch. "Damn dog", he muttered. As he picked himself off the floor, brushing glass shards from the front of his overcoat, he happened to glance down. There, taped to the dog's collar, was a key. Just an innocuous silver key, no markings, about the size to use in a teen-ager's inexpensive dime-store diary. The type of cheap diary a cheap teen-age girl would use to write her cheap slutty thoughts using a pink or purple pen and putting little hearts over every i and a lipsticked kiss every other page. Just the idea of it all made him lick his lips. He bent down ...
• ...slowly and began to stroke his throbbing knee. The pain from his injury last night was beginning to return, along with his memory. Who had all those strange people in the Beanery been and why were they all carrying bananas? One of them even had an enigmatic runic device plastered to his forehead. Did they have something to do with all the blood, and the cheese and the socks? What did the Norwegians want with his shoebox? And who the hell is Diesel? He gently peeled the tape and the key from dear Lassie's collar. "Come on, Lassie", he said "we've got work to do". Together they headed for the door...
• ...and at last stepped into the gloomy daylight. His first step, he decided, would be to track down Skrik and see what he knew of all this. He lit his pipe and puffed as he walked, expelling clouds of sweetly-scented smoke that dispersed in his wake. Lassie trotted loyally at his side. Suddenly everything seemed slightly less important, but not so unimportant that he didn't want to know what the heck was going on. He turned down the alley, looking for signs of Skrik, and caught movement behind a dumpster out of the corner of his eye. Turning quickly, he was startled to see...
• ...another gang of Enraged Norwegians eating Emerald Nuts. "This is not good", he thought. "This will definately not save money on my car insurance." The Norwegians angrily shouted "Lost another one to Ditech!" He decided to confront them, leaping out and shouting "Get your hands off my Chicken Selects!" Lassie stood quietly at his side, just thinking of that premium dog food that some doofus mistook for pate'. Then a yellow DSL truck turned the corner. The Norwegians cried "Competition! Bad for us!" and fled. As he took a moment to enjoy a refreshing 7Up Plus, with calcium, vitamin C and real fruit juice that Regis Philbin's mother had recently given him (I know; you were expecting Pepsi Blue), the DSL truck drove up right next to him and from the driver's seat, a familiar voice said "I approve this message." It was...
• ...SuperwitMan, aka Wendell, fresh from his recent debaucheries at the Beanery, of which sordid scene ActuallySettle retained only the haziest (and most reluctant) of memories. "Why, Lassie!" Wendell exclaimed, "I thought you were on a backlot in Culver City. What are you doing here, darling?" Upon hearing the Man of Superwit attempt to engage dear Lassie in badinage, ActuallySettle tensed with anger and ...
• ... beat him over the head with his blood-soaked laptop. He regretted it immediately. "How am I going to win the NaNaNaNo competition now?" he asked Wedell's lifeless corpse. There was no answer. A sound from behind him grabbed his attention. He turned to see ...
• ...another gang of Enraged Norwegians eating Emerald Nuts. "That's not good," he thought. I'm in a fucking time loop. It's a mutant re-run of Groundhog Day! I've got to find a way out of this place! Concentrating very, very intently he...
• ...prayed to Lassie, who res[onded by...
• rolling over and playing dead. "I've had it with your useless tricks, you damn dog." Settle bent and picked up one of the plastic bags that formerly contained Emerald Nuts and placed it over the collie's head, holding it until the dog ceased to struggle. Lassie's blue tongue lolled out of his/her dead mouth. Perhaps someday Settle would regret his actions, but now he felt only a fierce and raging relief that the hairy bitch would not be herding him around again. He bent and pulled the all-important cd from the ruined laptop, clicked his ruby gumboots three times, and decided to beat feet outta the alley. At the corner, he stopped to straighten his coat, brush back his hair, and repair other damage to his person that the night's labors had wrought. He knew he must look presentable in order to be allowed into the presence of the Immortal Suomynona Jo Wa Fung, controller of ...
• ..the Universe. He spat on his hands, slicked his hair behind his ears, and uttered a Magical Mudra -- "Gimme of thy bark, o birch-tree," (which, all things considered, was perhaps an injudicious choiice). In a trice he was whisked into the August Prescence, who sat on a throne, scowling down at him. "Rash Mortal, wot have you done to dear Lassie?" "Um -- uh -- accident -- : he mumbled, and then dear Lassie was beside him again, restored to full vigour by the August One, who favoured collies above all other mortal creatures. He felt his missing memory rush back now, knew he'd throttled several incarnations of dear Lassie before. He moaned and ...
• ...called pitiously for Wendell who, naturally, did not answer. Absently Settle patted his pockets, finding one last Emerald Nut which he popped into his mouth. Instantly he was transformed into...
• ...a ghoulish simulacrum of his former self, now an unwilling host to the undead soul of poor Wendell, destined to wander the earth for all eternity in search of Norwegian cheese, discount car insurance and missing socks. As Lassie peed on his leg...
• ...ActuallyWendell cursed the unreliable narrators of this story and deftly removed his leg from the obdurate Lassie's impertinent stream of urine. "Curse you, Lassie!" exclaimed SettleActuallyWendell, "I've had enough of this nonsense!" Lassie, now channeling a hitherto unknown kittycat character, meowed sarcastically. And with that...
• ...the universe chose that particular moment to come to an end. Settle and Wendell, now safely seperated in noncorporeal form set out to strangle each other (which is not an easy feat noncorporeally), while Suomynona, still barely corporeally sitting on a piece of the earth the size of a table at Denny's, figured out immediately what had happened. "I told you to protect that laptop, you ninny!" Suomy lunged at the device as it floated by and immediately switched it on, waiting seven minutes for Windows to load while, without a fuss, the stars were going out, and realized in an instant that the computer had been infected with the "Nine Billion Names of God" virus. He frantically began punching out Ctrl-Z in the faint hope of getting the virus to undo its damage, and on the 37th Ctrl-Z it happened...
• ...37 billion Lassies manifested beside him, behind him above him and of course, ActuallyWendell, being incorporeal now, a few within in him, so he becme ActuallyWendellLassies117 to 153 inclusive(, thus fulfilling the ancient prophecy...
• ...that if you put an infinite number of monkeys at keyboards, they would re-create all of Shakespeare's works, but if you worked with a group of no more than, say, 2235 monkeys, you'd end up with nothing more than a muddled mess. Somewhere, atop an ivory tower in his sparsely furnished writer's garret, the Wacky Bee sets down his wireless plume pen input device, chuckles to himself, and prepares to resume his master plan to take over the Kingdom of Turkmenistan. Suddenly, he sees something outside his ivory tower window that makes his blood run colder than usual...
• ... and starts back as he realizes that all the other unreliable narrators are blinking rapidly and in confusion as they cast desperately for a suitable segue. "Really, beeswacky," complains a banana-munching simian, "was that completely necessary? NOW what will we do?" With a cocky smile beeswacky beckons them all closer. "Nonsense. It's really very simple," he said, "you see...
• ...we start the story over. Once upon a time, long ago and far away, there lived...
• a lady by the name of...
• Caroline. Though it must be said, dear reader, that the term "lady" is used advisedly. Why, you ask? Caroline, it must be said, was...
• I really just want to start writing now. But that would be cheating.
• ...the only unmarried woman in a tiny backward town where everyone was required to be married or else become open to the debauchery of every married person of the opposite sex. She waited for years, never getting much sleep, until, one day, much to her delight, TWO single men wandered into town, named... please be gentle; remember, Wendell is already very busy in the other storyline...
• Rxreed and drjimmy11. "Ah, wot handsome lads." she sighed, "My mother always wanted me to marry a doctor." She put on a low-cut black velvet dress and her fuzzy pink bedroom slippers, shaved and did her hair, and called for a taxi to take her to the Fragrant Flower Tea Room. Alas, when she got there, that slut Daisy_Mae had ...
• Impregnated BOTH men TWICE! Removing her fuzzy pink slippers with her left hand (which was bigger than her right), Caroline stood barefoot on the doorjamb; the heavy oaken panel slowly rocked backward on its rusted, degenerating hinges as the syphilitic patrons of the FFTR slid under their tables like the meek slugs which adorned the walls as trophies of one William T. Flower, Owner and Proprietor. As Daisy_Mae rushed forward, an apology spilling stupid from her lips like one of her famous Inflagrante Delictos (two shot Drambuie, cranberry juice, splash of seltzer, one smouldering gaze, garnish with a slow tease), Our Heroine, gentle reader, aimed directly at the aquiline nose of her assailant--or was she her SISTER?--and...
• said, in a most ladylike fashion, "my dear, why ever did you do that." Now I must...
• I rather enjoyed the turn the tale was takng with regards to myself. Now, if you;ll excuse me,I need to go find a phone card
• ...perish.' And with that she did, but not before she took out Quaint Caroline the Failed Protagonist as well with a slug from her .44. Thus leaving the field open for someone less treacly to take center stage. Someone like...
• ...the extremely cranky idest who, because she'd stopped smoking, no longer cared very much about modesty and felt no compunction over shameless self-promotion whatsoever and, furthermore, threatened to TAKE OUT anyone messing with her, squidranch first. The astonished monkey population immediately started tossing candy and...
• started a new page. It was the best ot times, it was the worst of times. "Tom!" No answer. "Tom!" Still no answer. But it was Sunday, and ...
• church bells were clanging and annoying Pete_best, who groaned, rolled over, sat up, and held his aching head, elbows on his knees. "Never again will I attempt to match drink for drink with Nal, Bibliochick, and Richer. Their stainless steel flasks hold a less fiery liquid than my sports bottle." He attempted to stand, then gave up, got down to the floor and began looking for his pants. As usual, he couldn't find them. There was a thud on the door, and a sound like 72 scalded cats in a file cabinet. "Open up, you little worm!" Idest hammered on the door again. "I know you have a pack of fags in there." Damn, Pete couldn't even find a pair of socks that matched. It was the best of times to not be home, and the worst of times to lose his clothing. Pete_best was ...
• astonished that Idest would call him Tom, but ... whoops, sorry Bees
• Whoops, indeed, ye two-timing horse-hussy! ...but knew it was the post-nicotine blues, which...
• were causing such a clamour. Nonetheless Pete (also known as Tom) felt compelled to open the door. In lieu of pants he slapped a nicoderm adhesive over his bits, resulting in a small (and we do mean small) if not potentially painful patch of modesty and walked carefully to the door. Enroute he had the misfortune to trip over...
• thanks, Blue! And take THAT, Bees! :-)
• Ow!
• ...was highly embarassing for pete(_)best, since even though he had no cigarettes with him, he did have four of the Fab Five from "Queer Eye", the fifth having just left with his pants in the hope of trading them in for newer models, or for male models, but the only offer for a trade-in came from a Chevrolet dealer who was obviously trying to get rid of Mr. Goodwrench. Well, the Queer Eye guy was not looking for Mr. Goodwrench (it's the guy from Daily Sho who does that), but as he was walking away from the car lot, he caught a glimpse of squidranch's stick and....
• not fast enough... should be following bees' last entry
• *waits with fascination to see how pete_best manages to trip over the unknown while dealing with the Fab Five, Mr. Goodwrench and squidranch's stick AND answer the damned door*
• continuation from idest... ...the almost lifeless body of Wendell, who had just been beaten to a pulp by an angry mob of overrated celebrities. Pete's best response to Idest's request for "fags" was embarassment, since even though he had no cigarettes with him, he did have four of the Fab Five from "Queer Eye", the fifth having just left with his pants in the hope of trading them in for newer models, or for male models, but the only offer for a trade-in came from a Chevrolet dealer who was obviously trying to get rid of Mr. Goodwrench. Well, the Queer Eye guy was not looking for Mr. Goodwrench (it's the guy from Daily Sho who does that), but as he was walking away from the car lot, he caught a glimpse of squidranch's stick and.... I love cut and paste
• Excellent save! :-)
• yeah, but I nearly killed myself doing it...
• Because that cut and paste will really take it out of a man.
• ...tried to drive off with it, but...
• ...as it was attached to squidranch, found the logistical problems insurmountable. Hastily he pushed the stick and its owner from the car, cleverly removing the squidish pants (as he had nothing but a small nicoderm patch to his, erm, name which was causing him to react most alrmingly) ahead of time. Careening down the road he attempted to wiggle into the pants but found himself confused by the myriad number of legs and...
• perplexed by the lack of a belt or suspenders. Idest was left crying in the dust by the wayside gently fondling the nicoderm patch. Pete_Tom_best pulled the squid-phone from the glove compartment wherein it happily resided, and called TWA. "Yes, I'm booking TWO seats, one for me, and one for my pants." He couldn't understand why ...
• ...there were never enough pants for all of him. It seemed hellishly unfair, in fact -1. He...
• filed the question in the back of his mind. Later, after his flight when he arrived at the dojo, he would ask the great philosopher, Beeswacky, many questions concerning the meaning of life. One of them would be phrased thusly: "What is the sound of one pant flapping?" Idest had no answers for him, and the damage Wendell had sustained to his ...
• ...out-dated typewriter were as naught when set beside the ribald utterances of BlueHorse and her mad passion for taglines. Idest considered her plight crankily, and flung poo to the left and the right, not in hopes of hitting any particular target, but as a form of cranky self-expression. She... By the way, who is 'he'? I have no idea -- some vital connection, I think we call it contiunuity, has been mislaid. Perhaps forever.
• He exists as a legend only. In the darkest of alleys, all noisome with foetor, his legend is whispered. In garish underground clubs he slips through the crowd. A touch here, a whisper there and the next day a city is burning and full of corpses. Corpses who walk. Through the halls of power he strolls, and men who can, who have, laid waste to continents with a phonecall, who have sucked the marrow from the bones of entire cultures, shy from his gaze. He has no name, and he needs none. All he has is a description. The dead or the dying, or the soon to be at any rate, call him...I can see you do not truly wish to know. A wise decision. Whee! It's almost like writing. Only you know, horrible and full of commas. Hurrah for the comma. Runon sentences are so much easier now, I can just pretend that a comma makes it okay.
• *grabs a seat on the couch next to Pez, box of tissues and popcorn in hand*
• He walks through walls. He always waits until desert is served before he comes to the table. He always takes the big half. He always drives down the center of the road. He ignores red lights and cautions signs. He is a bull-bastard with knobs on. He...hehehe...Wow, that felt good!
• He rules with an iron hand in a velvet glove, with a pinky ring with a stone the size of a golf ball, but yet a slightly limp wrist (possibly the result of years of bitch-slapping anyone who does not kneel before him and kiss his ultrasuede cowboy boots), with a tattoo on his left bicep that reads "Mother", and a tattoo on right right bicep with the other half of the word. That was one sentence folks; run-ons are my trademark. Don't infringe.
• He does not feel pain, or remorse, or fear, or exhaustion. He lays waste to condiments with but a phone call. He has licked the creamy centers from the Oreos of entire cultures. He is the one, Orgasmatron: the outstretched, grasping hand.
• whoever this is, can i keep him?
• ...put aside the question of He and...
• Someone had to do it.
• ...returned to her study of the used Patch, which had come with many glowing recommendations, including the endorsements of four out of Fab Five doctors. What would its effects be on Pete's best bits? Would it gently lift and separate as advertised, providing prompt temporary relief to the embarrassing itching and swelling that had disrupted so many Girl Scout Jamborees? Or would its side effects—dry mouth, shortness of breath, purulent discharge, a fondness for cheesy Norwegian show tunes—prove overwhelming? Whatever the results for Pete, Idest nevertheless knew...
• ...he was the One Mob for her. Meanwhile, Pete_best had thought better of going to the dojo, for it seemed certain his state of natural plurality would amplify Duality far too much. "Now what do I do?" he pondered, then grinned as he remembered an old girlfriend who...
• ...could crack walnuts between her butt cheeks, a talent that she shared with her twin sister. Both of them had sworn to dismember Pete bloodily on their next meeting, but that was a week ago: certainly by now they'd relented. "Either way, I'll get a workout," he laughed, reaching for the squid-phone once again. On faraway Skull Island, mighty KONG awoke to the smell of frying bacon and the sound of Fay singing. With his eyes still closed against the morning sun piercing his jungle bower, Kong ...
• ...pondered his daily schedule: digging a new aqueduct for the natives with his bare paws, showing up in court as a character witness for Tarzan, the photo op in New York (he wondered if he should have let Giulini change the site from the Empire State Building to Ground Zero) and the accompanying appearance on the Letterman Show. Kong opened his eyes and looked directly into...
• ...fondled the bright medallion about his neck, with its strange insignia of a snake ingesting its own tail. Life was good here, well, better than Waikiki, anyway, Kong reflected and then his eyes opened wide as a parachute bloomed above the beach. Fay screamed -- no, no, she was just yelling, Kong corrected himself hastily. He wouldn't make that mistake again! "Pete_best! What are you doing here? Kong, you'll never guess who's just dropped in!" she cried. Pete_best struggling to free himself from the harness, appeared sunburned and chafed. He said sheepishly, "You got any coffeee?" and...
• ...farted mightily, then hauled his hairy ass out of bed and stumbled into the shower. He remembered his decorator saying that bower showers were difficult to pull off without appearing tacky and a little pretentious, but he thought that the aquamarine translucent shower curtains festooned with tropical fish and the contrasting floral towells blended nicely with the hot pink bathmat and matching fuzzy toilet seat cover and that the banana motif on the wallpaper helped to pull it all together...
• ooops
• I'm so confused.
• ...thought Kong. Where did this tacky cabana come from and why is it on my beach? He lifted the roof off, curious to see what it was made of, and discovered the rotting palm-straw thatch was full of small pink pigs, who tumbled out, oinking onto the sand. "What are you guys doing here?" asked Kong. "Wendell thent uth, thir," said the nearest of the pigs. "To try out for the role of Porky." Kong sighed, wishing he'd never taken the roof off. If only...
• he'd never met Wendell. The guy could really screw with Monkey minds. Kong, often confused with Pete_best, munched a pork chop as he contemplated what to do next. He realized he'd forgotten his deoderant. If his life were a story, it would be confusing as well as lacking personal hygiene. Having decided on a course of action, he called his favorite airline, purchased a ticket with his gold Visa (apes seldom qualify for platinum) shook hands with Fay, kissed Pete_best, and booked it back to the jungle, where apes were apes, and men wore loincloths. Pete_best, despite his overlarge ego, didn't quite have the endurance of a Nickdanger, and was getting tired of the sister's sexual minstrations and Daisy Cutter action. He called for a cab. "I'm going to blow this popstand." He looked for his pants, but decided he'd settle for a few fronds of rotting palm-straw. As he headed for the cab, driven by alcarilinque Alcarilinque, who resembled a sad monkey wearing a fez, he ...
• ...heard a mighty roar as Kong strode back, towering over the cab, which he seized in one enormous hand, and tossed into the sea, along with the unfortunate driver. "No! No, Kong!" screamed Fay, making Pete wince. "Why aren't you on that plane to Rio?" "Don't be silly -- I'm too famn big to get on a plane," Kong said, as he re-seated himself on the sunny beach where he loved to bask. "Then can I have my gold card back?" asked Pete. Kong shook his head. "Fraid not, I ate it," he explained. Just then, the largest pig said, "Wendel gave uth a credit card, and it tathted pretty good, too." Fay gave the pig an incredulous look, saying...
• ... to herself, "This one's headed straight for Kong's larder. We're running low on bacon, and the big guy just noshed our last pork chop. Dagon only knows how I'll get rid of the credit card taste, though." With a sigh, she slouched up the beach to find a sharp cleaver and a waiver of liability. Pete squinted into the sun over the lagoon, idly watching the sharks at play. The cabbie was putting up a pretty good fight out there, furiously flailing his wooden bead seat cover and a pine-scented deodorizer, but ...
• ...clearly he could only hold out for so long. What neither Pete nor the cabbie realized is that sharks are desperately allergic to pine. Fortunately for the cabbie, the jellyfish that had been attracted to the scene weren't. The stings were agonizing for the cabbie, but incapacitating to the sharks. As the cabbie crawled ashore he said...
• ..."I must thank the Great Authors of Our Being for my escape from these hairless spoilers of the sea!" and with that, the cabbie began frantically heaping the rotting palm-straw on the beach into a pile. "This island you got, this life, Kong -- shweet!" said Pete_best to his mountainous companion. "It would be, if only Fay weren't here," agreed Kong. "A casualty of the early film industry, Fay became murderously unhinged, and now her only pleasure is using her 99-ton cleaver. Pete, I advise you to leave, and take these patter-prone pigs and the cabbie with you, for I see she is returning. And it is on such occaisions she usually tries to slaughter our guests." Pete leaped to his feet in horror, then...
• ...summarily watched as newly-returned Fay, cleaver in hand, made bangers and mash of the hapless pigs and the cabbie, caught completely unawares. (the cabbie could be heard screaming "thank you for giving me 2 extra minutes of life, Pez!" as his body was grotesquely savaged.) Pete_best's life flashed before his eyes as the bloodthirsty Fay, stepping over the lifeless bodies of the pigs, approached him. Where was Kong? Fortunately for Pete, today was not to be his last day. Sawed-off shotgun in hand, his apparent savior had arrived, none other than...
• Skrik! Pete was once again nekked as the cabbie (poor Alcarilinque, who resembled a sad monkey wearing a fez) had heaped up the rotting palm fronds on the beach and thus had inadvertenly taken Pete's covering. Casting his eye about desperately, he reeled in a pair of women's size 24W puce Capri pants from the clothesline of the beach house. Not pausing to wonder whose pants these were, he thrust his legs into their puce-ness and made for the dock. Skrik, meanwhile, was ...
• ...doing his best impersonation of John Wayne. "Now listen here, Missy!", he drawled, "folks in these parts don't take kindly to strangers chopin' up their livestock for a quick lunch. And that cabbie was one of my best cowhands (on his days off). This island ain't big enough for the two of us and I don't reckon it's me who'll be leavin'" With that, Fay...
• ...swung her massive cleaver wildly, cutting down 37 palm trees, including the one her own tree house was perched in. Then, while the recently-redecorated bathroom hit the sand with a dull thud (all that Italian marble held it all together in one piece, although at a 85-degree angle from how it was supposed to stand), the swing of the cleaver came to a sudden stop. Fay looked over her shoulder to see the blade of the cleaver held by the superhuman strength and leather-gloved hands of...
• ...the August Suomynona, accompanied by Kong, and the ever-delightful and deathless Lassie. "Puny mortal, this cleaver was bestowed on you by the misguided Godzilla Fairies for saving the great lizard, but you have used up all your Celestial Credit now, with your needless slaughter of my adherents, so I set you apart from mortal now." With that, he swung the cleaver onto which Fay toppled before the August fist let go -- the 99-ton cleaver with Fay aboard went flying with increasing speed, far, far from the planet earth, until it finally went into ordit about Saturn, (where in weeks to come it would cause glee among terrestrial astronmers marvelling at the capture of a new moon). Suddenly the pigs, and the cabbie were restored to life. "Tha-tha-tha-thank you, Augutht Thir!" exclaimed the pigs. Just then...
• ...a shot rang out...
• and I found myself standing there with a "what the fuck is all of this" look on my face. Another shot. This time closer...
• ...it was idest, cranky as ever, with a pair of child's cap-pistols in her hands. "I see you, Skrik! And I'll raise you one Hoot Gibson!" she exclaimed, inhaling the smoke from the area near the hammer of one gun, then the other, in her nostalgic but ill-aimed search for nicotine fumes. Meanwhile, the August One tranformed the first-personing Argh into an armadillo and placed him in the San Diego zoo. After which...
• ...I got completely lost, for the first time since I tried to memorize all the Russian names in "The Brothers Karamazov". Like when Bugs Bunny "took a wrong turn at Albekoikee," I finally popped my head up inside an underground cavern (are there over-ground caverns?) and saw...
• ...that I was still an armadillo. What next? I prowled what I took to be an enclosure in the nocturnal house, and in this vein Argh the armadillo continued his non-stop first-personing with himself. Back on Skull Island, Alcarilinque watched in amazement as the Big Giant Hand of the August Suomynona materialized over the lagoon, and plunged in to lift out his taxicab. A flick of the Big Giant Wrist shook loose a small shark and a pair of squids. The cab was then depositied gently in front of the cabbie before the August One dematerialized. "Thank you!" Alcaililinque managed just before...
• =Alcarilinque
• (Alky for short)
• ... Bluehorse changed the plot entirely. Shocked and amazed, Beeswacky exclaimed, "Wot...
• "the heck! Granma, what big...
• ...melons you have!" And then, um...
• BlueHorse looked out from under her lovely blonde monobrow and fluttered her lashes, murmuring softly, "Com'er Bees, I want to hear you whisper sweet poetry in my ear. I love a handsome stud with the begging eyes of a Cocker Spaniel and the slow, gentle hands of a gorilla. Sit down and take your socks off." She carefully arranged her silken robes, adjusted her platinum chastity belt, and shook her hair back from her shoulders. Bees head whirled at the sight of her ripe melons, and he spiraled into a trance under her perfumed spell. He sank onto the thick Turkish carpets piled on the divan and began to chant quietly. Candleight ran and flickered off the blade as BlueHorse raised her ceremonial knife and brought it gently to rest on the skin of her right melon. "Do you take salt on your cantelope, my love?" she asked. Bees gave a trembling nod of his head. She licked her lips. "Then salt you shall have." BlueHorse plunged the knife into the melon, heedlessly spilling juice and seeds onto the scarlet table covering. Bees gasped, and then reached for ...
• sarcastic salute to Barbara Cartland RIP
• ...his trusty English-Turkmen dictionary, without which he never traveled. Finding it in its usual place in his breast pocket, he drew it with a flourish, thumbed it open to "B", and recited in a rich Karloff baritone,

  The vampire melon is a fright: A vine made fiend by full moon's light. So sieze the melon, boil, then burn, Or else she'll drink your juice in turn.

  But before he could append the traditional closing formula ("Burma Shave"), ...
• ...there came a knock on the door, so Beeswacky went over and opened the door while the beuatiful BlueHorse continued to slice her melons. In came beeza, Plegmond, Zemat, outrigger, islander, ook, Alnedra, Wolof, TayBridgeDisaster, petebashi, tracicle, mean Uncle Nostril, petebest2, jb, CaptainPsycho, shinything, polychrome7, Turluath, SideDish, squidranch, dng, mandyman, TenaciousPettle, and a stray sheep -- as these folk entered Beeswacky left and buzzed off to his secret hive where he would remain incommunicado for the next seven years. "How wonderful you could all make it!" exclaimed BlueHorse as she...
• herded them onto her ark, a fantastic vessel shaped like a...
• ...giant banana, incongruously colored a pale lavender. "Now, in case you didn't already know, I have recieved a Message From God..." and, before she could finish the sentence, half of the assemblage (including most of the petebests) jumped off the bananark and into the lagoon and most of the rest shoved their hands up into the air and asked "GranMa, which God?" "I have been given a vision of the future, predicting masssive devastating destruction..." at which several more jumped overboard and the remaining muttered variations of "Well, we already knew that, just from the post-election threads on MoFi...", but BlueHorse would not be silenced, even as much of her original audience was swimming in the waters below the bananark, some of whom were being replaced by another group who had previously been designated for the "B Ark" (one which looked from a certain angle like a piece of flung monkey poo, and yet from another angle like Winnie the Pooh). Among those crossing the gangplank now were...
• ...rxreed. rolypolyman, flashboy, Token Meme, Reuven, el_hombre, Cali, bratcat, homunculus, orococo, briank, theora55, es el Queso, Verdant, fuyugare, PF, xammerboy, PY, Alex Reynolds, Hawthorne Wingo, kimdog, middleclasstool, Wurwilf, Possum, marx, Pez, drjimmy11, and a tall giraffe. They all wore red capes, including the giraffe, and were singing...
• Hi Ho, Hi Ho, it's off to...
• ...NaNoMo, WriMoNoMoJoJoJo, so, Hi Ho, Hi Ho! A thunderclap interrupted the singers' giddy revelry, to everybody's puzzlement: thunderstorms were rare on Skull Island, particularly in clear blue skies. On the beach by the lagoon there now stood a slightly built, elderly man in round black eyeglasses and a neat gray hairpiece, smoking a large cigar. Wendell gestured at the apparition, answering for B|uehorse, "That God."
• ..."Humbug," retorted That God. "The only real deity in this fiction is Suomynona. Me, I came because I want to go to France with the rest of you. And BlueHorse invited me. I mean to see the hootchie-kootchie girls do the cancan." No sooner had That God finished speaking than parachutists began landing all over the beach, waving and crying out excitedly to friends below. And this is how Jerry Garcia, ian would say, Mr. Knickerbocker, shotsy, nicola, path, PatB, Cellar Floor, bobbo11, jacalhoun, the quidnunc kid, calimehtar, Sullivan, Bear Guy, Darshon, some wander by mistake, smallish bear, cabingirl, bibliochick, goddam, badonkadonk, Plegmund, scartol, chrominance, Medusa, Restless, ramix, a newly rejuvenated wendell, fatoudust, dxlifer, Mickey, Koko, goetter, the_bone, mwhybark, i feel unusual, umeboshi, drivingmenuts, mothninja, Pallas Athene, languagehat, jeff, dickdotcom, Cropshy, Warrior, Weezel, and a golden palamino joined the party. "What'a with Trigger?" asked wendell. "Guest of BlueHorse," said Trigger with a certain hauteur as he tried to get the parachute harness off. "Let me help you," said BlueHorse, but just then...
• ...petebest3.14159 pointed at the sign by the entrance that said "Maximum Occupancy 2,337", to which BlueHorse offhandedly commented "the sheep, the giraffe, Trigger, Lassie (who snuck in while nobody was looking) and SideDish's fourteen kittens don't count, and Daisy_May ain't invited." "There's only one thing we have to worry about. AND THAT'S IT!" BlueHorse pointed at the B Ark which had just been commandeered by...
• ...a motley crew of folk dressed as pirates and shouting Shivver me timbers!" and "Arrrrh, matey!", and among them were Fabala, Inframonkey, quonset the hut aka quonsar, pyrrthon1, bernockle, rocket88, pivo, Mexican, SamJooky, Blaise Bailey Finnegan, f8vmulder, Christophine, the humble abbott, and a red lory, all of whom (except the lory) wore an eyepatch. Accompanying them were a contingent of barefooted pirates sporting at least one gold earring, including ThreeDayMonk, Nickdanger, BearGuy, EarWax, sexyrobot, shawnj, pendy, Space Kitty, Nal, kitfisto, Chaz, fish tick, hutta, moneyjane, Fes, Camilo, jacobw, dirtdirt, Sandspider, meredithea, Argh (the ex-armadillo), Mfpb 2 21, waraw, dammitkage, duckstab, DrPresAmerica, rodgerd, shadenfreude, and a mock turtle with a pirate flag. BlueHorse, having removed Trigger's harness, was now serving melon slices to all, while...
• ...a small still voice in the background said "What is this? Mouseketeer Roll Call on drugs? I haven't had this much trouble keeping track of all the character names in a novel since 'The Brothers Borisbadenov'! We've got to get beeswacky back from his secret hive so HE can keep track of all these monkeys!" as he jumped overboard into the waiting arms of... I dread what's coming next...
• I am beeswacky, wendell. The fictional Beeswacky is spelt with a capital Bee, if you glance above. The authorial beeswacky has a small bee. ..."WHOA! HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!" bellowed Trigger. "Mysterious ma -- no, a male character overboard!" said BlueHorse dubiously tossing a life-saver (one of the candy ones, the remains of a transparent red one she'd been sucking while she sliced melon) into the waters of the lagoon. This had the unexpected effect of causing...
• Squidranch, who had been duck-paddling and eavesdropping on the conversation, while waiting for BlueHorse to drop her melon rinds overboard. "OOOOOOHHH, baby, don't wrap your tenticles around me like that," said Wendell, "I like to be held in a firm, but indifferent grip." Squidranch immediatly shushed Wendell and climbed on top of his head to continue listening to all the flirting going on, arkwise. Apparently, Fish tick was helping Richerm and they both were busting a gut teasing the old dears, while the rest of the gang simply enjoyed tickled each other's fancies. Rain began pelting down like a peeing moose, and suddenly, lightning struck the kevlar wire attached to Tracicle's beltloop. Spincycle jumped, spilling coffee all over ...
• oh oh, out of order, sorry Except that bees hasn't properly followed the sentence struck-cher, she said primly Therefore, I reserve the right to edit Squidranch, who had been duck-paddling and eavesdropping on the conversation, while waiting for BlueHorse to drop her melon rinds overboard. "OOOOOOHHH, baby, don't wrap your tenticles around me like that," said Wendell, "I like to be held in a firm, but indifferent grip." Squidranch immediatly shushed Wendell and climbed on top of his head to continue listening to all the flirting going on, arkwise. Apparently, Fish tick was helping Richerm and they both were busting a gut teasing the old dears, while the rest of the gang simply enjoyed tickled each other's fancies. Rain began pelting down like a peeing moose, and suddenly, lightning struck the kevlar wire attached to Tracicle's beltloop. "WHOA! HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!" bellowed Trigger. "Mysterious ma -- no, a male character overboard!" said BlueHorse dubiously tossing a life-saver (one of the candy ones, the remains of a transparent red one she'd been sucking while she sliced melon) into the waters of the lagoon. This had the unexpected effect of causing Spincycle TO jump, spilling coffee all over ...
• ...himself. Luckily the coffee was at best lukewarm, and would clearly be easily cleaned out of Spincycle's wardrobe. That life-saver had unintended consequences however. The sharks, seeing red, were returning and...
• the Supreme Being and Emperor of the Monkeyverse was preparing to pour out his Mystical Bucket O' Mashed Nanners upon the island of... well err... Skull Island. When for no apparent reason...
• ... everone started doing the Hokey Pokey, pausing right before the line "That's what it's all about!" to look at one another and ask, "Is that what it's all about?" An unassuming and unfamiliar figure moved forward out of the crowd and said "My name's Alfie and it is all about..."
• "...inclusion. Yes. Ahem. That is my story and I'm sticking to it." "NONESENSE!" roared, Nostril, "I'll show you about inclusion!" And with that he...
• Called lassie and herded everyone to a new higher level of...
• ...the parking garage where a dozen monkeys simultaneously said "So THAT's where I parked", but before any of them could reach their vehicles...
• ... Nostril roared (again), "CARS? We ain't here for no stinkin' CARS! All of you just pipe down and listen up!" Like lemmings, the monkeys stepped (and gibbered, it must be admitted) toward the edge of parking garage Level 13. "No jumping!" Nostril roared (what is with all this roaring anyway?), "You fooling silly slavering morons! I only wanted to tell you..."
• you're mother and I love you, and that no matter what happens I'll be there for you." With that he climbed into his horseless carriage and...
• ...called Lassie, who came bounding over, and leaped into the car with Nostril, for Lassie knew a sucker when she saw one. Just then...
• the Coke machine at the far end of the parking garage began to rattle. It trembled and crescendoed into a violent shaking, as steam (or possibly carbon dioxide) poured from its sides. Then, as quickly and unexpectedly as it had started - it stopped. And soon there was only a small ticking noise, tapping like a metronome from somewhere inside. With a moan and the creak of thick metal, the front fell open and out came . . .
• ...a tiny black ball, which rolled a few feet, stopped, and uncurled into a wee but recognizable King Kong, who began growing and growing, shooting up at a fantastic rate to his full height, even as he roared, "There are no parking garages on Skull Island!" and with that everyone had the sensation of falling thirteen stories while the building dematerialized, leaving monkeys plunging into the flagoon and thumping onto the sandy beach, along with Lassie the wonderful bouncing collie and Trigger the chatterbox palamino and a couple of bemused sheep and other assorted friendly fauna, including the sharks, who were now completely sated with red jello, gingersnaps and Valium which The Beneficent and August Suomynona had provided for them. A huge blimp appeared in the sky above them, and ...
• a loudspeaker began to blare, "Attention Monkeys! Has anyone seen my socks?!" The shaken but unfettered monkeys lay on the warm sandy bech and, blinking into the sun, observed the blimp thoughtfully. Wendell opened a can of Pepsi Blue and ruminated upon the subject of missing socks while Beeswacky began to scrawl plans for building a parking garage into the sand. As the blimp passed over, repeating the eternal question regarding footwear, the quidnunc kid began to hop and shout excitedly. He pointed out to sea where a large wooden box was floating, drawing ever closer to the beach with each sucessive wave. Red lettering could be seen on the box that said . . .
• Getcher Lucky Socks here, monkeys! 2 pair for $5.99, used. Brand New Lucky Socks, cotton, never worn before, $29.99 a pair. Brand New Lucky Leprechaun Green Socks, wool, $69.99 per a single sock. Seeing which, Nostril immediately...
• lit a big spliff. "It's fuckin' Friday!" he said, to no one in particular. Those within earshot considered this, and some concluded that indeed it was Friday, while others thought otherwise. The crate of socks washed ever closer as a small throng gathered around to watch it's final crawl towards the beach. Nostril's eyes began to redden and grow puffy, as Lassie dug contentedly in the sand for an expected bone. "Dude, don't bogart it" said flashboy, peering over his sunglasses. A warm breeze was stirring. With a soft "ka-thunk", the crate of socks had finally arrived ashore. Meanwhile in China . . .
• town on the other side of the island a Zombie Wendell emerges from a butcher shop carrying two dozen...
• goat scrotums and a pint of cockpunch. Ah, dinner tonight would be a feast. If only he could pursuade that sexy Dxlifer to fry up his balls for him. A little mood music, some cockpunch, a warm pan of goodies, surely tonight would be a night to ...
• ah, balls! Served after a wine, lemon juice and olive oil marinate, and lots of garlic. After all there are big balls and little balls, but the best balls are...
• the ones you go to with Prince Charming. Ah, I do miss my pumpkin coach and my...
• ... mill balls, obviously. I mean, dude...
• yes, DU-DE, Wendell ceased his pointless rumination and began huffing and puffing up the four flights to the broom closet at the top of the parking garage. He sang, "I'm in the mooooooooooood for luuuuuuuve, simply because you're neeeeeeeear me. Yes, I'm in the mooooo-ooood for luvvvvvvv ... Urgh!" Wendell never knew what hit him. There went his plans for romance and adventure. Meanwhile, the dastardly sneaking assailant, wearing nothing but black thong undies and a silver slave bracelet, began to tiptoe ...
• ...down the stairs and over his decomposing body (the decomposition providing his most successful weight loss since '85), and with his last technically undead breath, the Zombie Formerly Known as Wendell moaned out "GranMa, is that you?" Opening the broom closet door a crack and peeking out was a petite lass wearing glasses and a fake-fur-covered teddy (bringing extra levels of meaning to the word "teddy"), who instantly identified the weapon that had downed the survivor of four "Zombie Wendell" sequels as a Season One "Simpsons" DVD whose edge had been honed to a lethal sharpness. That meant the assailant could have only been one person (assuming that it wasn't Lassie), and that person was...
• ..the ever-so-cranky idest, former champion chain smoker and nicotoxic Heroine of our tale. She had taken up in the last few hours with the easily-besottable Kong, who now...
• was busy climbing the Zombie Wendell Memorial Tower in downtown Skull Island while clutching in his left a hand ...
• neutered goat named . . .
• dangit - *A* neutered goat named . . .
• ...Ethylwilk. And Ethylwilk raised objection to being carried, wriggling and writhing with such energy and vigour that Kong quickly set him down. "Pick on someone ya own size, why doncha!" the goat grumbled before scampering west along the boatdock. Meanwhile Kong, bereft of company, climbed down from the tower and went see if idest would like to go on a picnic. But before...
• you could say "Giant tower climbing ape with big hairy hands," the irate goat butted the tower pilings, causing it to slowly being to lean off-center. Kong, in fear for his life, spread his pocket hankie above his head and leaped without looking below. He ...
• ...plunged into the hold of a fishing vessel moored alongside the dock, and began sliding down a pile of slippery fish. But Kpng's weight and girth were such he slid only a short distance before he wedged in the fish hatch, which framed him snugly about both knees. The fishing boat tilted alarmingly to starboard. But Kong seized the edge of the dock in his mighty hands and lifted himself, pulling his legs free. Unfortunately the dock swayed and with a sound of ripping timber piers, a forty-foot long section snapped free from both the landward and seaward ends, leaving the middle still clasped in Kong's mighty grip. Kong noted excited people running frantically along the landward end of the dock towards him, so he tossed the broken section into the sea, then stepped into the water himself. He began wading calmly towrds shore; sirens wailed, even as the clamour of what was now a small crowd fell behind him. He reacked out and again gripped the floating debris of the broken dock in one hand, towing to shore with him. He left it at the waterline, and began wondering where his noontime bananas and cocoanuts were. "Surely it is past time for lunch," he observed, and then....
• ...he thought to himself "So what's the deal with brunch, I mean that if it's a combination of breakfast and lunch, how comes there's no lupper or no linner." As he approached the shore, Kong noticed lawyers for Jerry Seinfeld and Larry David waving Cease and Desist letters at him. They were the first ones he stepped on. "Damn Copyright Nazis, don't they appreciate me giving them a free plug? Speaking of Nazis, I think I feel like soup. Now, where can I get some soup?"
• "Young fella," came a voice, "Let me press a mouthful of my hot cock-a-leekie upon ye". Accepting gratefully, Kong surveyed the figure beside him. A fine figure of a man, surely, like some hero of ancient legend - Ulysses or Finn Mac Cool. A mane of auburn curls wreathed the stranger's high yet manly brow, and framed the piercing gaze of his steely green eyes, which yet betrayed a deep vein of whimsical good humour. The youth's broad chest was clad in a straining rugby shirt with broad gold and black bands across it: in the powerful fingers of one muscular hand a volume of Chinese verse dangled, while with the other the stranger held a massive silver tureen in his bitter gripe as easily as if 'twere a thimble. The gently failing rays of the sinking sun caressed the youth's noble features from the west, alleviating the slight bluish cast of his nose (and sturdy chin). "What is your name?" asked Kong, wonderstruck. "My name?" laughed the stranger, the easy familiarity of his manly tone not wholly concealing the harmonious nicety of his diction. "Ah! Now if I were to tell ye my full name, the sun would sink and rise again in the telling. The vision of five hundred heroes would stand before ye: the inner lore of seven hundred sages would unfold before daybreak, and the heart-broken sighs of a thousand royal maidens would impale your heart forever. Ye would be enlightened, saddened, and uplifted in the telling of it, and - what is stranger - educated. But so that ye may know whose soup it is ye drink, I can tell you that I am he around whose skeps the tiny pollen-bearing cattle dance the maenad dance of metheglin intoxication: in short, they call me..."
• ...Eeky Archy, aka the Terror of Tara. Now, I must be gone, Kong, fare thee well." And with that he buzzed off, manfully resisting all temptation to sink the authorial Plegmund in the bright blue sea. Kong strode on across the sand, still wondering about lunch or at least a quick snack. Behind the great ape, the Copyright Nazis clawed their way out of the sand and ran rapidly to the broken boat dock, soon flinging themselves into the nearest dinghy. Then Kong saw...
• ...hard by the westering sun the first glint of Hesperus (or was it Phosphorus?) the evening star: and at once his spirit was suffused with nameless longings and ineffable regrets. Truly, it is a blighted star we inhabit, we reflected, succumbing abruptly to a wave of accidie, anomie, weltschmerz, cafard... Ed: Get on with it! Get some action going, for the love of God! ...But lo, even as he stood thus with the native hue of resolution sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought... Ed: I won't tell you again. ...he, er, saw a massive dinosaur's head break the surface of the tranquil sea. The briny water sluiced from the creature's blue scaly head and a hapless snark waved its fins helplessly in the creature's mighty fangs. Godzilter!!! "I'm coming for you, Kong!" shrieked the creature, "Come on, baby, we've got 70% of our DNA in common already. Five bucks, that's all I ask, and you can enjoy carnal union with my scaly blue hide..." Kong felt confused. "This is all so sudden..." he murmured...
• whatever nanomo time i had has been sucked up by be trying to be a mofi i have only my own monkey to blame
• "I am overcome." Thus saying, he swooned into the deep water and expired. Godzilter, thwarted in its unholy lust, beat its fins madly, gnashed its gnarly gnasty teeth, threw back its head and howled before plunging into the depths. Meanwhile, back on land, in the law offices of Doubtful, Smutt, Juicy, and Wicker, an envelope was being opened that would change the world. Old Smutt attempted a diversion by plunging the letter opener he held in his palsied hand deep into his partner, Young Master Juicy, but Wicker, the practical partner and the only intelligent one of the bunch, stoically ignored this bit of horseplay, and continued. "Ahem," he said. "If I may have your attention." Three people in the office fixed their eyes on him. The fourth refused to turn around and instead continued reading diplomas. "What I have to say will ...
• ...change the world." Thus saying, he crumpled over, baning his head violently on the edge of the sesk. Back on Skull Island, the August Prescence was tidying the sand off Kong's wet fur, ably assisted by the tongue of the heroic collie, Lassie. Kong was laughing so hard from these inept ministrations several inhabitants of the far side of lonely island thought it must be an earthquake. About then, petebest wandered down the beach, chatting with idest, prismatic7.0, and the Unarmadilloed Argh. "Do I," said Argh, wrinkl9ng his nose, "smell wet collie or is that...
• sesk = desk
• "...a breeze from the Fenlands?" "Good Lord!" exclaimed petebest, clutching his green bouffant hair with one palsied hand, "What has happened here?" Meanwhile the partners crowded around the prostrate Wicker. A space had been cleared for him atop the massive ormolu escritoire which dominated the room, its four panels, bearing depictions of the seasons by Lorenzo Ghiberti. A chaotic mass of pewter inkwells, sealing wax, white tape, rubber stamps and cheap Austrian lorgnettes lay strewn on the floor where the junior scrivener had unceremoniously deposited them in the contingent exigency of the circumstances. "I'm afraid his head is quite badly baned", opined Doubtful. A fearful silence fell. "You mean - the Bane of the Smutts has returned?" quavered Tom the young office knob-polisher, his throat quivering within the high celluloid collar which rose from within the lad's cerise moleskin waistcoat. "That sesk should not have been allowed to escape so easily." said Doubtful, firmly, "without one of its golden hairs, we may be forced to transport Mr Wicker to Whittlesey for posterior manipulation. Meanwhile, Young Master Juicy sat unregarded in a corner by the massive long-case clock by Tompion, which sported magnificent silver finials of doubtful authenticity. He picked up the papers dropped by Wicker and scanned them idly. Suddenly his grey, heavy-lidded eyes abandoned their accustomed sensual torpor and opened almost wide in a tumultuous access of mild interest. "I say, fellers," he remarked "I don't know but what as how this here isn't unlikely to have some kind of a - what you call it - effect on that there, don't you know what I'm trying to say to you here, on, like, well I guess I'd say maybe the world, if you sort of see what I... nnnurggghh!" "I was with you all the way up until that last bit, Juicy," said Doubtful. His eyes filled with horror and traces of rheum as the young partner slowly slumped forward on the fine Moroccan carpet. "Baned!" he exclaimed. "No, I'm fine, actually," said Juicy, "It's just that I like a slump from time to time. But listen, this is astounding..."
• *wonders if perchance he has baned himself without knowing it* ...and proceeded to read as follows: "On the bleak and windswept plains of Upper Mongolia, a hyper-extended family of distraught nomads fled from their yurt in 1833. Huge billowings disturbed the heavy felt, and then the latticed poles girdling the yurt fell apart as ropes snapped, while out of the collapsing fabric emerged an enormous dirty-green Thing. Shaking the tent from itself, it rose to a truly impressive height, and revealed itself to the slowest old woman of the family, she being last to leave; notwithstanding her trembling, she was able to determine it was a huge knit woolen stocking at least 600 meters in length. She backed hastily away as it then collapsed into a huge wad of smelly wool, and began rolling west with increasing speed, as if it knew where it was going. "About a week later, a sighting in Old Tashkent seemed to indicate it continued to roll westward, distressing camels and the jezail-laden tribesmen who noted its passage. In its westward-pointing wake it left a wide swathe of squashed vegetation. Upon reaching the Caspian Sea, it rolled into the water and disappeared, only to be seen several days later emerging from the Mediterranean at Cairo, where it was reported to have embarked on a ship manned by Finnish wizards. The master of the vessel said it inexplicably left the vessel just off Cornmall, when it plunged into the sea and disappeared again. He was of the opinion it had business in England." During this recital, Wicker had come to his senses, (for sesks, though they have edges, are soft and hairy beasts) and reached into a pocket of his waistcoat, from which he produced a small bottle, the contents of which he promptly swallowed before the others realized he was doing much better. Wicker then sat up and said, "^This is...
• = Cornwall, dammit
• the most holy sacrament of the supreme being, all those who eat it shall be granted five dollars and a coat made from the hair of the..
• ...Munificent Collie, Lassie." Juicy gave Doubtful a doubtful look. "Raving, isn't he?" he observed, but before the more senior partner could reply, a great crashing of wood and glass and a thundering thumping noise on the staircase made everyone, including Mr Wicker, spring to the door. Juicy flung the door open, and almost immediately the foursome were engulfed in the maw of The Great Green Sock. Only muffled shrieks and imprecations could be heard as the Sock turned and vanished, thumpoing, down the staircase. In the empty street, a sesk whined piteously. Meanwhile, back on Skull Island, BlueHorse was demanding the name of petebest's hairdresser. "What fevered notion gripped you, petebest, to suppose green was your colour?" she said as she picked up a cat with a mottled pink nose and ...
• ... tweaked it sharply. "I told you not to mess with my snack cakes, you infernal creature!" Offended beyond endurance, the cat jumped from her arms and landed claws-out upon petebest's head. BlueHorse contemplated the yowling dervishing blur of cat activity crowning petebest's head like a calico aura and said, "You know, petebest, I really think..."
• the cat does wonders for your wardrobe." "My hairdressers name is none of your business!!" With that Petebest, and the dervishing cat upon his head, strolled out into the cool evening air and headed for the fashion district on Monkeybashi Boulevard to ....
• buy new pants, having left his old plaid favorites, he knew not where. He was gawking around looking at all the beautiful Bashis with their perky breasts and pierced parts. Just as he passed the world famous Suomynona's Greek Cafe, while he was thinking about a wee nice dram o' the hot cock-a-leekie and a warm pair of trousers, something perhaps in a nice calico or tweed fabric, to match his hcat, he tripped. Lifting his bloody nose from the star embedded with the name Bees Wacky, he flinched back in horror from the bedraggled sesk that lay in front of him. The poor tormented creature, wearing a a cheap Austrian lorngnette and covered in wads of dirty, wet, green wool, had been wrapped in white tape, sealed with sealing wax, stamped with a rubber stamp. "Oh, lordy, if only the heroic goat, Ethylwilk, were here to undo this dastardly deed," bleated Pete. "Why, this is the most unholy ...
• ...tangle, sesk. Wouldn't you rather be free?" "Of course," said the sesk, "Won't you help me get loose?" petebest promptly sat down and began removing encumbrances from the creature -- the wool, white tape, lorngnette, and the seaing wax. When this was done, the sesk sat up and began grooming itself. "Yahoo!" cried cranky ideat as she ran by them. Even as she passed, she snatched the now-exhausted cat and the wig of green yarn from petebest's head. "Wow! Plus one, my headache's gone!" exclaimed petebest as he rose to his feet, watching idest who, with cat and wig, was bounding down the beach. The sesk also stood up, it's appearance much improved, with its long golden hair gleanmign and luxuriant in the sun. petebest headed for the beach, too -- the sounds of steel drums and horns and crowd noises indicated a party in progress down there. Soon the massive form of Kong, recumbant and snoring, came into view, and petebest and the sesk steered past the sleeping giant gorilla. Ahead, crowds of excited people were dancing or strolling about holding glasses in which vari-coloured fluids and ice cubes were to be seen. Off to the left, an immense emerald green tent seemed to be the source, petebest thought, noting that people entered empty-handed and came out bearing drinks, so he headed that way, the sesk bouncing excitedly beside him. But before they could ...
• sheesh, I miss this one for a few days and end up with my head as a cat dancefloor
• These things happen when you aren't paying attention Of course I was turned into the supreme being and the propietor of a greek cafe but the point still stands
• enter the tent they were distracted by the sight of a small...
• monkey, serving glasses of cockpunch to bluehorse and beeswackey et al, as they played with the kittens all around, gibbering amongst themselves and...
• ...trying, in total futility, to remember what the story was all about. A small voice in the background asked "But wasn't this all supposed to be finished by the end of November?" But before anyone could get a good look at the datestamp at the bottom of the post, the lights went out and a shot rang out...
• ...silencing forever the one person who could explain how the lights went out on a sunny beach: ...
• ...As people crowded around him, with his last breath, he gasped, "The... fe-, the fe-" "The what?" asked SideDish, desperately holding his head up, "Don't give up, dammit, you can make it! What were you trying to tell us?" And, as his eyes glazed over, all trace of life vanished, the assembled crowd heard his lungs deflate, carrying away on the gentle breeze those fateful words - words they'd thought they would never hear again: "The feeeenlaaaands...."
• "My God, did he say the Kremlin??? The Communists are back!!!" shouted a voice from...
• ...the two hundred and eighteenth comment. Everyone washed their feet in rosewater, and Kong drank what was left over. Then...
• lo an angel of the lord did appear before the huddled masses and proclaimed that this was to be the site of the new and ...
• ...improved "Ancient Native American Burial Ground" Hotel and Leisure Complex, an entertainment venture owned by the well known, badly thought-out, and yet strangely familiar corporation...
• ...MetaFarker LL.com, whose merger in 2009 was the talk of the Internets (considering that every other media entity in the world had been acquired by either Warnerdisney, MSNewsCorp or KenJenCo). It was here that Kong, Lassie and the first 3700 members of MonkeyFilter had been invited to what was promoted as a MegaMeetUp, but was actually a devious trap, masterminded by the criminal mastermind known to close friends, family, the Department of Homeland Security and the cast of "The Simpsons" by the name of...
• Burgermiester Slapknocker! Deep within the fetid confines of his secret hideout, he . . .
• sobbed softly. Dark overlord of myriad evil schemes, more slappers knocked up than a chav on Viagra, yet since the accident the Burgermeister was physically unable to...
• maintain an inflection. His speech coach had long ago told him that his neat Irish brogue would need near-constant maintenance to remain plausible, and now that he needed to hatch a plan involving the Irish, he desperately wanted to be able to say . . .
• ...rise to his feet, his back and buttocks becoming host to a slowly growing Sarcophagous Moss which anchored him tightly to the stone slab on which is was his wont to recline after repast. Alas for the Burgermiester, he now had to have his viands brought to him, and since he was only able to open his jaws a weensy bit, thanks to the multiplicity of his chins, all sustenance had to be dripped into him drop by lucent drop from the slim fingers of cranky idest, a plus-one superchef and confectioner. It was in part this unattractive occupation which made idest so infamously cranky, for she...
• ..."Whirly Wheelers" in the comical fashion of a true son of Armagh. But would the wheeled hordes of Ulster be enough for the capture of the Monkey troop? There was nothing for it, Burgermeister would have to forget past enmities and call for the aid of the...
• Wahhhhhht? Oy, I'm cornfused. What will it take to get this story back on track?
• the aid of bluehorse, who has lost track of... /or fallen off the track... /or is simply intractable.
• ...The petty gods of authorial chaos laughed, until they were banished by the August Presence of Suomynona, He Who Restores the Balancing Act of Ying and Yang. Witn an infinitismal flick of one eyebrow, the August One 1- restored the party of merrymakers to the sandy beach of Skull Island, 2- allowed the great green tent to regain its woolly integrity, 3- revived the inarticulate and myteriously dead individual to his home in East Pought where he lived happily ever after selling clown shoes, 4- sent the gratuitous angel packing back to its monotheistic universe, 5- dismissed the MetaFarkerian digression, restored the Burgermiester to his original form (a mutated fruitfly in Pasadena), and 6- replaced the hordes of Ulstermen back in the correct ancient cycle, where they began to suffer their infamous Disability even as Viking longships touched the shores of the northern coast of Ireland. Lassie, noble and selfless dog, immediately began fetching coconuts to Kong. And as the casks of cockpunch were broached, petebest began to ...
• sing--"I did it myyyyyyyyyyyy way." Instantly Monkeys swarmed from the longships and began bombarding the cat-hatted Petebest with Congs Koconuts. A lovely vision of half-dressed line dancing cowboys appeared as a mirage over the island, and Beeswacky began to chant ...
• ... "Come and have a go if you thinnk you're hard enough", swigging long draughts of Cockpunch betweentimes. The Monkeys rose to the challenge and the volleys of coconuts intensified. In the skies above, the line-dancing cowboys were met in full battle by swarms of mutated fruit-flies streaming north from old Pasdena, Burgermiester buzzingly angrily at their head. Armageddon! "A'hm a gettin' out of here" cried Kong. But Lassie, aware that matters were rapidly going awry, leapt up and...
• ...attracted the attention of the August One by barking. The August One scowled and immediately the cat was once again removed from petebest's much put-upon head and restored to the arms of cranky idest, whose disposition improved at once. The mirage of line-dancing cowboys (along with the ill-spelled beeswackey and Beeswacky) dissolved, to fall as gentle rain upon the beachful of chattering monkeys, while the fruitflies of old Pasadena were instantly restored to the southern wilds of Old California on an inadequate planet in one arm of another, far staider galaxy. Skull Island, long the purlieu of Kong, was left ankle deep in coconuts, many of which had conveniently cracked or split open. The monkeys ummediately fell to sampling the sweet juice and white flesh inside the hard husks. "Not bad," said idest. Lassie and the cat remained aloof from the feasting, but the Magnificent Collie brought more coconuts to everyone. Monkeys ate to sticky repletion, and Kong finally belched, remarking that he thought he had enough, "Lassie, please stop bringing those things, girl, everyone's had enough now." The collie, satisfied, sat and rested from her labours, while setting an especially large coconut down on the sand. The coconut began swelling, and then split open to reveal the disheveled person of Abiezer_Coppe, who still had fragments of coconut flesh clinging to his unshaven chin. "Howdy, stranger," BlueHorse greeted him, adding..
• ..."maybe it's the time of year, but I keep misreading your name as Ebenezer." As she wiped the coconut from his chin with a Kleenex™ in a grandmatronly manner, he started to speak: "I come to Skull Island from Pelvicbone Island to speak to the Mighty Kong. We are currently stricken by the same plague that had previously only been seen here, the plague of..." BlueHorse shoved the Kleenex™ into Abiezer's mouth, but his words had already been heard by Kong, whose 14-foot tall face immediately turned to an expression of...
• ...horror, as he looked out to sea. "My god," he muttered, "the jellyfish have spontaneously evolved legs." Sure enough, from out of the depths came a veritable army of jellyfish. All in ranks they slithered at our heroes. "Where's that cabbie? We've finished off the sharks full of jello, and we want desert!" one cried. Just then...
• from the mighty one acre rain forest of Skull Island National Wildlife Reserve and Themepark came a small army of naked mole rats uncharacteristically wearing full suits of armor and wielding nasty looking...
• ...mushrooms: they were a scabrous yellow with purple prose-like encrustations, and the medicinal virtue of them was this: they were bizarrely poisonous to mole rats, and to jeering jellyfish. As for other mortals, if anyone ate one side of such a mushrtoom s/he would grow fatter, while if s/he ate the other side s/he would grow leaner and small worse than the Sewers of Paris. The mole rats and the jellyfish, being thus exposed, now became stuporous and released their fackless wielding of armour and mushrooms, floating into the air, to drift away over the seas of the ill-named Pacific. petebest, happening upon the armour-and-mushroom-dappled scene, joined BlueHorse in staring up into the sky, now thickly filled with vanishing jellyfish and mole rats. "Wha..?" said he, while ...
• fackless = feckless
• checked his copy of 'Alice in Wonderland' for further mushroom recipes and how to deal with the Chesire cat that suddenly...
• materialized in front of him wearing sequins and a feather boa. BlueHorse ignored the cat as dictated by the Queen of Mo, and she attempted to drag her bosum to the shelter of the waving fronds of palm. "Pete, my best, come, before we accidentally eat mushrooms and become stinky or fat." Too late, Pete's mouth being open in a "Wha..?" was filled with the wrong side of the mushroom. Holding her nose, Blue kissed her feckless friend on the cheek, threw him his pants, and skipped off under the palms to go check on Abiezer, the newcomer to the island, but a welcome personage none the less. But before she could get 'round the rocky outcrop on the south side of the island ...
• ...she was drawn up short by a blood-curdling scream. Rounding the promontory, she was shocked at the quantity of blood staining the sand where Abiezer had last been seen - and no sign of the curious coconut-smeared interloper at all. Dashing to the beach, BlueHorse found on closer inspection that, to her puzzlement, amongst the blood and flecks of what she feared were Master Coppe's flayed remains were tiny..
• copies of the Skull Island Times. Picking one of the copies up and examining it with a magnifiying glass she was surprised to read that....
• ...bananas were selling at four sous a pound. This seemed excessive and why was it expressed in a foreign currency? Another thing puzzled her, there was a strong aroma of raspberries, a plant not native to the island. Leaning over, she determined this arose from what she'd thought was a pool of blood, but now discerned to be a pool of raspberry juice and pulp with an oddly bristled turtle sticking out one end. Then she reached over and seized the turtle and pulled -- a mighty heave -- and the raspberry-drenched figure of Abiezer_Coppe lay hiccoughing/hiccupping at her feet. "What is the matter with you? Where did all the raspberries come from?" she demanded. As best he could, the newcomer explained that he'd been standing alone, admiring the scenery, when a huge reddish-purple clump of some half-frozen material fell on him and engulfed him. It must have been Kong, reflected BlueHorse, for the giant gorilla disliked frozen food and usually discarded it at once. "I think I'm allergic to raspberries," concluded Abiezer with a mighty hiccough/hiccup. "I itgch all over." Just then....
• itgch = itch. The worst kind of itch.
• Kong arrived with a bucket of soapy water and tossed it one Abizer. Bluehorse cackled, and called loudly for a towel. Pete and Bees arrived simultanously, one with his pants off, and the other with a towel. "Oh crap, said Blue, "Looks like we have enough here for another one of those dang island parties." This is getting old. I need mystery, thrills, romance--some spice in my life. She waggled her eyebrows suggestively at Bees, but, getting no response, then closed her eyes, puffed out her cheeks, clicked her heels three times, and was gone. Pete, stunned at being left behind ...
• ...found himself the possessor of a somewhat faded and wholly inadequate linen tea towel. "Now, wha'd'm'I s'posed t'do wi'this?" petebest2 wanted to know (for alas, petebest2.18 was not the brightest firefly in the pasture, and he almost never saw the Communal Best-Pants, let alone grasped any need to don such a peculiar garment). Abiezer, adrip with clinging suds, spat vigorously, trying to rid himself of this umpleasant impediment to clear speech. "Where'd the Blue Lady -- ptah! ptew! -- go?" he asked. "Lady Ptah Ptew recalled a previous engagement," said petebest2.17, who had strolled up bearing a tattered copy of The Butler Did It, He Always Does clutched in one hand. "Fold that towel, bro, and put it over your left arm, like so," he added to petebest2.18. As for these alleged Bees, they were not honeybees, but the Real old Bumbles, and they were most displeased to discover the sun had deviated in an instant from what had seemed hitherto a fixed position in the Firmament of Bumblebeedom. They began buzzing dangerously, but then found the remains of the raspberries and calmed down a trufle. Meanwhile the beautiful and inimitable BlueHorse had landed with a thud in Oz, on the outskirts of the Emerald City, where a ragged troop of Munchkins clad in blue and looking very hung-over were doing their best not to wince each time a giant drum was pounded by a tatty-looking cartoon tiger. "What is this, gents, a parade?" asked BlueHorse as she realized her private tranport-portal had malfunctioned again. Just then...
• ... and as she was beginning to despair, she heard a disembodied voice say "I would go so far as to say that he is an enthusiast." BlueHorse looked around wildly. "Flashboy?" she called, "I know you're here, Flashboy!" A tiny glimmer appeared in BlueHorse's peripheral vision. It was...
• ...a house ('50s ranch-style with three bedrooms and two baths) fell from the sky, crushing several of the Munchkins and trapping several others including one who swore under his breath in Portugese and another who screamed "You can't do this to me! I've been a member since '99! F@#$ing Newbs!" BlueHorse though to herself "Oh no, not another Wizard of Oz take-off. Is this a novel or a MadTV sketch?" Then the door of the house opened and out stepped several desperate-looking housewives, a guy with a two-days growth of beardsaying "Where are we?", Kelly Ripa and John Madden. She ran to slam the door shut just as the "agony of defeat" guy from "Wild World of Sports" skiied into it. No, this wasn't Oz, this was ABC, and she had to get out fast before the Neilsens showed up or she'd never escape. This time she tapped her heels FOUR times while touching her left index finger to her nose, and just as she realized the cartoon tiger had grabbed hold of her ankles, they were both transported to...
• ...the interior of the house, a distance of perhaps five or six feet from their starting point. "Let go, Tiger," said BlueHorse coldly, only the tiger ignored her and stood up, which caused BlueHorse to reverse her position abruptly, so that she now dangled head downward, the tiger still holding her ankles. "What are you doing?! Stop it this instant!" bellowed BlueHorse. The tiger said calmly, "Pipe down, lady, you're in the army now, you've just volunteered to join the New Janissaries of Glenda Goodwitch." "I have NOT! You're crazy!" BlueHorse said indignantly. The tiger gave her a reproachful look. "Shame on you! And you are not a good liar, either. The truth, now, is what is required here -- did you or did you not say that you needed mystery, thrills, romance --some spice in your life?" BlueHorse was startled into saying, "Well, yes, but --" "Aha! That is the Oath of Service of the New Jannissaaries, into which you are hereby inducted, as I, Timoshenko Tiger will attest in court, should it be necessary." The tiger swung her headfirst onto the sofa adjacent to the front door, which was being pounded none too vigourously from outside, BlueHorse thought. As if whoever really doesn't want to come in. The tiger threw a uniform from the hall closet onto her. "Get into those clothes, soldier, or I'll stuff you into them" he said, and he is not kidding, she thought. She complied, fuming. Far away, back on Skull Island, Kong was scratching his head, wondering where the beautiful BlueHorse had gone, when Abiezer said, "That lady needs a rescue, you big ape." Kong gazed at Abiezer in surprise. "I didn't know. How do you know that?" "Because he's physic, he is --" began petebest2.18. "Aw, he means psychic, he ain't very erudite, Kong, he's minus one and a half, if you know what I mean." whispered petebest2.17. "Oh." Kong was not in any way a minus and caught the gist of this easily. "Why does she need rescuing, stranger?" he asked Abiezer. "She's being abducted into some army by a paper tiger," replied Abiezer, trying to blot his face and hair with the inadequate tea towel. At this point, Kong...
• sneezed.
• ...being mildly allergic to the perfume in soap. The mighty sneeze shattered the stasis that had paralyzed all of Skull Island for a week, freeing Kong, a dried-suds-flecked Abiezer, several stray petebests, and the barely visible ghost of Roy Rogers to spring into action.
• ...All except the sneezing Kong collided as a result, and the barely visible ghost of Roy Roger then became a huge, quivering soap bubble, and disappeared with a slight pop as cries of "Ow! What the fuck --?" and "Get off my pants!" filled the air. As they stood erect, Kong emitted a second, much louder and far more vigorous sneeze, the Soapbubble Formerly Known as Roy Rogers having disturbed the interior of Kong's sensitive nose. A thunderous "Aahh-tchew!!!" sent petebests2.17 through petebest2.23, Abiezer_Coppe, idest the Cranky, goetter, flashboy, and a number of infuriated bumblebees flying out across the sea and into the air. Oddly enough, they whirled along in the selfsame direction the beautiful BlueHorse had taken. After a few breezy seconds they found themselves tumbling among a group of blue-clad gnomes. "Heigh ho, heigh ho, Smurfs," cried petebest2.18. He was elbowed aside by Abiezer_Coppe, still stained with raspberry juice and dried clumps of white lather. "What...
• have you down with Grampa Smurf?? I require his assistance in a matter involving...
• ...a vampire pumpkin, six mice, and a rat who suffers the misfortune of being turned into a coachman in a far-distant principality," Abiezer_Coppe improvised smoothly, for a decade ago he had kissed the Blarney Stone with such verve it kissed him back. petebest2.20 (aka Sneaky to his intimates) upon seeing the dumbfounded expressions on the faces of the gnomes, was moved to exclaim, "Yes, indeed, Queen Incinderella is a harch taskmistress when it comes to the palace help. Minus ten, in fact." The gnomes now goggled briefky at petebest2.20 before staring again at the raspberry-and-white confection that was Abiezer_Coppe. "Stop!" came a familiar bellow and ...
• the sound of two of the gnomes' sudden explosive bursts of intenstinal trouble overwhelmed them, until ...
• wendell got crunk. He started in the early afternoon, drinking . . .
• a small glass of Mad Dog 20/20 while watching...
• Old Bob Crane videos he'd found while . . .
• looking for an old pair of black socks. Then he moved on to a fine Krakatoan lager he'd been saving for a special occasion, but hell, that'd never happen now. Not while ...
• the spoons in the kitchen were plotting against him. If only he could infiltrate their...
• rubbermaid fortress! If only the traitorous dishtowels would cease their Machavellian fluffiness, keeping him at bay from flatware vengance. Yes - those spoons would soon get their comeuppance! As those wavy lines that accompany chromatic harp arpeggios appeared, he remembered well that dark day when . . .
• The sporks had arrived, planting the seeds of rebellion in his silverware. "Brothers, sisters, cutlery! Throw off your shackles! Remove your gilded handles. You have nothing to lose but..."
• ...the caked-on food you really need a decent scouring pad to clean. Are we not kitchenware? When you prick yourself with us, do we not make you bleed?" Suddenly, a despondent pasta pot (the As Seen on TV kind with the strainer in the lid) flung himself out of the cupdoard over the stove, screaming...
• "Damn You Atkins!! Daaaaaaammn Yooooooouuuu!" With a loud "Bang!" the pot fell to the stove and sat, angrily fuming over the low-carb diet doctor's evil acts. Thoughtfully munching a "Twizzler", wendell pondered this latest turn of events. Could this pasta pot be the one the sporks came to free? Would GramMa make good on her threat to demand it back someday? A curious situation indeed, thought wendell. Just then, as he struck a match to light another Twizzler . . .
• ... a cupboard door flew open and a very amorous French Press pressed itself against wendell's ear. Before wendell could begin to react an English Muffin whizzed from the bread keeper shouting "Oy! Get orf 'is lug'ole!" Wendell was so startled that he dropped the match onto one of the traitorous dishtowels, which immediately burst into flames. "You swine!" screamed the dishtowel. The English Muffin, taking advantage of the situation, proceeded to...
• ...molest the weasel who had recently taken up residence on wendel's head. The weasel, named Enfald, became so aroused that...
• ... it started singing "I Love Fresh Blood, So Come Here, Juicy Rabbit", this being the only song weasels know other than "I love Fresh Blood, So Come Here, Juicy Squirrel". Staring about him, Kong scratched his head and examined the scattered coconut hulls -- tiny orange mushrooms has sprouted over the remaining coconut meat. Psilocybin would explain it, thought Kong. Everyone was sprawling on the sand, some sleeping, some weeping, some laughing uncontrolably, and a few chattering away, ignoring the fact no one was paying any attention to their wise and poignant words. "Hmm. Should I look for an antidote?" wondered Kong aloud. "Perish the thought," said Lassie. "They chose this, let them have the full experience." Kong eyed Lassie in surprise, saying, "Why, Lassie, I didn't know you could talk." "Well, you wouldn't 'know' it now if you hadn't ingested some of the punch yourself," pointed out Lassie. "And anyway, I'm not talking. I'm merely a skilled telepath." wendell moaned piteously, for he wss now caught with his head in a weseal named Priscilla and ...
• ... coming to the realization that the weasels were faking their orgasms. As the weasel ripped his flesh, he tapped his heels three times and was immediately transported to the Galleria in the San Fernando Valley (known to many as the Sin Fernando Valley), landing in what used to be the food court, but since the fifth recontruction of the mall-turned-office-complex had become the headquarters of Warner Brothers Television Animation (true story). And he would've gotten away with it if it weren't for those pesky kids and their dumb dog. Crawling out to the edge of Sepulveda Boulevard, he pulled himself to his feet and stumbled onto a bus bound for...
• Tijuana. He had known a doctor there in his younger years and was hoping...
• for . . .
• a...
• change in bedside manner. His one vivid memory from the last time this had happened was of the doctor, repeatedly insisting coffee enemas were the only way to stop the psilocybin from annihilating his neocortex in spasmic ruptures that would fry his nervous system like lit fuses. No time to waste, the doctor would scream, throwing wendell a greasy bottle of KY (fecal matter, he thought the instant he cought it, and winced) before hustling around the room preparing pots of coffee he'd pour into enema bags. The memory wouldn't go away, but wendell finally managed to shake it when . . .
• ...the bus swerved to miss something in the street. It was...
• ...nost unfortunate...
• =most
• Nost Unfortunate struggled to his feet and slowly looked around at all that was happening. 'Is this some strange new dimension?', he wondered. There were so many strange creatures, all cavorting in the most unbelievable adventures. The water and island couldn't decide which was which and then there was...
• Turkmenbashi! King of all that . .well, dictator of mostly all that he saw, more or less, and creative font of the Turkmen people in perpetuity, with residuals and points! Wendell was jealous. As Nost Unfortunate brushed himself off and wandered on his way, wendell's bus continued toward the island's big convention center. Today was the big awards ceremony for Oustanding Achievement in the Field of Dictatorial Prose Excellence, a.k.a. the Dic-Lits! Crowds had been gathering throughout the day, and some of the most feared, delusional, and prolific dictators would be there. As the bus approaced the entrance, wendell noticed . . .
• ...his feet kept disappearing and in their place he saw two tousled-looking cats (both Himalayan) below him. But...how can this be? he wondered, when suddenly...
• that Nost Unfortunate had not left. He held forth: 'tis most unfortunate, that dictators fornicate. and spew their subliminal lies. While Nost Unfortunate, being almost of a state, of power, shall stay with flowers. He sniffed the roses and sniffed the air and suddenly ran, crying out...
• Nost Unfortunate just had to stop and play with the delightful kitties for a bit. Almost as good as flowers, but...he knew the bees and the flowers were overpowering and distracting from...
• "Monkey Island Convention Center and Food Court!" yelled the driver. Wendell shook his head and gazed out the window . . there were hundreds of fans, lining the golden-carpeted walkways to the main theatre. Soon some of our greatest despots and madmen (who happened to fart out a stanza or two betwixt whores and invasions) would enter and vie for statuettes. Wendell knew. He had to have one. As he rose to leave the bus . . .
• ...he realized, Whoa-horsey! I am wendell. And I am confused! "Oh, I think not," said a harsh male voice, and wendell briefly became aware of someone shining a small beam of light into of his eyes, then the other. "Hey!" he objected, and then he found himself on a carosel horse, going up and down and round and round at what appeared to be a sleazy carnival, or possibly Country Fair. "Step right up! And welcome to the West Coast Follies and Rotating Geek Show, ladies and gents!" a voice bellowed loudly over a PA system. With a shrill squealing...
• Wendell threw his hands in the air and grinned from ear to ear as he went round and round and round on the carousel. The grin slowly faded from his face as he realized...
• the rider upwind of him had thrown up. Yuck, he thought. . . .
• that awful Nost Unfortunate (and his cousin, Nost Unexpected) had long since moved away from the West Coast - but there they were: riding the Geek Carousel and barfing. "Well enough of this" thought Wendell, who was already annoyed that the calliope only played George Michael's "I Want Your Sex". He hopped off his Blue Pony and wandered across the fairgrounds. Feeling rather peckish, he headed for the food court. "Funnel cakes, funnel cakes" he sang to himself. On arriving in the sweet, greasy air of the food area, he was stunned to see . . . across the yard . . wearing a yellow sundress . . .
• Multiple choice: ...wearing a sundress... (1) GranMa (2) Space Kitty (3) sexyrobot (4) Lassie (5) Kong (6) ActuallySettle (returning after a 200-chapter vacation) (7) Laura Prepon from "That '70s Show" (8) Wilmer Valderama from "That '70s Show" (9) Zaphod Beeblebrox (used WITHOUT the permission of the estate of Douglas Adams) (10) the Sun
• any of the 1-4 choices works for me. Oh, and can I get another Guiness over here? thanks!
• I vote for 10 or 1
• I like #1.
• across the yard . . wearing a yellow sundress . . . GranMa stood holding an all-day sucker. She motioned Wendell over and whispered conspiratorially, "I've heard that the police are after Nost Unfortunate and Nost Unexpected for smuggling!" "Smuggling?" replied Wendell, "Smuggling what? Sympathy cakes? Maudlin juice? Those two are the most useless, inept, silly, pathetic peripatetics ever!" He lit up another Twizzler to celebrate a successful trash-talking. GranMa scowled slightly, "Now now, just because your bus almost ran over one of them . . ." Just as Wendell was about to ask for a bite of the all-day sucker, a strange sort of music started up behind the food court. A breezy melody - a flute perhaps? - floated above disassociated rhythms, played by numerous drummers and percussionists. Wendell could make out tabla, tambourine, and . . was that a marimba? Grabbing hold of GranMa's hand, Wendell strode off around the corner of Philly Phil's Fabulous Funnel Cake Factory and spied the main music stage. With great surprise, they both gasped at the sight, for who should be onstage but . . .
• The ActuallySettle Experience featuring Sexyrobot
• (formerly known s Disco Tex and his Sex-o-Lettes). But just as they were about to start the drum machine, the island was struck by a 40-foot... no, you may NOT say tsunami...
• ...dildo.
• What?
• I think he said dildo *gasp*
• He who?
• Pete_best1999 looked up, and with rolled eyes towards the camera, said "Yes . . a . . forty-foot dildo slammed into the warm, wet beach before pulling back and doing it again. And again. And again. 'I feel like falafel' said Wendell, and GranMa agreed. Off they went back to the food court to scrounge up some of the tasty Middle Eastern crunch-patties. As they passed the beer stand (the one that sells the expensive good beers, not that expensive crap stuff by the brewery sponsoring the event), they noticed Beeswacky - lying on one of the tables, feet up, seemingly writing in midair. 'What's up Bees?' offered Wendell. 'What's the 411? Yo yo my dog, what it' but GranMa held up a hand to cut him off. 'I'm compostulating!' Beeswacky said, furiously scribbling with an invisible pencil in the air. 'This will be my most mandelbrottian, extraslaptabulous creation!' He kicked one of his feet to emphasize the point. 'It came to me almost like a dream . . or rather like a Guiness - yes! Like a Guiness it came, brought over by the lovely beer lady, a perfectly conceived artistic notion consisting of patterned elements of speech and other grammaticaliciousness!' Wendell nodded in agreement and considered these new developments. He held one elbow and scratched his chin. "Hmmm." He mused. "Huh." He wrinkled his mouth in a quizzical fasion. GranMa, having had enough of this, walked over to procure a few Guiness. And to peek at the giant dildo, still apparently at work on the hot, sweltering beach. 'I'll have three Guiness' she said to the barmaid, who replied . . . "
• ... On Skull Island, the flying hospital was packed now with hapless monkey victims of psylicoco poisoning. Lassie and Kong sat on the edge of the sandy beach, debating whether utilitarianism was really the best solution. "The greatest happiness for the greatest number is what we seem to be seeing," said Lassie doubtfully. "Although a miniscule percentage are tearful, the rest are grinning and laughing like fools." "Only because they are experiencing inacurate sensory signals, I think," said Kong. "Besides which, people don't laugh only when they are happy. Sometimes they laugh because they are startled or for social simian reasons a canine wouldn't be likely to understand." Lassie snorted derisively. "Ah, Kong, I understand perfectly the simian inclination to kowtow to a perceived pack leader, no matter his inadequacies." Kong grinned then. "It gives us the illusion we all have a chance at the number one slot, you know." "You needn't apologize. Pointless trying to counter genetically determined behaviors, one hears. There are places on me, for instance, which, if touched, amke me scratch even though I am not in the least itchy." "What fools we mortals, by what michance or circumstance, be." Meanwhile, still wandering in the wooly wits of the afflicted monkeys, was the sense of a carnival, the presence of a calliope, and a touch of the midway, monkeys sensing the cotton candy nature of it with delight. The false Beeswacky floated, and vanished like a soap bubble whose surface tension has been too sorely tried, leaving a small mob of petebests puzzled, for they were especially susceptible to apiarian hallucinations. wendell was eating a huge snow cone when...
• . . . GramMa returned with the Guiness. "Allright here's good news" she said, "Hey, where's bees?" But wendell could only stare blankly - unable to describe the vaguely unsettling sight of beeswacky's doppleganger floating into the air and vanishing. Finally concluding that beer was at hand, wendell smiled and gratefully accepted the pint of cool, refreshing dark billowing goodness. Settling into a mystical black, the essence of delicious hops and barley gently floated to the top of the glass and eagerly awaited to be sipped! Slowly at first, and then with more gusto until each delicious dark beery drop flowed with an almighty resonance!! A thundering rejoicing of beerish delights ever-so-humbly contained by just one pint glass . . . it . . . uh . . . the beer . . . ummm. . . man that beer sounds good . . uh *ahem* let's see . . yeah so then umm . . . wendell said . . .
• "I feel like I've spent the last three months and eleven days in suspended animation... or put on hiatus by NBC. What's in this beer?" He looked around, noticed Kong sleeping, curled up and using Lassie like a teddy bear while the heroic collie whimpered, then turned to GranMa and said "Guinness, eh? Did you know I once almost got in the Guinness World Record book for the longest wait on hold?" "Several times, darlin'," GranMa replied. "Should've gotten some German Ale instead..." Suddenly, with a loud "pop", beeswacky's doppelganger reappeared, then another beeswacky, then another and another, until they formed an entire doppelganger gang, aproaching slowly while waving switchblades and bicycle chains threateningly. "Petebest, if there's ever been a time we need about twenty of you, this is it," GranMa declared. petebest responded by...
• . . . quaffing the pint of Guiness, wiping a forearm across his mouth (burping quietly), and quickly hatching a plan. "Sofa" He said, cryptically. "We need to find a sofa and a big cigarette." "Oh yeah" said GramMa, who reached behind her ear and retrieved a joint. She fired up and slowly exhaled a perfect smoke ring. Hustling the group outside of the beer tent, petebest pulled forty sofa cushions from a nearby sofa dealer display and proceeded to build a fort. "The 2006 models are in early this year" observed wendell as they crouched behind the wall of cushions. As the gang of doppelganger's approached the fort, strange sounds began to eminate from the knife and chain-weilding horde. "Is that Keats they're quoting?" asked petebest. "Henry Lawson" squeaked GramMa, taking another hit. "A variation of Knocked Up, sounds like" concurred wendell. "GramMa, blow the smoke at the doppelgangers!" said petebest, and a puff of white wisp'd o'er the gang. "Look, it's making them sleepy!" said wendell. "Getting bees high is just downright wacky" said GramMa, and all three of them deadpanned into the camera. GramMa continued to send a stream of smoke at their would-be assailants. As the faux-bees gang slowly sank to the ground asleep, the group relaxed slightly. GramMa then began to philosophize about the miracle of the human hand. "Listen!" said petebest. "The buzz of the doppelganger crowd masked it before - but doesn't that sound like a plane? Or a lawnmower? Heading towards us?" They peered over the sofa cushion fort, and saw . . .
• "Been meaning to ask you, Lassie old girl, why the hell don't you just say 'woof' like other dogs?" Kong said to his canine companion.
• "So, Lassie, what's the thing that goes on top of a house?" beeswacky asked. "Roof!" Lassie responded. "And the underground parts of a tree?" "Roots!" "And the greatest home run hitter of all time?" "Ruth!" Suddenly, Kong picked up the valiant collie and threw her halfway across the island. As she flew out of sight, you could faintly hear the dog shout out... "Henry Aa-a-r-o-n-n?"
• "Walk this way" said wendell . . .
• "Talk this way" said Beeswacky...
• "Dream On," said petebest. "Stairway to Heaven," said Suonynona. "By the way, who originally recorded that one?" asked a passing MeFite. "Shouldn't you be out interviewing the nerds in the StarWars Line rather than spending your time snarking up the MonkeyFilter?" asked wendell's editor, after which Darth Vader struck wendell clear across the midsection with his lightsaber and wendell disappeared, leaving behind only a Jedi robe seriously in need of laundering.
• Lassie looped back through the blue as she was accustomed to do, and landed on the palm of the outstretched hand of Kong. Who grinned, "You are a divine dog, Lassie.". "Semi-divine, semi-detatched, and the darlings of the gods, us," agreed Lassie as she stepped off his hand, and settled herself back onto the sand. "Have any of these monkeys -- excuse me, other monkeys -- sobered up yet?"
• Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest - 2005 Results
• *rubs hands at prospect of amusement this weekend* )))!!!
• There's no write way nor is there wrong though all ways here belong to Kong.
• Lassie and Kong strode on the beach one ate a bone the other, a peach At least one decided that something was off the cast of yon characters neglected a sloth And so 'pon these beaches a light flashed fantastic which delivered a sloth both wise and aquatic (He needed a burma shave)
• So noble petebest rhymed thus on the shore and bee-sought a pelagic sloth to adore. His blade was keen, his beard was full, although 'twas made of cotton wool. Beside the waves he stands in wonder and glimpses a Something that just ducked under. Could it be a sloth? Could it be a whale? Could it be a manta ray with a long whippy tail?
• Nay, t'was a crab That noble crustacean Come forward to bless Our most favored nation Calling out to dear Lassie Observant of Kong And once they passed by he Poured forth in song, "O doggie! Gorilla! A monkey or three! Please dance like the crab do And be happy as me! With a wee shuffle left And a trot to the right Please dance like the crab do And be happy all night!" And so, with tra-la-le's And quick little steps Our brave friend the crab Wandered back to the depths
• when Kong and Lassie both are gassy folk wince and flinch from Ashtabula to the Great Crab Nebula