----- Original Message ----- From: "michael leigh" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> To: <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> Sent: Thursday, June 03, 2004 2:56 AM Subject: RE: FLUXLIST: Normal Slaps Frog - Calico Wenches
> --- Roger Stevens <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> > wrote: > > > Nomad Slasher. An everyday story of Ambrosia & > simple country folk. "Sing coo coo" sang the Cukoo nestled in her ambrosial imbroglio, down by the fishin hole.It was a beautiful daze and the simple country folk were doing nothing. A fish jumped up with a splash from the stream and said "beware the nomad slasher" "Too Whit Too Whoo" said the anonymous peregrin. *#*#*#*#* > > > > (Please add to the story wherever you see fit, add > > your name at the > > front and post it.) > > > > "Man Bites Dog" 42-page book made of fur, teeth, > > skin and bones > > > > Kathy Forer, Roger Stevens, Michael Leigh, Alan > > fffo, badgergirl, > > Carol Starr, Suse, Allan R. > > > > The Story So Far. > > > > Fourteen wolverines and one lap dog chase a badger. > > But the badger is > > too fast and burrows beneath a paintbrush stuck in a > > stone. In the > > burrow are mushrooms and grain. The badger makes a > > broth ambrosia of > > the green grain and mushrooms and is soon asleep. > > The badger is dreaming... In the dream there are no > > wolverines or lap > > dogs because the badger was really awakened by the > > artist removing the > > paintbrush from the stone to begin painting for the > > morning. Little > > does the artist realize that the badger is in the > > burrow. Once the > > badger (a strange name for a badger some would say) > > is reassured as to > > its safety and breakfast is under way in the burrow; > > ambrosia of green > > grain and mushrooms with the added delight of mini > > marshmallows! > > > > The day is going well, but what was that strange > > sound? Thunder and a > > police siren suddenly mix with satisfied snoring. > > The badger jumps > > from his spot thinking his borough has imploded. > > When he hears the > > rain on the stone above, he realizes electricity is > > still working, > > washes his face and soon falls back deep asleep. > > > > He dreams of sitting on a five bar gate in Shinaniki > > Da. It's 1932 > > and Tom Thumb, the Topsy Turvy talking automaton has > > just opened the > > Cough Drop Shop in the village which badger can see > > from where he > > sits. The Baked Potato Man wanders by trying to sell > > his wares. "Piping > > hot King Edwards!" he shouts as he wafts the steam > > from his portable > > oven perched precariously on one-legged > > wheel-barrow. "Juicy Jerseys > > covered in ketchup!" Badger asks the Baked Potato > > Man if he has any > > crispy potato peelings in batter. "No, but I have > > these fine Cheshire > > New potatoes in gravy." He smiles, proffering the > > steamy morsel which > > suddenly grows two eyes and leering mouth and > > cackles most horribly! > > > > Hours later, Once the badger, is awakened by the > > noise of wood > > against stone. It is night and the lap dog is > > yapping. The wolverines > > have surrounded the stone and are chanting an > > incantation. The badger > > doesn't breathe, not a whisker moves. Neither up nor > > down, although > > suspense is acrostic. After a paws of several > > minutes the badger > > quickly whips out his cross-stitched magic asbestos > > underpants and > > pulls them on ferociously. Once flings open the > > serving hatch and > > grabs the vial of sacred weasel water and makes a > > dot for the burrow > > entrance and confronts the seething mass of writhing > > wolverines > > squirming around the stone which is now glowing with > > a strange > > phosphorescent throb! > > > > 1 > > > > It was a dense night. Stumble patterns and brave > > yapping set apart the > > party of owl elves and gnome mimics writhed and > > chased and spurned > > the undergrowth around the latest beige badger > > silting. In the brave > > distance behoves the strange and incandescent > > foreshadows of > > wolverines and greenish melon lights upon the > > substantial forest fare. > > > > Young Zonograph, the tallest owl elf snuffed his > > warps harp and muttered > > - I can hear a badger. The badger is in trouble. I > > scents wolverines. > > Hurry there is no stone unready ton roll upturned in > > this > > lackadaisical pre-momentary of the word fandango. > > > > Meanwhile, or to be more precisereiouseless, high on > > hill stood a > > lonely man with a goathead, his fixedinterestrate > > stare > > directeddyboyhoodlesservilely at the burning black > > belching > > smokestacks of the town beyond the wolverine woods. > > The sound of a > > suddenly snuffeforadicalcified warps harp, brought > > memories back for > > Ludwig Hat, erstwhile butler and badger > > baiterribleedinglendervish of > > Vincent and Cara Van Hire. > > > > Ludwig stood immobile, imshelle and intexacoe, for > > Ludwig had been > > brained by falling groceries, dropped from almost a > > mile overhead and > > one mile and eight inches over shoulder, a result of > > the splitting of > > a cheap carrier pigeon on its way home. Forcing his > > gaze downward > > Ludwig was horrified, not only had his part of the > > story not managed > > to settle on a definite form, not only did it lack > > content but now to > > his disgust he found that he had been > > rendereducededicateddyboyfriended > > by a tangerine!!! He couldn't even get that right. > > > > Ludwig crossed his eyes and dotted his teeth, > > relaxed and floated up, > > through the roof of his own mouth. Long and > > complicated wordadditions, > > he thought, canwearyoudownifyournot careful, and so > > he resolved to be > > more carefulinfuture. > > > > Win Cent the Magnificent and Cara, however, were > > seriously considering > > calling Sister Meg and entering into the fray. > > Sister Meg O'Lomania > > was after all acrostic champion Frigidaire and good > > at getting badgers > > up and down and out of trees (and wolverines out of > > toasters for that > > matter.) Lap dogs she had no time for as their > > batteries always seemed > > to run out in the middle of a sent bottle of > > enormous pulchritude. > > > > His eyes dilated and shuffled in the moonlight, his > > breathe came in > > short pants, his coughs in a skirt and his trousers > > rolled up like > > Venetian blinds caught in a mighty Wurlitzer. > > > > Mrs. Shufflefang caught sight of herself in a nearby > > polished knob of > > a Milkman's portable pelmet crusher and she winced > > inwardly, tossing > > back a mane of flaxen hair that was tied in a bun > > and covered in > > currants. The badgers, for now there were five, all > > grabbed the reins > > of the milkman's horse and whipped it into a gallop > > and then into a > > small tea shop where it scattered several old ladies > > and a troupe of > > dwarves on an outing. > > > > Suddenly, Pequot Marmaduck threw a crumpet at Sister > > Meg. It caught > > her with a ping in the Frigidaire and she fainted > > straight away, > > smashing the paw of the lap dog who was dreaming of > > heaven-sent > > chumlaka. Cara sprinkled Sister Meg and the lap dog > > each with half a > > gram of lemon juice. Meg cried out, "Get me a > > toasted pineapple!" The > > dog sniffed the crumpet. > > > > Ludwig had fallen onto the milk cart and the badgers > > were busy > > cleaning the splashes from each other when seven > > wolverines slunk by > > and whistled an old tune from the dark days when > > weasels were weasels > > and fourpence was worth three and a half cents. The > > badgers had been > > mistaken for minks! Finally, they could answer Young > > Zonograph's call > > and they set out toward the southern > > phosphorescence, towing Mrs. > > Shufflegang who had the fixedinterestrate card for > > gas and carrots for > > the hybrid horse and roasted beast for themselves. > > > > 2 > > > > "What's all this, then?" Uncle Walt awoke with a > > tart. "Once?" he > > yelled. "Where is that pesky badger?" Carefully > > smearing the remains > > of his last bottle of bright orange nail varnish > > into his hair, he > > feebly crawled out of the hole. Lulu, meanwhile, > > disappeared into a > > cravat. > > > > "There's wild weasels in there, I tells ya. I don't > > want to go to the > > steak house no more!" Several of the badgers > > loitering around the > > enormous bonfire giggled loudly. Once kept his head > > down. Uncle Walt > > in this mood... best keep out of his way. A > > wolverine, hiding in a > > nearby double-decker laundry basket chuckled quietly > > to himself. He > > had a variety of chuckles but preferred the quietly > > one. Wait till I > > tell the others, he thought to himself. > > > > 3 > > > > Later that same day, 3,000 red-headed women > > converged on the small > > appliance department at St Macy's, home to the > > partridge of man's > > desire and woman's loathing. There was a sale, you > > see. Yousee left > > the apartment in a shambles. Tucking it under her > > badger, she moved > > the entire affair slightly to the south of Turkey. > > "What's all this > > then?!" shouted Blarney the turkey buzzard. "This > > doesn't look like a > > chestnut to me, it looks more like a shrunken head > > from the > > Ooompungokoonoo Indians of Skull Island!" > > > > "It's the one I've been looking for," screamed the > > turkey buzzard as > > if pole-axed, "For nearly 300 years our family have > > searched the seven > > seas and thirteen ponds of Umpklah to find the > > sacred shrunken head of > > Saatchi the Flame God - I can't believe you had it > > under your badger > > all this time!" > > > > "Neither can I," said Blarney with a withering > > smile. He had other > > smiles but the withering one was his favourite. > > > > As they sat contemplating this new find a strange > > and eerie noise > > assailed their ears, Blarney decided to look within > > his badger for > > Turkey basting apparatus. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to > > Blarney, the > > Ooompungokoonoo Indians of Skull Island were busy > > making plans of > > their own. Lulu crawled out of the cravat and > > prepared breakfast for > > Uncle Walt. All of this activity occurring elsewhere > > soon caused poor > > Blarney to tire. He decided to take a nap... > > > > A strange dream percolated through his brainbox, > > flickering like one > > of Logi Bairds firsts contraptions and fizzed > > horribly. Pop! A > > balloonish elf in purple jodhpurs and cravat > > exploded overhead and a > > rain of tiny elf clones came giggling down. The > > wardrobe was moving > > mysteriously and shape shiftingly. It threw open its > > flappy doors > > like the jowls of a huge dog. Dribble flew out like > > moldy tapioca and > > caught Blarney full in the mush. On cue, from within > > the fleshy wardrobe > > - troupes of badgers, weasels, stoats and wolverines > > came marching out > > all with guns over their shoulders and wearing smart > > uniforms and > > regalia usually worn by the Grenadiers and Irish > > Fusiliers. Trumpets and > > bugles blared the Smurfs Marching Song and a fairy > > orchestra on a > > revolving dinner plate came whirring about Blarneys > > astonished head like > > a tiny Frisbee. With all the din he hadn't realised > > his lower half was > > sinking slowly into some custard-like stuff that > > oozed from the ground > > about his knees. "Cripes!" he yelped, as the custard > > rose higher and his > > > > knees sank lower... > > > > 4 > > > > "What's all this, then?" Uncle Walt awoke with a > > tart. "Once?" he > > yelled. "Where is that pesky badger?" Carefully > > smearing the remains > > of his last bottle of bright orange nail varnish > > into his hair, he > > feebly crawled out of the hole. Lulu, the tart, > > looked at him > > disparagingly. She had other looks but disparaging > > was her favourite. > > "You've been re-living the past again, as though it > > was happening all > > over again," she said. > > > > "Damn," Uncle Walt drawled. Where's that badger, > > Once?" > > "I'm here," Once answered through the > > TemporalTimeGate (tm) > > "If I've told you once, Once," Walt said, "I've told > > you..." > > There was an almighty noise, a screech, a smidgeon, > > a thumpyclumpybumpy > > existential, serious and yet soft-stockinet kind of > > stony > > paintbrush-beset-by-wolverines kind of noise. Uncle > > Walt pulled his > > voluminous cravat tighter and pulled his > > i-TimeDisplacer (tm) from the > > folds of his thigh-fur. He punched in Zonograph, the > > owl-elf's number. > > From deep within Lulu giggled. > > > > 5 > > > > Ludwig, the erstwhile butler and badger > > baiterribleedinglendervish of > > Vincent and Cara Van Hire, still wearing his magic > > asbestos > > underpants, awoke with three tarts and asked > > himself: > > > > "What is the nature of the information that I am > > gaining? Is my > > construction of history becoming detrimental?" > > > > Whereupon he spontenantaliasly > > blurterupterucusurburped the following > > ditty: > > > > "Let Badger be and Wolverine > > Escape to one of many oceans > > In waterwheels of aquamarine > > Let them play in scattered notions > > Let them see and let them pray > > And drink in corresponding potions > > While moon and stars circulate" > > > > "Tea and crumpets anyone," Once said. > > > > 6 > > > > Uncle Walt drawled, "There's wild weasels in there, > > I tells ya. I > > don't want to go to the steak house no more!" For > > nearly 300 years our > > family have searched the seven seas and the tallest > > owl elf snuffed > > his warps harp. The badgers, for now there were > > five, all grabbed the > > reins of the milkman's horse, Monarch. > > > > Blarney decided to look within her badger for Turkey > > basting > > apparatus. She had other looks but disparaging was > > her favourite. > > There was a sale, you see. Tucking it under her > > badger, she moved the > > entire affair slightly to the south. Ludwig had > > fallen onto the milk > > cart. Monarch looked back with resignation. This was > > not the first time > > that Ludwig had done this and Uncle Walt suspected > > that it would also > > not be the last. Blarney, oblivious to these goings > > on, looked ever > > deeper within his badger. He was having trouble > > deciding upon his > > gender. Such inconsistencies, he often thought, gave > > historians a bad > > name. Meanwhile, back at the farm Sir Monte Garghoul > > was bathing his pet > > kebab, Stanley, in the butler's sink and whistling > > an old Hungarian > > folk ditty through his cracked and yellow stained > > teeth. Taking the > > loofer in his gnarled old aristocratic hands he > > splashed the milky suds > > over the draining board and half the kitchen > > shouting, "Avast me > > hearties! Away the scussocks! Ahahahhh!" Whilst the > > scullery maid Gladys > > cowered beneath the pile of broken plates and old > > rhubarb stalks under > > the butler's Vespa that was half dismantled on the > > roughly hewn kitchen > > table. > > > > Yep, there were weasels in them thar hills, no > > dyspepsia about that. > > They musta weaseled their baptuschkas while the rain > > was not cooking. > > And now all mighty and small had to deal with Uncle > > Walt's carnivorous > > laments, his curmudgenlyrumblings, his fittin' and > > his fartin'. He > > warblelywailed ; "Lulu! Can't we have peace for > > Once?" But Lulu didn't > > answer. "Lulu!" he yelled again. No reply. He shook > > the cravat crazily. > > No Lulu appeared. Where was she? She had never > > deserted a cravat before, > > he knew. > > > > 7 > > > > At the watering hole, Meg and Later, the lap dog, > > now fast friends, were > > busy sipping distilled nepenthe and making ambrosia > > in anticipation of > > Once's upending arrival: green grain, mushrooms, > > flour, tangerine, mini > > marshmallows, lemon juice, ketchup, melon, milk, > > chestnuts, toasted > > pineapple and rhubarb. Served on heaping mended > > platters of tarts, > > crumpets, crispy potato peelings, carrots and > > refried custard. > > "I'll just pop to the deli," Later woofed. "I think > > the mixture needs a > > tad more marrow jelly. > > With Later gone, Meg found her mind drifting back to > > pleasanter days. A > > voice jarred her from her wistful meanderings. > > "Who are you?" she stuttered and took a step > > backward from the demonic > > figure clutching the potato masher. > > "You may call me Lulu," the figure said. But history > > will know me by a > > different name. She raised the masher menacingly. > > "No. no. no." > > Lulu chuckled. "I know what you are thinking," she > > said. "There's never > > a wolverine around when you want one. > > Meanwhile. IN A FOREST CLEARING SOMEWHERE IN > NOTTINGHAMSHIRE. > Bold Sir Robin of Poxly is prancing about in his green > tights to the sound of some badgers playing lutes and > crumhorns. Tra-la-lalla-la-oink! He trips over a pig > and jumps up as if nothing has happened. "Prithee me > fine damsel, what dust thou goest in fine vestments?" > The pig wanders off looking back distainfully and > vanishes into the green sward. The sound of gay > laughter fills the forest as the Merry Men and a fat > friar stumble into the clearing and wave at Robin with > their feathery hats and quivers. "Cooeee!" > Suddenly a loud gnawing sound makes them all shreik > with fright as through the trees comes.......the army of the nomad slasher. > > > > > > > > Send instant messages to your online friends http://uk.messenger.yahoo.com >
