It’s truly amazing, the trouble you can get into on the water. You don’t need to have even a vague idea of what to do. Anyone, literally, can obtain a boat and take it out for a dose of oblivion: no license, no training, required. “Gee, lookit the size o’ them there breakers! Let’s steer right into ’em!” And there’s always the temptation to jump off a bridge and try to land on the boat just passing under it. Somehow I’ve always been able to resist it. But not everybody does.
In Chapter CCCLXXI of Violet Crepuscular’s epic romance, Oy, Rodney, the wedding of Lady Margo Cargo and Lord Jeremy Coldsore is off again: the vicar is having a very bad bout of conniptions. But these, we learn, are special conniptions, unrelated to the strange events around the vicar’s backyard wading pool.
“He gets these around this time every year,” says the vicar’s housekeeper, Mrs. Whatsername. “Twenty-seven years ago, he was a young missionary in the Fistula Islands, with a tiny little church in Port Zitzmann. He taught the natives to wear trousers–although to this day they insist on wearing them backwards.”
“What’s so terrible about that?” wonders Jeremy.
“He was at Port Zitzmann when the giant prawns attacked it. He’s never been the same since. When he remembers this traumatic experience, he simply goes to pieces.”
Lord Jeremy nods understandingly. “Bad show, that–I remember reading about it in Sir Ranulph Frump’s Magazine for Precocious Boys. How long do these conniptions last?”
“It depends on how recently I’ve served him prawns for dinner,” explains the housekeeper. “I keep forgetting not to do that.”
Here Ms. Crepuscular breaks into the narrative to relate a fascinating detail of her personal life. “Most of you, dear readers, don’t know this,” she writes, “but when I was 12 years old, I met Hopalong Cassidy–the man himself!–at our local Woolworth’s store. He predicted I would marry a man who owns an alligator farm. I’m still waiting for that prediction to come true!”
While we’re still trying to figure out why she has shared that with us, the chapter comes to an end with a runaway locomotive being pulled under the wading pool, never to be seen again.
G’day! Byron the Quokka here–and as you can see in the picture, we’re all working like galley slaves to try to fix this blog. July really clobbered it, what with all those internet outages and such.
Here at Quokka U., we’re toiling behind the scenes to try to breathe life back into this blog. I could tell you about some poor blighter whose blood pressure monitor gave up the ghost this morning, but he told me not to mention it, so I won’t.
At the highest level, the thinking is that if there were more on this blog about pick-up sticks, it’d keep viewers coming back for more.
It’s hard, though, to get proper pick-up sticks video. This one comes with a clumsy human who wouldn’t last five minutes in a game against a quokka.
There’s also some support for upping the stakes in the comment contests–like that time we gave away the Mona Lisa as a prize. It wasn’t my fault we had to give it back.
Note: I don’t want to cover the nooze today, on our anniversary. But some stories just can’t be left alone. Like this one.
Bad enough your mother names you “Caliban.” Bad enough you’re hypersensitive about your height and everybody therefor calls you “Shorty,” just to wind you up. But for Caliban “Shorty” Frantageous, the real hardship was not being able to live out his dream.
I have this story from an informed source.
Frantageous’ dream was to be a hot-shot lawyer trying a high-profile criminal case, with the whole world watching–and winning it, hands down. He wound up on a series of loading docks instead; and as his 60th birthday dawned, it came to him that now he was too old to go to law school. His dream had slipped through his fingers forever. He would never be called a real-life Perry Mason.
Ah! Mr. Frantageous is resourceful. What if he were to commit a high-profile, serious–even monstrous–crime, and then insist on his right to conduct his own defense? What if he got himself off?
This is how he came to rob the laundromat at the Sunnydale nudist camp. The gory details of this disgusting crime will not be mentioned by me.
In due course the case came to trial–and Shorty Frantageous was ready. He dazzled the country with his self-taught lawyer’s footwork. His arguments left hostile witnesses speechless. And the climax of the case, when the probably entirely innocent pizza delivery man broke down in court and confessed that he’d done it–well, what was to compare with it? It was a dream come true.
I relate this story purely for your edification and enjoyment.
You’ll have to pardon the headline. I couldn’t resist it.
Some of these babies are pretty rough on the cat, but the cats are careful not to rough the baby. Heck, one of these cats is bigger than the baby. If you wonder about the value of these interactions, judge them by the babies’ laughter.
Heer at the Stoodint Soviet we has “bin” wundering lyke Crazy “wat” To Ban necksed!!! One gye he “whanted” “to” ban Vowelcaynose butt we hasnt got one “Of” thoze! Somb boddy Elss thay whanted to Ban meeat and maik evry boddy “be” Veggians but It have all reddy bin done lots “Of” tymes “and” wee whanted somb Thing noo!!!!! And then finelee our cheaf commassarr ze sayed we shood Ban Wite Peeple!!!!!
First we thinked It “was” “a” Grate Idear but thenn sumb Boddy thay sayed but “moast Of us wee Are wite” “and haow Are we sapozed to Ban Our Selfs??”?” Wel as yiu Can eezally amajin it reely Puzzzled us foar Quyte A Wile!!!! Butt that “was” ownlie untill sumb Boddy elss thay sayed we cood “jist” “Ban” the lettor W!!!!! Jist not say it Or rite It anny moar!!!!!!!!! So iff we whanted “to” say frinstints “Awl wite peeple They “are” Racists then” we wood has to say “Awl Ite peeple thay “Are” Racists!!!””! And wurds like With and Wash and Wommbat thay wood be Ith and Ash and Ommbat!!! Watt cood “be” Simmpuller??? OOps!! I shood of sayed Att cood be Simmpuller! This heer it “is” “nott” as Eezy as it Loooks!!!
Of coarse it “is” diffakult to think Of “al that” menny Ords (sea, i got it that tyme!!) Itch has a W in themb!!! i cood onlee think of Nyne oar Ten my self!!!! And then sumb Boddy thay sayed “Itts hot in heer, open a Winn Doe”” and he shoor gotted a Saprize wen–oh dam! He got beet up and then i got beet up for not saying En!!! My moth antenners thay all-most gotted puled Out “bye” The rooots!!!!!
If thiss it Orks out then E Ill Ban anether Lettor neckst Eeek!!!!!!