Scurveyshire’s Reddle Craze

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Introducing Chapter CCCXCIII (Chapter CCCXCII seemed to be missing) of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, Violet Crepuscular writes, “Olaf Skraeling’s diabolical plan to win the hand of Lady Margo Cargo by disguising himself as a reddleman has worked too well! All of Scurveyshire has gone absolutely mad for reddle-ing (or should it be ‘reddling’?), and he suddenly has so much business that he has no time to woo the rich widow!”

She takes the opportunity to soliloquize about the pitfalls of crime, adding certain lewd comments about her neighbor, Mr. Pitfall. We will spare the reader. Feel free to tear out those two dozen pages.

Suddenly everyone in Scurveyshire wants everything reddled–doors and windows, dogs, children, tools, underclothes… “They’ve all gone mad!” cries Lord Jeremy Coldsore. They have even reddled the bearded barmaid at The Lying Tart. Desperate to curb the craze, Lord Jeremy summons Constable Chumley and orders him to arrest the reddleman.

“Withy me aw’ yon firthin mizzle, m’lord,” demurs the constable. His keen police instincts aroused, he already knows the reddleman is none other than Mr. Skraeling, and therefor that worst of all malefactors–a fraudulent reddleman.

“Just do it!” sighs Lord Jeremy.

As for Lady Margo, now that her upholstered wooden leg has been duly reddled, she has attempted to play hop-scotch with some of the reddled children. Hopping awkwardly from one box to the next, her glass eye falls out and shatters on the slate. The children, horrified, run away screaming.

“I must now interject my recipe for cat-food turnovers with a dab of toothpaste on the crust,” Violet interjects. It plays hob with the novel’s continuity.

Souper Man he Is Woke!!!!

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We hadded a spacial lexture in Nothing Studies this moaning it “was” All Abuot Souper Hearose exspatially Souper Man!!! I seen a Souper Man Moovy oncet but “I” “nevver” readed the boocks be Couse thare whas “tooo menny” Big Wurds in themb!!

So too-day “we” lurnt All Abuot Souper Man and hiss gurlfrend Lowest Lain,, and haow “he” “Puts” clotheses on sow he “canbe” Kunta Kinte i think thats “The” nayme!! He “and” Lowest thay Are boath Nooze Repotters!!!!

Souper Man he flyes al Aruoand the sitty so “he Can” Bust crimbinnles for Climbit Chainge DeNile, Miss Jendering, In Come Innyquailitty, Trans Fobbier, And SISTEMBIC RACISM (that Is “the” Big One!!)!!

Somb tyimes “he” “gets” Help fromb Utther Souper Hearose like Batt Man, Spyder Man, and Black Lies Mater!!! Oncet thay All whurked Toogetthar to Bust a “Churtch” ware the Minnistor he woodnt do Gay Marridge!!!! The Souper Hearose thay “had” “To” “Fihght” thare whay past Three Olled Laydys whoo was puting Flours in the Churtch Whindose!!!!

Fromb nhaow Onn, himb and Lowest Lain thay are goingto Fihght Wyte Privlidge and Trans Fobbier Et.c.!!

And I amb hapy thay “are” goingto Taik “a lot” Of themb Big Whurds ouat “Of” the Commick Boocks so i Can reed themb!!!!!!!

Dare to Be Nuts

jitka on Twitter: "this picture proves that the straight jacket napoleon  hat combo archetype is not something I imagined. it's real… "

You’ve heard, haven’t you? Sanity’s out! And if you want to get in on the ground floor of the new regime, you’ve got to start with a big splash. You’ve got to get noticed! They’re looking for inmates to run the asylum–it could be you!

Start out by going trick-or-treating sometime after Thanksgiving. The experts are divided on whether or not you ought to wear a costume as you go door-to-door; they’re also divided as to which is better, doing this in your own neighborhood or someplace else where nobody knows you. Either way, you’ll get noticed! Either way, for that matter, you just might get arrested. But don’t worry about that: the regime will soon see that you’re got just the kind of talent that they’re looking for.

If trick-or-treating in December doesn’t work, call yourself “the President-Elect” and start appointing known left-wing burnouts to your non-existent cabinet. Don’t worry if hardly anyone attends your press conferences: that didn’t stop Joe Biden, did it? And don’t worry about him already saying he’s the President-Elect. He won’t notice if there’s more than one. The more, the merrier!

Don’t forget, it’s not just politics–they’re looking for nuts to take over everywhere. That’s why it’s so important to be creative. Sew your face mask onto your face! Pee on people who stand too close to you! Call the Chinese embassy and ask for Xi Jin Ping’s autograph, promising in return to become his slave for life. There’s more than one way to become a college president, a Hollywood producer, or a climate scientist!

 

Enter the Reddle Man! (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Well, she did warn us that Olaf Skraeling is an unsuccessful forger. His forged letter to Lady Margo Cargo, intended to break up her impending marriage (it’s been impending for a long time!) to Lord Jeremy Coldsore has been exposed as a fraud–by a seven-year-old child, no less!

But you can’t keep a bad man down: such is the message of Chapter CCCXCI of Violet Crepuscular’s epic romance, Oy, Rodney.

With his letter to Lady Margo exposed as yet another clumsy forgery, Mr. Skraeling has gone undercover, disguised as a reddle man.

“I know, dear readers,” writes Violet, “that the only way most of you will know what a reddle man is is if you had to read The Return of the Native in high school and for some reason remember it. I thought it was going to be a Tarzan book, myself. But it does feature a character who is by trade a reddle man!” She goes on and on without remembering to tell us what a reddle man is. My best guess is that it’s a man who reddles.

In this diabolically clever disguise, alleged Welshman Olaf Skraeling sets about wooing Lady Margo and stealing her affections. His first step is to offer to reddle her upholstered wooden leg. “No one in London, Milady, would be caught dead with a wooden leg that isn’t reddled!” he declares. “I can do it for you in a single day–as a tribute to your beauty.” Lady Margo, I regret to say, is a sucker for that kind of talk.

“What can I do?” wails Lord Jeremy. “How can I compete with anything so exotic as a reddle man?”

“Chin up, Germy!” says his boon companion, the American adventurer Willis Twombley. Lady Margo still thinks he and Lord Jeremy are the same person. “Why, even a blind man could see that that there reddle man isn’t the real McCoy, but only that varmint Skraeling in disguise. You better let me shoot him. We can dump the body under the vicar’s backyard wading pool.”

“And have Scotland Yard detectives back here quicker than boiled asparagus?” cries Jeremy. “No thanks! No, old chap, we need a plan more subtle than that. We have to expose the reddle man as a fake. Now then, how do we do that?”

“In the next chapter,” Violet promises her readers, “I’ll explain exactly how to go about exposing a fraudulent reddle man. I am sure some of you will find it useful!”

How Dominion Software Chooses the World’s Leaders

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An executive vice president of Dominion software has reportedly bragged that Dominion’s computers (especially the “Hugo Chavez Hustler” model) tampered with national elections in Bazukastan last year to get a tree stump elected president.

“It was an experiment,” said (allegedly) Dominion honcho Antonio Pendejo, “and boy did it ever work! Schiff, man–we got a tree stump elected president!”

Asked, “Could you do it in a modern country like the United States?”, Mr. Pendejo replied, “We just did!”

The tree stump that is now president of Bazukastan does not even have a name. Dominion has suggested holding a “Name the President” contest. Unofficially, many people in Bazukastan have already dubbed the president “that ^%$#$# tree stump.”

Meanwhile, reporters have found Mr. Pendejo’s apartment vacated, his office cleaned out, and and his next-door neighbors cringingly insisting that they never heard of him.

Mind Controwl it Is Freeedum!!!!

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Well!! Us Interllecturals we has got “a” Big Job ahed “Of” us!!! We has to tern al themb Trumpt voaters into Pragressivs!!!!!

Thare “are” ownly abuot 7 thowsind “of” themb but evin “that” it Is a lott!!!!! Thay has got “to be” rownded Up and put “In” spacial Reeeddication Camps and mayby Shot,, too!! becose thay “are” all Biggits and Haters “and” Racists!!!

Heer “at” Collidge we Are seting “Up” a Camp,, thay whil has to spleep in Cardbored Bockxes and ownly ware Undees untill thare Minds are rihght and ownly Then wil thay Urn The rihght to ware shurts “and” shoos!!!!

Ownly then wil thay Be Freee!!!!!!!!!!

Thare can ownle be Freeedum wen yiu has to do Evry Thing the Govvermint says and say Evry Thing the Govvermint says and think Evry Thing that Evry Boddy else thay “are” thinking and witch “The” Govvermint says is O Kay to think!!!!

Haow do yiu Re-Pogrom alll themb Biggits?? Rembemember it is foar thare “own” Goood!!! And aslo “the” ownle reel Freeedum is wen yiu Do “waht” The Govvermint thay “tell” yiu to do!! (Evin Doktor Fochee he says so tooo!!!) This hear It Is a vary impotant Lessen we has lurnt “fromb The” Peeples Repulbick of Chyner!!!!

Aslo thay wil has “to” Kiss the Foot on our Statchoo of Pressadint Obamma!! Then thay “wilbe” trooly Freee!!!!!!!!!!!!

A Sad Day for Quokka U.

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G’day! Byron the Quokka here, with distressing news from Quokka University.

Before we could open our doors to our first class, we’ve had to fire the chairman of our Philosophy Dept., who was also going to teach all the philosophy courses.

We began to have doubts about him a few weeks ago when he started confronting quokkas and asking questions that we couldn’t answer. Like these.

“What did Thutmosis III say when he ran out of potato chips?”

“What is the difference between here and there?” (That one always made him laugh maniacally.)

“How do you tell which ants in the anti-hill are racists?”

So that’s that for Professor Humphrey Dumfries. He has since sent us this post card.

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You are probably thinking he has been committed to a hospital. In fact, he was almost instantly hired by Rutgers University in America, to head their Philosophy Dept. They only make him wear the straitjacket so he won’t harm anybody during his lectures.

As for us, we suddenly find ourselves without a Philosophy Dept. There is a cuscus who might agree to chair it, if she can overcome her shyness.

Mr. Skraeling’s Revenge (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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You would think, with the curse of the Bug-Men lifted and nothing left to do but round up the sated chameleons who feasted on the Bug-Men until none were left in Scurveyshire, that all was well and nothing remains but to get Lord Jeremy Coldsore and Lady Margo Cargo married. If only life were that simple.

For Olaf Skraeling, the owner of all those chameleons, double-crossed in his plan to marry Lady Margo himself, has vowed revenge. Introducing Chapter CCCXC (the Roman numerals are getting tricky) of her interminable–sorry, I mean “epic”!–romance, Oy, Rodney, Violet Crepuscular writes, “Olaf Skraeling is a Welshman, dear readers, and all Welshmen are able to do black magic–or at least know someone else who can. Scurveyshire knows Mr. Skraeling as an impoverished and unsuccessful forger, but he is much more than that! He is also a master of deceit.”

On this ominous note, we join Mr. Skraeling as he forges a letter to Lady Margo that’s supposed to be from Lord Jeremy. It reads thus:

“Dear Lady Margo Cargo, Its me Lord Jerramy and this is to tell you that i dont whish to marry you anymore! So you better marry Mr. Olaff Skraeling insted, he is a very nice man! Yours truely Lord Jerramy Coldsore (not a nice man!).”

The crusty old butler, Crusty, hands the letter to Lady Margo on a silver platter.

Upon reading it, she sighs, “How romantic!”

“Eh?” marvels Crusty. “Why, the man’s a total blackguard! You should sue him for breach of promise.”

“You have no romance in your soul, Crusty!”

“And you’re a daft old trout,” rejoins the butler.

“I wonder what’s happened to Jeremy’s handwriting,” Lady Margo muses. “It’s totally changed, I’d never think it was his, except he’s signed it, hasn’t he? Even his signature is totally different.”

“I’m sure he was drunk when he wrote it,” says Crusty.

Ms. Crepuscular closes the chapter: “Will this devious ploy succeed? Will Olaf Skraeling win the hand of the richest widow in Scurveyshire? Will he resort to black magic? The next chapter will tell all!”

Promises, promises…

Was Has Got “a” New Idle!!!!!

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See “that” pixture?? That thare is Our Deen Of Play-Doh and she “is” Shoing us the Faice “of” our noo Idle for us “to” warship Heer At Collidge!!!! It is the Idle of King Vyris!!! and evry boddy thay Has To baow daown “to” It!!!! Becose King Vyris he is goingto help Demmacratts whin al “The” Elexions fromb naow On!!!!!

It “is” impotent to Rememembar “that” this heer It Is Not Relijjin!!!!!! We “are” Interllecturals and we doughnt Beleave “in anny” Relijjin!!!! That is jist foar De-Ploarabbles!!!! and Bitter Clingers jist lyke Pressadint Obumma he sayed!!!!!!! But King Vyrus,, oncet we Set himb Up on Kampas,, he whil Anser Our Prares!!!!!! This heer it “is” cumpleatlee Diffrint fromb Relijjin!!

We “are” goingto Stop awl “the” Haters we are goingto Fix Themb but goood!!!!! Thay are awl goingto catch the Vyris and dye!!!!!!!!!! That is becose The Vyris it willl knot maik Peple Sic iff that are Woke and dooing Riots and otther Socile Jutstus stuph!!!!! It whil ownly kil yiu iff yiu “Are” a Whyte Privlij Biggit!!

And aslo we has toettle cumpleat Freeedim “Of” Relijjin heer at Collidge,, so anny one whoo woont warship King Vyris thay whil be kiccked Out of Collidge!!!!! We doo that to Cree-ate Divercity!!

I hoap we has enuff Play-Doh to maik A Grate Big Idle of King Vyris!!!

Lord Jeremy’s Conflict (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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“In Chapter CCCLXXXVIII, we left Lord Jeremy Coldsore confronted with an inner conflict,” writes Violet Crepuscular, introducing Chapter CCCLXXXIX of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney. “With all of Scurveyshire now infested with Bug-Men, does he meet Olaf Skraeling’s diabolical price for releasing his chameleons to eat the Bug-Men, and give him the hand of Lady Margo Cargo in marriage; or does he carry through his plan to marry Lady Margo himself, so that her vast wealth will serve to pay off his myriad creditors and leave him very much in the clover?” Never mind the dilemma: who ever heard of such a sentence?

Lady Margo does not want to marry Mr. Olaf Skraeling.

“I could never marry a Frenchman!” she declares.

“He’s Welsh,” answers Jeremy.

“Foreigners are all the same,” intones Lady Margo.

“He won’t release the chameleons unless you marry him!” cries Jeremy. “It’s the only way to save Scurveyshire!”

“It’ll be a Prussian or a Serbian next,” grumbles Lady Margo. “I thought you loved me, Willis!” She can’t tell the difference between Lord Jeremy and the American adventurer, Willis Twombley.

This conversation goes on for quite a while with nothing being resolved. “Lord Jeremy cannot decide whether to save himself or to save all Scurveyshire,” writes Ms. Crepuscular. “What would you do in his place, dear reader?”

Before the reader can answer, Constable Chumley, thoroughly misunderstanding his instructions, lets himself into Mr. Skraeling’s palatial hovel and releases the chameleons, who have a field day gulping down Bug-Men. The crafty Welshman is considerably upset by this. Meanwhile the Bug-Men flee back to wherever they came from: they just can’t stand chameleons.

“You have cheated me, Lord Jeremy!” growls Skraeling. “But I have powerful friends in high places, and your days are numbered!” He has grown a mustache for the occasion, which he now fingers in a sinister manner, anticipating a gesture made famous by silent movie villains.

The chapter closes with Ms. Crepuscular’s recipe for toothpaste dumplings.