Tag: Oy Rodney

Keeping Up With Violet Crepuscular

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Oy Rodney – Lee Duigon

All right! Who here thinks it’s easy to keep up with Violet Crepuscular and her hysterical romance, Oy, Rodney? Bang your head on the table if it’s you.

She blames it all on me, of course. “You call yourselves an editor? Pfaah!

“Yeah, okay,” she admits: “I’m the one who brought in the June Taylor Dancers and the woolly mammoths. I didn’t know they were going to dry up your brain! Sheesh, I thought you were going to use them! Serves me right for thinking I oughtta has an editor.”

[My reply: “Ah, Violet, Violet! They should’ve named you Venus Flytrap.

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“I have raised you from obscurity, and you bite me in the tuchas! Now we have 500-plus chapters of drivel. And it’s not my fault! Again and again you have ignored my editorial suggestions. And this is what happens! Find yourself another editor.”]

She tried to have me arrested, but there is no law in the UK against quitting an impossible editorial job. But I found a note taped to my door.

“Your days they are numbered! Prepare to be Doomed!”

How do you prepare to be doomed?

 

Another Return of ‘Oy, Rodney’

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Oy Rodney – Lee Duigon

I am in hot water with Violet Crepuscular, the Queen of Suspense. I lost the last chapter of her immortal romance novel, Oy, Rodney. Being pretty freakin’ sick in the hospital for most of this year so far… “Is the most paltry excuse I ever heard!” she says.

I vaguely remember something about the June Taylor Dancers invading Scurveyshire, with woolly mammoths stepping on things. Sheesh, there were at least 536 chapters of that.

Well, if she thinks I’m going to rack my brain trying to find those chapters, she’s got another think coming. “I’m Spartacus!” Let’s see what she makes of that!

To the swarms of readers out there who’ve been hanging on Ms. Crepuscular’s every word, I can only suggest that maybe someday she’ll get back in form and we can all enjoy more tales of Lord Whatsisname and his American sidekick, Willis Something-or-Other.

The Return of the Return of ‘Oy, Rodney’

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Oy Rodney – Lee Duigon

If you see Violet Crepuscular coming, please let me know so I can try to get away.

The Queen of Suspense naturally blames me for not keeping up with her tempestuous romance novel, Oy, Rodney–like it was my fault she ran off with Mr. Pitfall and didn’t return until he actually fell into a pit! So Violet has 536 chapters written and not much to show for it.

[Violet Crepuscular’s rebuttal]

You landlubbers! You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things! I mean, the guy STOPS PUBLISHING my Oy, Rodney chapters and it’s like my fault??? And he won’t get away with hiding in the hospital for five months, either!! I swear, if I have to write my book myself, I’ll ding-dang do it!!! Do you hear me, Mr. Whatsisname? Raise your hand if you didn’t hear me say “Raise your hand!”

[End of rebuttal.]

See what I have to deal with? Note to Ms. Crepuscular: How am I supposed to edit and publish your chapters when you stop writing them? You haven’t submitted a chapter this year! Last we heard, you had the June Taylor Dancers invading Victorian Scurveyshire. Try editing that and see where it gets you!

I will not answer any more of your crude and graceless telegraphs. (Signed) The Editor

(Maybe I’d better take some kung-fu lessons…)

The Departure of the Mammoths (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Oy Rodney – Lee Duigon

The Queen of Suspense has done it again!

Remember, in Chapter DCCCIV of her soul-searing romance, Oy, Rodney, Coldsore Hall being targeted by a herd of woolly mammoths egged on by the June Taylor Dancers?

(What’s that? You don’t remember? Boy, you’re lucky this is not a college course!)

Well, in Chapter DCCCV, romance literature All-Star Violet Crepuscular has sprung her trap! Wow! Blows the reader right out of the water! Who could have possibly seen this coming?

“Lookit that, Germy!” expostulates Willis Twombley, the American adventurer who thinks he’s Sargon of Akkad. He has just shot another dancer off the back of a mammoth. “Them hairy elaphants–they’re retreating! We’ve won!”

“I say, old man, jolly good show!” sputters Lord Jeremy Coldsore. “But what’s that coming up the road?”

Stegosaurus: Bony Plates & Tiny Brain | Live Science

Yes! Constable Chumley’s worst childhood terrors have come true.

Lord Jeremy recognizes the threat. “Blimey! A stegosaurus!” he fanabulates. “I say, the sight of it has rather unmanned poor Chumley.”

“Think I ought to shoot him?” asks Sargon (now he’s got me doing it).

And here, to stack up suspense for the next installment, this chapter endeth.

A Difference of Opinion (‘Oy, Rodney)

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Oy Rodney – Lee Duigon

“There I was,” confides Violet Crepuscular to her scads ‘n’ scads of readers, “all set to launch into Chapter DXXXIV of my timeless romance novel, Oy, Rodney, when up to my tastefully parked car strides a tall, gaunt, spidery-looking man who licks my car window until I roll it open.”

“What have you done with Chapter DXXVIII?”he demands, in exactly the kind of voice a big fat spider would have if spiders could talk.

“I didn’t know what he was talking about,” she reports to police. “You should find him easily enough–he has to be eight feet tall!”

“Why don’t you put him in your book?” asks the hard-boiled detective. “He might not be able to find his way out.”

This has never occurred to her before. What if she really could write people into her books? All those politicians and half-baked movie actors, suddenly stranded in Victorian Surveyshire!

“Stay tuned, dear reader!” she garffles.

‘Oy, Rodney’ Wins Literary Prize

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Oy Rodney – Lee Duigon‘

We do not have, today, a Chapter DXXXIII of Violet Crepuscular’s classic romance novel, Oy, Rodney. Her neighbor (and would-be suitor), Mr. Pitfall, took her out to dinner last week; and as they sat at their table in Leroy’s Jade Pagoda, something wonderful happened.

Just as she was digging into her fried rice with maple syrup and Ipana toothpaste, a waiter came to her table and handed her a telegraph… the contents of which made her extremely giddy.

“It’s from Prince Ulio of Portugal, our beloved queen’s nephew thrice removed.” (“Removed where?” wonders Mr. Pitfall. “Did he deserve removing?”) “And guess what!” Violet cackles uncontrollably. “His committee has just awarded me the Pedro Alamagache Prize for Romance Novels That No One in Portugal Has Ever Read!”

Mr. Pitfall can’t quite catch up. “What beloved queen?” he wonders.

“Does it matter which one? Look, here’s the prize!” she exfoliates. “It’s a CD of Lothar and the Hand People, all their greatest hits.”

Lothar & the Hand People | Profile | Colorado Music Experience

Mr. Pitfall shakes his head. “I think those guys patched my back porch roof once, back around 1970,” he said. “But that’s all I can remember. It wasn’t a good decade for me: too many concussions.”

Violet is ecstatic. “This makes it all worth while!” she flibbers. “The pain, the sacrifice, the cruel indifference of the public, the mockery, the sleepless nights–

She sighs. “Let’s have more of those Crest egg-rolls,” she swanders.

 

Lord Jeremy and the Harpies (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Oy Rodney – Lee Duigon

As we move into Chapter DXXXII of her immortal classic romance, Oy, Rodney, author Violet Crepuscular challenges us with exotic prose. The chapter opens with a speech by Constable Chumley. See what you can make of it.

“Yon briggage hath a sawney plock, but ather skeel shell veck thee.”

Meanwhile, Lady Margo Cargo has found harpies squatting in her attic. “I want something done about it!” she expostulates.

“I’m kind of busy, old thing,” replies Lord Jeremy Coldsore. Egged on by the June Taylor Dancers, woolly mammoths prepare to assault the gates of Coldsore Hall.

Jason and the Argonauts (1963) - Attack... - Monster Fan ...

Harpies also habituate the outdoors.

But wait! Mr. Pitfall is at the door, with a box of candy; he is Ms. Crepuscular’s suitor.

(All right, all right, I hear you! “What kind of candy?” you inquire. As if it was important! Well, I don’t know what kind of candy! I’m busy with these harpies.)

Mr. Pitfall will not be denied. He presses his ear to the letter slot and hears the familiar sound of Ms. Crepuscular ululating in her kitchen. (She is trying to imitate what she imagines to be woolly mammoth noises.) He knocks vigorously.

The Queen of Suspense looses a blood-curdling scream.

And then silence. (Isn’t that suspenseful! Wow!)

Where’s Violet? (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Oy Rodney – Lee Duigon

I’m already running low on gas this morning, and I don’t need extra agita. Nevertheless, I find I’m short an episode of Oy, Rodney, Violet Crepuscular’s tempestuous Victorian romance set in the jungles of Scurveyshire, in southern England.

We have a recent page of her diary, found abandoned on her coffee table. Here is what I would consider a revealing excerpt.

Feb. 28: I can’t go on!  “So don’t,” says Mr. Pitfall, my neighbor. He has a passion for me that burns like something real hot, but I can’t think of what. He thinks I should have stopped Oy, Rodney at Chapter 531.

What to do, what to do? Mammoths at the gates of Coldsore Hall, warming up to break through the doors. Mr. Pudding has been eaten! And the June Taylor Dancers are on the warpath. Willis Twombley, the American adventurer who thinks he’s Sargon of Akkad, wants to start picking them off with his hunting rifle. I try to dissuade him: “It’s not on, old boy.” “Dagnabbit, Germy, that sure is dissuasive,” he replies. Then he shoots another one.  Oh those Americans.

Meanwhile Mr. Pitfall is nagging me to run away with him. “This here passion of mine,” he said, “will make you think you’ve gone to Heaven early! Let’s start packing–do you want this Mandrake the Magician T-shirt? I once–“

And there it ends, only the one leaf torn from the diary.

I think I’ll go make mud pies.

 

Alas, Mr. Pudding!

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Oy Rodney – Lee Duigon

We expected great things from Mr. Pudding and His Newts. Violet Crepuscular, the Queen of Suspense, had promised them to us! Sort of, at least.

But as we enter Chapter DCCCXXXI (or whatever–ask me if I care), we are informed that Mr. Pudding has been trodden underfoot by the stampeding mammoths, and then picked up and eaten by the Cyclops.

Meanwhile, we have a letter from one of our readers… a Mrs. Hobbity Smith from Fort Mange, North Dakota [sound of envelope being torn open].. I’ll read it for you.

“Dear Ms. Crepuscular, Whoever you are–

“Your misbegotten novel, Oy, Rodney, once seemed likely to blossom into great things. It was wonderful! But I’m afraid the last hundred chapters or so would have turned out better if they’d been written by monkeys.

“I challenge you, I dare you, to write one–just one!–reasonable, entertaining, and coherent chapter of this so-called romance. Ye gods, how many chapters has it been since the title character, “Rodney,” was even mentioned?”

That’s as far as I’m going to read. It really is a very harsh letter. I am told Ms. Crepuscular’s mother used to write even nastier letters to all sorts of people who weren’t expecting them.

How do we keep Violet from seeing Mrs. Hobbity Smith’s letter? That could wind up in a duel!

Enter the Cyclops (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Oy Rodney – Lee Duigon

Suddenly the sun was blotted out, and the great horned head, its one eye shining in the fog like a polished spatula before it scoops up any pancakes, slowly rises over the humped back of Pnath Hill… It is the Cyclops.

That quote comes straight out of Chapter 531 (or whatever) of Violet Crepuscular’s immoral classic, Oy, Rodney. If you’re looking for interminable romance with bells attached, pilgrim, you’ve found it!

But back to the Cyclops!

From his perch on the root of Coldsore Hall, the American adventurer Willis Twombley, who thinks he’s Sargon of Akkad, ostentatiously takes aim at the cyclops’ single eye.

“If there’s anything I hate,” he cackles, “it’s a fake cyclops. Those dang-nab Elamites were always trying to run that scam. Well, here comes payback!”

Lord Jeremy Coldsore interrupts, with an unbecoming belch. “I say! Won’t that gentleman get rather fierce, if you take pot shots at him?”

“You just leave the cyclops to me, Germy!”

He takes careful aim, checks which way the wind is blowing… and shoots.

The bullet pings off the cyclops’ horn and wounds a woolly mammoth who has already been winged once and isn’t happy about it.

With an ear-piercing trumpet, the mammoth bears down on Lord Jeremy’s front door.

“And that’s all you get for now!!” adds Ms. Crepuscular. “There is a point where shilly-shallying must give way to pure suspense, or the reverse will happen and then you have a stupid book.”

Is the woolly mammoth really on the brink of being ...

(An Elamite hoax?)