Tag: Violet Crepuscular

Let the Party Begin!

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Tap the root beer keg! Break out the Monopoly game! Set up Pin the Tail on the Donkey! Let the imaginary party begin!

I forgot, in my eagerness to get the ball rolling, that my birthday this year falls on Mother’s Day. Well, then, bring your mother to the party! We won’t run out of food or fun. There are plenty of comfy chairs under the catalpa trees for those who’d just as soon take it easy. You don’t have to play horseshoes! And later we’ll have Mad Libs, so be sure to stick around for that. My mother always laughed herself silly, playing Mad Libs.

Yes, Norbert’s been invited. I think he just ran under the table over there. And Byron the Quokka is busy collecting comments for the comment contest. Violet Crepuscular should be here soon; Joe Collidge shouldn’t be here at all.

And we are taking hymn requests today, like every day.

We’re off to a pretty slow start, so spread the word–everyone’s invited, just drop in.

New Drug Makes You a Deep Thinker!

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New from Bustem Labs! “Profunditol” (TM) will turn you into a deep thinker rivaling the greatest philosophers and scientists of all time!

Accidently discovered while pursuing research into hair restoring creams, Profunditol’s effects were immediately apparent. “You eat a bowl of it, or put a couple of scoops of it on a sugar cone, and take it like it’s ice cream,” explained company janitor Sid Viscous. “It tastes terrible! But it’ll make you smarter in a hurry. Look at Joe Biden: he takes it every day.”

So does Violet Crepuscular, “But she’s now too smart,” said Viscous, “to do an endorsement for free.”

Profunditol is expected to transform the human race into vast multitudes of scientists, philosophers, artistes, and vagabonds.

Ask your community organizer about it today!

Queen Victoria Loves Willis Twombley! (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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We cannot find our regular illustration today. We hope this field guide to insects will be a satisfactory substitute.

Peterson Field Guide To Insects Of America North of Mexico 1970 Paperback Book | eBay

[Editor’s Note: Thanks to Phoebe for her profound Shakespearean insight.]

In Chapter CDXIX of Violet Crepuscular’s immortal, epic romance (Did he just say “immortal”?), Oy, Rodney, we learned that Willis Twombley, the American adventurer who thinks he’s Sargon of Akkad, had fallen passionately in love with Queen Victoria. Today in Chapter CDXX we learn… she loves him back.

Ms. Crepuscular explains: “Dear reader, who can unravel the exfoliations of the human heart? Some subtle nuance in Mr. Twombley’s love letter has lit a fire under Queen Victoria! Not literally, of course–you mustn’t take that literally. I prefer not even to imagine it!”

How do we know the queen returns Twombley’s passion? She has sent a special messenger to Scurveyshire: a servant with two heads and a hand, just like the one in Titus Andronicus. He is rather conspicuous, but his message is for Twombley’s eyes alone.

“Dear Mr. Twombley” (writes the Queen) “I yearn for you so bad, I could plotz! I love Albert, but oh, you kid! We must arrange for us to make whoopee. P.S.–I love your idea of me abdicating the throne of the British Empire and taking up a new career as a saloon girl! Mr. Disraeli will have a kazoo.”

Ms. Crepuscular temporarily suspends the story to address an issue raised by a superfluous–“vole,” I think she said.

“I have been accused of many things in my life,” she says–“barratry, counterfeiting, wasting police time, treason–but to be accused of willy-nilly blending the dress and customs of several different eras–! This is the most unkindest cut of all. Let anyone who thinks she can do better… just try! I triple-dog dare you!”

Revenge of the Lake Smelts! (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Lady Margo Cargo’s upholstered wooden leg seems to have a life of its own! (How’s that for a lead sentence? Nobody does it like Violet Crepuscular.)

In Chapter CDXIV of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, Ms. Crepuscular returns to the apocalyptic roller derby match pitting the visiting Ulan Bator Lake Smelts vs. the team from neighboring Plaguesby. Just as the game was getting to the point where none of the spectators would admit to ever having been in Plaguesby, or having any family there, or even knowing where it is, Lady Margo Cargo’s upholstered wooden legs goes flying out into the middle of the rink, instantly become a serious and even deadly hazard.

The Lake Smelts’ star jammer, Minnie Chukutai, is injured; well, rather badly injured, actually; in fact, killed outright. This inspires the Plaguesby squad to score a point while Ulan Bator reels in shocked disbelief.

“Please, dear reader,” inserts Ms. Crepuscular, totally destroying the flow of the narrative, “don’t take this to mean the city of Ulan Bator itself, halfway around the world and oblivious to events in Scurveyshire, has reeled in shocked disbelief. It’s only the surviving Lake Smelts. I almost forgot to mention that their Number Two veeble, Penny Subhoshmakov, has also come to an untimely end, having tripped over Lady Margo’s upholstered wooden leg while skating at some 60 mph.”

Meanwhile, to the horror of her crusty old butler, Crusty, Lady Margo has begun to crawl out onto the rink in an attempt to recover her upholstered wooden leg. This is just as the captain of the Lake Smelts, Miss Cindy Spatzinagatai, raises her several brawny arms and vows vengeance on all of Scurveyshire.

With a chill cry reminiscent of the days of Genghis Khan, the enraged Lake Smelts swarm over the rail…

“‘Tis maith yon abblemart fusstick, m’lord,” observes Constable Chumley. One cannot but agree.

Roller Derby Comes to Scurveyshire! (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Victorian roller derby

As every reader with nothing better to do will surely remember, Violet Crepuscular has left her readers wondering whether there are Picts hiding out in Scurveyshire and planning to use the ancient Pictish sport of roller derby to expel all the English out of England.

Introducing Chapter CDXI of her immortal epic romance, Oy, Rodney, Ms. Crepuscular addresses her readers thus: “Dear readers, I hope you don’t mind if I address you thus. It has become necessary for me to introduce a new character into the story: the plot cannot be carried forward without it. Without further ado, meet… Tom the Pict!”

Yes, alas, there is a Pict lurking among the gibbering masses of Scurveyshire. “You may wonder,” adds Violet, “what one measly Pict–” not a figure of speech: he really does have measles–“can do to evict the English from England. Please continue reading!”

Tom’s idea is to strike while everyone is attending the roller derby match between Plaguesby and Ulan Bator. Please don’t bother to write to Ms. Crepuscular to point out to her that Ulan Bator was certainly not called “Ulan Bator” during the Victorian Era. Her neighbor, Mr. Pitfall, flies into a rage whenever this topic is brought up.

Tom the Pict, the story continues, has successfully disguised himself as a normal person, and the measles deter anyone from getting too close. He only speaks Pictish when he talks to himself or to his pet snail, Rupert.

And everyone, but everyone, is going to be at that roller derby rink!

A Completely Unnecessary Flashback (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Oy Rodney – Lee Duigon

Introducing Chapter CDX of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, Violet Crepuscular writes, “Dear reader, in order to fully understand Chapter CDX of my epic romance, Oy, Rodney, it is necessary for us to go back in time some fifteen hundred years. This is what we writers call a flashback. Because we’re flashing back.”

What she’s leading up to is a discourse on the Picts, “the original inhabitants of Britain, who came to this happy isle, this seat of kings, from the Solomon Islands. To this day,” she babbles, “the trained ear can detect no difference between Pictish and Solomon Islandese. They also play several of the same board games.”

What does this have to do with anything? Oh, come now–you don’t think Ms. Crepuscular would ever leave us stranded in a non sequitur, do you?

She does point out that the Picts were responsible for people in ancient Britain getting rid of their trousers and wearing kilts instead. “It is because the Picts were invertebrate thieves,” she writes. I am not sure about that word “invertebrate.” Something’s wrong with it. “Many a Roman, reaching into his pocket for a denarius, to his dismay found all his pockets empty. This happened to so many people that they started referring to their empty pockets as ‘Pict Pockets.’ Later this referred to picked pockets of Pictish populations isolated in northern Britain and West Virginia.”

You learn something new every day.

“Getting to my point,” Violet promises, “as every schoolgirl knows, roller derby was the national pastime of the Picts and their gift to the world at large. And roller derby is coming to Scurveyshire! And what, dear reader, would happen if there were picked Picts secretly hiding out on Scurveyshire, waiting for the opportunity to cast all the foreigners out of Britain? And using roller derby to do it!”

But we will have to wait for another chapter to learn the answer to that question.

The Lovers’ Quarrel, and the Art of Dowsing

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Introducing Chapter CDIV (what happened to CDIII?) of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, Violet Crepuscular cites a fan letter she has received from Geoffrey the Dowser, of Ginseng Corners, Australia.

“Dear Mrs. Cripustuler,” he writes, “I have been reading your epic romance novel Oy Rodney for sevrul years and I could not help notcing youve got nothing in it about the ancient and Romantic art of dowsing. Please correct this, or i will stop reading!!”

In a confidential aside to the reader, Ms. Crepuscular rises to the challenge. “It’s as if Geoffrey has read my mind!” she ululates. “I can think of no better way to resolve a lovers’ quarrel than for the offending lover to appease the injured party by presenting her with an Acme Official Dowsing Kit! I had a lovers’ quarrel once, some 30 years ago, and when my boyfriend gave me a dowsing kit, I was off to the races!”

She has quite forgotten that today is Valentine’s Day. Oh, well.

With his author’s example to inspire him, Lord Jeremy has bought Lady Margo Cargo a fully-equipped dowsing kit, complete with Y-shaped willow dowsing rod and an instruction pamphlet.

“Oh, Jeremy!” she gushes. “I’m going to go out right away and find underground water, oil, treasure, and gold!”

Neither of them has thought of what perils might accrue to anyone dowsing in the vicinity of the vicar’s backyard wading pool: follow the flexing dowsing rod to an indescribably horrible doom.

Lady Margo’s crusty old butler, Crusty, has to accompany her with pick and shovel to dig wherever the dowsing rod points to. It has put him in a bad mood. Neither of them notices that the rod’s gyrations are leading them closer and closer to the fateful wading pool–which, when last heard of, sucked down a locomotive and several cars full of passengers.

“And here,” writes Violet, “in the interests of suspense, I must break the chapter. Think of it, dear reader! Will Margo and Crusty be sucked down under the wading pool? Or will they first uncover buried treasure–perhaps a hoard of gold coins deposited by a prehistoric king?” What this really means is that she doesn’t know what happens next.

We’ve Invented a New Word Game for You!

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G’day again! Not to hog the blog, and after all, Quokka University isn’t open yet–but this can’t wait!

In partnership with Violet Crepuscular, author of the epic romance, Oy, Rodney, our Quokka U. Dept. of Recreation Science has invented a new word game that anyone can play. All you need is a pencil and a piece of paper–or a jolly good memory.

The game is called Letter Rip. You start out with a word, or a two-word phrase, and one bonus letter that isn’t used in the target word or phrase. You then try to see how many four or five-letter words you can make from the letters in the target phrase–words that must begin with the bonus letter.

Example:

Target Phrase: Broken Vaporizer    Bonus Letter: C

And some of the 5-letter words we’ve made: crone, craze, caper, cobra, cover, carob, coven, crane… and so on.

There! Wasn’t that fun? Who says college isn’t good for anything!

Violet Crepuscular’s Fan Mail (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Introducing Chapter CDI of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, Violet Crepuscular takes a break from the plot and inserts extractions from some of her fan mail. She is hampered in this exercise by an inability to read. Otherwise she would never have let some of these letters see the light of day.

“It’s not that I can’t read at all,” she hastens to explain. “It’s just that I can’t read stuff that people write.” We are glad she’s cleared that up. “Fan mail,” she adds, “proves that you’ve got readers.”

From Cindy Indy, Rawalpindi: “Dear Ms. Crepuscular, your novel proves to be an effective decay-preventive dentifrice when used in a program of conscientious oral hygiene and regular professional care.”

Ozzie Spore, New York: “Your book is the only thing that keeps me living.”

Ms. June Spumoni, Bad Axe, Michigan: “My pet emu bit and kicked me after I lined his cage with pages from your wretched novel.”

Tom Popocatepetl, Jurassic Park, Hawaii: “How do you spell your name?”

“I have taken some flak for the elegant way in which I got rid of the monsters that had overrun Scurveyshire,” Ms. Crepuscular confides in her readers. She has run out of fan mail and needs to fill the rest of the chapter somehow. Harking back to her days in grade school, she writes in longhand, 100 times, “I must not waste paper.”

‘Oy, Rodney’ Triumphs, Wins Pulitzer

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I have to admit this headline is something less than honest. I’m afraid I got carried away by the readership’s enthusiastic support for Violet Crepuscular’s literary endeavors. The only reader who struck a sour note was some literary critic from The Philadelphia Carp who said all copies of her book should be gathered up and burned, and the ashes scattered in outer space. But who listens to literary critics?

So we are free to return to Ms. Crepuscular’s epic romance, Oy, Rodney, Chapter CCCLXXXXIX.

Scurveyshire is overrun with monsters, the result of Constable Chumley inadvertently reciting a very difficult incantation, and people are blaming Lord Jeremy Coldsore for it. Actually it’s Violet’s fault, but they are in no mood to listen to reason. Despairing of help from any other quarter, Jeremy consults with the Wise Woman of the Gaol. He is accompanied by the American adventurer, Willis Twombley, who has spent all his adult life thinking he’s Sargon of Akkad but lately has begun to feel some faint twinges of doubt.

In an intimate aside to the reader, Ms. Crepuscular writes, “I do not mean to imply that Mr. Twombley isn’t Sargon of Akkad, nor have I ever stated that he really is. I ask you, dear reader, to keep an open mind.”

Meanwhile, Lord Jeremy receives an oracle from the Wise Woman of the Gaol:

“Beware of a man with a deformed coccyx, carrying a single sandal.”

“How’s he gonna carry a sandal with his coccyx?” demands Twombley.

“When you see him,” intones the Wise Woman, “you must immediately go up to him and ask him a certain question. And when he answers, the monsters will be whisked back to where they came from.”

“And what is the question?” cries Lord Jeremy.

Looking very wise indeed, the Wise Woman lowers her voice and says, “I don’t know!”

We will have to wait for the next chapter to find out whether Willis Twombley shoots her.

[Editor’s note: We can’t find the traditional Oy, Rodney cover. For the time being, we have made do with a picture of a katydid.]