Tag: Violet Crepuscular

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.

The June Taylor Dancers at Bay (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Oy Rodney – Lee Duigon

At last! Chapter DXXXIV of Violet Crepuscular’s timeless romance, Oy, Rodney.

But first…

“Before I expose the reader to the bone-chilling events in this chapter,” Ms. Crepuscular writes, “I would like all my readers to sign a waiver absolving Yours Truly of any responsibility for heart attacks or mental breakdowns.

“You think it’s easy, writing scary **** like this? With Mr. Pitfall breathing on my neck, no less? You know someone’s gonna up and sue me because he read that chapter and it gave him a trick knee!”

Going back several months, we had a herd of prehistoric woolly mammoths laying siege to Coldsore Hall, being encouraged by the June Taylor Dancers. But suddenly–

“Look at that, Germy!” exclaims Willis Twombley, the American adventurer who thinks he’s Sargon of Akkad [Editor screams. He’s had enough of this]. “The mammoths have turned, and now it’s the Whosit Dancers who are at bay!”

(“This,” inserts Ms. Crepuscular, ” is what makes me the Queen of Suspense! And all the others cheap imitations. Tune in next week for more!”

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.

 

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?)

So Where’s the Cyclops?

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Oy Rodney – Lee Duigon

[Holy moly, I am tired! Can I finish the post, d’you think?]

There’s supposed to be a cyclops terrorizing Scurveyshire, and a woolly mammoth stampede, and newts (Yes, newts). Violet Crepuscular, the Queen of Suspense, has a hefty bag of tricks.

Everybody’s holed up in Coldsore Hall. Outside, the June Taylor Dancers make whoopee with the mammoths. But I can’t find the cyclops!

Cyclops hi-res stock photography and images - Alamy

See? This is what I’m looking for. Violet has misplaced her cyclops. It could happen to anyone.

And now I think I need a rest.

 

 

The Cyclops Is Still Coming (‘Oy, Rodney)

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Oy Rodney – Lee Duigon

Well, we’re still in Chapter DXXXI of Violet Crepuscular’s epic romance, Oy, Rodney. “The cyclops was held up by other business commitments,” Ms. Crepuscular declares. “:I am not at liberty to disclose them.”

Meanwhile, woolly mammoths, provoked by the June Taylor Dancers, continue to make a shambles of downtown Scurveyshire. (Editor’s note: There is no uptown.) The regular people are holed up in Coldsore Hall.

Johnno the Merry Minstrel thinks he has a solution to the problem. He has decided not to reveal it. Just then–

Cyclops the 7th voyage of sinbad Black and White Stock ...

“Holy moley!” exfoliates Lady Margo Cargo. “The cyclops! He’s coming up Fulonda Hill! We’re all doomed, I tell you! Doomed!”

“Aw, dry up,” repatriates her fiancee, Lord Jeremy Coldsore.  “Anyone would think you never saw a cyclops before.”

Meanwhile Willis Twombley, the American adventurer who thinks he’s Sargon of Akkad, continues to take pot shots at the dancers.

“They ruined The Jackie Gleason Show for me, them gol-danged dancers,” he carols.

“Hadn’t we ought to save some ammunition for the cyclops?” Lord Jeremy proposes.

“Nah! Just poke out his eye with a pointed burning stick, and you’ll have him where you want him. Leastways,” Twombley adds, “that’s how we always done it in Akkad.”

Stay tuned for next week’s installment of this breath-taking serial. In the meantime… fret about it!

‘Cyclops is Coming!’ (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Oy Rodney – Lee Duigon

With everyone in Scurveyshire holed up in Coldsore Hall, and woolly mammoths and the June Taylor Dancers tearing it up outside, it’s no wonder there’s a bidding war on for Violet Crepuscular’s epic romance, Oy, Rodney–all 530 chapters of it (we got that straightened out last week)… with more to come!

Fligh-Bi-Nite Publishing Inc. has offered $35 for the rights, while Hugh “N’ Mee Books offers $29.99 along with tickets to the musical, Bimbo Time. It is believed the June Taylor Dancers will fold like a cheap camera once they have to compete with the Howard Baseborn Dancers.

“But they aren’t falling to the mammoths,” observes Lord Jeremy Coldsore from his perch on the battlements, “even though three or four of them have been trampled into pudding.” With this comment he has made himself feel sick.

“Leave it to me, Germy,” says Willis Twombley, the American adventurer who has gone back to believing he’s Sargon of Akkad. He shoots a dancer who has been cavorting on a mammoth’s back. The mammoth trumpets his displeasure.

“No one but Violet can write suspenseful scenes like this!” deposes Lady Margo Cargo. “Whoever’s reading this should count himself–or herself–blessed beyond the ordinary lot of mortals!”

Gee wiz, Violet…

[P.S.–What cyclops? What are they talking about? Have I missed something?