Tag: Violet Crepuscular

Mr. Pudding and His Newts (‘Oy Rodney’) REPRINT

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(Despite current events, I’m trying to do business as usual today. I would not like it said that Far Left Crazy stopped me.)

Oy Rodney – Lee Duigon

Violet Crepuscular, The Queen of Suspense, has injected new life into her historical romance, Oy, Rodney, with the addition of a new character whom, she declares, “is guaranteed to please–like where has he been all my life?” Diagram that sentence if you dare.

The new character is one Mr. Pudding, usually spoken of as “Mr. Pudding and his newts.”

Newts – what do they eat? What eats them? | nurturing nature

Here he is with a couple of his newts.

We are not sure what role Mr. Pudding will play in the overall plot. “His role will have to, like, evolve,.” Ms. Crepuscular phonogalates. “I’m leaning toward the ‘mad scientist with a plan to take over the world’ thing, but I’m open to suggestions. Even from you, dear readers! Yes, even from the likes of you.”

As for the characters who’ve been with us all along–Lord Jeremy Coldsore, Constable Chumley, Lady Margo Cargo, Willis Twombley the American adventurer who thinks he’s Sargon of Akkad… et al–well, who knows what will become of them? Does Ms. Crepuscular know?

(Waiting for an email or two to come pouring in…)

From July 2024

‘Oy, Rodney’… Stalls on a Dime

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Oy Rodney – Lee Duigon

For anyone else, it’d be a mere figure of speech. But for celebrated romance writer Violet Crepuscular, it’s an incident of war.

War against her editor… which is me.

“You will never again horn in on my images of woolly mammoths and the June Taylor Dancers,” she writes, in a letter thrust under my car’s windshield wiper. For a moment there I thought it was a ticket.

“I will never forgive you,” she continues, “for arranging for Mr. Pitfall actually to fall into a pit! You’d better watch yourself, crossing your living room: you won’t know what’s under the rug until you find out the hard way.”

The police chief in our town is a huge (6’11”) Violet Crepuscular fan who just laughs when I seek protection. “Afraid of a cuddly little thing like Violet!” he mocks me. “Well, as the Emperor Honorius told the Britons, ‘Look to your own defenses!'” (He’s a big classics buff.)

Well, I guess I’d better get started.

Now What? (‘Oy, Rodney)

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Oy Rodney – Lee Duigon

We were deliriously excited to receive a long-sought email from Violet Crepuscular, the Queen of Suspense. Tension mounted as we worked our way into the contents. After all, we haven’t received any new material from her since March.

“Surely, all this time,” she addresses her legion of ardent fans, “you’ve been wondering about that guy in the goofy costume with the white knee socks, and the woman in the long dress falling for him. Who is he? Who is she? Eh? Eh?”

Violet’s mail man, William Faulkner (not the famous one), has accused her of being a witch. You’d think that would be suspense enough for anyone. “And I dunno about that costume!” he adds, then refuses to elaborate.

The guy who reads the meter, Millard Filmore (not the famous one) pungently disagrees. With a little bad luck the entire town could topple into civil war.

Meanwhile, there are mammoths, leprechauns, and the June Taylor Dancers to sort out (they’ve all invaded Scurveyshire).

Only Violet Crepuscular can do it!

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.

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.