PARTS FIVE TO EIGHT

Previous Four Parts             Part VI             Part VII             Part VIII            Next Four Parts

PART V

PAINTING THE TOWN RED

It seems that our ‘heroes’ will be left on hold for yet another (although short) episode.

Now it must be told how Ga fell into the hands of The Red Menace.

It started when Ga suffered from an extreme population boost. Thousands upon thousands came to the tiny island. It was not long before there was overcrowding.

There was not enough for everyone. There had to be a solution to the problem of feeding thousands.

The people looked to their leader, Woozlewazza for an answer. Because he was drunk at the time (his attempt at sobriety had failed after two years had passed and no chicken had been sighted) Woozlewazza could not give a suitable answer.

The people asked Jalopy, Woozlewazza’s assistant. He said that he could not comment on the king’s policies.

The streets were filled with people harassing others, demanding an answer. When most did not know what the question had been they were disposed of.

Everything and everyone was queried, questioned, probed, interrogated and interviewed. Phil the Butcher, Dorothy the Cocker Spaniel, packs of innocent Donuts and other assorted goods were asked if they knew the answer.

They went to Doris, the milkmaid. She said that she had not a clue either. They asked the cow that Doris was milking and it gave a response that sounded something like rebel.

So that is what they did.

Finally they had got an answer that seemed reasonable. So they attacked the King’s castle and he was taken prisoner, along with his jeans-selling advisers.

A system was installed where all had freedom, they could do what they wanted, they contributed to the good of the nation, everyone got their fair share. But of course it didn’t work. Everyone was left poverty stricken.

Previous Four Parts            Part V             Part VII             Part VIII            Next Four Parts

‘IN THE NAME OF THE GARTER’

OR

I SEE A DAINTY KOMQUAT

"Finally we get to the good bit!" Guru Al said as he flipped the page eagerly. He held in his hands a yellowed, crimpled, old script for the movie ‘Teenagers in Holland’.

"What? She fit it in there?"

"Al, it’s your turn to row."

"How did she do that without breathing?"

Igor had been at the oars of their vessel for the last six hundred kilometres. They were somewhere in the Indian Ocean, or to be more precise between Africa and Australia. It was Boxing Day, 1974. Christmas had been celebrated by eating a dead seagull. The relationship between the two had grown tense, as they had nothing left except a bag of Kumquats to eat.

"Al!"

"Wait a minute Igor, Dolly is about to take off her . . ."

"Now!" Igor had somehow found a booming voice. Where she had got it is anyone’s guess.

Igor then did something that is probably too extreme to be included in this text. But it ended with Guru Al at the oars, rowing westward in tears.

"How far is it?" Al inquired in a high-pitched voice.

"Perhaps another seven thousand kilometres."

Al groaned as he stroked the water away from him. His progress was little he noticed. It seemed that the boat was not moving at all.

Suddenly the boat rose out of the water. "What the . . .?"

There was a strange horn-like sound, from beneath the water. And an odd pipe rose in front of them, swivelled around.

"Hey if I didn’t know better," Igor said, "I would say that is a . . ."

"There appears to be a boat holding two people on top of the submarine sir."

"Mmm. That is odd isn’t it? Are there any islands around here?"

"None at all sir."

"Well maybe they are like coming out to see to die, isn’t there a tribe or something in Ireland or one of those other South American countries that go to sea to die?"

"I think you are like thinking about Seagulls sir."

"Yes perhaps you are right. Maybe they are hitchhikers then."

Al and Igor had conveniently put their little rowboat on top of a US submarine. The two seemed puzzled as they were escorted inside the vessel.

"Hello, my name is Captain Loon. Welcome aboard the US Gall Stone."

"What a pleasant name," commented Igor.

"Yes I thought so, I named it myself."

Eyes were rolled in the general direction of the younger officer behind Igor and Al. The officer’s eyes too seemed reluctant to stay in their current position.

Igor took on hushed tones. "If we play this right we may be able to get a ride to Ga." She winked at Al.

"Where is it that you are going?" Loon inquired.

"To Ga, near Madagascar."

"Oh yes, I know the place." At this time the captain launched himself into a long, monotonous monologue. He explained how he had once been part of a dancing troop and had visited Ga to perform. He had had a lovely adventure and spent eight years on the island. "And that was when I met Dave, oh he was special." There was an awkward pause. "I mean, we had a good, manly friendship," Loon said, adopting a deep voice.

"But the way which his eyes sparkled in the moonlight."

Everyone in the cabin was left in an air of discomfort. As the captain continued the others made their exit. "Oh how I could prance in those days. I used to leap around the stage like a graceful little fairy."

By this time Loon was by himself.

The Sub had been heading for Perth, but was going to turn around and head back to South Africa anyway as Loon had left behind his favourite frilly garter.

It was just luck that he had forgotten this, as they were dropped off at their destination on the way.

When they arrived at Ga, they were indeed shocked.

Notice to all outsiders:

Please note that if you are not Australian and/or are not one of my friends there may be certain jokes in this text, which will fly blissfully over your head while you sit there, ignorant as a constipated Sea Cucumber. To explain would be to enlighten. And to enlighten now would be foolish. It is too early.

What the hell.

All jokes relating to dandruff, Zygotes and infants are referring to D. Bruce and his, shall we say, odd sexual predilection. Any joke that mentions Steven Segal is aimed at Joel W. who bears an uncanny resemblance to the mentioned actor. Goats, boats and pumpkins are all related to D. James. But that is too complicated to explain at this juncture.

Previous Four Parts            Part V             Part VI            Part VIII             Next Four Parts

PART VII

REALISE THAT LEONARDO DICAPRIO LOOKS LIKE A FOETUS, SO THAT HE MAY DISAPPEAR OFF THE COVERS OF MAGAZINES?

Al was disappointed that they were not greeted at the gates of the city. All they found was a band of bandanna-wearing chickens and a seemingly suicidal goat.

The goat sat with a gun at its feet. He stared at the pistol unaware of the visitors.

"Hello, is anyone there?" Al called into the city.

There was no reply however.

"Perhaps they are out. We can try later," suggested Al.

Igor was sceptical. It was not usual for a whole city to be out. And it was even more bizarre that there be no one around on New Years Day. "Lets try the back door."

The two walked around the city wall and came to another entrance. There a large man, with beautiful golden locks greeted them.

"Hello, my name is Daisy Maestro." At that moment music sounded from behind the walls it seemed, music reminiscent of the ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’ theme.

"Howdy, I am Guru Al and this is my mistress, I mean companion Igor."

The three shook hands, made pleasantries, refused propositions from the each other and eventually the story of the city was told to the wanderers.

"Ga has been under Communist rule for two centuries. The evil Didi, and her assistants, Swirly the Nec and Pale Scalp rule the city.

"They are the reason that we are all in poverty. But we are powerless to fight."

"Ga, under communist rule? I will not allow this!"

They had only just arrived but Al was ready to restore the city to its former glory.

"I will not rest, play or think of anything else until this city once again sits comfortably safe in the cradling hands of fascism!"

Three minutes later.

"And then he said ‘What are you doing with that pencil sir?’ I think he was a bit surprised with what I did!" The three laughed heartily.

"Now what were we doing before? Oh yes, the CITY!"

Daisy Maestro led our two heroes through to the centre of the city. They came to a stone wall of immense size.

"If we climb this wall, we will be inside the castle walls," said Daisy Maestro. "But first I will take you to our hideout, where all the poor innocent fascists in this town dwell."

 Meanwhile in the castle . . .

"Oh my God it’s Steven Segal!" Didi cried in alarm.

"No madam it is just I, Swirly the Nec, your Necromancer," he explained with irritation.

"Oh of course. Now I remember you. Your that guy who does all the cursing and the magic and the hey ho, mumbo jumbo. Mr magic man don't put a hex on me." Didi suffered from what is known as JLS, Jerry Lewis syndrome.

"Quite," added Swirly and left.

"Pale Scalp where are you!?"

"Here madam." Pale Scalp, aka D. Bruce, had an odd condition of the skin, which made his scalp peel off in frightfully large pieces.

"P.S. tell me, have you heard anything of two people who apparently arrived at Ga this morning?"

"No Madam."

"Who could they be? No one has come to Ga since ’72. Why is that?"

"Possibly something to do with the anti-tourist banner that we hang out the front of the city gates. You know, the one which says ‘go away all you stupid, snap happy little bastards, lest we feel inclined to re-enact the great war of 1923 in which all foreigners were chased out of the city and clubbed to death with their own luggage.’"

"Oh yes I remember. It seems to have had the desired effect. Better hang out a mutilated carcass to make sure the message gets across once and for all though."

We leave these horrid creatures now and return to Al, Igor and Daisy Maestro at the hideout, the ‘Little Shop of Fascists’.

"You must meet everyone if you are to help the movement," said Maestro. "Here is a man who used to be with the communists, but he rebelled and now he helps us. Pity that Swirly the Nec put a curse on him though."

"Oh really, what kind of curse?"

"That doesn’t matter for now, you will find out later anyway."

Daisy was introducing each of the figures that stood around the triangular table, when he came to the man who was presently named ‘Anvil-Falls-On-Coyote’. The man had gone insane due to the effects of the curse that Swirly the Nec placed on him. The injustice reminded Daisy of the case of Sir Din Dogooder*.

* Din Dogooder was from the late eighteenth century and a member of the Royal Ga-ese Gastric Society, responsible for the belief that all of the problems in the universe can be rightly blamed on three distinctive forces: The Commies, The Aliens and Oprah Winfrey. His popularity was minimal as the communist leaders of the country at the time made sure that everyone was safely faithful to the state, and because his theory fell short on the last part. Who the fuck was Oprah Winfrey anyway? No one seemed to know. And therefore they also did not care. Why waste time on worrying about some chick from the future when they could get pissed and digest some Fat Burgers at Agy’s family restaurant. It would be two hundred years before she would become known worldwide for her skills of deception and gossip. Din Dogooder was last seen being put in a sack with a savage Llama, by the King’s men.

That night the band of heroic fascists gathered at the Southern wall of the castle.

"Do we have a plan as such?" queried Al.

When no one responded he realised it was because he was talking to a small clump of bushes. He spun around, confused. The others were there. He repeated his earlier question.

"Yes." Daisy left it at that.

"Well, what is it?"

"We all climb over the wall and then we go running and screaming to the Queen’s quarters and cut of the heads of all her cohorts."

"That’s not much of a plan. How far is it to the Queen’s quarters from the wall?"

"Eight Miles."

"Oh, I see." Guru Al contemplated the whole shebang and concluded that it was insane and that his presence would be more wisely spent if he visited the nearest brothel . . . that is to say Brothelaminastehall. Yes the Brothelaminastehall, where there is much conversation of the philosophical sort.

[Do you think they noticed Hochlor?

Na!]

Will he stay or would he go? Will Igor manage to get rid of those unsightly bristles on her face? Is Daisy Maestro all that he seems? What is the deal with Bill Clinton’s penis anyway? Why would you keep a dress that was stained like that? Did you know that the world ends in July ’99? Stay tuned.

Previous Four Parts            Part V             Part VI            Part VII             Next Four Parts

PART VIII

Please welcome a new storyteller, Sweet Bosom is currently busy helping our hero Guru Al with a job. So here for your enjoyment is (drumroll) Hochlor, demon extraodinaire.

Hello my name is Hochlor and I will be your storyteller for this evening. Please forgive me if half way through the story I start chanting or conversing with the dark lord (a habit, which I am trying to kick). Now, back to the story.

"Oh no! Please don’t make me go!"

Al clung to the post, screaming. Igor, Daisy Maestro and Anvil-falls-on-Coyote had a firm grip on his legs and were attempting to pull him away from the pole so that they could continue with their little revolution.

"Coward!" Daisy cried.

"Am not." This was the best comeback Al could manage for the moment, as he had to contend with the problem of his loosening grip on the post.

Eventually he let go and sat sulking on ground.

"Should we leave him here? It is just one less. We still have the other twenty of us." Daisy was keen to get into the castle and remove the head of the evil Didi.

"He is important." Igor thought about this and decided that it must be true. She would not accept that Al was not important as she had already spent a year of her life devoted to the cause.

[Wait a minute Hochlor.

What?

I thought we were going to leave this bit about me being afraid out.

Oh were we? I thought that you said that it was essential to the story.

I said nothing of the sort!

Sorry my mistake.]

Ladies and Gentlemen: if you would kindly forget the previous 20 lines of text it would be appreciated.

[Is that the best you can do?

I am afraid so]

Anyway, it soon did come to pass that the four heroes and their band of men ascended the wall of the castle complex with little fuss, by means of an appropriately located trampoline.

Inside they quickly ran to the castle and were surprised that there were no guards to hinder their process.

"This is odd," said Al.

"Yes," the others agreed.

"I don’t remember tying my shoes with a double knot."

"What?" the others asked.

"Doesn’t matter."

"Good, because I was just going to say," Daisy explained to Al, "that it is very odd that there are no guards."

Igor pondered this over a gin and tonic. It was indeed bizarre. She stirred the olive around in her drink and then wondered where she had obtained the beverage. All she could remember was that she had gone to brush the hair out of her face with her hand and found it occupied with a glass of wonderfully tasting liquid.

She surveyed the area and found that everyone else was adorned in comfortable red bathrobes. Glancing down she noticed that she was in a tight fitting black negligée.

"Something’s amiss here," Anvil Falls On Coyote announced. At that moment before he could say more a large shiny anvil fell from the general direction of up, and landed with a terrifying sound on his head.

"What was that!" Igor and Al exclaimed in horror. They were further startled then by the sight of exclamation marks jumping out of their mouth.

"Don’t worry that happens all the time," Daisy said.

"What, the exclamation marks?"

"No the anvil falling on Coyote. That is what the curse was, put on him for defecting to the Fascist side."

"And the exclamation marks?"

"I don’t know, that’s just weird!"

The group remained confused for a further eighteen minutes at which time they had forgotten completely the head-chopping task at hand.

Eighteen minutes later.

The heroes now sat around a bar, which had materialised shortly before. They sipped from elegant little glasses and laughed.

"Oh Al you are so funny," Igor giggled over her fifteenth martini, a heroic effort for less than twenty minutes.

"Yes I am," Al concurred.

"Hooray for Al," Daisy chanted.

"Hooray for Al," they all agreed, including Al.

"That’s it baby. How about we blow this joint and find somewhere we can get more personal." Al’s voice was at this moment surprisingly similar to Cary Grant’s.

"Oh yes Al, yes."

Igor and Al slipped away from the crowd.

[Anyone who is easily offended should not read on]

Al held Igor in his arms. "Oh Igor."

"Oh Al."

"Oh Igor."

"Oh Al."

"Oh . . . dear."

It appeared that Igor was no longer there. Yet in her place was a rather satisfied looking coat stand. Al noticed his arms cradling the long wooden object, and jumped away in horror, rather unsuccessfully it should be noted as he did not let go of the stand.

"Ooh!" He felt disgusted.

"I almost had sex with a post. Am I that drunk?"

Surely Igor had been there before. He couldn’t have dreamed it all. He looked back into the bar and sure enough Igor was no where to be seen.

He returned to the bar and stood looking very puzzled.

Daisy saw him and said "Hey Al, finished already."

He was absolutely flummoxed.

Where has Igor gone? What is the deal with that attractive coat stand? Will Al get laid anyway? Does Igor’s disappearance have anything to do with that strange man with the ponytail standing in the back of the barroom?

The answers will come! Soon!

Previous Four Parts           Part V           Part VI          Part VII           Part VIII          Next Four Parts

This page was Last updated: 02/07/00