Complaint Department discussion
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The Story That Ends & Begins Again (no word limit)
[Oh I forgot this picture, you look so cute dressed up like Santa Clause with a beard.]The Chinese man declared he was from the Red Guard and put the capitalist, degenerate bearded man and his boy in a re-education camp to teach them the errors of their ways. Some of the proletariat had gotten weak and these effete, impudent intellectuals needed to be put to hard labor in the fields until they learned to reap the communal bounty of the land and joyfully shared all among the workers while quoting The Chairman. But The Chairman was still busy playing video games on the cover with Oli Frey's magazine art in the colonialist powers gathered on the walls of the British Library.
Suddenly someone took The Chairman and crated him off to the Mount of Ridges to house with a tastefully restructured kitchen extension and newly restructured garden which pleased The Chairman because he was all about restructuring social systems through hard work. It was evident a lot of hard work had been going on here.
The Chairman got rehung back in his usual spot and finally the house was back in order again after over a year of disarray that started with the invasion of Waterloggers and ended with final return of The Chairman and all Oli's work that had been on display. It was finally Christmas!
The little boy was released from the Red Guard Re-education Camp and had grown to a handsome young man who would one day remember his re-education lessons and become a Thatcherite.
Fortunately for the little boy now grown up, there were still many cuddly little cottages dotted about the landscape of the Shropshire Lad that required regular re-Thatcherizing. He had learned his trade from the very best Thatcherite in the land, and so set out to ply his trade.He was busily replacing the old thatch on a nice cottage sheltered from the prevailing weather under the lee of Clee, using twisted hazel spars to staple down the yelms of maslin wheat and rye, when a pleasant baritone voice arrested his work. He peered down through the rungs of his thatching ladder to see the face of a handsome young man peering up at him from a window almost hidden under the eaves. "Hullo," said the young man, "I'm Godfrey Bolling. Weren't you that cute little boy I once saw sitting on Santa's lap in the pre-Christmas Santa's Chinese Elf Grotto at Selfridges in Birmingham?"
"Good grief," exclaimed Roger de Montecrief (for it was he, the hot little Santa's boy), "what an amazing memory you have, Godfrey."
"Call me Golly Bolly, all my friends do."
"Golly, that's jolly!"
"What's your name, other than Santa's Boy?"
"Roger de Montecrief, a proud Thatcherite. Call me The Full Monty, all my friends do."
So Golly Bolly and The Full Monty became fast friends and nothing could pull them apart.
Except the big misunderstanding so M/M Romance writer threw that into the plot also. Soon Golly Bolly and The Full Monty became disinterested in each other. Since the author was in a very big rush to meet the deadline that was where the story ended. Within 2 hours of appearing on Amazon the M/M Romance novel that ended with an unresolved big misunderstanding had 4,008 preorders for the hardcover edition and 21,023 preorders for the ebook edition. It was nominated for a Lambda Literary Award and was the most anticipated release of the year.
The reviews started pouring in, "Brilliant" —The Rainbow Family Critics' Choice, "Extra Ordinary!!!" —Sweetness Cute Reviews, "Boffo!" —Boffo Reviews Inc. "Really Big Shoe"—Cute Homeless Kid Literary Journal of M/M Romance.
The publisher offered the author a contract for 706 new books with an unheard of massive advance payment.
It made several lists in the trade magazines for Book of the Year.
By the release date everyone had forgotten about the unresolved big misunderstanding book and had gone on to a new pre-order M/M romance book about a loving couple thrown into a horrifying medical dilemma when one of the guys gets a paper cut and is put into a medically induced coma with his life in the balance.
But that was nothing compared to the fracarse that exploded all over the media when Spin On This Dream Press announced the publication date of the lastest, hottest, ripped body-thriller masterpiece by Roget Marsupial Keene. "The eagerly awaited #32 in the A Rock is a Hard Place series," Keene writes, "has been enormous fun to write. I started Monday and wrapped on Friday."The sales blurb promises more Big Misunderstandings than there are novels publish annually… "and there's plenty of annual action in this one!" blushes Spin On This Dream's lovely PR girlie Pussy Galore. "A Rock is a Hard Place #32: Where the Boys Are promises to be the biggest seller of the year, according to An Even Bigger Shoe's books reviewer Jerky Jennings.
Book signings in New York, Chicago, Washington, and Boise, Idaho are planned to coincide with the NBC documentary How to Turn Your Bedroom into Billions directed by Oscar Wilde-winner Anthony Chalkboard. And during his lengthy appearance on Breakfast TV, Roget Marsupial Keene let slip a clue to the exciting ending of this wunderwerk when he was heard to mutter to the lady anchor, "the loving couple are thrown into a horrifying medical dilemma when one of the guys gets a paper cut and is put into a medically induced coma with his life in the balance."
Can't wait!
Romance is as corny as carriage ride in Central Park. Give me the subway coming home in the dark. There will be a drunk passed out or a guy high on drugs. Some mama with a screaming baby will get in the car. Admire the graffiti it's free art. Come to your stop, up the stairs and out. Walk to your place and no ones there so you say, "Thank God!"It's better to be single because people are so disgusting. Don't be stupid and open the door or answer the phone. Keep your peace and quiet. If you want affection, get a dog. If you want to get off with that pizza boy, he looks willing and it will save you from having to give him a tip.
SIngular fiction could well be the coming thing as social media make it less and less necessary for physical proximity to another human being. It would be stripped bare of prolixity—no adverbs or adjectives required—like a minimalist painting of a white square, clean and utterly free of all those messy Big Misunderstandings.It would be like existing in a state of continuous Happy For Now-ness. Just imagine how shocking to see a real pizza delivery boy at the front door, looking willing…
Solo romantic M/ (gay) fiction will take you to the heights of masturbatory fantasy. While solo romantic fiction is a popular genre with such books as Tales of Masturbation and Imagination, World’s Biggest Wanker ~ Masturbation Confessions, Masturbation Island there are endless stories yet to be told. You too can break into the gay masturbation romance writing craze by going solo as an independent writer. There is even room in the solo m/ (gay) book market for you poets. You too can write a book like Romantic Masturbation: Poetry 2003. Just follow the rules of writing Solo Male Romance and in no time you'll be writing stories with the themes of no misunderstanding, roosters with dicks, and never needing to go into a medically induced coma again.
One of the golden rules of good creative writing is to get the punctuation right, and there is nothing in M/M Romance like the beautifully positioned medically induced comma. There are advocates of the medically induced semi-comma as well, but I've never found them much use in an M/M Romance story for the simple reason that readers don't know much about them or what they mean.A medically repositioned colon can induce all kinds of medically induced semi-commas to follow it, but again readers don't know much about them. No, to quote a well worn phrase, at the end of the day, everyone loves a subjunctive clause separated from the sentence by a well-placed, simple, medically induced comma.
I don't want to marginalize this subject too much but this must be said. Being put into a medically induced comma is useful if your semicolon needs to have the barnacles scraped off its keel. Eating food high in fiber can prevent the need for this procedure. I suggest shredded wheat. Bracket had just returned from the hospital after having an apostrophe and he was told to rest, period. Instead he took rest periods and died of a key stroke.
I was taught in English lessons at skool (we all spoke Latin and French fluently, but English is such a tough language)… I was taught that a preposition is a very bad word to end a sentence with. And no matter how hard you try, it is impossible to be pluperfect, even in the grip of conditional claws.In wrestling, it's wise to a avoid getting into a caps lock, particularly if you choose to wear the bill of your cap back to front like a cheapo gangsta-boy. He faded, just like a prepositional phrase, sinking into the mortal sin of Onan—Onan the Barbarian.
Leo Bruce was an alphabetarian. It didn't pay well but there was never a dull moment for his job covered everything from A to Z. Many alphabetarians followed the Soup Rule established by John Campbells-Pastafont but Leo favored pure alphabeticification anteater-zebra.
Jason Robards was an alphabetatrician who was ever at war with his learned colleague Leo Bruce. Jason argued that his system of alphabetical order—as against Leo's alphabetizing—was a purer system since it was aardvark–zygote.His best friend (some said rather more than best friend) was the Greek alphabetrist Dimitris Papamichael, who was a sort of alphabetizer with benefits, so to speak, but he of course went from alpha to omega, which left out all the letters between pee and zee, which is one reason why Greek is such a difficult language to write in. As you can easily imagine, when the Leo Bruce - Jason Robards - Dimitris Papamichael show came to town the lecture halls were packed with students eager to see the learned men of letters battle it out. Will the winner mind his p's and his q's or dot his i's and cross his t's?
The above misprint "students eager to see learned men of letters battle it out" should have carried a asterisk to footnote that the students excluded any frat boys, sorority girls, jocks, nerds, art, music, drama, film, Roger Michael Kean Genius Scholars, and other fine art students, library science majors (who of course care little for alphabets while sticking to the Dewey Decimal system), undeclared majors who made up 89 percent of the students, the student paper, yearbook and homecoming planning committees, bullies, stoners, aggies, any of the sciences majors going for their BS degrees and culinary arts majors who were busy strangling the staff of the university cafeteria and of course foreign students (defined as anyone living outside of New Jersey.)
But this is what makes the Leo Bruce - Jason Robards - Dimitris Papamichael spelling-bee show unique. The non-existent audience is always attentively quiet. In fact, when none of the three is talking—a rare event, it's true—all you can hear in the hall is the buzzing of the spelling bees. They love to spell among the abundant flowers, they spell in the trees, and they're better spellers than Christopher Robin, who made Pooh and Piglet terrified of a BACKSON.The only time the bees aren't spelling much is when Pooh tries to climb up to the hole in the tree trunk where the bees spell all their honey. Sting - sting - sting, and down goes Pooh, all the way to the ground. Bump!
"That's put you out for a spell!" Piglet chortles.
Poor, poor Pooh.
But… Pooh picked himself up and dusted himself off, and swatted away a pernickety spelling bee, and off they set to find the dreaded Backson.
Piglet followed Pooh to carry out his plan tie Pooh to a tree so that the Backson would come and eat Pooh. Then Piglet would get all the love and attention instead of all the attention going to Pooh.
Piglet suffered from a dreadful inferiority complex, largely derived from his inability to climb trees like Pooh to eat honey. Even Eeyore did Piglet down because he was so expertly, effortlessly gloomy, and little Tigger was so bumptious in an endearing (also godammed irritating) way and every time Piglet tried emulating Tigger he just fell flat on his face.Anyway, Pooh was entirely unsuspecting of Piglet's evil plan because, well, Pooh was Pooh, so it was something of a surprise when he found himself tied to a tree with a note stuck to his chest in Piglet's childish hand, saying: READY HONEY-BASTED POOH, REHEAT ON FULL POWER FOR 3 MINUTES AND ENSURE FOOD IS SERVED PIPING HOT. REALLY GOOD EATING FOR LESSER SPOTTED BACKSONS IN PARTICULAR.
Fortunately, Christopher Robin turned up before the Backson. He stared in astonishment at bondaged Pooh and then set him free, saying fondly, "Oh you silly bear."
If they'd both listened carefully they might have heard the faint gnashing of Piglet's teeth. And just then, Tigger bounced on Piglet.
Tigger stubbed his toe and had to be put into a medically induced coma. This freed piglet to give a bucket of honey to Pooh. "Oh what a beauteous sight said Pooh. I think I'm going to come." In no time Pooh went honey dipping and got honey all over everything including all over himself. He ate so much he was stuffed and had to take a nap.Piglet went to the cupboard and took down the jar of red fire ants which he kept for just such an occasion. They accidentally on purpose fell on the floor and the ants started marching in the direction their HPS (honey positioning system) pointing straight at Pooh.
"Oh My!" said George Takei so gaily.
How would Pooh get out of this? Who will save him? What hath piglet wrought?
It turned out nobody would save him which was just as well because the boys at Highgate had declared "Pooh is over." Young lads could be heard saying "Winnie the Pooh is so last month."
One temperamentally disloyal and callous Highgate student with no sense of sentimental permanence or romantic history wrote "Pooh is over." in his journal.
For shame. For shame.
For selling inside information, the Lancashire city of Preston* was sent to do 20 years of community service in the form of presenting Northern Soul to crazed fans of the weird genre. At the height of its popularity, the boys of Highgate School had rejected Northern Soul as "boring old s**t" and saw no connection with it because it was from "oop there in't North" and Highgate with its postcode of N6 meant it was situated in the north of London. "And a poo to that!" one cried.Stuck between the Ribble and the Cocker, Preston had a mention in William of Normandy's Domesday Book, which went straight to number one in the Goodreads chart because most members thought it was about sexy vampires, werewolves, zombies, and assorted shape-shifters, when in fact it was nothing more than a very boring list of real estate properties in the English Shires, one of which was Prestune.
Back way saath, as any Highgate Schoolboy well knew, next stop along Hampstead Lane was, well… Hampstead Village, and guess who was born there? No? I'll tell you then: Alan Alexander Milne who earned a degree of notoriety for the adult books about the teddy bear Winnie-the-Pooh.
* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Preston,...
You present a link to Wikipedia as if I need to be informed there is a city named Preston. What a laugh.I created Preston. It's true that in the Doomsday Book I entered it as Prestune but in the last 400 years it has been Preston just as I always intended.
You can't teach me about Preston. I am Preston. The entire Wikipedia crap is wrong as you can see by the lack of citations for large sections of the entry.
My new traffic light cameras are finally filling the public coffers. It has to get away with lots of tickets before anyone catches on that machines have not be vested with the authority to issue tickets which is function of a police officer. If they ever take this traffic light camera ticket to court Preston will need to raise taxes to make up for the lost income. Right now just ignoring it and hoping no citizen lawyer catches on and pulls the plug through a court case seems the thing to do.
So yeah I am Preston but I'm not really happy about it. I mean my city isn't exactly teeming with the new wave of culture. We have no claim to fame in the performing or visual arts. Unless you count one little dinky arts and crafts festival held each spring we are not going to be a leader in creative enterprises.
Some industry in the city. Industry just doesn't interest me unless your talking about the Richard Thompson album of the same name.
Look I can't really give you a tour because it tedious. Whatever you want to know about me or my city don't use wikiwhackia, it's full of errors. Just ask me. But don't expect me to get enthused about it. I'm simply average as a city. As myself I'm great but it's bad luck for humans to get involved romantically with immortals so best not pursue it.
I'm going to go visit Manchester. He's quite a hunk. Nice guy too. Not stuck up like most smoking hot guys usually are but then he's the exception that proves the rule. Anyway I was invited to dinner. I don't know if he intends to cook or if we are going to got out to one of Manchester's restaurants. I'm hoping 'dinner' was a euphemism for sex. We'll see.
Okay then, unless you have any official business I'm off on my date for a night with the pride of the south central northwest. It's got architecture, culture, a music scene, media links, social impact, and of course it's big time into sports. Damn why was I stuck with such a boring city when the Manchesters of the world are so sexy.
Hell, at least I've got my chance now to see if I can hit it off with him and maybe get it off with him too. Wish me luck!
Good luck, Prestune, just don't get sidetracked by the Manchester Ship Canal. He'll tell you how important it is, vital to his needs, but it's all smoke and mirrors: the water is stagnant, the boats rotting, trade in a pall. Instead, I recommend Sal Ford. Now there's a hot guy. He has Media City at his behest, northern home of the BBC, and spends his time kicking sand in the eyes of Old Ham. In fact Sal Ford is a bully, but that's how he gets ahead, and Prestunians are well known to enjoy a bit of BDSM on the side (Birmingham Demands Sex from Manchester).
Sure Birmingham is a tough guy by having put up with George Wallace declaring Alabama never would integrate classrooms and standing in the doorway with troops blocking the entry of one small black girl until three federal agents armed with guns had to escort 6 year-old Ruby Bridges into her school. 
This was not good, But never mind because after Wallace got shot from behind he changed his mind and from his wheelchair he became the friend of black folks in Alabama and everywhere except they didn't buy it for some unknown reason probably having to do with his cooking… George, eat my grits!
Those damn grits! They sound alarmingly similar to Italian polenta, and just imagine polenta laced with sugar… no wonder no one took George Wallace seriously north of the grits belt. That might make the folks of Birming-ham, Alabama joyous, but ti wouldn't be seed dead inside the limits of Biermiggum, England.There, the national dish has become the Bangladeshi Balti, which comes in every flavor imaginable (except for grits or polenta) and has almost replaced your Chinese takeaway and fish’n’chips.
I'll tell you a tale of grit and grime but I don't have the time to wash up afterwards so I'll just say it involved a car and lots of grease. I have a car but it's not greasy at least not where I sit. Or where my doggy sits because because he comes with me on every trip and waits while I go into the store. He's happy when I open the door and get back inside so we can ride back our old home. Once I had to go away to a place where he couldn't stay which made worry about leaving him behind. When I got back he didn't seem to mind but he wanted to go, and I know, I felt the same.
I like Indian food I remember when we went to the Wild West Show and ate fried bread and buttered corn.
Wild Bill Hicock (a somewhat unfortunate name) brought a load of Indians with him on his Wild West Show in England, but the Indians thought the baltis they were served utterly vile. "Nothing like fried bread and buttered corn," they complained. They took the other Indian gentlemen up and hanged them from the beams of their restaurants, an act which didn't go down too well with the British authorities, but with the country's multi-racial equality policy, when it was explained by Wild Bill that this is what 19th-century Plains Indians did, everyone forgave them their rituals.And then Wild Bill's Indians went hunting wolves in Wolverhampton with whoops of joy.
This scared the two lost little babes in the wood. They couldn't find their way out so they lay down with the cozy wolves to keep warm through the night. In the morning they saw the path to home but now they didn't want to go because they couldn't leave the wolves. So they started singing. Then the papa wolf said, "I know, we will put on the show and raise the money to save the cause that needed saving." And the two little babes said, "Oh papa you are so smart." With mother sewing costumes it wasn't long before they were ready for their production of Little Red Riding Hood. Unfortunately that story ends with the hunter shooting the big bad wolf so papa lay dying on the ground. His last words were, "Damn Preston."
What they didn't know—those two lost little babes in the wood—was that they were really one half of quadruplets, torn apart by the greed of an evil wolf. The other two quadruplets were luckier than their siblings because they were discovered cowering under a bush by a kindly she-wolf, who dragged them gently by the scruff of their necks to her cave, above which was carved the legend "Lupercal, sweet Lupercal."The kindly she-wolf suckled both infant boys as though they were of her own litter and because she didn't speak their language (neither at that time did they) she named one Remus and the other Romulus, and the boys grew strong in the tongue of the Sabine wolves, but they also became estranged from each other, and when Remus began to mark out the sacred boundary of his new town, Romulus taunted him and said, "those walls wouldn't keep anyone out. LooK—!" And he jumped over the mark in the ground. At which point Remus took up a cudgel and battered his quad (though he thought of him as a twin) to death, and so founded his city of Rema.
and built a factory to sell Lupercal, sweet Lupercal. It tastes just like a a milkshake but has zero calories. He made Lupercal in chocolate, strawberry, vanilla, and anchovy. He even gave out free samples.Soon all the matronly looking women who had put on more pounds than Rubens where drinking Lupercal and becoming thin in all the right places while remaining plump where Roman men like it.
Soon the men started having interest in their wives and no longer went to whore houses to pay for pretty young boys. When they did, on the odd occasion fancy a boy they found that all the boys in the brothels were skinny as sticks and dying of starvation because all they could afford to eat was the free Lupercal which had no nutrition at all.
The men went back to there wives exclusively. Monogamy in marriage and fidelity with young maidens became the norm in Rome and the Emperor Remus (with his thin wife by his side) declared that infidelity was punishable by death by being thrown outside the city walls to the murderous infidels and vicious wolves.
Nine months after the women began dieting using Lupercal the women gave birth to wolf pups which were ravenous after not eating for nine months so they ate the nearest roman. So many pups were delivered as every woman had a litter of male identical quadruplets that they ate all the Romans.
This caused a big stir elsewhere in the world and caused quite a problem for Roger Kean who had planned on writing a few books on Rome, it's emperors and it's boys.
By Jupiter's %$*€! Now it will have to be an alternative history, one of those where at a given moment the history as we know it is forever changed into something far more interesting… like for instance, Cassius Dio never was a later Roman historian, but an inventor who one stormy day sent a key aloft on a coil of thin metal and got struck by Jupiter's thunderbolt and so discovered electricity, which he called jupitericity with his dying breath (electrocuted, or jupiterated)By the time Gallienus came to the throne the emperor was building a new hydro-electrical plant every six months and Rome was lit up so brightly the first men sent to the moon could see it from up there (or down there, of wherever). Gallienus also had the Lupercal stores decimated, or actually obliterated, and so everyone grew fatter and turned back to the boys whenever they wanted.
Some of them even lived happily on the corn dole.
Roger was equally adept at fiction and nonfiction so it was easy for him to make up stories and publish them as history like the one he did about Cassius Dio and jupitericity. I love that book The Complete Felixation of the Emperors of Rome. They say it's autobiographical but I don't think he could have done all that lechery and whoring because it just wasn't in his nature. Being part Scottish he was too cheap to give extravagant gifts to his lovers. A quick trip to Blackpool on a cold grey day was more his speed, not that he'd go on any of the rolling contraptions that Lady Julia had devised for his parties. No he's a man of simple tastes, a warm fire, a loyal dog at his feet, a boy on his lap and a pitcher or two of martinis.
It's true, a boy on his laptop and a good dry martini is just the thing for creating a spot of fiction. At the Melià Milano 5-star hotel bar, they make a mean martini by stirring two measures of a good quality gin over a shaker full of ice and straining it into a martini glass, and then repeating the process with a dash of dry vermouth in a separate glass, so the customer can mix’n’match gin and vermouth as he pleases… no matter what the boy on his lap is having.In the days of the Emperors, of course, the hotel would have been the Melià Mediolanum V-astra.
Trajan checked in to the Melià Mediolanum V-astra. "Your luggage sir?" asked the porter.
"What? Luggage? I just want a room for an hour so I can teach this young lad the difference between garum and Liquamen."
"Please sign the register" intoned the desk clerk.
"What? I? Sign?"
"It's the law sir."
"Which law? I'll abolish it."
"Well to abolish the law you have to sign the documents required to abolish imperial law so why not just sign the register instead?"
Trajan angrily affixes his seal to the register. "There are you satisfied?"
"Here's your room key. Have a nice fish sauce discussion. The Melià Mediolanum V-astra is honored to have you Caesar."
"Now where did that boy go?"
"Well Caesar, he turned green when you mentioned garum and left. Perhaps if you had said I only need it for an hour to debauch the lad he'd still be here. Honesty is the best policy. Sorry you have to go so soon, sir. Have a nice day."
"Where did I go wrong?" Trajan asked Hadrian."You failed to run the desk clerk slave through with your handy gladius, Caesar. "So much quicker than affixing seals to hotel registers."
"You're right, Hadrian, as usual. I'll have him thrown to the lions in the Colosseum."
"Or into a pond full of lampreys, which will gobble him up in no time and then you can rip out the lampreys' intestines, have them fermented under a hot sun for three weeks, and sell the result as the finest of garum… or liquamen, if you prefer."
"You're right again, as usual, Hadrian. That will almost certainly bring that tasty lad back to sample the difference."
"I'm not going to the lions or the lampreys until you have signed the hotel register," intoned the desk clerk.
"It's the law Caesar.""But I am the law!"
"Not unless you kill off enough senators to intimidate the rest into giving you free rein to reign. Also I'd like to be executed by being drowned in flowers like in that beautiful painting."
"Hadrian please drown the desk clerk in
"But Caesar, have you noticed the desk clerk is a pretty boy?"
"Desk clerk I order you to go with me to a room!"
"Of course, Caesar. I thought you'd never ask. We can use my room, that way you don't have to sign the register."
[EDIT: pugios changed to pugiones which is the correct plural for the Roman weapon.]
"Well, why you have free rein to reign over the boy, I'll go for a stroll in the rain," Hadrian harrumphed.Just around the corner, he ran into damp Continuous Antinuous, a comely boy who would have been wringing out his rain-soaked tunic if he'd been wearing one. "Oh, master," cried the boy, not being aware of who he addressed. "Im very damp… all over."
"That I can see you are. Here, boy, let me run my hands all over you to dry you off. What is your sweet name?"
"Continuous Antinuous from Bithynius, master."
"And why did your father so name you, Continuous?"
"He didn't, master. that's what my friends nicknamed me, because once I start I'm quite continuous… if you take my meaning?"
Hadrian, never slow on the uptake, did take his meaning and took Continuous Antinuous from Bithynius under his cloak for a quick rub down. Caesar could keep his florally challenged desk clerk!
Billy Bithunius the florist and taxidermist opened the door to his shop turning the sign in the door's window from closed to open. Of course from the inside it now said closed which confused some people on the way out how the world they had just left to come into the store could have become closed. All but the most timid opened the door and were rewarded with the world still in progress which in 2014 meant the Mayan calendar was wrong or they ran out of space or perhaps just got bored. The Mayans were wrong about the end of the world though because for them 2012 was way past their extinction.
Billy Bithunius busied himself getting orders ready for delivery today. The two headed mongoose with daisies was easy enough to do but the mating rabbits with tulips was a tough because the horny creatures kept coming alive to have sex. Finally Billy tied their tubes which kept them still and stuffed with tulips.
Bobby Bismuth the delivery man arrived promptly at his usual time which was whenever he felt like it. Billy Bithunius couldn't complain because Bobby worked cheap and business wasn't as good as you would think a floral taxidermist would be.
Billy decided to deliver the next order himself since he could be back before he left. Tullius Rufio had called in an order for Hadrian's post gladiatorial party which his mom was catering and they needed a stuffed lion holding a taxidermic gladiator in his mouth with a spray of gladiolas.
He got in his time machine and got the emperor's palace right on time then set the time machine to arrive back at his shop just a few fractions of a second before he left. Mission accomplished he went back to reading the help wanted ads in the newspaper since the floral taxidermy business was slowly going out of business.
Billy Bithunius never thought that his time machine could provide him with untold wealth if he just came up with a few creative financial transactions involving present day knowledge and investing in the past to reap profits in the future. The Bithunius family was not known for it's business acumen and Bill was a prime example.
Billy heard the door and saw Bobby Bismuth return from a delivery. Bobby turned to Billy and announced shocking news...
"The E.U. is outlawing gladiolas!""Good grief and little fishes," Billius exclaimed. "What will Dame Edna Everidge do?"
"Return to Rome's farthest flung province of Australius and go sheep shearing, I suppose. I've heard it's not a bad job, and the Senate is in great need of fine sheep's wool for their togas." Bobbius shook his head. "You know it's almost impossible to get rid of bloodstains from a toga, so the senators are always in need of new ones."
Just then, there came a thundering at the front door. The door slave walked across the atrium and yanked it open. And there stood…
...Jean-Claude Juncker, of Luxembourg the most powerful man in all of Europe. He earned his record of leadership governing a country with the population of Miami, Florida and a land mass one third the size of a state park in New York State (Adirondack State Park). He has a masters degree in law.
Could there be anyone more highly educated and more qualified to hold the highest office in Europe having up until this year held a position equal to the mayor of an American city in a country covering an area of a state playground? You bet your cucumbers there is not.
Jean-Claude Juncker confiscated Billy Bithunius's gladiolas and left.
Jean-Claude Juncker had a brother called Jean-Claude Van Dammmit, otherwise known as the Muscles from Brussels, the man who put the bitter flavor into sprouts. In spite of his prowess at martial arts, he had a generous streak an inch wide as well as a gladiolus farm, so one day he picked a great big bunch of gladdies and sent it to the Billy Bithunius to make up for the way the most powerful man in Europe treated him.Billy put the flowers in water.
The the Pope came along and grabbed Billy Bithunius' gladiolas and used them as an aspergillum to sprinkle holy water on Jean-Claude Van Dammmit who sizzled and became a pile of ooze just like the Wicked Which of the West in the Wizard of Oz.
Waving Billy's glads in as if they were emotional exclamation points in the faces of the European Commission Commissioners he scourged them with a whip-like tongue of a master Dom. He stung them with the words, "Technicalities. Bureaucracy. Entrenchment. You are supposed to serve the people not treat them like the Vatican!"
If anyone can, the Vati can. Kinda interesting, doncha think, that Saint Peter founded his church on a rock, and the rock was a bit of rubble left from the great circus constructed by Caligula on the flat area of the otherwise hilly Vatican. There the teams raced and died in appalling crashes that sometimes tore the charioteer's limbs from his torso as the crowds cheered uproariously and masturbated in their excitement.How things change…
No things don't always change. I'm sure there is a lot of masturbating in the Vatican.Caligula was a god even if he did say so himself. So as a god it was appropriate for him to check out the vatican. The pope asked Caligula what he could do to deal with the entrenched power hoarding in the bureaucracy. Caligula's first suggestion cannot be printed here for propriety's sake. But after he gave it a second thought he said take away their desks. If they have no place to put papers they cannot confuse everything with adding more paper and slowing everything down to a crawl.
So the pope took away the desks of the vatican officials. There was no way to write more rules and regulations or send out memos drenched in officiousness.
The pope had another idea and he took away all the rubber stamps that said disapproved, file, pending, and every other bureaucratic word or phrase on rubber stamps and just left them with one rubber stamp that said "Approved." Overloaded with request to wear normal clothes, stop spending money on building more buildings and start spending money on serving the people, allow priests to marry, approve gay marriage, woman have equal rights in the church including the priesthood and similar requests the officials only stamp these as approved.
The pope and Caligula went out for Thai food. Caligula told him all about this play he was writing. After being asked if he take a role in the play the pope hemmed and hawed and finally said he'd think about playing a small role like a humble messenger.
Tie food was one of Caligula's favorite foods. He would have some Praetorian Guards tie up a slave, maybe a senator he'd taken a dislike to, and have the hapless victim thrown into a pond of voracious man-eating lampreys. He believed that when the lampreys were cooked, they tasted so much better after consuming a human meal of two beforehand.The pope agreed with the principle, since he turned bread into… well, something else.
Once there was a church mouse. He was as quiet. He was as quiet as a church at night. In the winter he got cozy inside the apse. In the summer he caught a little breeze on the chancel. On night he heard talking. It was the members of the vestry. The attendance had fallen so low they were going to close the church because they could no longer afford maintain it and heat it.The church mouse was very upset because he come to like this place. No heat meant no escape from the cold in the winter. He would have to find another home.
That night he explored the Bowery looking for a new home. But it was full of rowdy men and flop houses where there were goings on all night long.
The next night he decided to look for a home in the harbor. But the harbor had rats! He hadn't yet sunk so low that he'd bed down in filthy rat infested docks.
Night arrived the next day and so did an idea. He would get a realtor. He found a phone number in an old phone book that had blown down the alley with the wind. It was windy and getting cold. He had to find a place to live fast. But the realtor only had expensive homes with views of the park and historic townhouses and even penthouses.
So the former church mouse decided to find a home where the buffalo roam and found it at the zoo. The Buffalo were very big and didn't bother little mice. Also their habitat had grains and nuts and lots of buffalo food crumbs because buffalos weren't particularly neat when dining.
They had a nice place in the sun for sunbathing and when it got cold they had a warm indoor habitat too. One day you're a poor as a church mouse and then you're living large as the mouse at the zoo.
Oh yes I almost forgot. He lived happily ever after.
There was a seaside town called Storybrooke, whose residents were actually characters from various fairy tales transported to the "real world" town and robbed of their real memories by a powerful curse issued by the Evil Queen (there's always an evil old queen around when you need one).
Into this disturbing world of American Gothic comes the hulking, hunkydorus, humungously handsome young Hetairarch Xenophon, who is hellbent on rescuing the innocent young princess from her impossibly tall tower (imprisoned because even through 19 Slumberland Express Free Form Memory Mattresses®™ she could feel a pea placed there by a careless housemaid).
"O hulking, hunkydorus, humungously handsome young Hetairarch Xenophon," she cried out from on high. "How can you save me?"
Xenophon paused for a moment, stroking his famously square-jawed chin. He glanced up. "That's a very good question," he said.
Hetairarch Xenophon was a thoughtful fellow so he went away to ponder this question. Unfortunately the Peloponnesian War disrupted his thoughts. He hung out with his friend Agesilaus II and led a spartan life. He never got around to answering the princess's question. Instead he said, "In my opinion it's not a good cobbler who fits large shoes on small feet."
This was a sensible notion which caught on and from then on cobblers made sure they made shoes in sizes to feet people's feet. This should have made him a great hero to all who walked on feet but he died without a holiday in his honor or even a shoe named after him.
Instead they named shoes for Buster Brown and his dog Tige but they had their troubles too.
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Books mentioned in this topic
Lassie Come-Home (other topics)A Life Apart (other topics)
Wrath of Seth (other topics)
Wife to Mr. Milton (other topics)
The White Goddess: A Historical Grammar of Poetic Myth (other topics)
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Authors mentioned in this topic
Zack (other topics)Roger Kean (other topics)
Oliver Frey (other topics)
James George Frazer (other topics)
Italo Calvino (other topics)
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He said, "I know your phone number. It is North Pole 8738."
"Correct," Santa rumbled with a hearty chuckle.
"But what's that evil Chinaman doing beside your chair?"
"He's taking a Great Social Leap Forward. You see, hot little boy, he's been reading The Yellow Book which has led him quite astray in the the Yellow esthetic, so for Christmas, Santa has given him a copy of The Little Red Book of Chairman Mao Tse-Tung. And what do you want for Christmas, hot little boy?"
"I want an electric train set, Santa."
"Ho, ho, ho, and have you been a good little hot boy this year?"
"Hmmm, no, not really. If I can sit on your lap, I'll tell you all about it…"