View Full Version : The case of the pink war machine

tony draper
24th Aug 2001, 15:54
"See Watson, these tracks,"
"Err, yes Holmes I see them"
"Well Watson, what do they suggest to you man"?
"A large biycle perhaps,Holmes"
"Come come Watson, examine them, these tracks are a foot wide , and fifteen feet apart"
" Indeed , astonishing , what does this all mean Holmes"
" Wait, look there ,footprints"
"By jove your right Holmes,two men walking side by side"
"Marching side by side, Watson, look at the regularity of the step,
military men I'll be bound, look at the heel print, some kind of riding boot,
also one of them is carrying a riding crop"
"however could you tell that Holmes"
"See here, he has swished at the vegetation as he strode by,
Also here on this tree, see man, flecks of pink paint"
"Good god Holmes do you see how the tree has been pushed over, as if by a giant hand"
"Great devilry is at large here Watson, we must get to the bottom of this"
"Aha!, this is the spot that great machine stopped, and those two evil occupants ate lunch,
see there skins, hmmm some kind of organic material"
" I say Holmes ,don't you think we had better inform Lestrade, "
"Nonsence Watson, we shall crack this mystery together, do you have your service revolver
about your person Watson?".
" Of course Holmes"
"Very well Watson, here is the conclusions I have drawn from the clues we have been presented with"
"Err you said great machine Holmes?"
"Indeed Watson a terrible and evil mind is at work here, this contrivance is so huge, it has to be a machine of war,
why it has been painted pink puzzles me a little,it is controlled by two men, one tall and authoritarian who wears Jackboots
, who also smokes cigars and carries a riding crop or baton of some kind, the other small mean and shifty, you can tell by
his shuffling gait, a criminal type footprint if I ever saw one Watson"
"Astonishing Holmes, you never cease to amaze me old chap"
"Please Watson there is more, these two devils are German"
"Good god Holmes, how could you possibly know that"
"Sausage skins Watson, sausage skins"
"But Holmes, Germans? they are a orderly peace loving people, they mean us no harm,
now if you had said frenchmen, I can fully believe two Frenchmen up to no good in a huge pink war machine"
"Indeed Watson, this case begins to have diplomatic connertations, we must consult my brother Mycroft"

Add chapter as req.


[ 24 August 2001: Message edited by: tony draper ]

Kermit 180
24th Aug 2001, 16:20
Two Germans in a pink war machine? :confused: Me thinks you were bored Herr Draper.

Kerms :eek:

Tricky Woo
24th Aug 2001, 16:41
"Do you zee zat, Schmidt? Ve are being followed by Basil Rathbone und Bilbo Baggins".

"Ja, Herr General".

"Put ze pink panzer into reverze, und sqvash ze fockers".

"Ja, Herr General".

Onan the Clumsy
24th Aug 2001, 17:06
"But General. If ve skvash the Fokers, How vill ve fly home?"

Biggles Flies Undone
24th Aug 2001, 17:20
Mein Gott! It's ze Pink Panzer Show :eek:

tony draper
24th Aug 2001, 17:28
You haff zer pink panza in der bushes hidden Shmitt?"
"Ja Mein Field Marshall"
"Gut, ve vill now our sealed orders open"
"Vat Berlin are vanting uz to do zen?"
"Got in himmel, verdammit dumkoffs,der boss vants us to steal der Greenwich meridian"
"Das isn der suicide mission Herr Rommel"
"Ja Shmitt, der tommies guard der Zero Meridian very close,der verdamt frenchmen tried vonce to steal zis,
unt get ein grossen arse kicking".
"Ha der frenchman, poo ! Field Marshal, all zay gut for iz der eating, nach der fighting ,ve are chemans, zis
vill ein pieces of cake be for us being, as der verdamt tommies say"
"Ja Shmitt, perhaps, zer boss is saying zat zer rightfull place for der meridian iz through der Berlin"
"Vell Field Marshal ver cannot mit der boss argue"
"Ja, ve must put on zeez uniforms, they are of zer 27Regiment of Armoured Nancy Boys."
"Der tommies are haffing 27 regiments off zer Nancy boys Herr Field Marshall?"
"Ja Shmitt, zat explains zer pink tank, tommies alvays many Nancy boys are haffing,zer puplic school Shmitt"
"Ein grossen briliant plan, zer tommies vil nefer suzpect a couple of public school offisers in zer pink panza"

[ 24 August 2001: Message edited by: tony draper ]

Tricky Woo
24th Aug 2001, 18:39
"Good Lord, Holmes, they've given us the slip".
"Indeed that's how it looks to the untrained eye, Watson. But what do you see there"?
"A bush"?
"Very perceptive of you, Watson. I'll make a detective of you yet".
(Watson mumbles: "Patronising ****".)

(later that evening)

"Dash it, Holmes. What's was the significance of that bush? I've given myself such a blasted headache trying to make head or tail of it".
"Picture that bush in your mind's eye, Watson".
"And what do you see"?
"A bush".
"What else do you see"?
"Anything else"?

(thinks for a moment)

"Good Lord, Holmes"!
"Those swine"!
"Indeed. A Wintergreen hybrid in Greenwich: Only a German could make such a stupid horticultural mistake. You will find that the bush is simply clumsy camouflage for their strange pink charabanc".
"Your deductive ability is simply amazing, Holmes".
"Indeed it is, Watson. Indeed it is".

(a little later)

"Just one more kiss, Watson, then we'll cuddle up and go to sleep: We have Hun to catch in the morning".

tony draper
24th Aug 2001, 21:09
Pull in here Shmitt beside those strange yellow markings, according to zis map ve are
being three miles from der Greenwich Meridian."
"Vi do not zer tommies use der kilometers, Herr Field Marshall"
"Got knows Shmitt, der Englanter is being crazy as der shiesehusen rat, mit der
yorkshire pooding unt der criketen bat".

"ee can't park ear sur"
"Eee can't park ee orsless carrdge ear sur, sez oi"
"Who iz zis fellow Shmitt"?.
"Some Englander type peasant Herr Field Marshall, mit der yellow cap"
" What does zis oaf vant Shmitt"
"You there fellow ,here is der sixpence go to the poob unt be haffing ein litre off der beer
mit your chums, unt leave us alone".
"Nay zer, that be more'n my jobs worth, wert Prince Regent imself to park ear, oid clamp Im"
" You there, are you knowing who I am?, do you know what zis vehicle iz?"
"Tiz as foin a orless carridge as oi be seein in many a long yer sur,all pink ind made out of tin,
smart as you likes,but still, ee can't be parkin t ****** ear"
"Look here old chaps, that Hansome cab has just parked up der strada, vi you not go unt bother them"?
"Ooooaarrr, if you gintlemn will excuse , oil deel wiff them first"
"Vi you not just shoot zat focker Shmitt?, comen viz me unt bring der shovels"

hmmm not getting much help here,Mr W, wait until Madam Fifi the French lady contortionist enters the story.

We need to attract someone with some literary class, like Mr Davaar.

[ 24 August 2001: Message edited by: tony draper ]

[ 24 August 2001: Message edited by: tony draper ]

Tricky Woo
25th Aug 2001, 00:30
(in the morning)

"Watson, my superior powers of observation have allowed me to see that there has is something fishy going on".
"Indeed, Holmes"?
"Indeed, Watson. Notice anything unusual about this fried egg"?
"Not especially, Holmes...".
"Or this piece of bacon"?
"...er, Holmes..."
"Or indeed, this piece of toast"?
"I think that you will find that..."


"Good Lord, Holmes, you were right. That bush sticks out like a Teutonic sore thumb. The bounders..."
"Indeed, and I think that you'll find that those clumsy foreigners will have left behind a plethora of clues".

(a little later still)

"So, Watson, as I was saying: we have an empty bottle of Blue Nun; half a bratwurst; the footprint of a jackboot; the tracks of a charabanc heading off towards the south east; three broken twigs; two puddles of urine; and a map of Greenwich with a large red circle around the Observatory".
"Ample clue for a chap like yourself, hey Holmes"?
"Indeed there are, Watson. Now let's take a closer at those broken twigs..."
"Holmes, that map gives me an idea..."


"...so we can ascertain that the third twig was broken with the instep of a man's left jackboot..."


"...indeed, Watson, the side of the boot that broke the first twig may indeed be a mystery beyond the brilliance of even I..."


"...Good Lord, Holmes, you're right! The first puddle of urine does indeed have a stronger tang of cheap German wine... now about that map..."


"...so as you can see, the smaller man can be identified as being a Prussian aristocrat due to the superior dentistry, as shown by the bite marks on the bratwurst".
"Holmes, you're a genius".
"Indeed I am, Watson".


"...but what to make of the map, Holmes"?
"It is indeed time to divert my considerable powers of concentration to the map...Watson? Where're you going? Wait for me? WATSON? WATSON"!


"But why can't we hold hands while we walk through Greenwich park, Watson"?

25th Aug 2001, 02:38
Dear Sherlock
I resign

Tricky Woo
26th Aug 2001, 11:35
(Hmm. Methinks Herr Draper has run out of inspiration. Never thought I'd see the day).

27th Aug 2001, 03:28
[Just a small contribution. I do not want to see the hiatus develop into a hernia]

The trail is cold, Watson, but I fancy it leads to King’s Cross.
King’s Cross, Holmes?
Yes, Watson, we can just catch the night sleeper to Edinburgh and then take the branch line to the atelier of Wee Jock McToorie, mentioned in my monograph “Last but not Least; A Review of the Shoe Tree and Palm Needle in the Detection of Crime”. In its review, The Leather and Shoe Trade Gazette awarded it a “Cobblers”, its highest accolade. McToorie was a successful sporran-winder and cord-wainer, but the market collapsed in ‘39. Meeting the doctrinal requirement for that Holy Turf, he was posted as a guard to Ibrox Park, then used as a cage for German officer POWs. As an elder of the Church by Law Established he had reached black belt level in the baleful stare so valued at the collection plate, and this, combined with his inadvertence with the Sten gun (None, however, regretted more deeply than he "the Waffen SS Ten" when his finger slipped on the trigger of the Sten, a notoriously unreliable weapon) and his skills at the winding and waining applied to footwear built for him a rewarding practice in hand-tooled Jackboots or, as his new clients quickly learned to call them, Jockboots. Since the capture of von Thoma at Alamein, McToorie has been unrivalled in the Jockboot trade, though recent reports whisper of a new invention, the Jackstrap. For the moment we shall put that to the side, though it may later come to the fore. I have with me the broken twig, Watson, from which I am confident McToorie will identify the hand in the land that made the boot that covered the foot that will lead to the loot. Of that, my dear Watson, there is little doot. Here the great man smiled, a rare lifting of the veil, at his own jeu de mots.

28th Aug 2001, 05:39
Davaar, the Jockbooters should be kept under close surveillance, lest they try to escape in an Unterseeboot. I suggest a close watch be kept on the small jetty in Dooris.

Tricky Woo
30th Aug 2001, 14:38
(Extract from The Times)


Scotland Yard are searching for thieves who broke into the Greenwich Observatory last night. The thieves entered the building via a broken window and then chiseled the Meridian-line out of its concrete recess. They then effected their escape in their getaway vehicle.

Detective-Sergeant Tosser of Scotland Yard made the following statement: "We are proceeding with our enquiries. We have a number of vital leads that should ensure a speedy resolution to the case". When pressed, he also stated "We've no bleedin' idea".

When contacted, Percival Chunk, the Head Caretaker at the Observatory was present when the thieves forced their entry: "There were seventeen of 'em, there were, all 'ell's Angels too. One of 'em had a machete, and the rest of 'em had shotguns. The leader said that if I did anyfink then e'd cut me knackers off, so I never did nuffink, did I"? An official at the Observatory vehemently denied rumours that Mr Chuck was asleep throughout the robbery.

At time of press, grave reports of the disruption caused by the theft are pouring in. British Rail have admitted that, due to the temporary disruption of GMT, their services are unlikely to run according to any credible time-table. Then then back-dated the disruption to 1947. France, America and Chad have all claimed the right to create their own Meridians.

Bally Heck
30th Aug 2001, 22:47
"Watson, do you have your service quadrant, chronograph and almanac on you?"

"Of course Holmes...but what.....?"

"Dont you see man...if we can take a sun sight we can calculate the realative position of the Greenwich meridian to our current location"

"Why Holmes that's inspired..here...take the chronograph.

Watson measure the altitude of the sun and made a few calculations.

"Holmes the prime meridian is only 45'33" east of us.....but it could be on any latitude...how can we locate it?

"Take another sight man quickly" ejaculated Holmes.

"Why Holmes it's moved further east, it's 45'36" east of us now."

"Watson! It's on the eight fifty seven boat train to Harwich. Nothing else could be moving east at a velocity of 47 mph. The bounders are going to take it out of the country. I'll wager Moriarty is behind this. Quickly get your service mobile telgraph out and send a wire to Inspector Clouseau of the yard. We must stop them."..........

30th Aug 2001, 23:33
But Holmes was an imposter. "Clouseau OF THE YARD"? A dead give-away. Of the METRE, surely.

Tricky Woo
31st Aug 2001, 16:44
(Inspector Clouseau's office. Clouseau is interviewing the gorgeous, pouting Mademoiselle De Mure, the victim of a hienous crime...)

De Mure: Zo, Inspecteur, ee touched me 'ere, and also 'ere. Eee was zo strong! Zere waz nozing zat zis poor, innozent girl could do to rezist. Perhaps eef I take off zis blouse and zis brassiere you will be able to see zee first place betteur...

Clouseau: Ahh, I zee, most 'elpful Ma'mselle...

De Mure: ...zen zee man alzo touched me furzer down 'ere...

Clouseau: ...pleeze show mee zee urther place where zee pervert rubbed you, and I'm sure I will find all ze clues necessaire to
catch eem...

De Mure: Firzt, I must remove zese stockings, and zen...


Clouseau: Un moment, ma'mselle... Oui?

Phone: blah-blah-blah?

Clouseau: Oui, eet ees I, Inspecteur Clouseau.

Phone: blah-blah-blah-blah!

Clouseau: Mon Dieu! But 'ow will zee trains ever run on time? Zis is an outrage!

Phone: blah-blah.

Clouseau: Don't you worry, mon ami Watson, Inspector Clouseau never fails. Leeve eet to me... au revoir.

Phone: click.

Clouseau: Ma'mselle, somezing very pressing haz come up, zo if you would be zo kind as to remove your underwear zo I can 'ave a closer look. I am in a greater 'urry than usual.

De Mure: Whatever you are wanting, Inspecteur, but eef you want zee feelthy 'extras' zis week, zen I want lots of zee extra money. Zis girl haz to make zee living, you know?

Clouseau: No time for zee extras, Ma'mselle, so pleeze reemove zee clothzes and zen wee can get down to zee business...

De Mure: Ooooo Inspecteur...

Clouseau: Ooooo Ma'mselle.

31st Aug 2001, 16:54
Then Clouseau, "Chomps on De Mure, rat ta ta ta ta" ;)

Biggles Flies Undone
31st Aug 2001, 18:12
Eric..... I think you may be beyond help :D :D

Tricky Woo
1st Sep 2001, 01:29
Hmm, I'm not getting much help here, am I.


Bally Heck
1st Sep 2001, 02:23
"Holmes, what the hell are you doing man.....Stop It!"

"Oh my god...Watson...my dear fellow...I am so sorry...it it was when you did these sheep noises on your service issue mobile telegraph...I just lost control....it's the opium you know. Anyway I'm done up again. Quick man, hail that hansom, there's not a minute to lose"

Holmes and Watson travelled at break neck speed back to Baker Street in the hansom carriage.

"Watson, give me that fleck of pink paint. I must carry out some scientific tests"

"But Holmes, what about the prime meridian? Shouldn't we...."

"Never mind that Watson, Clouseau of the yard will take care of these bounders. There is more at stake here than just the Greenwich meridian. If I'm not mistaken, this fleck of pink paint will lead us to the lair of the archvillain Moriarty. Watson, pass me that phial of para-dimethylaminobenzaldehyde."

Bally Heck
1st Sep 2001, 21:06
"Watson! For god's sake man, put that high visibility vest on. Do you have no idea how dangerous this stuff is?"

"Sorry Holmes, I er, wasn't thinking"

"There do you see, there under the microscope"

"I don't know what to make of it Holmes"

"Oil based Watson, oil based gloss. The die used is from the Pinkoniusm Edelwiess plant found only in the foothills of the German Alps. But theres more. See how the solution reacts in the colorimeter. It contains traces of Hydrazine"

"Hydrazine Holmes. Is that not used as an oxygen scavenging agent in high pressure steam plants?"

"Indeed it is Watson. Hydrazine, N2H4, but it is also used as a propellant for missiles. This can only mean that fiend Moriarty has devised a plan for world domination using some unmentionably grotesque weapon of mass destruction"

Good Lord Holmes! What will we do?"

"Watson, we must contact my brother Mycroft. His comprehensive memory may just be able to come up with some fictional character, well known to the readers, and preferably with a comedic trait who will be able to disentangle this fearsome plot. Failing that someone like Professor Heinz Wolfe or Stanley Unwin will have to do."

The Guvnor
1st Sep 2001, 21:44

tony draper
2nd Sep 2001, 00:20
Zis damit Panza, it vill go no faster ,Shmitt?"
"Nein, mien Field Marshall, der veight of all zis brass, it is der top
speed preventing, ja."
"See zair Shmitt, ein road sign, ve vill see how close to zee vite cliffens ve are coming".
"Vat der sign say Herr Romell?"
"Verdamit zee's tommies, vi zay not are using der German lankwidge,
Hmm der sign are saying Shervood Forresten, Shmitt",
"Gut Herr Field Marshall zat means vw are not far from zer vite cliffs
Vat time isn it Field Marshal"
"Hmmm not sure zair Shmiit zis vatch der boss gaven me in der
bier keller, it only shows UT, unt it doesn't seem to vant to go past
zero zero hours, very strange, der vatch it is still ticking"?
"Der Uboat, Herr Rommel, I am hoping zat der herr Donitz does not forget".
"Don't vorry Shmitt, he vont down be letting us, but verdammit ve need zer time to be finding out".

Tricky Woo
3rd Sep 2001, 13:26
Donitz: "Vhere der fock are ve, Muller? Iz das der freshen wasser Ich am smellen?"

Muller: "Ja, der wasser ist freshen. Das ist der River Trent, Herr Admiral."

Donitz: "Und vhy der fock are ve here?"

Muller: "For der picken up of der General Rommel, Herr Admiral."

Donitz: "Sheet! I hate das focking man. He ist alvays der battles vinning, und der girlz shagging, und der medals getting, und Der Boss zinks he ist zoooooo f*cking wunderbar. Focking 'Desert Rat' meinen arsen."

Muller: "Ich hear zat efen der Tommies zink he ist cool, Herr Admiral. Vhy ist das?"

Donitz: "Don't be focking reminding me, Muller. Mein Gott, Ich hate das f*cking man".

Muller: "Zorry, Herr Admiral."

Dontiz: "Nefer minden. Puten up der periscope, I vant to zee dis Englander river... und maybe zink ein ship or zwei..."

Tricky Woo
3rd Sep 2001, 15:41
"Holmes... Holmes... HOLMES!!!!!"

(Loud sound of vacuum cleaner replaced by the clip-clop of passing Hackney carriages)

"By the pallour of your skin, and the slight taint of ink on your fingers, I would say that you have recently read something most notable in a newspaper, Watson."

"Indeed I have, Holmes. Terrible news, I'm afraid: The newspapers are saying that two rowing-boats and a skiff have been lost on the River Trent."

"Not a mystery worthy of the great mind of Sherlock Holmes... If you don't mind, Watson, I have lots of housework to complete before I have to peel the vegetables for dinner."

"But Holmes, they're saying that some sort of underwater engine, strongly made of iron, was seen in the vicinity. Apparantly, this iron sea-serpent raised some sort of an eye, thereby allowing its body to remain completely submerged, and thus undetectible to the casual observer. They say that the iron beast fired long underwater bombs driven by screws. When these infernal bombs reached the boats, some sort of device attached to the front of each bomb made contact, thereby causing their fuzes to trigger, which in turn resulted in the detonation of their chemical contents."

"For God's Sake, Watson! Submarines, periscopes and torpedoes were invented donkey's years ago during the American Civil War. Whatever drives you to use such arcane language?"

"Sorry, Holmes. Just trying to add a bit of authenticity and atmosphere to the plot."

"Well don't. There is not a moment to be lost; we must repair at once to the station. See if you can't find my Palm Pilot, there's a good chap".

"Exactly which decade are we supposed to be in, Holmes?"

"I'll be ******ed if I know. Talking of *******, Watson, I wonder if perhaps you might be interested in a quick..."

Tricky Woo
4th Sep 2001, 14:09
(Sound of door bell ringing)

Poirot: Who calls at the residence of Hercule Poirot??

Clouseau: Eet is I, Clouseau.

Poirot: Pardon, Inspecteur Clouseau, please come into my apartment. You are moost welcome.

Clouseau: Zankyou.

Poirot: And what is so urgent that you must disturb the peace and tranquility of the great Hercule Poirot?

Clouseau: Our fictional Eenglish colleagues, 'Olmes et Watson 'ave un problèm. Zee feelthy German peegs 'ave stolen zee Prime Meridian and are goin' to be smugglin' eet into France soon. Wee must stop zem!

Poirot: But why do the French police need the services of the greatest Belgian detective that has ever lived?

Clouseau: Because zee stupid anglo-saxon eediots zat read zis bulletin-board will neever know zee difference between a Belgian and a French detective.

Poirot: Quite so, Inspector Clouseau, quite so. One moment, I must comb my moustache while I think of what we must do...

(Clouseau, having the attention span of a goldfish, immediately looks around the room for something interesting to play with; he picks up an ashtray, thereby allowing the stack of papers that it was weighing down, to be blown through the open window; two of the pieces of paper stick to the windscreen of a passing taxi-cab, causing it to crash through a plate-glass window; an old lady accompanied by a large poodle hobble out of the restaurant, still trying to finish her Belgian pastry; a cat sees the poodle and leaps up the nearest tree to escape such an hideously ugly mutt; the cats fanatical owner, Madame LaTramp sees her cat's tail disappearing amongst the leaves, and starts to scream "Ma chat! Ma pauvre chat!"; the scream disturbs a small group of nesting pigeons, who explode into the air in order to fly yet another lap of the neighbourhood; one of the pigeons drops a large poo, which descends, whistling, into the creme caramel of a old man sat reading a newspaper at an outdoor café; the old man glances at his dessert, spies the pigeon plop, and then calls the waitor; the waitor protests LOUDLY that the pigeon turd was NOT there when he brought the dessert out of the kitchen; the old man takes his spoon and sticks it up the waitors nose; the waitor shouts even louder, causing a young man on a passing bicycle to swerve into the path of an oncoming truck; (You probably don't know where all this is going, but then again neither do I. I just don't seem to be able to stop. Help!); the truck driver spots the swerving bicycle and smirks 'cos he f**king hates bikers; the young chap leaps off the bicycle in time to avoid death, although the cycle is completely destroyed; a piece of the handlebar flies off into the air, through the Poirot's window, crashing into his priceless collection of Dresner pottery; the whole cabinet topples over, spraying bits of glass and broken pottery all over the reception room floor).

(Phew, thank God that's over. Ever read Ulysees by James Joyce? I reckon he must have had the same problem).

Poirot: What was that noise, Mon Ami?

Clouseau: What noise? There was no noise.

(Poirot sees Clouseau standing with the ashtray in his hands, his Dresden china smashed to smithereens, and being a famous detective, understands all).

Poirot: I do hope that Madame LaTramp's cat with descend from the tree before sunset.

(Even Clouseau is impressed).

Poirot: Quickly, Inspecteur, we must depart to Dieppe at once. Remind me, which country is Dieppe in? France or Belgium? I fear that I cannot remember...

Tricky Woo
4th Sep 2001, 17:59
Tricky Woo: Well all, it seems that I'm pi$$ing in the wind trying to keep this f**king thread alive.

Draper: Draper thinks so too.

Tricky Woo: But you f**king started it!

Draper: Draper has been busy. Draper has been led astray by younger, more flirtatious threads.

Tricky Woo: I knew it: you're a thread tart!

Davaar: Tame your game to flame Draper for his shame. He's not solely to blame.

Tricky Woo: Don't you f**king start. One sodding post on this thread. Do you realise that I've worked my finger tips down to the knuckle? Do you think that all these words simply fall from the sky? No! Let me tell you...

Davaar: I'm off.

Draper: Me too.

Tricky Woo: Er, Chaps... wait for me. Chaps?

tony draper
4th Sep 2001, 19:13
The muse has deserted Draper this week TW,
You are doing a splendid job, please carry on.
I introduced Sherwood forrest as a intro to bringing Robin and his chaps into the tale, but I think we are straining space and time as it is. ;)

[ 04 September 2001: Message edited by: tony draper ]

Tricky Woo
4th Sep 2001, 19:53
Shan't. Sulking now.

Bally Heck
4th Sep 2001, 20:47
(The office of Philip Marlowe PI. Somewhere in downtown New Yoik)

It was one of those days. You know, the air was heavy enough touch. The sweat was trickling down my back as I pored over the Baum heist. A knock on the door. I looked through the frosted panel. Yeah. She was built. I could see that much through the glass.

“Come”. She walked over to the seat on the other side of my desk. Her legs went on forever and she had a button that the bread and butter man would blow his big wad to sit on. Her hair was the colour of fire through bourbon and ice.

“What can I do for you lady?”

“Ah’m Agnes Scullion fae Scoatland Yard. Inspector Clouseau his asked me tae hae a blether wi’ ye aboot a case he’s oan”

I gave her the third and she brought me up to speed on the case a dope fiend peeper called Holmes, a pink war machine and the Greenwich meridian were involved in. All the time I was thinking how much I’d like to pitch woo with this baby.

“So where do I come into this lady?”

“Clouseau wants ye tae help catch thae numpties. The PM’s been oan tae the President aboot the meridian. Thur both right pissed oaf that thur watches urny workin’ right.”

Well if the highbinders were hinky about an American connection it was news to me.

I poured us both a stiff hooker of Scotch. She crossed her getaway sticks. Yeah, I could get dizzy with this bim.

I dropped a dime to a buzzer I knew to get the lowdown on these bindle punks. “Does the Von Trapp family mean anything to you lady?”

“Aye, no half an that. They’re wan o the biggest “families” in the fatherland. The kraut filth huv been tryin’ tae nail thum fir centuries. Ah think thur based in the fithills o’ the Alps”

The broad had to breeze then. I wasn’t sure I wanted in on this case. I didn’t want the daylight let in during a Chicago lightning episode with these dopeheads. My heater would be sleeping with me tonight.

Tricky Woo
5th Sep 2001, 12:23
You won't coax me out that way, Bally Heck. Still sulking.


Bally Heck
5th Sep 2001, 12:58
Go on TW. Go on. Oh. Go on.......Go on.....Go on Go on Go on Go on Go on Go on Go on

Tricky Woo
5th Sep 2001, 15:12
(Scene opens onto the banks of the Trent. A submarine is docked next to a pink tank. The two heroes of the Fatherland are enjoying a cordial reunion...)

Doenitz (salutes smartly): Ach zo, Herr General, ve meet again, ja? Ein pleazure for me.

Rommel (returns a slightly sloppier salute): Ja, Herr Admiral, ve do indeed. Und a pleasure for me, alzo.

Doenitz (offers his hand): I truzt zat you haf been gut, Mein Comraden?

Rommel (shakes his hand): Ja, I am gut. Und you? You haf been gut alzo? How iz your vife, healzy I hope? Und your children? Fat und happy?

Doenitz (smiling): Ewerybody is gut, zankyou. Now, iff I may ezcort you und Schmidt unto meinen U-boot...

(sound of traditional whistle, as Rommel steps onto the U-boat)

Rommel: Zankyou, Herr Admiral, ein great honour for me... Now, pleaze order Muller to vinch meinen panzer unto your U-boot. Schmidt vill help him.

Doenitz (aghast): But Herr General, zis is zee flagship off der German Navy. Vot vill our enemies zink vhen zey see ein pinken panzer on meinen U-boot? Zey vill point und laugh at uz. Der Boss vill not be pleazed!

Rommel (offended): Herr Admiral, zee colour pinken iz ein wery good colour in zee dezert. Only ein foolen zailor vould zink othervise. Und anyvay, zee ozer Navy's already are laughen at your ztupid U-boot.

Doenitz: Zay do NOT laugh at meinen focking U-boot. ZEY FEAR IT!!!








(Cut to Schmidt and Muller sharing a cigarette).

Schimdt: Vhere vill you be droppen uz offen, zen, me olden mucker?

Muller: Zee German port of Dieppe... ve vill soon haff you back in der Farterland.

Schmidt: Ztrange, I haff alvays zought zat Dieppe vas in Der Netherlands...

Muller: Ein eazy miztake to make, Schmidt.


(Cut to two English gentlemen, dressed in country tweeds, briskly riding their bicycles...)

Watson: Good lord, Holmes, there they are... but by golly they seem to be getting away.

Holmes: Time to act, Watson, quick, we must accelerate these ingenius contraptions thereby gaining enough velocity to be able to leap the widening gap between the river-bank and the submersible... er, Watson, wait for me, dear... Watson?

(Scene fades as the lavender submarine, with a pink panzer firmly lashed to it, sails slowly down the River Trent. Not quite so firmly lashed onto the deck are two sodden English gentlemen and their quickly rusting bicycles).

5th Sep 2001, 19:45
Phew thought for a moment there our most surrealistic posters had deserted the art of pink prose and found pastures new.

Tony, pretty please................ don't let Trickster struggle, however manfully, with only Bally to coax him out............

Bally Heck
6th Sep 2001, 03:27
The hat spun across the room, landing on the middle peg of the coat stand, swung twice and came to rest.

“Oh James, do you never miss”
“I mish you Moneypenny, with all my heart, every shecond I’m out of thish offish”
“James, stop it, you know you’ll break my heart.”
A buzzer sounded. “Send 007 in when he’s finished flirting would you Moneypenny”

Bond passed through the double security door into M’s office.
“007, let me introduce you to Inspector Clouseau of Scotland Yard”
The chair Clouseau was swinging on slid from under him, depositing the inspector on the floor. Mustering as much dignity as he could Clouseau stood up muttering something about “ze fleur poleesh beink too sliperee”

“Clouseau has brought us news of the whereabouts of the pink war machine. It appears to be aboard a lavender submarine the German unterzeebootfleet. What we want you to do commander is to track this submarine down and find out where it’s going”
“Ishn’t that a job for the Royal Navy shir?”
“Unfortunately 007 we’re talking about the early 19th century here. The navy doesn’t posess the technology to deal with this sort of thing. Q show 007 what you’ve cooked up for him”

Q removed the dustsheet from a large smelly object in the corner of the basement workshop. “Voila Bond. A hansom carriage specially adapted to go underwater. Note the fifty foot snorkels fitted to the horses. Now the cabin is totally sealed although the driver will have to wear a diving suit which unfortunately means we need a surface vessel with a coolie working the air pump. This could result in some dramatic and perhaps humerous scenes plagiarised from a 1930’s black and white film later in the story. However, I digress. Now if you pull this handle (a sliding noise like a door opening on the Enterprise) we see this high tech control panel is revealed. Now this button…”

“Yesh yesh Q I think I can figure it out. Jusht give me the keysh and I’ll be on my way.”

“Oh and James. Do try to bring it back in one piece”

“One more thing before you go Bond” ejaculated M. One of our most respected turn of the century authors has told us that two of his best loved characters, Sherlock Holmes and the good Dr Watson are on this infernal machine. Try and rescue them.

“You can depend on it shir. Oh and one thing before I go shir. There don’t seem to be any beautiful women introduced into the plot so far for me to shag.”

Bally Heck
7th Sep 2001, 21:28
Nee Naw Nee Naw Nee Naw

An ambulance screeches to a halt at the emergency admissions. Two greenclad medics rush the gurney into the casualty reception area.

“OK what have we got here”
“37 post old Jetblast thread. BPs 80 over 40, bradycardic, delusional and suffering from decerebration. Been pretty well neglected for a few days. Also severe swelling of the periodontal atrium”
“OK get it on the table. Get me an EMT, what’s the ETA, 50mg DNA subcutaneous. GMT or UTC, you tell me”

beep beep beep beep beeeee

“He’s fibrillating”
“Get me an IV push of tetra cortosone and monosodium glutamate, bring the crash trolley, where’s the paddles, 50 megjoules CLEAR”

Later, the patient is stable in the ICU.

“Any relatives around?”
“A Mr Heck in the waiting room doctor”
“Mr Heck are you a relative?”
“No no it’s Draper’s kid. I just visited and found it like this. Is it going to be alright?”
“I’ll be frank with you Mr Heck, It’s touch and go right now. We’ve done everything we can for the moment but if no one shows any interest it could just peter out”
“But it’s only 37 posts old, some threads can live to over a hundred!”
“I know, I’ve read them. It’s usually the good ones that die young. But there is still hope. This treatment will push it to the top of the forum where it might receive the attention it deserves.”
“I hope so doctor, I hope so, I’ll be honest with you. I’ve been “seeing” this thread for a while now and I think I’m in love with it. I don’t think I can go on if it, if it”

Bally Heck bursts out into a hysterical sobbing tantrum and has to be sedated with 14 kg of black Irish beer.

tony draper
7th Sep 2001, 23:41
"Chevron six engaged and locked, sir"
"Goddamit Jack what you dialed in here"
"Prune sector Colonel"
"Damit Jack we been here before"
"No sir, we visited the godzone"
"Oh yeh, I remember that place, big desert completely
devoid of intelligent life"
"Thats right Colonel, we were going to use it to test nukes"
"Boy those treehuggers will never let us get away with that"
"We intend to go back in time and do that Colonel, no one
will noticeback then"
"Well Captain?, whats the problem here, on this Jet
goddam place".
"Time lines are all screwed up sir, plots all mixed up.
we may have to shut it down"
"Huh, someone been using the holodeck to justify unlikely
plot lines"?
"Err no sir, I keep telling you we are SG1, not startrek"
"Well ok, whatever, Jack, do what you gotta do, I'll just
stand and make smartass remarks as usual".
"Hey Coronel, we could just ship this whole mess to that
dunnunder place".
"Roger that Jack, make it so"
"Sir I keep telling you SG1"
"Whatever Jack, do it then nuke it".
"Goddam pink combat vehicles, jeez those limeys, hey Captain, come on over to these bushes with me, while Jack does his stuff,unhook yourself from all of those guns Captain and I'll show you what its like to have another life form deep inside you, like poor old Teelk over there, we may as well have some fun here before they beam us up"
"SG1 sir"
"Yeh whatever"

[ 08 September 2001: Message edited by: tony draper ]

Bally Heck
18th Sep 2001, 03:59
Beep beep beep beep beeeeeeeeee......

Tricky Woo
18th Sep 2001, 15:14
Rommel: "Mein Gott, Schmidt. Ve haf been put to der top off der Jet Blast again!"

Schmidt: "Ja, Mein General".

Rommel: "Vot are ve going to do now?"

Schmidt: "You vill zink off somezing, Mein General."

Rommel: "Admiral, do you haf any ideas?"

Doenitz: "I have der plenty of der ideas, but I vill not tell zem to you. Not until you apologize for der calling of meinen Navy a bunch of der poofs".

Rommel: "You started it. You laughed at meinen pinken panzer".

Doenitz: "You laughed at meinen lavender unter-der-see-boot".

Rommel: "Ok, I am der sorry".

Doenitz: "I am der sorry too".

(Both hug briefly, then salute the picture of Der Fuhrer, slightly askew on the wall).


Doenitz: "Vell, we haf triumphantly arrived at der German port of Dieppe".

Rommel: "Gut. Nothing can being der going wrong now, I zink..."

Bally Heck
27th Sep 2001, 20:52
"Holmes, good lord look"
"What Watson? What is it?"
"This thread Holmes, it's risen to the top. My god it was almost in the Jet Blast archives"
"Your absolutely right Watson. And do you know why?"
"No Holmes, what can you see?"
"Look at these other threads Watson. What do you notice about them?"
"Looks like the usual Jet Blast nonsense Holmes"
"Look closer man. See the edict at the top of the page"
"Why of course Holmes! This thread contains no politically incorrect drivel of any consequence!!"
"Exactly Watson. It more or less conforms to the requirements of the Great Despotic Digital Dictator's Desired Design of Drivel, Dogma, Daftness, Dalliance, Debate Oww oww oww. What did you do that for Watson?
"You were becoming alliterate Holmes. You know how I hate it when you do that!"
"Umm, sorry Watson old chap. Fancy a beer?"

29th Sep 2001, 23:58
Sound of a violin rises from the open scullery window of the Purple Tadger Hostelry.
Holmes his intelectual forehead creased in concentration, eyes tightly closed against the heavy black smoke billowing from the Meerschum pipe clenched between his teeth
is playing the tune he had composed to the beautiful and mysterious actress who had stolen his heart in the case of the Lonely One-eyed Dwarf.

"Dammit Holmes it's not much fun drinking in here y'know, I'd rather be in the parlour by the fire."

Sound of violin continues, the obvious unfinshed aspect of the melody providing a vibrant clue as to why the patrons of the Lounge bar had revolted to a man and packed the deadly duo into the furthest room.

"Watson, did you notice the bearded man drinking at the table by the door?"

'Can't say I did old Man why did you recognise him."

" Do you mean the sabre cut across his right cheek, monacle in his left eye and glass of schnapps, did nothing to arouse your interest, the fact that the instep of his left boot contained traces of the same odiferous canine deposit that you so carelessly encountered on the trail of those fiendish Huns that have stolen our Nations Meridian,and were last seen with our rental penny farthings losely lashed to the deck about to submerge in the Puce contraption? Have you learnt nothing man. Simple observation old fellow, you really must cultivate it "

"Pink, Holmes, it was definitely Pink, remember your fascinatingly penetrating analysis on the make up of the fleck found on the wintergreen bush. By the way talking of smells what is that curious smell that appears to underlie the familiar choking tang of that Abbasynian Shag, you're not taking up any more bad habits beside the cocain and opium are you?

" Mere experimentation my dear, dear friend, speaking of which this unexpected privacy should not be wasted..."

(Hastily) " Play it again Holmes, the air had definite promise, besides you know the strictures we labour under in this devilish case, Lestrade will be anxious to know how we managed to escape with our lives when it submerged"

30th Sep 2001, 23:49
Wiping sweat and a really sexy lock of hair back from his dripping forehead, a surgeon in green scrubs steps wearily away from the table. Removing his mask he reveals the familiar visage of the owner of the Fiona Gale a very unlucky fishing boat last seen going down slo-mo under a huge, huge, really huge Hollywood wave. Obviously a great underwater swimmer and accomplished allrounder he has just now dragged yet one more patient from the brink.

"Dr you were, magnificent" breathes equaly touseled and sweaty nurse. Once again, a perfect green eyed supermodel speciman, she is that chimera of NHS hospitals, a figment of the casting directors imagination.

Both look meaningfully into each others eyes, the chemistry positively seeths, together with some welling up violin music coming from the Xray equipment in the corner.
Hand held camera pans slowly round their perfect profiles, then slowly down onto faintly breathing Thread lying motionless on gurney, wide open chest and attractive blood spattering, where minutes before gripping but gory scenes of hand to heart massage has ensued. Minor minion begins threading a sacking needle with twine.

An increasingly Titanic struggle has taken place to keep the patient from sinking into oblivion but is it too late? has all hope finally faded?

Camera zooms closer in yet, to focus on the fingers of the comatose figure, seen twitching spasmodicaly, as the cute Dr can be heard in background asking where the alcoholic who brought him in has collapsed.

" I'd better give him the news,God knows it's only a matter of time now. He was the one who brought the poor thing in. Funny though, it looks as though he's been jolted by some weird pulse of some strange radiation, I can see all his bones glowing through his flesh, you must have noticed it as well."
Murmer of acqiescence from green eyed goddess.
" You know,I feel that the truth is out there.... somewhere.
Didn't that chap say he was from some Goverment Agency, before he dived into that Guiness booth? I thought they weren't allowed to drink on duty anyway?"

Voices fade into distance. Camera now holding tight in on a stange light emminating from the ring on finger of the motionless hand.

Cut to a man in big Mack, turned up collar with a cigarete in his mouth,lurking in corridor close by ER room. Lights it meaningfuly; by the light of his burning fringe we recognise the mean sharp features of.... 'Cigarette man!'

Fade to blackness....

[ 01 October 2001: Message edited by: Paterbrat ]

Tricky Woo
1st Oct 2001, 14:53
Oh, alright, I'll give it another go.


1st Oct 2001, 22:39
I already said 'the finger twiched' Tricky, at this rate we still have a drink sodden Mr Heck sobbing hystericaly into the night nurse's(gorgeous creature)bossom.

2nd Oct 2001, 22:43
Sir Walter's summons to the Foreign Office was unexpected.As I was shown into his office I barely recognised him, he was a shadow of the man who I had worked with on the mysterious and dangerouse case of the 39 steps before my call up to the front as a Captain, due to my Matabele experience.

" Come in Hannay how the Devil are you?"
"Tough as a sjambok." I replied. "Happy as a sand boy, fit as a flea..."
" Yes!yes!" he cut me off."
" How's the injury?"
" Mere scratch Sir" I replied. The shrapnell in my arm ached, not as much as the shrapnell in my leg, which was a tad worse than the steel plate in my skull, none of which were as inconveniently itchy as the splinters in my buttocks from the plank which the stout lads from the battalion had carried me back to the front line on, or as worrying to me as the ghastly squint I had developed in my eye from the sty I had contracted from the communal pot of ointment we had all used at the field hospital, but I digress..
"I'll be back at the front line any day now."
" Maybe not." grunted Sir Walter."
He held up his hand to cut off the instant query that had risen to my lips, and hung there like a big balloon.
" No doubt you've heard of this Omar Bin- Greenliner devil that is holed up by the Khyber pass. Involved in that nasty to-do a while back. Bad show that fracas, stirred up a real hornets nest, let me tell you. Set of a real hullabaloo in the Forums these carriage wallah's hang around in. Hotheads gettin carried away with some pretty fiery bazzar talk.
Word finaly came down from the Grand High Panjandrum that lips were going to have to be buttoned, any any strife was going to be clamped down on. Guidelines were set.
Now we have some pretty good eggs out there and they rose to the occasion like the Bulldog breed they are. Set about calming the toops.
Fellow called Draper with the help of a Matrial Arts chappie T Wu, or Fu, runs a Mahjong Parlour over in Switerland, another bloke called Heck. Been doing sterling work. They were all over the place, word here a word there, calming the situation. Oil on troubled waters , or is it a bridge over... Er.. no matter. Now what was I talking about?"
" Sturdy chaps, ster..."
" Yes yes, don't interrupt Hannay!!
Well one of em started a pretty good Thread which ran into a spot of trouble, bit of a hiccup. Been close call a couple of times, seen some tough, bloody action. Last word I had it's in a bad way. They had a Detective fellow and his assistant, good man ex Indian Army medico from 22b Baker St on the trail of some Pinko war thing, heading off to the Fatherland, trail got a bit muddied.
Damn my eyes if there wasn't even talk of some UFO appearing on the scene and trying to finish it off with a photon torpedo, though I'll be blowed if I know what on earth that could be. Probably what we are about to hang off our SE5's on the front line. That'll show the old Picklehaubed Huns a thing or two, eh what.
Now what I was hoping for was just a bit of a nudge and perhaps it will stagger on for a bit longer. Apparantly it's a bit like cricket you know, Century and it'll lock automaticaly.
" Yes Sir I..."
" Goddammit Hannay d'you always cut people off like this? Dammned poor show! Bad form! Err yes... what was I saying?
" Cricket Sir, Century"
" Ah yes, well that's the objective.
See what can be done. You know the score, pitch in and help, but don't queer the pitch, or be queer. Your here to serve Pprune. That's all.
Well that's all. What do you say ?"

My heart was pounding uncomfortably, the standard that had been set was impossibly high. I knew I had severe limitations, my spelling was cr.. awful, and the carriage wallahs a pretty tough crowd. Have to be, in their line of business; but I was damned if I wouldn't give it a crack. Was it going to work?
Well, the job was there, and my chum Sandy was back at the Club.
Now I'm not going to drop any names but my mucker Sandy, otherwise the Hon Ludovic Gustavus Arbuthnot, second son of Edward Cospatrick the fifteenth Baron of Clanroyden; Old Etonian, late of New College Oxon and Captain in the Tweeddale Yeomanry. Honorary military attace to more Embassies than you can shake a stick at. Whose been to Mecca,Bhokarra Sammerkand, Parmirs, Petrograd, Rome, Paris, Cairo, Lhasa, Yarkand, Seistan, and a few more places at that, is a particular mate, and been round the block as you may have gathered for yourselves.
He is a jolly good back-up in a tight spot, and I might just need his help. Only time would tell and God knows we had plenty of that.I had crossed the Rubicon.

Tricky Woo
3rd Oct 2001, 12:16

I've only just recently read Greenmantle for the first time. Absolutely spot on. You have my respect, Sir.


Bally Heck
4th Oct 2001, 00:09
Well welcome to a new days play at Heddingley. TCOTPWM is still in bat after Paterbrat brought them up to 48 not out at close of play yesterday. And Bally Heck walks out from the pavilion looking very much the man on form. The crowd are on their feet giving a warm round of applause to the man who single handedly saved this test last month.

Heck positions himself at the crease. "I want revenge (any suggestions?)" is bowling. IWR runs to the wicket an Oh what a ball. And Heck thwacks it and Oh it was nearly caught there by "Acronymic Airlines" but Heck runs out just before the ball returns to the wicket and that puts TCOTPWM back to the top of the forum and the crowd are going crazy. 50 posts for TCOTPWM.............

Bally Heck
5th Oct 2001, 22:01
D'Arcy stood before the fireplace in his rooms. He was regarding Eliza, reclined on the chaise longe, in a not unhedonistic manner. Her dress revealing a glimpse of ankle and her firm pouting breasts pushing provocatively against her bodice. The warm evening sun complimented the opulence of the room and the atmosphere of familiar intimacy was enhanced by the soft background murmur of hard core techno rock.
"A glass of wine?" D'Arcy ejaculated. Eliza considered the question for a few moments. D'Arcy stood tall in his white britches, his long slim legs accentuated by the cut of the cloth. She knew he was pleased to see her but was not a little dissapointed to note that the pleasure was not, as yet, as lascivious as she might have wished. "Yes, that would be very nice thank you D'Arcy" she replied with a note of huskiness in her voice which D'Arcy realised was stirring him in a not unprovocative way.
He returned a few minutes later from his well stocked cellar with two glasses of vintage claret and offered one to Eliza,.
D'Arcy took a sip of wine before pausing to enkindle one of his by now familiar cigars. Eliza watched the wreath of blue smoke as it snaked it's way throught the now fading streams of sunlight to disperse in the cool currents of air by the ornate cornicing.
"Get yer kit off Tarquin and take me from behind on the Steinway you proud young stallion" she countenanced.
He inhale deeply from his cigar, his face gave away nothing, but Eliza could see from the change in the way his britches hung that her suggestion had not insubstantial merits in D'Arcy's eyes. “Eliza, now is not the moment for conjugal concatenation. Have you read this days issue of The Times?” “Why no D’Arcy” she replied trying to hide her disappointment. “What momentous event could possibly delay our love making you horse you?”
“I have to go away Eliza. A dispatch rider arrived not an hour ago with a message from my regiment. It’s this infernal meridian affair and the damnable pink war machine”
“Oh D’Arcy. (sob) I will not let you leave before you have abused me to within an inch of my life”
He crossed the room with a steely glint in his eye.
D'Arcy with no small measure of dexterous perspicacity removed Eliza's upper garments allowing him unimpeded access to her baps. "Pray take me on the fortepiano you rampant love god" she supplicated in a not unshy way. D'Arcy considered Eliza's nominal cajolation for an ephemeral tenure, reflecting as he did so the textual consistency of her knockers. Eliza had struck unnerringly at one of D'Arcy's peccadilloes and it was a suggestion which he found incontestably alluring. He comported her to the fortepiano and proceeded to administer a most vigorous rogering from behind. "Tis my turn to be on top D'Arcy," Eliza demanded. D'Arcy's stroke became more frenetic as he informed Eliza of the imminent arrival of the apogee of their coupling...............

tony draper
5th Oct 2001, 22:53
Draper is speechless with admiration, at last a mind at large in the world as warped as his own, in fact warpter, eerr,more warptider, of increased warptedness,of greater warpingness hmmm. ****** it ;)

[ 05 October 2001: Message edited by: tony draper ]

tony draper
6th Oct 2001, 02:28
Blow main ballast, three degree's up bubble, bring her to the surface Mr Mate"
"Aye aye Captain,--- on the surface Captain"
"Bosun, brake out the skiff, I and professor Arronax shall be going ashore in Vulcania"
"aya aye sir"
"Ah professor as you see the Nautilus is on the surface near our base ,
would you care to accompany me ashore".
" Sacre blu, of course Captain Nemo, I would be honoured"
"Captain!, Captain"
" What is it bosun"
"Sir we have made a mistake in navigation, the white cliffs are off our starboard bow"
"Calm yourself Bosun,that is not possible, unless of course someone has moved the meridian,
and time itself is out of kilter,HA HA HAH,"HO HO HO,what say you professor".
"HA HA HA, indeed captain Nemo, ho ho ho, moved the Meridian indeed".
"Captain Captain".
"Good grief Bosun, what is it now "?.
"Large gray warship has just rounded the point sir, errr, very very, large gray warship"
"How many paddle wheels bosun"?.
"Err doesn't appear to have paddles sir, and she carries no sail".
"No sail, no paddle wheels, you'll be telling me next she's built of iron like the Nautilus,
we need not fear any warship in the Nautilus Bosun, our ram will cut through her timbers like a knife.
prepare for sea, go below professor"
"Captain, what are your intentions"?
"I intend to send that warmonger to the bottom professor".
"What flag does she fly bosun"?
"Err, none Captain she has the name Tirpitz emblazoned on her bow Sir, err, and sir she is very large"
"Steady men ,what chance does she stand against the quarter inch cast iron plates of the Nautilus's bow"
"Stand by,three point to starboard, full ahead----steady--------full collision speed--------------------------
"Awe-- F*ck"

Bally Heck
6th Oct 2001, 02:34
Oh but master, you're humble student is not worthy of such praise. I must still cross the Third Way. The thread must reach one hundred. Tis the only way I can prove my humble worthiness in your eyes.

(And I'm not getting much help by the way)

(Your worshipfull self, Tricky and Pater excepted)

tony draper
6th Oct 2001, 02:47
Indeed Mr H, Sometimes the muse deserts one, and one becomes frustrated, then it is necessary to go out into the night and do bad things,one tends to be inspired for a while after such a outing.
Wonder where Mr Woo is, doubtless doing single knuckle push ups in some seedy Dojon, with a horny handed Chinaman shouting at him and spouting philosophy from every oriface.
I told him its a lot easier and less painfull to purchase a .38 special.

Bally Heck
6th Oct 2001, 02:54
Oh Dear. Here we go. My very humble apologies to BBC Scotland for this blatant and uncalled for plagiarism.

(Aboard the good ship Kipper Minge. The seas are breaking heavily over the bow. The mate in the wheel house calls out to the captain on the main deck)

"Captain Captain. We're receiving a distress call from the good ship Nautilus"

"Whats her position number one?" (Shouted against the howling gale)

"Sir she's two degrees west of Dry Ride Rock"

"Is her sister ship the Sticky Clinker not in her vicinity number one"

"No Sir she's moored up in Felch Cove. Her butt plugs are leaking and she's flooded to the muff deck!"

"Send a signal to the Nautilus number one. She's not going down. If anyone's going down on her it's me. I'm not going to let her go down on me!!"

"Sir. They're reporting a dirty great chocolate starfish is attacking them. They're in the Dauber Wash sir"

"Order the engines to flank speed number one. Right full rudder. Make our course 069 degrees. Hands to action stations. Sujy the poop. Prepare the Dhoby Engine. Steady as she goes. Kiss me Hardy. Make it so."

6th Oct 2001, 04:42
It had been a most excellent day and one full of event. Following my visit to Sir Walter's office which had set the morning straight with a solemn purpouse and a worthy cause that any red blooded Englishman would have risen to in a moment. I had immediately sought out my chum and brother officer Captain the Hon Ludovic Gustavus Arbuthnot... er, whom, I had I believe, mentioned before.
We had at his bidding repaired to Lords cricket ground where we had been nobley entertained by the brilliant play of a masterful proponent of the gentlemany sport, a certain Mr Heck who had proceeded to punish the ball most solidly, driving it for a number of crowd raising sixes.
It was in fact during the changeover when taking a whiskey and soda in the bar that a small urchin who had somehow gained access to the mens bar, pressed a note into my hand. It was from none other than that inscrutable oriental, Mr Wu, and it's heartening message indicated that there others out there were ready to join the crusade.
The evening was spent at a Variety Hall in the HayMarket where a talanted Mr Draper's side splitting capers had the crowd in fits entertaining us and the audience most excellently.
Sandy and I finaly, with a ravenous appetites, repaired to our Cub in Picadilly where the 'Coffee room' provided us with an excellent Venison with all the trimmings, a fine bottle of Chateaux Margaux, followed by a Warres 1894 and a couple of good cigars.

The sputtering and distictive flaming torches on either side of the Cubs entrance to Piccadilly threw a fitfull light into the Darkness and one of London's evening fogs swirled around the gaslights in the street.
I had stumbled on the stairs leading up from the coffee room, lose carpet no doubt. Fallen headfirst down the stairs from the Club's front door, stiff leg, shrapnell. And now blast it, had just stumbled into a dark figure standing on the edge of the street, it was dark as I have said.

I heard a soft feminine gasp at the inadvertant intrusion I had so carelessly visited upon her person. As she swung round, I caught in the light of the torches flame, a sudden glimpst of a patrician ivory forehead,striking pale grey eyes beneath fine elegantly arched eyebrows and exquisite features.The long pale sensitive fingers of one hand held a rich dark fur collar protectively accross her person.
Sandy who was by my side instantly recognised her and bowing greeted her.
" Hilda Von Velvet. What an unexpected pleasure. I never expected to see you here of all places. You are generaly in Scandinavia, what brings you here? Pray allow me to introduce a clubmember I have just this moment met. Dick Hannau."

Now why my best chum should suddenly deney our long friendship in introduce me in this manner did puzzle me. True I had fallen down a few times and yes I was not annunciating in quite the way I normaly did but the steel plate in my head did have this effect from time to time. In fact I had noticed a distinct allergy between it and any form of wine which was a bit of a drag but I am wandering again.
As her cool searching gaze fell upon me I was struck by the luminous intensity of her appraisel. I know little of women and suddenly felt absurdedly shy, perturbed perhaps by the feeling I was being weighed up. It was devoid of sex but seemed more a searching for the essential qualities. I was being scrutinised by a connoisseur of human nature.
At that moment the acetalyn headlights of a large sleek car drew up, a door opened disgorging a uniformed chauffeur who hurried round and opened the back door for the lady.
Her soft a melifuos voice acknowledged Sand's greeting and my introduction, then with a brief explanation of her pressing need to hurry she excused herself and in a trice was gone.
" My God" said Sandy. " There's something amiss if she's in London." but declined to give any further explanation and simply urged that we go home as quickly as possible.

The great game it appeared was in play and Omar Bin Greenliner lay holed up in his trackless mountain fortress planning yet more dastardly deeds. What lay ahead in the uncertain future?

6th Oct 2001, 14:21
On the bridge of HMS Fudpucker:-

"Captain, I've brought your breakfast up"
"Well, No.1, it serves you right for eating it"
"Suppose so, sir."
"I've just been watching those chappies over on the deck of the Tirpitz - they all started running over to the front end-thingy - what's it called?"
"Bow, sir"
"To you? Don't be silly"
"No, sir"
"Anyway, they were all looking over the side and laughing"
"I see sir. By the way, sir, there's a tramp coming up astern of us"
"How many times do I have to say it? It's not a tramp"
"Very good, sir"
"What is it that those American chappies call it?"
"Bumboat, I think, sir"
"Hmmm - that reminds me..."
"Yes sweetie - I mean, yes sir?"
"Not now, No.1"
"No, sir. Would you like to see if those Germans need any assistance?"
"They seem fine to me, No.1. We'll just hang around a while, wait for the war to start, then sink her. In the meantime, pink gins all round, I think, don't you?"
"Good plan, sir"

Bally Heck
7th Oct 2001, 05:29
Jack walked through the streets of Whitechapel. The London smog lay heavy on the air this night. He felt once again the need to escape. Escape from what his friends called normality. What did they know of normality? Cushy jobs in the House of Commons. Lifelong tenures with the Foreign Office,

This was normality. Oh how he tried to suppress it! The night air was chill. He pulled his greatcoat tighter around his body. In his pocket he could feel the cold steel of his barber’s friend.

“Lonely tonight sir?” No NO leave me, LEAVE ME. He knew what would happen tonight would be bad. But how to stop?

Patience, patience. Soon it would be time for the reward.

But the reward was so short lived! Soon, Oh so soon, he would have to do it again. And again. Until he was caught. Or died also.

A hansom cab clip clopped by. Stirring the fog in the gas light.

The sound faded with distance. Jack and the night. Two dark forces.

The streets were quiet now. Gin soaked women. Mostly gone now.

Through the mist he could see a figure.

As buxom a wench as Jack had seen in his many nights of seeking escape.

He pulled himself into the shadows and watched. She was alone. And she was available. A harlot. Perfect.

Jack left the shadows and meandered up the street. It was quiet, so quiet. Just me and her he thought. A dog barked. It’s sound making the silence so much deeper.

He felt the cold steel in the palm of his hand. He had lain it against the strap before he came out. So honed, so sharp, so…..perfect.

“Lookin’ for business tonight sir?”

The blade of the razor flashed in the street light. A shot rang out. Captain the Hon Ludovic Gustavus Arbuthnot fell to the ground. Fatally wounded.

“My God Watson, you left that a bit tight didn’t you?”

“Ah Holmes. You can have no idea how erotic I find the vision of you dressed in a harlots guise.”

“Quiet Watson. There’s work to be done. The razor. Do you see it man?

“Well of course Holmes. It almost slit your gullet!”

“Yes yes Watson. But look on the shank man. What do you see?”

“Holmes you never cease to amaze me it would seem that………

8th Oct 2001, 01:53
...The great maschine ground to zer halt. Turret hatch opened.

"Untergropenarsenstoeker, pass me ze map. Danke. Und der GloebelPosizionSysteme? Danke. Und der Omegamappereader? Danke. Bitte, und also DerLondonAzuZ? Danke. Und nun, alst u blijft, das Loranmaschine? Und ein compass, der VHS copy von 'Der Sky at Night' mit der dummkopf scheissgedresst Englischman mit die dumme monocle. Danke... Ach so!"
"Wass ist los, mein Oberballgroper?"
"Ich weiss nicht..."
"Wir sind nicht im Old Kent Road?"
"Also, wir sind wo?"


"Effendi, the strange camouflage on the war machine leads me to suspect that Allah has been good to us"
"How many Stingers do we still have that the great Satan so thoughtfully gave us?"
"Only 4,728 left"
"Murfimushkallah - fire twenty of them at that cosmetic offence against the Great Prophet, on whose head be blessing"
"Yes, Effendi"

8th Oct 2001, 21:43
The newpaper I opened over my breakfast of kedgeree and Lapsang soochong contained a thunderbolt that quite left me without my usual hearty morning appetite.
In lurid headlines was the famous Detective and his medical assistant who it appeared had trapped and killed the infamous Spring Heel Jack, a notorious London serial murderer who had been leaving a string of female corpses scattered throughout the seedier areas of London.
Of greatest import to me however, was the declared identity of the fiend they had struck down apparently in the very act of attempting yet another terrible murder.
The article went on at length on the cunning disguise affected by the famous man, the cool and precise execution of the shot by one Dr Watson,that had killed the man, but of these I barely gave a moments notice for it was the identity of the Murderer that had caused me such shock. The paper proclaimed that it was none other than my greatest friend The Hon Ludovic Arbuthnot etc etc.
And Yet Sandy had been with me as we left our Club last night. In fact Sandy had very kindly assisted me to bed after we had arrived at my flat for my steel headplate had been giving me the very deuce, having been bounced off the floor a few times.
My stiff left leg had been unco-operatively refusing to buckle at the same time as the good one, which meant that all my falls had resulted in me diving into the ground at an angle. Of course that side had been of my stiff right arm which would not raise up to protect my head at the same rate as the other, resulting in a number of brisk bangs on the aforsaid plate. The effect of wine on platinum the medical authorities at the Military Hospital had assured me.I digress however

It was while I was speechlessly allowing my meal to congeal in front at me, that I heard the stairs creak and into the room walked none other than my friend.

"Richard, dear chap, you really must stop dri... My God what is wrong? you look white as a sheet"

I gestured speechlessly at the paper in my hand. He came over and gave it a cursory glance

" Ah I see my friends Watson and Holmes have pulled it off. Excellent. They have killed me off quite luridly and in a manner gaurenteed to broadcast it to as wide a circle of people as possible. Good!
I am due out this very night, bound for the wilds of Afghanistan. I will go under cover. There have been big events afoot.
It was reported that a huge pink tank was attacked by Omar Bin Greenliners men and destroyed. Yet another report came in about the sinking of a strange craft by a German Battleship. The world is afire and you and I must be about our business.
Pass the kedgeree if you would old man, your chap does it most excellently. Oh, and do close your mouth if you would, you still have something in it.
Funny us bumping into Hilda Von Velvet last night. She has been quite interlinked with these latest events and unless I am mistaken she will definitely have had some fairly strong views on the events of the past month.

8th Oct 2001, 22:09
"Good Evening.

"As you join us tonight on 'The Sky at Night', my producers have asked me to answer one or two readers' letters.

"Mrs. Smith from Tadjikistan has written in to ask what on earth has happened to the southern sky, as seen from the southern tip of the Urals. She goes on to say that large numbers of meteorites have been visible, with pieces of pink-coloured material landing in her back garden.

"Well, Mrs. Smith, I have to say '******ed if I know.'

"Mrs. Hilda Von Velvet has also written in from Milton Keynes, asking if I was aware that I have been voted the worst-dressed man on both German and Afghanistan Television.

"Yes, Mrs. Von Velvet, I was, and I shall be around with the Merlot at the usual time.

"Now, if you happen to have in your back garden a 14" reflector, you will easily be able to update it to the newest technology using only two matchsticks, fourteen condoms (preferably unused), an HB pencil and a roll of sticky-backed plastic. If you fall asleep half-way through, you can always tune in to 'Blue Peter' tomorrow afternoon..."


"Ach so, Schmidt - nun denken sie dass Ich ein brainleak gersprungen hat wann Ich suggestieret habe dass wir von der DekoyPanzer into der Genuinekruppsteelarmouredbuttockplatepanzer schnellster leap?"
"Nein, mein Oberfarterfuhrer - und just in time"
"Und wir mussen find out warum wir haben ein Dekoypanzer gelosst to ein antiaircraft missile..." :confused:
"Vielleicht der Panzersuspenzion too high was?"
"Scheisskopf, Schmidt"
"Ja, mein Oberscheissstirrer"

tony draper
8th Oct 2001, 23:27
Wake up Master, wake up,Master Nostrodamus, please speak to me"
"Aarrggrruummpph, what, what?.Oh, tis you young Crouton, was I deeply in the trance"?
"Indeed Master, very deep, the draught you prepared was strong"
"Yes young Crouton, the powders from the Mythical New World, are indeed potent, order
me more of that errr, sh*t I believe its called from the strangely dressed dark skinned man".
"Is that wise master Nostrodamus, it is said that madness lies in that powder"
"Nonsense young Crouton, we are men of science are we not?. such supersticious silliness
is for that fool in Rome, besides the waters of time were very clear tonight, many strange things
have I seen"
"Good news indeed Master, that low born bastard Caxton is hounding us for more Quatrains"
"Ahh a pestilence on the man, bring parchment young Cruton, we must note these visions
before they vanish"

"You have copied my words all down correctly Crouton?"
"Verily I have Master and they greatly trouble me"
"Patience boy, these evens will not transpire for centuries read, them back to me
and I shall interprete".
"Very well Master"
"Speak slowly ,boy my ears are not what they used to be"

"In the year 2k and 2, Albion
from the square headed
ones shall the cuppa
munndi,bring home,
and the land shall rejoice"

" Not sure about that one Crouton, may have got it a bit mixed up,
I could have interperated that Square headed ones as those that eat the
soup of onions, sounds very unlikely though.
Continue to the next Quatrain Young Crouton"

"And the bald one shall fall
and another one bald shall
rise, and the party is doomed"

"Nah Young Crouton ,that ones got me beat also"

"And in that time, the madman of the North
shall in thread begin.
The beast of pink, moves forth and goes on
the tower his rage shall descend
at the century
and the pink beast,
is no more"

"Hmmm, sorry that doesn't make much sense either,
Oh ******, I seem to have lost the gift Crouton, and
the rent is due,Here is a grote go buy some more sh*t boy,
looks like iIl have to stay in again tonight".
"But Master the stuff is two grotes a baggy now"
"Damm, why doesn't that fool in Rome legalise the stuff"

[ 08 October 2001: Message edited by: tony draper ]

[ 08 October 2001: Message edited by: tony draper ]

tony draper
9th Oct 2001, 03:25
"Good grief"
"What is it Watson"
"The Times Homes, it says Hilda Von Velvet is in town"
"Sorry Holmes old chap, I forgot, she was the only woman that ever stirred you"
"No matter Watson,I am over that evil woman now, hair like burnished copper, eyes dark flashing and mysterious"
"Holmes I thought you had her locked up for cannabalism".
"Canabalism Watson?, that was the least of her crimes"
"Err yes Holmes, shooting the Russian royal family in that cellar was a little extreme"
"Indeed Watson, and slashing all those ladies in Whitechapel, although I could never prove that one"
"Didn't she push you over a waterfall Holmes?"
"Yes Watson,and burn down the Crystal Palace after she assasinated Arch Duke Ferdinand"
"Damm clever woman Holmes, how on earth she managed to tow that iceberg in front of the Titanic astonishes me".
"Then there is the kidnapping of the Lindberg child,and, her causing the Easter Uprising"
"Ah yes Watson , but she did have a deprived childhood, Yet all these things I could have
forgiven,but for the one thing I discovered about her"
"You astound me Holmes, what was the terrible secret"
"She was a Air Hostess Watson"

Bally Heck
9th Oct 2001, 04:56
Thwack. "Ouch" Thwack. "Ouch" Thwack. "Ouch" Thwack. "Ouch" Thwack. "Ouch" Thwack. "Ouch"

"Untie that man from the gratings Hardy. He has suffered enough."

"Avast. Maindeck below. Pink War Machine hull down on the horizon"

Hornsucker turned his glass to the enemy.

"Send the fleet to breakfast Hardy. Then clear for action. It's going to be a warm days work."

The mighty fleet of the Royal Navy turned toward the pink war machine. Pigs were slaughtered and eggs were laid as the officers, carpenters, sailors, gunners, powder monkeys and bumboys nourished themselves for the coming battle.

The winds were light that day.

"Have the Padre hold a service that the Lord may help us in our coming trial Hardy"

"Aye aye Sir"

The fleet moved toward the pink war machine....slowly.

"Any films we haven't seen in that Walport box Hardy"

"No Sir. But I wouldn't mind watching The Sound of Music again Admiral."

"Make it so"

The wind died.

"Any defaulters to punish Hardy? Nothing like a bit of corporal punishment for keeping the spirits up"

Thwack. "Ouch" Thwack. "Ouch" Thwack. "Ouch" Thwack. "Ouch" Thwack. "Ouch" Thwack. "Ouch"

"Make a signal to the fleet Hardy. Nine seven, four six, five twelve, six two. Huck. Huck. Huck."

Hornsucker rubbed his balls and spat.

Time passed.

"Hardy. Do you still have that barrel of corpse pickling brandy in the orlop deck?"

More shlowly (hic).

"I love you shir (hic)."

"(hic) kish me Hardy."

9th Oct 2001, 06:09
“Doctor Maturin Sir”, “Doctor Maturin”. “Captain’s compliments, he would see you on the Poop Deck immediately Sir”.

Maturin heard and replied to the spotty Midshipman’s plea and started to tidy up the long neck toad skins that he had recently strew around the orlop deck’s man sized tables, constructed by the simple expedience of laying old planks from a broken whaler across the sea chests.
“What now and for all love. I hope it’s a decent whale or porpoise school he’s calling me for, and not some new fangled sail we have laid in these sultry airs”, muttered Maturin as he wiped his hands on the tail of his second best coat.

“Ah Maturin”, beamed Captain Aubry as he spied his particular friend emerging from the aft hatchway. His ruddy face and even smile radiate even amidst the weak morning sun that was fitfully breaking through the low cloud covering the English Channel.

“Good morning to you Captain. And it pleases me to see that you have no apparent ill effects from the 6 bottles of port that we consumed together after the toasted cheese last evening. Save of course for that ruddy face and, I suspect, some slight dispepsic that I would be happy to diminish with a dose of wormwood.” Was Maturin’s even reply.

For apart from being a world renowned natural philosopher, Dr Maturin was the Fleet surgeon and a Member of the Royal Society of Physicians as well, and his remedies were legion. Particularly those for excesses of the drink and the phallus.

“Look over there Doctor”, exclaimed Captain Aubrey in a rather hoarser voice than was usual. He had been having a series of heaves since daybreak, each one darker and more ominous that the previous. His manservant Bonden had remarked on the last of these that he should stop retching as soon as he felt something hard round and hairy in his throat – since that was liable to be his asshole. He would have given some spirit to a reply normally, even reprimanded Bonden for his insolence. But he was too weak to manage that – and suspected that he might be correct.

“Love of Mary, Jack”, said Maturin. “Is that a metal whale or what?”

“I have no idea”, said Jack Aubrey, putting down his telescope. “But I fear we are well out of time sync with this little puzzle.”

“However”, Jack continued. “If they are going to have the Enterprise in this story, we can get the Surprise in here also.”

“Indeed we should. Indeed we should”. Countered Dr Maturin.

“Well the glass is steady and the winds blow light. What say a little Fiddle and Toasted Cheese this evening Doctor?.” Replied Captain Aubrey.

“In all love my dear that would be fine. But I must make haste with the toad skins before then or they will spoil.” Replied Maturin.

“As you must Doctor, as you must”. But watch out for those warts on the hands – I have warned you before.” Exclaimed Captain Aubrey.

To be continued ….

[ 09 October 2001: Message edited by: MasterGreen ]

9th Oct 2001, 12:15
My mouth closed with a snap that jarred the plate in my skull causing it to throb anew. The feeling of relief that Billy Arbuthnot's boy my best mucker was alive and well had damned near unmanned me. And I fondly looked upon the clear eyed unlined face of the man who had organised and led the fine chaps of our battalion to drag my unconcious body back from the forward observation post at Lone Tree ridge.

" I have it on good authority that Hilda Von Velvets been implicated in much of the mischief that has been going on in recent times" Sandy ventured, as he plowed his way through the rest of the silver tureen of Kedgeree. My man Paddock insists on using the silver service at my park Lane apartment even if I am alone.

" Such as?" I enquired.
" The attempted murder of Sherlock Holmes, the assasination of the Arch Duke Ferdinand, the sinking of the Titanic, the dissapearence of the Tszar Nicholas to name but a few."
" I cannot believe it!" I exclaimed. The vision of loveliness that I had but barely caught a glimst of the night before, rose unbidden to my mind.He face her eyes her hair. Dammit I must have had a ski..the accursed plate, my memory was going, what were the colour of those eyes that had so beguiled me, the hair. Well whatever she was a damned fine looking woman anyway.

" We cannot be too carefull Richard. I saw how you positively drooled. Last night. why every time I helped you up, you asked if she was still around. How is your head by the way you do give it a rough time you know."

Suddenly I had a feeling that the whole affair smacked of sheer lunacy, here the whole world had gone mad, we two were sitting here having our breakfast, and Omar Bin Greenliner was attempting to set the Muslim world afire and ceate havoc in the western world. The farce of the whole situation struck me so keenly that I laughed.

" Richard, dear chap, there you go again. Do be so good as to empty your mouth before showing me your molars. But yes. I know how you feel. It's idiocy. All war is idiotic. I don't mind admitting to you I'm in a blue funk. My feet are cold and I am not looking forward to the future. The thought of slipping in amongst the wily Pathans and Pushtu gives me a cold shiver. But we have our remit and must go about our business as best we may. The trail of the pink war machine is still running before us and the goal is to be reached. All the time good men are springing up to do their bit and with perserverance we'll carry the day in fine style. Here's to perdition to Bin Greenliner and success in our venture."

With that Sandy drained the last of his Lapsang and pushed his chair back.

" I must away to the Bazar at Peshawar. I'll try and get word to you when I have more news. Adieu my friend"

Dave Hedgehog
9th Oct 2001, 22:56
"3-degrees up angle on the planes. Make your depth 100 feet"

"Make your depth 100 feet aye sir. 3 degrees up anle on the planes" the XO replied.

"Depth 100 feet. Pink Panzer ahead. Flood tubes two and four. He wont get away from the USS George W Bush....."

10th Oct 2001, 02:36
"Ummmm - Herr Oberdangler?"
"Ja, was gibt, Untervolestrangler?"
"Es gibt ein torpedo..."
"Ja! Zum hilfe!"
"Ich verstehe nicht - yesterday wir bei zwanzig Fliegerabwehrkanonenmissilemunizionweaponen gehitten war - und nun - torpedoen??? :confused: :eek: ???"
"Fliegerabwehrkanonenmissilemunizionweaponen? :confused:"
"Stinger missile, Schmidt."
"Ach so. Herr Oberburgerflipper?"
"Ja, Schmidt?"
"Ist es too late to Islam zu convertieren?"
"Ich denke..."


"Allah works in mysterious ways, Effendi"
"Indeed he does. Insha'llah"

[ 09 October 2001: Message edited by: HugMonster ]

Conky Joe
10th Oct 2001, 03:15
You lot are utterly wasted in your day job - get thee to Messrs Penguin armed with manuscripts immediately! And thanks for the bedtime stories :)

tony draper
10th Oct 2001, 03:37
"I hear you wished to see me Brother Kipling"
"Ah, Brother Carew, we meet upon the square"
"For the sake of the widows son brother Kipling"
"Damm these trouser legs brother Carew, my bloody
tailor cuts them to tight".
"What service can I do for you Kipling"
"Mhhh, this is embarrasing, I have to order you on a
very dangerous mission Carew,and you just married,
how is the Coronels daughter"?I admired that huge green yellow
eye shaped stone in her wedding ring by the way.how did
you come by such a gem Carew"?
"Long story Kipling old chap"
"Carew I must order you into the Clappyhag mountains,
"Dear god Kipling thats Raggypan territory"
"I know, we have had serious news, the Russians are
up to their tricks in the great game again"
"Damm that Tzar"
"Indeed double Damm the man, and him a member of the craft,
but that is by the by,have you heard of Hilda VonVelvet, Carew"?
"Yes she the tzars special agent and assasin.fortunatly she
never leaves Europe, apparently she is terrified of flying"
"Not so Carew,as we speak she is in the the Clappyhag range seeking
Bin Greenliner."
"Bin Greenliner, damm this is bad news, Kipling"
"Indeed, she is offering some new dreadful war machine so cunning that it is invisible against the sands of the desert,
You must seek out this evil creature Carew and ,err well you know
what is required of you, need I say more".
"Well I've heard she is very beautiful, and just because one gets maried
one doesn't lose the nack old boy, give me one night with her and I guarantee
she will never look at another man nore plot another assasination"
"Very well Carew its all settled,so for the sake of the widows son"
"We shall meet upon the square, farewell brother Kipling"
"Farewell brother Carew, by the way,, kill Bin Greenliner"
"Of course brother Kipling, the death of a thousand cuts"
"Mad bastard"

11th Oct 2001, 21:19
Sandy left after breakfast, on the mission that we had chosen to follow. Omar Bin Greenliner was up in the impenetrable fastness of the Afghani mountains and somehow we had to stop the pink war machine from falling into his hands. All civilization stood in danger from that black eyed fakir with his straggly beard and weird ideas. Who knew what madness lay in that fiendish eastern mind of his, one thing was certain, no good for us in the West, that was for sure.

The information the Sir Walter had laid before me in the Foreign Office had been staggering in it's detail of what this fanatic had already done. The case was clear and the mission vital.

Sandy's last words to me were typical of the selflessness which he typified.

" Richard old man, I have never believed that any man was born evil. It is something that has to be incaculated by someone else. But a man can become evil, and when such a man evolves through unfortunate circumstance or by teaching and deliberate manipulation of his mind, by others, to the point at which he becomes a danger to society and civilization as a a whole, then it becomes some unfortunate johnie's job to see that he is put down like a rabid dog, before he infects others.
It's a hard and a cruel business, but by golly someone has to try and do it and we have chosen to try. It's a thankless task and one that many will sneer at, others will actively try and stop us for the man has many followers, others simply do not believe in the gravity of the situation.
I may never see you again, but our rendevous is in the hills outside Kabul a month from now. I've companions near Khandahar that will be my guides, I'll get there via Turky and Constantinople, the Foreign Office will help."

With that he shook my hand and left, I confess I felt very down to see him go. The way ahead was dark and murky for all of us and nothing seemed clear. But there had been times like this before and with God's will we would weather the coming storm and come out the other side.

My head still ached, my stiff arm and leg bore their hidden slivers of Krupp steel the surgeons had been unable to extricate and my mind still whirled with the vision of the beautifull Hilda Von Velvet.
I had not heard from the Swiss Oriental Wu again, but the others were all around, the great game was indeed in play, and upon it's outcome the fate of many countries and countless thousands of people.

The carriage wallahs forums continued to buzz like a hive of disturbed bees for the repercussions of Omars machinations were still to be felt. There were military movements now at sea and in the air, and everywhere the world was uneasy and on edge.

Well perhaps a stiff whisky and soda would set me in a decent frame of mind. But then as it was only breakfast... well just one then, damn that blasted plate!

Dave Hedgehog
11th Oct 2001, 22:53
"Hull-popping noises off to starboard cap'n"
"Up 'scope, NOW!"
"ive got good sonar contact on a metallic object bearing 045"

"My god" the captain breathed


12th Oct 2001, 14:30
Munch, munch, munch, gobble, chew, swallow, cough, choke swallow, swallow. Pause.

" I say George, darned nice lettuce eh?"

" Mhhhnn! " much, munch, munch, swallow.

" Have you seen Egbert recently?"

" Yes," swallow munch, cough. Pauses for a moment. " He's gone a bit funny though, wrapped himself up in a sort of cacoon thingy, the other day, wierd. Why d'you ask?"

"Well, you know those sort of punk things with the highly coloured rags that flutter around the cabbage patch and flowere occasionaly, you must have seen em, stick their nose into flower's... well you know...er..."

" Oh yes those bloody ugly fluttery things that pevertedly stick their bloody curly noses into flower's private parts, yeah, I know what you mean, (shudders delicately).
I mean how low can one go. As for those gaudy designs in those bright colors they go flashing about, absolute exhibitionists the lot of em. Why what about them?"

" Well I don't know how to say this but Egbert... well he ...

" Spit it out Eustace, no not the lettuce, whatever your trying to tell me about Egbert."

" I saw him open up that cacoon thingy a couple of hours ago and he... he... he had become one of them!!"

Dead silence falls on Lettuce leaf. George, struck completely dumb does not wish to mention that his tail had recently begun to throb and is exuding a tenaciously sticky strand.
The horrifying thing that Estace has just related is hammering in his brain. The enormity of what he has seen Egbert do, terrifying, the implicationshorrifying!!!
The world, suddenly, would never, never, ever be the same for poor George, again.

A certain byline has caused a momentary lapse of attention

Meanwhile in the human world the hunt for the pink war machine goes grimly on.

[ 14 October 2001: Message edited by: Paterbrat ]

[ 15 October 2001: Message edited by: Paterbrat ]

16th Oct 2001, 10:12
Finally realising that the inexorable sinking could not be stopped by mere edits I was burning the midnight oil at my machine, when I was interupted by the entry onto the screen of two rum seeming characters.
They appeared to be sober, though of a strange bent of mind.

"Forgive us for the intrusion please, and give us a moment of your time if you would. Allow me to intoduce ourselves. This ere is Peachy Towerdog, and I am Mr Tony Draper formerly of the Merchant Marine.
Now we two gentlemen have done our time in many parts of the world and seen many interesting things, and we now have a mind to persue a venture which we think may make us passable rich.
Richer that is, than we have till now seem to have been able to achieve by the convential ways persued by us to date.
Peachy here, has come up with a plan and I being a not too covential of a chap myselfe, has seen merit in that idea and have put it to him, that him and I can make a go of this together.
But we, being two good men of the world, and knowing how these things can go awry have decided to be proper businesslike and draw up a contract like.
If you, being a man on the level like myself for I spotted your watch chain, would be so good as to be a witness to us both, we would be heartily obliged."

I was to tell the truth entertained, for the plan that they proceeded to unfold was a wild venture that contained the stuff of dreams and fantasy, found only in books.
A voyage had been proposed in Peachy Towerdogs fine vessel, down into Carribe waters. A voyage of no small purpouse they proposed, for they planned to take a team of Amazon divers with them to search the depths for Spanish Gold.
The barebreasted but stoutly breeched beauties, with leg weights of concrete would plummet into the depths, and there, fighting off sharks and giant squid would claw the gold from the reluctant embrace of coral and old ships timbers, then be drawn back to the suface by these two old salts.
The final part of the plan was devilish indeed and showed me the true colours of these rogues, likeable though they undoubtedly both were.
For having used the divers for their plans, and heaven knows what else, these poor cratures were destined to be sold into slavery at a Pprune Gatbash.

Still I could only assent at being a witness for them for being a traveling man that travels from East to West and seeks the truth, I was obliged.
Having got what they wanted from me, the two jolly rogues departed, leaving me in a state of wonder at the success of their intended journey. Was it just some wild dream time alone would tell.

In the meantime, with the pink war machine in the high Parmirs and a deadly scourge in the New World, matters proceeded apace with the sad affairs that so effected all the rest of us other mortals

[ 16 October 2001: Message edited by: Paterbrat ]

20th Oct 2001, 12:25
I had recieved tantalising snatches of Sandy's movements from Sir Walter from the time he left London. Passing through Europe and Istanbul he made his way towards the Himalayer, finaly slipping over the border dressed as a Pushtu madman and with a silver studded ancient muzzle loading Jezzail with which I knew he was proficient, for he was an eccentric black powder afficianado who had kept his hand and eye attuned hunting the red deer on the fathers estates in Scotland.
We lost all track of him for some days when there came a report of a monstrous explosion at one of the main magazines that had been so painstakingly built by Omar Bin Greenliner's fanatic hoard. It had to be his work
It was however too much to hope that the mysterious Pink War Machine had been hidden there, for there were came shortly after this disturbing dispatches of confusion amongst the Northern Tribes who opposed Bin Greenliner.
Tales of a wild man in a brightly coloured upper garment blowing smoke from his mouth in unceasing streams and accompanied by scantily clad women devotees who oiled their bodies in a weird ritual, baring themselves to the sun on the upper deck of a strange rose coloured vehicle and seemingly in a trance from strong liquors that all were drinking.
The hunt it appeared had branched out and the great game being played out in other ways amid the stony vastness of that inhospitable land.
What would happen now? who was this new stranger and his motley crew of women? Was it the Pink War machine? Had the story fallen into the hands of someone who was for or against the Bearded Fakir we all were looking for? or, did he have his own sinister agenda.
Questions that only fate knew would be answered. For the moment everyone seemed to have dissapeared. Without their participation there would, indeed could be no further persuit. The whole matter would simply slide gently away, to quietly die it's solitary death.
A fleeting pause in the day and having served its time it would now be destined to pass from the hallowed halls of the Carriage Wallahs meeting place as so many before it.

tony draper
20th Oct 2001, 14:53
Good morning Mr Brunnel, this is my companion Dr Watson,
we trust you recieved our letter, and are willing to help in this matter"
"Felicitations Mr Holmes, your missive was delivered with salubrious
promptitude and has been perused to the full depth of my concentrated
observational attributes".
"Ah! yes who else would we approach in this matter but the great Isambard
Kingdom himself".
"Dr Watson please, I have long been conscrofulated at your textural
astrermification concerning, Mr Holmes and Dr Watsons peripriatic
observational and scientific perambulations into the criminal mind"
"Err yes, but can you help"
"With my full tronspofulacity Dr Watson,my entire perspicasity will be
will be trafulonked at this vermatribulatic problem".
"Psst, Holmes"
"What is it watson"
"I can't understanfd What this chap is talking about Holmes"
"Err, he's a engineer Watson, one must make allowances"
"Furthermore, Mr Holmes, cantral banthic quantum, furbulacity troc grumph leverage displacement,
trock womf sturbal, fume strat plathy trompitude for seven days,building up pressure,
indeed, straining plots polly wonk groffle, Pink Panza, plick toffel
Hilda Von Velvet, scandlplatiprocity, turbine blast, skirts up around neck.
"Err, yes indeed we agree Mr Brunnel, Watson the door quickly"

[ 20 October 2001: Message edited by: tony draper ]

Bally Heck
20th Oct 2001, 20:04
“Watson, look at that post above.”

“The Draper one Holmes?”

No no, above that, the Paterbrat post, what does it say to youWatson?”

“On the surface Holmes pretty much what it says to anyone.”

“Use your eyes and your brain Watson. The fellas in Arabia!”

“How the Dickens can you tell that Holmes?”

“See, at the top of the post. He’s spelt received the Arabian way. I before E including after C. Also at the bottom…the profile says Jeddah.”

“Brilliant Holmes but what does it mean?”

“Ever heard of Scrimshaw Watson? Harry Scrimshaw of military intelligence?”

“Wasn’t he highly decorated in the last fracas for deeds undisclosed Holmes?”

“The very one Watson. Look at the syntax and semantics of that post Watson. Scrimshaw has inserted himself in Arabia and he is communicating by these personal ads in The Times. The mans a genius Watson. A genius.”

“What does it mean Holmes?”

“He’s on the track of bin Eyeliner Watson, no mistake. And from Scrimmers past record, I wouldn’t want to be in bin Oceanliners shoes. What that man cant do with a camel and a Brough Superior isn’t worth doing. Fellas fluent in every middle eastern language and dialect. Could pass himself off as a mullah or a harem, a market rader or an emir. I wouldn’t be surprised Watson if Harry is sitting at this moment sharing a strong coffee, a hookah and a joke with bin Oneliner.”

“So bin Danliners days are numbered eh Holmes?”

“Mans as good as dead or captured Watson. I must get on to my brother Mycroft. He’s a dab hand at interpreting Harry’s infernal innuendo!”

tony draper
20th Oct 2001, 23:23
Hilda Von Velvet reclined on a pile of satin pillows,
Two naked seven foot eunuch nubian slaves with scimitars
drawn, flanked her, scars across throats where tongues had been removed ,
they looked very sad.
A comely young slave girl fed her peeled grapes, a look of terror in her eyes.
A knock sounds on the door of the vast silk tent,
"Enter" Von Velvet calls in a voice full of irritation.
Two ragged individuals enter their heads bowed low"
"We bring the prisoner as ordered your Magnificence"the taller one
shrieks in a tremulous voice"
"Ah my faithfull Raggypans, this is the cook" purrs von Velvet.
"This is indeed he", your Vastness.
" Has he been put to the question"? .
"Yes your Comelyness, he knows nothing"
"I know he knows nothing , fool !, he is my cook"
"Forgive us Madam we are unworthy"
"Very well you may leave"
The two Raggypan warriors with heads still bowed low, hop backwards
on one leg out of the tent,.for the Raggypan religion regards the Earth
as unclean, and are allowed to touch it as little as possible, because
of this they hop everywhere, and are forced to sleep standing up.
"So Cook?,, what happened to my dinner?"hissed the evil Velvet,
"Madam, the goat curry was the finest in the land ",
wailed the battered cook.
"Ah, did one ask for goat curry ,cook? "whispered Von Velvet
"aarrgghhhhh"wailed the cook.
"I distinctly recal requesting PORK CHOPS" her beautiful face distorted with fury.
"Madam please" whimpered the terrified cook," pork chops are not to be had in this land"
"Did not Bin Greenliner, tell you to cater for my every whim little man"?
"Woe is me, have mercy your delightfullness, I swear by my goats, the pig is unknown here"
"Slaves "shrieked the Red Haired Hilda, her dark eyes flashing, throw this creature to my giant spider"
"Ayeeeeeeee, howled the cook.
Away from the tent the two Raggypans hop slowly toward the horizon, a trail of foot
print in the sand behind each.
"Close shave there Holmes old chap, a terrible woman indeed"
"Indeed indeed,Watson, the years have been kind to Von Velvet, never thought it possible Watson,
but I do believe she has become even more evil over the years, she must be stopped Watson"
"Whats that over there Holmes,? looks like some kind of animal"
"Oh Dear, Watson thats Mad Carew of the secret service, I do believe he's disguised
as a pig".
"Well,looks like he's going to hide among that herd of goats Holmes"
"Indeed Watson, come its almost tea time, we must get out of this desert".

[ 20 October 2001: Message edited by: tony draper ]

21st Oct 2001, 02:12
As so often happens in these things the long drawn out period of inactivity had suddenly briskly picked up once more. The intrepid amateur English detective from Baker street and his faithful ex-Indian Army Medico were now hot on the heels of Omar Bin Liner's Agent Provocateur, the Infamous Hilda Von Velvet, a woman whose searing beauty had so captivated me outside the Club that fateful evening.
It had been rumoured by some of the more lurid tabloids that both men had shared her bed in a wild bachanalian orgy in the desert. This I personaly took to be a gross exageration for that angel would never have stooped to consort carnaly with anyone coming from so rough a neighborhood as Baker Street.
To tell the truth my head still felt the effect of the dizzy spells I had been so unfortunately seized with after plunging head first to the ground with a series of inexplicable and unlucky falls that fatefull evening. In no way could it have been the result of the twenty pints of beer, two bottles of wine one of Port, and the odd score of whisky soadas that The Hon Arbuthnot had so unkindly remarked on my having finished that afternoon.
Sandy had by now, sent back information on the strange contraption that had tantalised us all from the outset. It was in actuality a strange form of amphibeous craft whose colour was a strange hue of pink. It appeared to be 'manned' if indeed that was the word, by a strange collection of rather odd people.
A large man with a hairy chest and gold chain wearing a truly flourescent upper garment, who seemed to nominaly controll an asorted collection of women, some of whom appeared to have an aversion for undergarments of any kind.
Obviously lost, this caravansi was parambulating around Khandahar in large circles, creating as it spiraled aimlessly around a great disturbance amongst the tribseman who took them for a caravan of poor demented souls deserving only pity, for no-one could otherwise explain how they had not been riddled with shot long before now. They appeared to be looking for some form of treasure, and had apparently been intending to make for the waters around Cuba, but their compass had obviously been of inferior quality.
Carew had dissapeared without a trace having signed out a particularly fine animal costume from the stores that he had been convinced would allow him to creep right up to the enemys encampment. I believe he had even spent a short spell on a Sussex farm immersing himself in the part, always the true professional.
The main protaganists were all in the theatre, when would the curtain go up? I was going to have to hurry if I was to play any part in the unfolding drama. My sojurn in Istanbul had gained me precious little in the way of clues, and Arrack I found effected my head even worse than wine.

tony draper
21st Oct 2001, 02:27
All these Characters, but which one is---
--------KEYSER SOZE?

Draper is bored, being reduced to living like a peasant with but five tv channels until monday, and this place being devoid of life tonight, apart from serious folk above.
So draper re-read this whole thread, phew!!!, so many characters, Hollywood will have great dificulty casting this tale.
Draper must insist however that a real Englishman such as Anthony Hopkins, or Sean Connory be employed in the roll of Holmes.
Draper has given some thought to whom would be suitable for the roll of Hilda Von Velvet
Dolly Parton sprung to his mind naturaly, as he has a great lust for that lady, the lady is of the correct shape for the part, but alas the wrong colouration, so that will have to be left up in the air for the momment.
Finaly congratulations are in order for
Mr Paterbrat, as the only poster to even attempt to retain plot disipline.

[ 20 October 2001: Message edited by: tony draper ]

Bally Heck
21st Oct 2001, 11:23
I trust Mr Draper sir that when you refer to the great Englishmen Anthony Hopkins and Sean Connery, you are not refering to the famous Welsh an Scottish actors of the same name.

Actually I thought Sean Connery could play my modest part in the "The case of the pink war machine" The Movie. Or if the MGM insisted for a more lifelike likeness, George Clooney perhaps.

As for your good self, The great classical actor, Jimmy Nail springs to mind perhaps?

I see Michael Caine as Paterbrat, Hugmonster perhaps Hugh Grant. Zeta Jones is a must for Hilda von, and Mastergreen is just made darling for John Cleese.

Bin Airliner's part must be played by Sir Tony.

21st Oct 2001, 13:08
Hugh Grant???? Oh well, if you insist, and if I get to play a steamy scene with Julia Roberts (or Catherine Zeta Jones).

It's just that I'd always thought of myself more as Sean Bean than Hugh Grant... :( :eek:

tony draper
21st Oct 2001, 13:41
Catherine Zeta Jones?,Julie Roberts?, Draper dispares at the taste of his fellow pruners, why not posh spice? these skinny harridans have no shape about them, now a Sophia Loren or Rachquel Welch, had some meat on their bones, but alas the afore mentioned ladies are as long in the tooth as Draper himself.
It seems to be a strange evolutionary trait that as young men seem to be exploding sideways at a great rate and are all becoming fat bastards, the female of the species is at the same time imploding and becoming as shapeless as Drapers tomato canes.
Jack Sprat and his wife no less.
Still beggers can't be choosers, and it has to be said it would save space,one could probably squeeze six of these emaciated bints into one bunk,
My friend Abdul says they are cheap to feed at least.

[ 21 October 2001: Message edited by: tony draper ]

22nd Oct 2001, 00:37
I had finaly won through to the Great Dhow basin at Khobar where I was preparing to embark on one of the ocean going Bhooms that would take me across to Bombay, from whence I would take a train towards the snow clad ramparts of the Northern Frontier, the last bastions of any vestige of civilisation.

In my travels I had been acutely concious that I was in territory where the enemy could be following hot on my heels and in a determined effort I has assumed a veritable theatre cast of characters in an endevour to remain hidden from those who would do me harm.

I had been an Emir, an oily market trader, a fanatical wild eyed mullah with a long henna tinted beard, and finaly, undoubtedly quite the most difficult, an entire traveling harem of no less than four ladies atop a tent on a camels back.

My talent for dialects had been strained to the utmost imitating the four wives, all from different areas of the Middle East, and while my jolly Egyptian had completely stolen the caravan leaders heart, he had taken a distinct aversion to the Iraqi lady from Bagdad whose voice he remarked had reminded him of his Mother-in-Law's.
I had therefore employed her whenever he was around in order to try and stop the fellow from passing notes to me as the Egyptian.

The other two wives were shy Syrians and were able to simply chatter quietly between themselves.

It was after that most taxing portion of the journey that I played the deaf mute giving my overtaxed voice and sorely strained larynx a spell of much needed rest.

I had during my journey found out through a message sent by carrier pigeon that my handler was none other than that versatile and humorous fellow Draper who had entertained Sandy and I so ably in the Haymarket on our last evening together. And it further appeared that a certain Mr Heck last seen wielding the willow at the Oval was also in on the act and pulling strings in Whitehall. Heartening stuff indeed.

Of poor Carew we had heard no more. The new cook, an Oriental by the familiar name of T Wu appeared to have ingratiated himself into Hilda Von Velvet's good books by providing for her the dish she had been craving, pork chops, though where he had managed to produce these baffled all at her encampment.

It had been remarked on though on that she had gone back for no less than four helpings and had been quite stuffed at the end of the meal.

And so the Great Game played on and the fortunes of men waxed and waned as nations struggled for control of the hearts and minds of millions across the globe. How would it all end? Probably on a sudden whim and the irrevocable click of a lock. Who could tell as the case of the pwm slowly played out it's high drama across the vastness of the globe

Dave Hedgehog
22nd Oct 2001, 01:12
The Strange craft swooped down towards the blue planet far below.
It was not displeasing to the eye, being coloured in a shade of purple that would make Laurence Llewellyn-Bowen proud.
Of course, the beings inside had no knowledge of the Interior designer, Carol Smilie or the colour purple, for they were not of this earth, they were from a strange and distant land.
They were from a place few earthmen had heard of.
They were from a small and insignificant city, in the unfashionable north-eastern area of the undeveloped United Kingdom. They were from....Newcastle Upon Tyne.
"Away man, gie us a gan of t spaceship, the's bin flyin it for ages, giv-es a go man!" one said in a lanuage few could understand
"naa man, thes only ganna crash it, and anyway, its me turn tae land it divvent the knaas"
The craft came doon, errr, down, in a desert, quite close to two chaps, one in a deer stalker, the other sporting a large moustache, who owned a flat in the fashionable Baker Street development in London.
The craft floated down and landed gently from a great height, in much the same way that bricks don't, in front of these two men.
The door slid open.
"hey ye too fellas wouldney knaas where that tony draper fella is would the? is he doon the toon?" one of the beings asked, dressed in the traditional greeting clothes of black and white stripes...

Tricky Woo
22nd Oct 2001, 13:50
(Scene: Twilight, in the Afghan desert. In the distance, flashes of light mark the explosions of smart-bombs dropped by the Americans. Two Afghan goat herdsmen relax by their open fire, exhausted by a long day of looking upwards at high-flying American jet bombers...)

Abdul: My neck is killing me.

Yasser: Mine too, why can't those evil imperialist yankees fly their aeroplanes a bit lower. All this neck-craning can't be good for me.

Abdul: Ahh, but that's all part of their evil plot. Those infidel Yankees with their smarty-pants bombs know that they won't be able to find the Taliban by the usual methods, so...

Yasser(excitedly): ...so they fly so high that everyone gets back and neck trouble, and then they...

Abdul: ...yes, Yasser, all they have to do is to watch the nearest Red Cross field hospital for anyone with posture problems, beard, and carrying an AK47.

Yasser: Indeed, those clever Yankees are the spawn of Satan.

Abdul: Quite so. Inshallah, the Taliban will use wisely the Blackpool deckchairs that the evil Americans have been dropping to the refugees. And also the Kiss-Me-Quick hats to help shade their eyes.

Yasser: I heard that they are now dropping Pop-Tarts and microwave french-fries... jigsaw puzzles too.

Abdul (looking up): Wait! Someone is coming...

(A shadowy figure approaches out of the gloom)

Shadowy Figure(mumbling to himself): Those bastards. I gave 'em another chance, but they STILL failed to treat me with respect. I'll show 'em, oh yes, I'll find myself another bulletin board where I can talk to REAL people... people who know how to spell, people who can hold an argument WITHOUT failing to agree with my every word... B*STARDS!

Abdul: Hello stranger, are you cold and hungry? It is the way of the desert, and the teachings of our forefathers, to comfort a traveller in the desert.

Shadowy Figure: Do I look like I need your help? Do I look like I'm cold and tired?

Yasser: Er, frankly, yes.

Shadowy Figure: Well I don't. Mind your own business. It's nosy b*stards like you that give all you Taliban b*stards a bad name.

Abdul: Er, Mujaheddin, actually.

Yasser (looking suspiciously at Abdul): Northern Alliance, myself. But I'll let it go this time...

Shadowy Figure: You're still sodding Afghans, and I have to tell you that I won't tolerate your Moslem behaviour. I want you to know that I practice Zero Tolerance with people like you, so there.

Abdul: Stranger, in spite of your rudeness, it is still our duty to help a stranger in need of comfort.

Shadowy Figure: Ha! Thought so. Go on then, do you duty... where can I find food and lodging for the night?

Abdul: There's a beardy bloke over in that valley who is very interested in meeting people like you. He has food, shelter and lots of mates. Go on down there, you'll have a great time.

Yasser(whispers): But, Abdul, that's...

Abdul(cuts him off): Shh!

(The shadowy figure stomps off into the gloom, in the direction of the lair Osama Bin-Baba and his Forty Terrorists).

Yasser(looking disapprovingly at Abdul): That seemed a bit tight to me.

Abdul: Ahh, but Yasser, if there's one thing I hate more than those damn Yankees, it's a dour, miserable Scotsman.

Yasser: Fair enough.

(Twilight fades into night, and the two contented goat-herds whiled away the hours on their new Gameboys that the Americans had thoughtfully included in their aid packages).

Tricky Woo
22nd Oct 2001, 17:10
(The interior of a country house, circa 1928. A kindly, yet sharp old lady, accompanied by a hairless American, is interviewing the butler... oh yeah, there's a corpse peaking out from under the opposite sofa).

Mrs Marple: Hello James. Do you know who I am?

James: No ma'am.

Mrs Marple (disappointed): It's strange, isn't it. In spite of Agatha Christie writing all of those books about me, and all the dozens of murder cases I've solved, it's always the male detectives that get all the credit...

James: Women detectives, ma'am? I did try to read one of those Ngaio Marsh books a while back, ma'am, but I much prefer Poirot... now there's a REAL detective, and soooo clever too...

Mrs Marple: Never mind that, James, I have some serious questions for you.

Butler (glancing at the corpse): Aah! Is it about the murder of the young master?

Mrs Marple: No James.

Butler (peaking at the corpse of a young woman dangling from the chandaliers): Then the young lady of the house?

Mrs Marple: No, not that one either. They'll have to wait...

Butler: (turns her head to look out of the window) What about the elder master of the house floating in the fountain, gagged and bound, with multiple stab wounds in his back?

Mrs Marple (surprised): Good lord! I didn't notice that one... now that IS interesting... No! That will have to wait too.

Butler: Yes, ma'am.

Mrs Marple: The reason why all these corpses are piling up all over England is because most of the fictional detectives seem to have gone abroad somewhere.

Butler: Yes ma'am. We're up to five dead bodies, not including the parlour maid. I did hear, ma'am, that Cleveleys Manor is up to nine, plus the entire cast of Lady Windermere's Fan who happened to be rehearsing in their hall. A bit of a blood-bath there, beginning your pardon, ma'am.

Mrs Marple: And likely to get worse.

James: Frankly, ma'am, they're beginning to clutter the place up... the maids have been threatening to give notice. It intrudes upon their dusting, you see.

Mrs Marple: Which is why it is crucial that I ascertain the whereabouts of all the fictional detectives. Otherwise, fictional England will be up to the rafters in fictional corpses!

Butler: I'll ask in the kitchen, ma'am. They usually know what's going on with those upstairs. If you'll excuse me...

(Bulter backs away, and then disappears through one of those weird doors disguised as a book shelf that they're always showing us during tours of country houses)

Mrs Marple (Looking out of the window): Now I wonder how poor Mr Humphries ended up in the fountain? His arms and legs are tied with cord... hmm... daggers protruding out of his back... plus sundry other stab wounds... plus that gag... hmm... looks like the nastiest cases of suicide I've ever seen.


(The butler returns)

Mrs Marple: Ahh, James.

Butler: I have just talked to Mrs Higgins, ma'am, and she says that she heard from the scullery maid, who gets regularly tupped by the gentleman who stays at the priory, that just about every fictional detective anyone has ever heard of is off to Afghanistan to track down Bin-Greenliner aka Osama Baba.

Mrs Marple: I knew it! None of them thought to invite me! I'm famous too: yes alright, those Americans made a series about me played by some dreadful American actress, but other than that I still have a reputation as the greatest detective ever!

James(bored): Yes, ma'am.

Mrs Marple: James! Fetch my coat, instruct my servant to pack my trunk. I'm off to Afghanistan, to give them ALL a piece of my mind!

James(hopefully): Will you be taking your American friend with you ma'am?

Mrs Marple: I suppose so... (turns) Theodore, do you want to come along?

Theodore(removes a lollipop from his mouth): Yeah baby...

Mrs Marple: Let's go then. Where on earth did you find a name like Theodore Kojak?

Kojak: Who loves ya baby...

Tricky Woo
22nd Oct 2001, 18:34
(Thin figure approaches from the direction of the rising sun. The glare of the sun makes it initiatally difficult to see who it is... the figure is carrying a knapsack, has a daft haircut... and turns out to be... Tricky Fu, walking the earth)

Abdul: I wonder what happened to that dour, miserable Scotsman?

Yasser: Dunno, don't care... high-score! See? I just got the high score on my Gameboy! Allah is great, Mohammed is all wise. The Prophet directed my fingers.

Tricky Fu(a distant tread-tread-tread-tread-tread-tread-tread-tread)


Abdul: There seems to be a lot of visitors around here, and I don't just mean those Yankee spawns of Satan, either.

Yasser: I know, it's making my goats nervous. Young Asha is refusing to be milked. Also Aeya has gone right off sex.

Abdul: Yes, indeed, dozens and dozens of characters, all tossed willy-nilly into this story. I wonder who is going to resolve all this mess?

Yasser: Inshallah, it is said that a great prophet will come out of the desert. A prophet so great that he can unravel this plot and produce a conclusion that is both logical, and in keeping with the wishes of Allah.

Tricky Fu(a less distant tread-tread-tread-tread-tread-tread-tread-tread)


Abdul: Off the top of my turban, there are Holmes and Watson, Rommel and Schmidt, Clouseau, Donitz and Müller, Poirot, Marlowe, James Bond and Moneypenny, Richard Hanney, D'Arcy and that slut Eliza, Captain Nemo...

Yasser: Also Bin-Greenliners great, great, great grandfather got a mention...

Abdul: ...that's right, also Jack the Ripper, Nostradamus and Mrs Marple. Some idiot even slipped in Kojak for a laugh. Plus us!

Yasser: Only a true son of Allah could be so brilliant as to resolve this plot.

Tricky Fu(tread-tread-tread-tread-tread-tread-tread-tread.... silence as he arrives)


Abdul: Hello, Affendi, we are but humble goat-herds, but it our way to give shelter and food to strangers.

Tricky Fu(confused): Am I on the right thread?

Yasser(awed): Ahh... you are the famous Tricky Fu, personally sent by Allah to rescue this thread from the whore-mongerers of the West who introduced too many characters.

Tricky Fu: Er, am I?

(Tricky Fu gives the two Afghans a ciggie each)

Abdul(excitedly): Yes, Affendi, you are sent by Allah to tie the plot lines together! You are truly a prophet of Allah...

Tricky Fu(distantly): Don't suppose you have any booze on you, do you?

Yasser: Er, nope.

Tricky Fu: Sorry, matey, this thread's a lost cause. The plot's as dead as a sodding dodo. Somebody else can try, but I can't see how anyone can rescue it before the 100post deadline is up... No booze, huh? Well, that's me off then. Did you by chance see a dour, miserable Scotsman pass this way?

Abdul(smiling, secretively): Yes, Affendi, he went to Osama bin-Baba's cave.

Tricky Fu: Hmm, nice work. In that case, I'll go the other way. Bye chaps!

Afghans(together): Bye Tricky Fu.

(Sound of Tricky Fu sodding off in the opposite direction).


Abdul: Did you hear that, Yasser? Our thread is composed of 100 posts, some of which haven't even been written yet. That means that some of it IS written, yet some of it HASN'T been written. How can that be?

Yasser: Some of the posts may not have been written, but the thread limit of 100 posts has been written...

Abdul: This is just the sort of ontological problem that we sons of the desert love to talk about.

Yasser(wistfully): Not every day you get to meet a prophet of Allah...

Abdul: ...with a drink problem.

(A distant Tricky Fu turns and waves)

Yasser: I wonder what ever happened to Vander Valk?

Abdul: Same as Eddie Shoestring, I reckon.

22nd Oct 2001, 21:34
"Herr OberTreeHugger?"
"Yes, Schmidt?"
"Wo finden wir ein andere Panzer?"
"Vielleicht die Amerikaner konnen uns hilfen - gib mir die HF radio"
"Hier ist, Herr FeldKaberTosser"
"Danke, Schmidt - Wer kommt?"
(Man wanders past muttering to himself)
"Sodding Afghans, sodding Muslims, hate the sodding lot of 'em... I'll just carry on up the Khyber down the mountain - I'll probably break my ankle and then they'll be sorry - oh yes - and those sodding PPRuNers enjoying their sodding stories - they'll get what's coming to them..."
"Schmidt, das war veeeeerrrrry interesting - but stupid"
"Herr OberWinkelPicker, ein gruppe von C17's und C5's - siehe!"
"Ach! So! Wie der Fuhrer gesagt hat - Gott mit uns"
(Whoosh of more Stinger missiles. Pretty firework display)
A sultry-looking siren appears behing them.
"Hello, boys"
"Guten Abend, Fraulein - Gott in Himmel! Marlene!!!!!! Sign mein autograf buch, bitte? Fur mein tochter...?"
"Nein, you stupid boy. Ich bin nicht Dietrich - Ich heisse Hilda Von Velvet. Sie wollen ein M1A1 Abrams sehr cheap?"
"What colour?"
"Du nehmst Amerikaner Express?"

[ 22 October 2001: Message edited by: HugMonster ]

tony draper
22nd Oct 2001, 23:56
Hida Von Velvet reclined on a pile of silk pillows, a giant spider
the size of a Old English Sheepdog lay on the rug to the right of her,
it hissed as she scratched it behinds its ears, or rather where the ears
would be if spiders had ears.
In her right hand she held a hollowed out human skull from which she would
occasionaly sip.
A knock sounded on the huge oaken door of the tent,"enter", she called.
Two Raggypan warriors entered, each with his own cloud of flies,
dragging two bound prisoners ,"leave them, then leave",said Von Velvet.
."Ah Holmes and Watson,will you join me for dinner", breathed the Redhead
in a sexy voice.
"You fiend Von Velvet, how did you discover us",cried Watson.
"Your stupid friend Carew was most obliging, gentlemen, he shall be joining
us for dinner" ,Von Velvet clapped her hands and two slaves rushed in carrying
a huge silver platter, "See Sherlock it is so difficult to obtain pork in this god
forsaken land", VonVelvet murmured,nodding toward the platter.
Holmes and watson recoiled in horror, for there was poor Carew done to a turn,
His back honey glazed and scoured for crackling ,a apple stick in the mouth
He lay steaming on the silver dish surrounded by a pile of rice, Holmes noticed
it was patna.
"Do you hink I would forget what you got me locked up for in London Sherlock?,
you are the only detective ever to thwart me, and I intend that you shall die horribly".
"To think Hilda I once loved you how could I the greatest detective in this thread
ever have been so blind" said Holmes his voice sad.
"Release us now Von Velvet,Give us the Pink Machine and with my medical
contacts I shall see you get counselling and aversion therapy for you cannabalism",
appealled Watson.
"Fools shrieked Von Velvet ",her voice contorted with rage, the spider cowered away
from her whimpering,"You still think this is about that Pink Tank,after we have dined
I shall tell you what this whole thread has been about, Sherlock.
"I Hilda Von Velvet have had the greatest minds on Prune all rushing about chasing your tails.
this plot has nothing whatsover to do with the Meridian, Sherlock, or some Square headed
Prussian fool, think Sherlock ,what has happened to that razor sharp mind of yours"?.
Velvet paused her shapley breasts heaving, she held up a small glass bottle containing
a strange glowing blue liquid.
"With this, I Agness Clack, errr I mean I Hilda Von Velvet will destroy the British Empire, the Pink Panza will mearly
transport this phial over the mountains and down into the country beyond",shrieked Von Velvet
her dark eyes blazing.
"Err whats over the mountains Holmes" whispered Watson.
"India, Watson old chap, India" ,a look of horror suddenly dawning on his face,
"Dear God Watson, Tea,"said Holmes his voice filled with despair.
"Yes indeed Sherlock Tea", Velvet threw back her head and laughed maniacly.
The giant spider scurried across the floor in fright and dissapered beneath a pile of human skeletons.

[ 22 October 2001: Message edited by: tony draper ]

23rd Oct 2001, 16:34
At any moment now this thread could start to become weird.
Ah,.spit, TOO LATE!!! :) :)

Tony, Tony, Tony ... what did I start???

tony draper
23rd Oct 2001, 17:14
Indeed Mr 18, its all your fault. ;)

23rd Oct 2001, 17:26
What's the record for the slowest thread to get to 100? :)

tony draper
23rd Oct 2001, 17:38
Ah, how long did it take Picaso to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chappel??.

23rd Oct 2001, 19:36
So now we get to the gritty. John Cleese is it ? Fair enough, say no more. A nudge is as good as a wink to a blind man.

The background is an idyllic scene of beach, sand and gently lapping seas. The location is Sur, a small fishing village on the NE corner of Oman. Legends tell us that this is the legendary home of Sinbad the Sailor. This is largely irrelevant – but then so is the rest of this post.

The reporter of record is one, Bruce. Of Bruce, Bruce, Bruce and Bruce – contract news agents for the Sidney Morning Glory. He is here to meet the famous Anthropologist and animal trainer, Brian of Arabia.

“Good Morning, Brian. You don’t mind me calling you Brian do you?”
“Not at all Eric.”
“No sir, my name is Bruce.”
“Well I would prefer if I could call you Eric. Bruce seems very confusing.”
“I don’t see that Bruce is confusing, I am the only Bruce here.”
“Very true, but Eric it is if we are going to proceed.”
“Fair enough. I would like to start by asking you about the parrot on your right shoulder.”
“What about the one on my left shoulder?”
“You don’t have a parrot on your left shoulder.”
“****** – he’s flown off again. Never mind he may be back.”
“Before we start though Brian, I must say that the parrot is a most unusual color.”
“Not at all, he’s an African Green.”
“Surely you mean African Grey?”
“Not at all – see for yourself. Green as grass – except for the red ass feathers.”
“What is that, a genetic modification?”
“No, a respray.”
“Don’t be foolish – food coloring.”
“Excuse me for asking, even if this is off topic, but why change his color?”
“CITIES regulations. The African Grey is a Class II and has very restricted travel permissions. The African Green however….”
“So Brian.”
“Yes Eric.”
“I have come here to interview you on your claims to be able to find Abdul Bin Liner within the week. How does your, ‘er African Green come into this?”
“Oh he is fundamental to the whole issue my dear. He is a psychic parrot.”
“’Er, how does that work?”
Well we give him a piccie of the target and he tells us where he is. Can’t say fairer than that.”
“OK, I have a picture of the target here. What shall I do?”
“Give it to Eric.”
“But you said I was Eric.”
“The parrot is called Eric too.”
“But you said I had to be called Eric because it was confusing, and now the parrot is an Eric also.”
“That’s not confusing for me.”
“But it is for me.”
“Who’s a pretty boy then Eric?”
“Sorry – I was talking to the parrot.”
“That’s not fair. You are taking the **** .”
“No actually Eric has just taken a **** . Check my back.”
“Actually it is educational. The bird family use a single orifice, the cloaca, for all reproductive and excretion purposes. This would make them the ideal politician in a happier world. But I digress.”
“I think we should move on.”
“So what do I do with this Onan Bin Laden picture?”
“Give it to Eric.”
“He’s eating it…”
“Parrots are partial to a painted parchment or picture.”
“Indeed. He will now digest the information and direct us to the location of the said ******* person.”
“And how does that happen?”
“Well if he craps down my left side I turn to the left. Vis-à-vis my present geospacial position. And the right is obvious.”
“What happens if the target is straight ahead?”
We have a problem with that part of the protocol. However it is of little merit since he will always says the address and post code. Great talkers these Greys.”
“Fantastic. But I must ask, why is your face so disfigured?”
“Oh that. Eric was a trainee body part piercer before I acquired him. He loves to make the odd hole here and there.”
“But you face is a mess man.”
“True enough and it is a worry. But what to do?
“Don’t you worry about infections and such?”
“Not really, I have been checked recently and have no blood issues that could harm Eric. Cholesterol is not contagious.”

More later ….

Dave Hedgehog
23rd Oct 2001, 22:21
"Hello, sit down, what can i do for you?" the psychiatrist said in a polite but bored voice.
"well," the small spikey mammal said "i have this terrible problem. People keep inoring my posts you see, and i have this strange urge to go to Afganistan...."

Bally Heck
23rd Oct 2001, 23:34
Enough. this thread is starting to get silly.

tony draper
24th Oct 2001, 00:00
Seems perfectly rational to me.
these kind of things happen all the time in the circles Draper moves in. :(

tony draper
24th Oct 2001, 00:12
The main proplem as Draper see's it is will everything be resolved in two posts.
Will Hida VonVelvet be revealed as the homicidal older sister of a poor girl called Emily from a previuos thread cruely slain by many of the characters in this one.
Will the Pink Panza pass its MOT, and finish up in a military vehicle Museum.
Will the Britsh Empire on which the sun never sets survive the destruction of the worlds tea crop.
How will the numerous authors divvy up the huge fee hollywood is about to offer for the screenplay.
F*cked if I know. :(

A horrible thought has just struck Draper, does this entire thread now legaly belong to Danny?.

tony draper
24th Oct 2001, 01:44
Must be in line for the longest living thread
24th august,-24th october.
Draper makes that 1440 hours. ;)

24th Oct 2001, 05:12
With a muttered oath in Pushtu, I was now begnning to brush up my local dialects I flogged my Himalayen ass to a shambling trot, I was exceedingly weary having journied for many a long day and the end seemed near.
Sandy and a friend had,disguised as local Afghani herders managed to herd an amazing collection of characters towards the area in the valley where the final denouement was destined to take place.

The silken tents of that sultry beauty Hila Von Velvet lay before me and it was obvious that there was a massive party of some kind taking place. I had managed to get word during the final stages of my journey back to Sir Walter and my faithful Battallion were even now drawing the noose tight around the sounds of revelry that could be heard.

The night attack was text book and on my signal of a green Very pistol flare the lads rose up and with a steady gait and fixed bayonets marched in with a ring of cold steel.

There was little resistance and after a token struggle the hopping Raggypan bodyguards were taken prisoner and marched away. The only casualty was the Adjutant who mistaking a giant Afghani hairyback spider for a dog was bitten in the hand while attempting to pat it.

The only ones to escape were the Oriental Cook a muttering Scotsman and our prey Omar bin Greenliner. The bitter taste of failure was to some extent ameliorated by the huge and assorted group rum characters we had managed to catch. We had saved the Great Sherlock Holmes and his partner from almost certain death at the hands of the fatelful beauty who seemed to hold some grudge against him. Carew alas had been partialy devoured and there was only a portion of glazed crackeling and a few bones to take back to Blighty, but he was given a good send off all the same.

Of Bin Greeliner I was sure we would hear more. The crime rate in England now fell with the return of so many fine slueths and a backlog of corpses was able to be cleared from many of the fine country mansions where they had been keeping countless maids from their duties.

I was now heading for London and home, where the delights of London's finer ales wines and Port's were waiting. The journey had been an enjoyable one the company excellent, we had achieved at least a part of what we had set out to do, it had been slow and the main protagonist still lay out there in the darkness it was true, but there would be another day. My head was fine my stiff arm and leg were hindering me not a bit and I could not wait to get to the first whisky & soada which my batman was even now preparing. Cheers to you all.

24th Oct 2001, 13:10
"UnterMilchWood Schmidt, Ich denke das wir got out just in time haben"
"Ja, Herr OberBratWurst"
"Schmidt, es ist time we started a bit more relax to do - enough fuel haben wir zu Bangkok zu fahren?"
"Ja, Naturlich mein Kommandant. Herr Kommandant?"
"Ja, Schmidt?"
"Wer sind die zwei hitchhikeren?"
"Der gentleman mit der grosse beard sprecht nichts except Arabic, aber ich habe sein fotograf gesehen in Der News Von Die Welt. Wann wir drop him off will bei dem nachste Amerikaner Embassy, dann rich men we will become."
"Ach So. Herr Kommandant?"
"You're starting to talk like Yoda"
"Es tut mir leid. Und der other gentleman auf mein nerves beginnt to get"
"Think they can send Special Forces to get ME, do they, the bastards? It's all the fault of those sodding PPRuNers, I tell you. They'll be sorry, oh yes. Think they'll miss my wit and wisdom? All those sodding intellectual wishywashy dogooding liberal intelligentsia bastards. It's that bastard Davaar and that doublesodding HugMonster who are to blame. They'll rue the day they didn't take me seriously, the sods.... mutter mutter mutter"
"Throw him out and run him over, Schmidt."
"Zu befehl - mit pleasure!"

PPRuNe Pop
24th Oct 2001, 16:12
Sorry guys, have to close this one. Can't think of anything else to say about our server. Still you know it already.

Great thread though. I have been chucklin for days. Keep it going. This one will stay in view of course.

PPRuNe Pop
[[email protected][/EMAIL]

Capt PPRuNe
24th Oct 2001, 19:45
Sorry PPRuNe Pop but I'm going to override you here. This thread has to be one of the greatest ever, with a bevvy of authors who individually are excellent in ther own rights but as a group have excelled themselves.

This ongoing saga was having its myriad of lose ends nicely tied up by Paterbrat and it was interesting to see the encroaching panic by some as the 100 post limit was approached but this seemed only to gird the authors into an even higher gear and an increased effort to guide the storyline back on to some sort of track. Now with most of the storyline having been successfully herded into a maneagable direction we must have a conclusion that allows the title of the thread and the initial reason for it, the theft of the Greenwich Meridian to be concluded.

I have therefore decreed that the slaves (PPRuNers who have transgressed in the past) that toil deep in the dungeons below PPRuNe Towers be worked to within an inch of their lives generating the necessary power for the server to be able to withstand the extra posts so that this thread may remain open until 150 replies have been reached!. Go forth you creative writers and conclude this saga. You have 45 more posts!

Awards for the most imaginative writers will be given by the PPRuNe glitterrati at the December Gatbash provided we have solved the case and the Greenwich Meridian is back in its rightful home. Remember, don't waste any of those extra 45 replies I have decreed shall be available. Some of your compatriots can be heard cursing me now from deep within the dank cellars of PPRuNe Towers. Don't let their efforts be wasted!

PS. I have taken the liberty of deleting a few of the early posts which were not relevant to this thread to give the authors a few extra posts before the limit is reached and we endanger destroying the PPRuNe server which is at this moment glowing orange, clanging and groaning under the strain and belching smoke and steam from riveted plates that I fear will not take much more strain.

[ 24 October 2001: Message edited by: Capt PPRuNe ]

tony draper
24th Oct 2001, 19:58
Oh bloody hell, Hmm, Draper notices no corpse of the Hilda VonVelvet was discovered. :eek:

Tricky Woo
24th Oct 2001, 20:09
Abdul: Allah has been merciful, Yasser.

Yasser: Indeed He has...

Adbul: All praise to Allah...

Yasser: All praise to Allah. Whatever. Adbul, did you not say that it was written that this thread would close after 100 posts?

Adbul: Allah is all powerful and all wise. After all this is His desert, His pit of sand. We mortals must never question His will.

Yasser: Last we discussed this, there had been eight-six posts, and therefore only fourteen more to go. While I still believe that fourteen unwritten posts directly contradicts your 'it is written' philosophy, that was a far better situation than the forty-odd unwritten posts that now await us. Life is uncertain enough without this.

Adbul: But...

Yasser: You and Allah need to get your story straight, mate: is life indeed written, or is it not?

Adbul: Er...

Yasser: Is life an illusion? Are we but figures on the canvas of the universe? Are we fictitious characters with no true existence? Are we meaningless bit-players in a rambling thread introduced for a bit of a laugh? TELL ME!

Adbul: Hmm... let me think: Yes, yes, yes, yes and yes. Especially the last one.

Yasser: Thought so.

Abdul: Can I have a toke on that bong of yours?

Yasser: Yeah.


Adbul(breathing out a long trail of smoke): Goooooood, man.

Yasser: I forgot to mention it, but I bumped into Mrs Marple yesterday. She was right pleased 'cos I recognised her.

Adbul(wasted): Yeah?

Yasser: Wanted to know which way the gang of fictional detectives went.

Adbul(very wasted): ...and you told her...?

Yasser: ...I told her that Saddam Hussein might be able to help her out.

Adbul(yawning): Nice one: These foreigners are sooooooo stupid.

tony draper
25th Oct 2001, 01:45
It was a scene of utter devastation,coils of smoke rose from collapsed tents and shell holes.
Dead Raggypan warriors littered the landscape, goats run hither and yon seeking their deceased
From a pile of rubble a disheveled figure in ragged field grey emerges coughing and spitting out sand.
He see's a single Jack boot protruding from the sand, "Mein Field Marshall" he cries, and commences to dig franticly, rapidly uncovering another figure dressed in field grey clutching a baton.
"Verdammit gottun bazten, vot inzer name of fok ist hapenn Schmitt"?
"Der damitt Tommies is being attacking der camp Her Rommel"
"Die Englander?,vos it zer dammit kliner panzy Monty"?
"I did not zee hiz caravan mit der chinz curtainz, Field Marshal, zo nien ,nicht zer Monty"
"Zat iz it!, Schmitt, I haf been haffing enough, fok ziz, ve go home now unt taking der Meridian
viz uz, ve go to Berlin, check out zer pink panza Schmitt, ve vill haf no more distractions, ve chust follow der orders".
"Ja vool, Field Marshall" Schmitt clicks his heels and runs over to the pink tank.
Out of the gloom another figure appears, wearing a ragged dress with red hair in disarray.
"Help me"she cries,
"Vot you bist ein Englander"?.
"No, err, I mean nein sir, ich be ein Berliner sir, Hilda VonTrapp a poor singing teacher, I am lost"
"Vell fraulein, ve can ein lift be offering you, ve are for Berlin heading ja".
"Thank err, danka Sir, you will find me err, grossen greatfull"
"Her Rommel"
"Ja Schmit vas is it"
"Der Pink Panza Sir, der fanbelten flooga sprocket iz caput".
"Ha Schmitt vi you zink zay are calling me der desart foxen, Fraulien!, may I trouble you for one of your silk stocking please"?.
The redhead slowly peels off a stocking from her shapley leg, Rommel and Schmitt look on licking their lips.
for neither had seen a woman for almost a hundred posts.
"Here Schmitt take zis und use it for ein fanbelten spocket, load on der Meridian unt let uz be gone from zis hell hole"
"Fraulein Von Trapp.vood you like to sit in zer drifing seat bezide me"?.
"Bastard" thought Schmitt, foking offizer, alvays they are uzing der rank, der redhead obviously fancies me,vel, ve haff a long vey to go".
The Pink panza starts up with a roar, Rommel the redhead at his side lowers his goggles and gesture with a outstreched arm the,Tank lurches off to the North West,
"My, vot a big baton you haff field
Marshal"the redhead says in a husky voice.
A voice grumbles and curses below the hatch.

[ 24 October 2001: Message edited by: tony draper ]

PPRuNe Pop
25th Oct 2001, 02:38
"zo, da Gruppenfuhrer haf geben sie feunf und vehrzig extra posten".

"Das is gut, but ich varn you. Iffen ich zee das anyvun voud be schtoopid und maken fur de sechs und vehrzig, ich vill maken der order zu haff you schot! Ist alles klar?"

Guten nacht!

Zeider Pop
unter Pprunegruppenfuhrereinsterklassen!

25th Oct 2001, 02:46
Our guys had done a pretty good job of it. I took a look around. When I'd finished taking it, I decided a good idea was to put it back where I found it. It wasn't pretty, but then, neither am I.

I noticed there was one tent just a little apart from the rest, like it didn't want to get soiled by them. It hadn't worked. Just outside it, something was lying in the dust. It got up, dusted itself down with a dusty hand, and rearranged some more dust. I noticed two Krauts arguing over some dame who was only wearing one of her nylons. None of them had noticed this guy.

As I turned back to the tall pile of dust, it disappeared into the tent.

I got a nasty feeling. The last time I got that feeling, Fingers Malone was smiling at me. I took a bit more space and a run at the door to the tent, hitting it with my shoulder. That was stupid. The only part of a tent you can't beat down armed with nothing more than a feather boa is the door.

I reshaped a little of the tent and slid in. As my eyes adjusted to the interior, my brain decided it couldn't possibly adjust to anything like that. The pile of dust was standing at the back, a vial glowing blue in one hand, and a 45 revolver in the other. It was pointing in my least favourite direction, which is at me.

"Damn you colonials", the dusty thing said. "I was hoping to get this sorted out nicely and quietly."
"That depends on how nice I'm prepared to play, and how deaf you might be", I replied.
"Well, old chap, I've got what I've been looking for. Whatever you're here for, is your own business. But leave me out of your plans, or you'll wish your name was Murphy and you lived in Limerick."

A half-smile played across his face, as if it didn't have any more attractive area to play. After a while of playing it got tired and decided to go break a few neighbourhood windows or mug old ladies. I saw a glint in his eye, and dived for the carpet just as a roar and a flash announced that the pile of dust was tired of looking at me. I rolled across the tent, collecting a about as much dust myself as the janitor in my apartment block leaves in the corners every Tuesday, which is card school afternoon downtown. When I got brave enough to stick my head above the parapet, the back wall of the tent was swinging back, and I was more or less alone.

I say "more or less". I was alone if you don't count the five dead bodies sprawled across from a large hairy thing. I did count them, which was how I knew there were five of them. The hairy thing appeared also to be dead, but I wasn't about to pin my health on that hope. I looked around for something to hit it with. I suddenly realised I was standing on something hard, and it wasn't my luck.

Rolling back the carpet, I realised I'd made a big discovery. Afghan dust makes you cough worse than smoking Chinese tobacco. The other thing I saw was a thing like a stick that blind guys use, only this was brass, and folded into sections about the length of a hangman's drop. On one was an inscription that read:-


I couldn't make out what the rest of the words were, and I figured it might come in useful, so I took it back out to the Packard, threw it in the trunk and headed south. Maybe I could get a ride back home with the Navy guys.

Tricky Woo
25th Oct 2001, 12:03
(Time passes...)

Whimsical 1970's music plays (Raindrops keep fallin' on mah head) as the thread tries to save budget while the characters are moved to the other side of the globe. The image goes a sort of sepia colour. Rommel, Schmidt and Hilda von Trapp have their photograph taken: The lads in top hats and Victorian clothes, and Hilda in a white crinoline dress. Another photo and Hilda is laughing gaily, and looking lovingly at Rommel. Another photo and she's caught giving longing looks at Schmidt. Yet another photo and Schmidt is caught picking his nose. The happiness of the three caught in a love triangle is obvious. The camera turns to a calendar where pages for each day are rapidly flying off.

Time passes quickly.



Rommel(back in uniform): Vell, ve are here.

Hilda(radiant): Yeah, er, ja...

Rommel: Berlin ist zo vonderbar in der spring.

Hilda: I haf alvays thought zo too. I love der Eiffel Tower der most...

Schmit(looking unusually spruce): Vot time do ve meet vid der Fuhrer?

Rommel: Immediately, Schmidt, der Fuhrer vaits for no man. Go into der pinken tank and geten der Prime Meridian... der Fuhrer vill be zoooo pleazed vid us...

25th Oct 2001, 13:42
"Wake up Sir, come on wake up now. Someone to see you Sir."

The insistant shaking had finaly roused me from the deep sleep I had been in. I blearily opened my eyes to see the faithful Paddock, my batman, leaning over me. The whisky and soda of the night before had been but a fore-runner to a serious celebration after dinner, with my brother officers. We had carroused in high spirits in the huge mess tent errected in the valley, complete with shining Regimental silver on the long dining table with the crisp white damascus table cloth and sparkling crystal decanters of Port and Maderia that had circulated to the left and right seemingly endlessly.

The plate in my head was vibrating like a tuning fork sending unpleasant throbbing sensations through my brain. I felt like as though I had been marched over by a thousand men and to tell the truth was in no fit state to see anyone, a fact I imparted to my faithful servant in a fairly gruff manner. He with his usual phlegmatic unperturbability brushed my remonstrations aside.

" It's Sir Walter to see you and he seems pretty impatient Sir, I'd not be keeping 'im waiting if I were you Sir. Now drink this little glass first, and then you can have the cuppa I've made for you."

Paddocks a good man and I've a got a soft spot for him, but his views on what is required to get me started in the morning are at long odds with my taste in cures for the morning after. The small glass contains a noxious brown fluid that he has not ventured to enlighten me on and I have never had the courage to ask about. He has me at a dueced disatvantaged state and makes full use of it.
When the heaving has subsided and the sorry business over, the hot strong sweet tea was a panacea that pulled body and sprit together and the will to go on had somehow revived.

Ahh Hannay... good show. Dammned slow in the morning are you not man. Don't go interrupting, blast it! I've had enough trouble getting over here to see you as it is.
The Grand High Panjandrum has set a real precedent. Sent down word to the Carriage Wallahs Forum that there would be extra time to sort this infernal mess out.
He's applied the whip pretty ruthlessly to the poor chaps in his department resposible for the servers, it seems that the Meridians simply got to be retrieved, and that damned Pink Kraut War machine hunted down and finished off. Some foolish plot regarding a threat to the Indian tea crop has now crept in and that female agent has dissapeared.
Your friend the Hon Ludovic Arbuthnot was found in a disgraceful state by the camp pickets last night, still in disguise, and muttering about his friend Yasser running of with Ayesha but he seems to have recovered rather better than you though. I had a quick word before he departed not half an hour ago. Sends you his regards and apologises for not seeing you. Said to tell you it was 'Acapulco Gold'. That mean anything eh?!! Thought not."

Sir Walter was his usual irrascible self and I was not about to mention my friends weakness for the weed that he begun experimenting with at Eton.

So the Game was still afoot. I was strangely elated. The hunt had been a good one and the trail had led us all a long way.
The Pink War Machine I knew had been heading back towards Germany but then I also knew from my sources that they had lost the Meridian they had so fouly stolen from it's rightful place in Greenwich.
The Beautiful Hilda Von Velvet had managed by some inexplicable means to escape, and the dreamily smiling guards had said little on the manner of her slipping like some wraith from our grasp. At least we still had her monstrous pet. The Adjutant had been so incensed by it's biting his hand he had caused the creature to be interned in a stout wooden case and was now proposing to have it shipped back to the Arachnid House at London Zoo. He had been dissuaded, only with the greatest of difficulty, from instantly dispatching it with his service Webly by the Lieutenant Colonel, an avid collector.

My concentration momentarily slipped as I allowed my thoughts to recollect the flame haired beauty that...

" My God Hannay, I know you must be tired but that's no excuse for this aimlessness you exhibiting. Pull yourself together and get cracking tempus fugit eh!!

I bid my farewell and made my way back to my tent. It appeared that we were view halloo once more, and needs must as the Devil drives. Paddock eyed me interestedly as I lifted the flap and entered, he had been buffing up my boots to a high gloss and my dress uniform lay on my cot.

"I won't be needing that for a bit longer Paddock. It's out into the field in mufti for a bit longer, for me, no rest for the wicked, now be a good chap and fix me up with one of your excellent whisky and sodas."

Tricky Woo
25th Oct 2001, 14:53
(Scene: Big office, marble floor, single large desk, walls lined with maps and big red flags...)

Adolf: Vell? Vot do you zink? Do ve invade Belgium again?

Goering: Vhy Belgium? I hate der foking place. Der vomen are ugly und der veather ist depressink. Even der chocolate ist uber-rated. Der only zing I live about der fokking place ist der roads out of it.

Adolf: Nein, Hermann, but zink of der strategic importance of der place.

Goering: Fok der strategy, I am not der going, und dat ist dat.

Adolf: Ok ok... hmmm... vot about der invadink of der France or der Russia?

Goering: Alvays der same places. Mein Fuhrer, ve need der new ideas. Our armies all haf der souveniers. Dey are der sicken of seeing der Eiffel Tower, and efen more sicken of eating goulash. Vhy not somevhere original for der once?

Adolf: Like vhere?

Goering: Maybe somevhere nice like der Brasil? I am told dat der beaches are nice und der vomen are frendly. All my boys can getten der suntan und relax for once.

Adolf(despairingly): Ok ok, ve invade der fokking Brasil.

Goering(brightening): I vill get der boys right onto it.

(they are interrupted)

Adjutant(saluting): Mein Fuhrer...

Adolf: Are you callink dat ein salute?

Adjutant: Er...

Adolf: How many times to I haf to say dat you must saluten me with a friendly wave. Not dis strange Roman thing. One more time und I vill send you to der Brasilian Front.

(The Adjutant immediately salutes the same way, then happily rushes off to pack and buy some sunglasses before the Fuhrer changes his mind)

Adolf: Dat vill teachen him ein lesson dat he vill never forgetten.

Goering: Er, but vhat is wrongen wid der salute? Everybody ist doink it. It ist cool und trendy, ja?

Adolf: Vell, maybe it ist trendy, but I do not der liken it.

Goering: But you agree dat minen idea about der moustache vas ein gut one?

Adolf: Ja, dat ist true. Eva likes der vay it tickles her fancy...

2nd Adjutant(arrives breathless, saulting in the same old way): Mein Fuhrer! Der famous General Rommel hast arrived. He ist saying dat he has der present for you.

Adolf: Show him in, und den off to der Brasilian front vid you.

2nd Adjutant: Ja, Mein Fuhrer, und zanks... (he rushes off, beaming)... HEY WOLFGANG IT VORKED FOR ME, ALSO!

(Rommel and Hilda von Trapp walk into the presence of the Fuhrer...)

Adolf: Hi Hilda, how are you goink?

Hilda: Fine danke, und how ist dat dog of yours?

Adolf: Her nose ist der vet, und her coat is der shiny, und she made ein big poo dis mornink.

Hilda(sulkily): Nein, I meant dat bitch dog girlfriend of yours.

Adolf(laughing): Alvays she ist der joking vith me...

Hilda(petulant): You never called... you promised... I vas hurt...

Adolf: Hilda, ve were der young, und der foolish. I haf never forgotten dat nacht in Stalingrad...

Hilda(firmly): Vell, der von't be ein other nacht, dat ist for sure.

Adolf(arching his eyebrow suggestively): Then ve must make it ein day... meinen bedroom ist next door.

Hilda(passionate): Oooooh, Adolf...

(Hilda rushes next door to undress)

Adolf: Und vhat can I be doink for you?

Rommel: Mein Fuhrer, I haf ein amazing present for you dat vill make Berlin der centre of der world...


Rommel: Er...ja.


Rommel(mumbles): ...but Mein Fuhrer I haf der Prime Meridian...

Adolf(suddenly calm): You do? Meinen dear Rommel, please come und sitten down. Did you travel der far? Vas der vater drinkable? You are der lookink tired... please...

Goering(to himself): Alvays der fokking favourate dat man. Even vhen he loses to der English in Nord Africa... alvays der fokking favourate.

(Rommel theatrically opens the container... to reveal... NOTHING!)

Rommel: Er...

Adolf: Dat ist ein bit disappointing, ja?

Rommel: Er...

Goering: Not much of ein present for your Fuhrer, hein?

Rommel: Er...

Adolf(disappointed): Maybe next time I vill get a present. Next time, maken sure dat your briefcase has somezink of interest for me...

Rommel(snapping out of it): Ja, Mein Fuhrer.

Adolf(standing up): Bye-bye, der kisses to Schmidt.

(Adolf walks into his bedroom, removing his clothes...)

Adolf: Please mistress, I haf been ein naughty boy und I deserve to be der punished.

Hilda: Haf you been ein very naughty boy?

Adolf(weakly): Ja.

Hilda: Ein very, VERY naughty boy?

Adolf(sheepishly): Ja, I haf been very naughty since 1931.

Hilda: Den I must thrashen you mercilessly...

(All catch a glimpse of Hilda dressed in black leather, holding a bullwhip).

25th Oct 2001, 18:38
I was up and ready for the fray. A couple of Paddock's stiffly bracing whisky and sodas had set me right. I felt pretty good and the infernal hammering on the old tin head patch had ceased.

My cursed stumble was back it was true, but I could cope with that. I was a dab hand at a fall by now, and in fact had incorporated it into a disguise of mine as a wandering Kashmiri tumbler. I was chewing pan, spitting like a good un and tumbling fit to bust. I felt invincible and ready. But whence was I to go.

The problem as I saw it was threefold. The Greenwich Meridian had been picked up my some Marlowesqe private eye who was even now driving like a madman in his huge American passionwaggon heading for the nearest Pakistani port looking for a ride home from his Navy. The Pink War machine was full heading tilt for Berlin with, it now appeared, Hilda Von Velvet who had had linked up and hitched a ride with the two Gentlemen in field grey; and finaly, Omar Bin Geenliner had gone to ground somewhere in the mountains and had his head down, cowering in a burrow. The destruction and madness unleashed by him having caused untold misery fear and antagonism throughout the world: who knew where things would end.

I resolved to first track down the Meridian, and while in persuit of of that valuable piece of our heritage, contact the US Navy, an organisation I had previously but little dealings with. I had however heard that in the finest traditions of a senior service, that they were possesed of some very stout fellows similar in ilk to our very own Royal Marines and not averse to the cleaning out of the likes of the Barbery Pirates in the Halls of Tripoli. These I reasoned could no doubt be the saviours of the situation yet.

A firm hand and indominatable will was going to be needed to hunt down Omar and his band of scoundrels. I had heard it from a very good source that our PM was in the closest consultation with the President of the USA, co-operation was the order of the day, and shoulder to shoulder we would face the blackguard and his band of thugs down, bring them to bay and God willing either bring them to justice or destroy them as they had boasted they would us.

Hilda' fiendish plan to destroy the tea crop which so sustained our little Island was of course a new and urgent wrinkle in and already convoluted plot. That too would have to be dealt with within the already tight constraints, now so munificently expanded for us. The threat of bioterrorism now reared it's ugly head, without their tea the good ladies of Britain were going to be uncontrolable and that was a fate that simply could not be contemplated.

What hellish liquid lay within the glowing blue phial I had been briefed on by Holmes God alone knew? There was only one way to find out, and that meant finding her. I felt strangely drawn to this complex and beautiful creature despite the warning afforded me by my fellow Londener, albeit from and inferior neighborhood, a capital fellow for all that.

" Beware her wiles Hannay" he had said, a curiously sad half smile on his face.
" She had my heart in her hand, then pushed me off the drop above the Rickenbach Falls, It was a hard lesson my friend, be warned by one who should have known better!"

With all these thoughts whirling through my mind I set off across the plains dressed in my ragged outfit riding on an Afghani camel, a hardier breed than it's Arabian cousin. Time was short, and the coming days full of uncertainty. The Carriage Wallahs it appeared would have to endure more of our stumbling efforts but we would do our best.

The comrades on the adventure all good men and true were dab hands with a ready wit and nimble mind, and so our hunt ran on.

Tricky Woo
26th Oct 2001, 16:39
Yasser(urgently): Oh, Ayesha!

Ayesha: Bah.

Yasser(more urgently): OH AYESHA!

Ayesha: Bahhhh! BAAAHHHHHH!!!! (croak)

Yasser: Oops, sorry Ayesha. Ayesha? AYESHA!!!



Abdul: Yasser, why are you crying?

Yasser(weeping): My poor, poor darling Ayesha! I loved her soooo much, and now Allah has taken her away from me... boo hoo hoo

Abdul: Thus it was written. Inshallah, you will find a new love in time.

Yasser: (sniff) At least now I will have the time to concentrate of my new hobby...

(Both look at their seventeen sets of golf clubs; part of the American refugee relief air-drop)


Abdul: Look, Yasser, if I am not mistaken, that is a 1932 Boat-tail Packard approaching.

Yasser: Nice.

Goat: Bah.

(The car approaches, stops, and a corny Private Detective hops out)

Marlowe: Say, do any of you guys know the direction to the US airbase? I'm kinda lost.

Goat: Bah.

Yasser(whispers to Abdul): Is it Allah's will that we help a stranger. Even if the stranger is an American.

Abdul(whispers): It is so.

Yasser(whispers): ****... Ok.

Abdul: Effendi, the way to the US airbase is north through the desert. But we must warn you that the northern desert is no ordinary desert. We nomads call it The Hammer. Many have tried to cross it, and many have perished. Do not be a fool, Effendi, turn back and find another way.

Yasser(whispers to Abdul): A bit dramatic, Abdul?

Abdul(whispers): Yeah, rather puts the ****s up these stupid foreigners, huh?

Goat: Bah.

Marlowe: Well, gentlemen, that desert of yours sounds kinda scary, but I've kinda got to cross it anyway.

Yasser: Then you must take some of our food and water... and also a set of golf clubs.

Marlowe: That's mighty kinda you guys. Maybe I have something you'd like to trade? What kinda food do you have?

(all look at the goat)

Goat(nervously): Bah?



Abdul: Someone approaches on a camel.

Yasser: Allah is sending us many strangers this week.

Abdul: Allah is mysterious.

Yasser: Mysterious, my arse. This is all looking a bit contrived. Dunno who's writing all this crap, but a little more imagination wouldn't go amiss. HEY WRITER! DO YOU HEAR ME? USE MORE IMAGINATION!

Adbul: Well, we're in the story now, like it or lump it. Let's face it, we don't have any power over what this tosser is typing.

Yasser: Well, I'm losing patience. At this rate, he'll introduce the Dalai Lama into the plot.

Dalai Lama(suddenly appears): Uuuuuuuummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. (disappears again)

Yasser: See?

Abdul: Your fault for giving him ideas.

Yasser: Er, haven't our accents slipped?

Abdul: Er yeah. We'd better get back into character... Inshallah; Allah's Will; It is written... better?

Yasser: Indeed, it is better. Allah is great, and Mohammed is his prophet.

(the camel and rider finally arrives)

Hannay: Hello chaps. Name's Hannay, Richard Hannay. Wondered if either of you might have seen an American driving a car?

Abdul: Indeed we have. He went north into The Hammer desert...

Hannay: North, you say? Righteo, I'd better follow him then... off I go...

Yasser: Wait! We Afghans call the desert The Hammer because...

Hannay(interrupting): ...yes, I know, because it puts the wind up the foreigners. Well, I think you'll find that this particular foreigner isn't the windy type. Let me tell you, I once led a charge over the top of the trenches. Of course, those square-headed bounders immediately shot me... still got a metal plate in my head. It causes havoc in airports, let me tell you.

Abdul: Do you need food or water?

Hannay: Thanks awfully, but me and Bessie here have quite enough at the moment. Ta-ta-for-now...

Yasser: May Allah go with you.

(Hannay and Bessie trot off into the desert after Marlowe)


Abdul: I wonder what this strange brass thing is?

Yasser: Dunno, but it looks sort of neat. That American son of Satan didn't have anything else interesting to trade.

Abdul: Ok, we keep it.

(Abdul throws the Prime Meridian onto the large piles of useless paraphernalia: golf clubs, gameboys, umbrellas, hair-dryers, Kenwood Chefs, etc, etc; all dropped by the Americans)

26th Oct 2001, 18:22
I was puzzled and anxious, for the second time my oldest chum had deliberately concealed knowing me. Obviously therefore, it was for good reason. Bessie was now well into her stride and I finaly adjusted to the very different gait, my nether regions were now mercifully numb from having been bounced violently around on Bessie's not inconsiderable and quite solid hump and we were soon out of sight of the pair of Afghans one of whom was playing a deep and dangerous game.

Once out of sight I quickly reined in faithfull Bess, who objecting violently to this interruption to her anticipated run gave vent to the repertoire of moans sighs and windy belching groans that all indicate a fit of feminine camelian pique. Dropping finaly on her knees to the sand she allowed me to dismount. I was agitatedly excited. the blood coursing through my veins for the glint of brass in the second Afghani coat f..., herder's hand, had been a stroke of providence.

The item so keenly sought by the mass of slueths who had come so far, was there!! the prime Meridian no less.

Hobbling Bess I left her there and began working my way back across the dunes. My fieldcraft honed to a fine edge while stalking the African lion in the Matabele plains, now allowed me to creep up on the ragged pair. They were sitting close by an accumulated pile of goods upon which I spotted the prize I sought.

The two had been discussing the relative merits of the goat they had with them and finaly Sandy, appeared to concede to the other's wish for privacy. Taking the bong he repaired to a carpet by the fire, the other to their tent. I sighed, for if there were anything that might be considered a failing in my friend it was his weakness in this matter. Eton encouraged free thought, perhaps I thought sometimes, too free.

With both now occupied it was the work of but a relitively short time to slither on my stomach over to the pile of miscelaneous and extraordinary items and lay my hand on the treasured brass grail that had been so underhandedly filched by those Huns. That I should have had such success in brief a time was little short of miraculous, providence had surely cracked smiled at last.

Bess was chewing stolidly at some thorny shrub when a got back, and regarded me fondly with her large lashed eyes as I prepared to re-mount. I had forgotten her habit to give me a love nip of affection as I mounted and her impressive nibble throbbed and ached for quite a few mile further on.

My next objective was to see if I could trail the trio who had dissapeared in the strangely tinted vehicle. Hilda had with her the blue vial that she now threatened the Indian tea crop with she must be stopped.

I left Sandy, who was obviously on Bin Liners trail, and now could concentrate on the second task, the persuit of the deadly beauty who still had me in her thrall. I knew that she was evil, that she had charmed her way, out of any situation with ease but it was an appointment that destiny had decreed and who was I to argue with destiny

Tricky Woo
26th Oct 2001, 18:55
(Adolf and Hilda are in bed, smoking post-flagellatory cigarettes. By the side of the bed is a heap of Adolf's brown uniform, a pile of women's clothes, assorted rubber-fetish items, plus a broken bullwhip)

Adolf: Ach, minen arsen ist painful. Ich haben der bruisen all over minen back. Vhat vill Eva say? She ist der bitch vhen she ist der catchink me at der shaggink.

Hilda: Vell, you vere ein naughty boy, und you deserved der punishment. Und anyvay, minen arm ist killink me, also.

Adolf: Tell me der more about your evil plot to destroy der Englander's tea.

Hilda: I haben ein vial of der poison vhich vill kill all of der tea planten in India. Der old frau's of England vill suffer, der Qveen vill abdicate, der buses und der trains vill stop, und der Empire vill collapse. Not so bad, hein?

Adolf(seriously): You are a wery ruthless women, von Trapp. I am der hopink dat I vill never be your enemy...

Hilda: Vell, as I vas sayink to Stalin last veek, a girl's got to move fast to be der gettink der attention in dis vorld.

Adolf: Und how ist dat rascal Stalin?

Hilda: He ist fine. He ist der sayink 'hi' to you, und hopes dat your bitch girlfrienden ist vell.

(Adolf thinks for a while, and then...)

Adolf: I vill be der givink you all der necessary resources for your evil plot. Vhat do you needen?

Hilda: Hmm... let me thinken... ein pearl necklace, ein tiara, ein casket of gold, diamonds also. Er, also ein panzer mit general und driver. Dat should be enough. Oh ja... und I vould also like ein small country. (wheedling) Just ein little country, liken maybe Luxembourg?

Adolf(laughing): You are ein greedy girl, but you vill have it all. Except der Luxembourg, of course.

Hilda(sulkily): But Adolf, Stalin gave me Estonia, und you knowen how much I liken little presents...

Adolf: Ok, ok. You can haben Luxembourg also.

Hilda(brightening): Gut!

Tricky Woo
26th Oct 2001, 19:22
(a little later)

Adolf: Hilda, ist it true dat you are also der shagging Mussolini?

Hilda: Ja, it ist true. Sometimes I liken ein bit of der rough.

27th Oct 2001, 02:07
Having very little German I had been slightly foxed by how to get into Berlin and closer to Hilda Von V who I had by dint of much hard travel and many close scrapes traced to one of her many powerful admirers. It had been whispered around the Beer kellers that she had the ear, and other parts as well, of no less than the most pwerful and feared man in the whole of Germany.

It had finaly dawned on me that if I were to purport to have come from no less than Bin Liner himself as a private emisary I could retain my native disguise. Accordingly I had so acted and it was to my great relief that the ploy had seemingly been swallowed. I had been shown into the inner office of the Leader of the private Corps of the great mans bodyguard.

The Colonel in the jet black uniform with siver frogging had his back to me. He was a huge brute. Standing a good six foot six his massive oxlike shoulders bulged out and a thick bulllike neck was sumounted by the oddest shaped head I had ever seen on a man. It was a curious pearshape. His closecropped hairstyle was but the merest thin layer of iron grey bristle. As he turned to face me his piglike eyes were closely set and regarded me fiercely. He reminded me of some dangerous forest boar at bay lacking only the razor sharp tushes, poised to charge, and piercingly curious.

If ever I have had a sense of danger it was in that room then. here was a man who was formidable in his aura of savage power. He headed a group that had struck fear in all they had come in contact with through their ruthless persuit of protecting their chosen leader.

He regarded me for a long interminable moment, then suddenly crossing the room in giant strides in a moment was there towering over me. I am not a small man but I felt one then. Reaching out both hands he closed them round the tops of my shoulders then in an agonising iron grip lifted me from the floor. It was a display of brute strength that momentarily paralysed me with pain and fear. Dropping me suddenly, he smiled. It was a cold and mirthless grimace rather, that chilled me. Had he tumbled to my ruse.

Suddenly to my surprise he adressed me in halting and heavily accented Urdu. The man it seemed was no ignorant gorilla.

Having at least for the moment accepted my story, he to my surprise indicated that though the great man would see me later, there was someone else who wished to see me now, and bade me follow him.

I limped along behind him down a long corridor to a brass gated lift, and thence we were taken up several floors, up to what appeared to be a living quarter, heavily but sumptuously furnished. Shortly we had paused before a huge ornate set of double doors. Pausing he knocked.

The voice which bade us enter froze the marrow in my bones. I was it seemed about to meet the woman I had tracked across two continents, and rather sooner than I would have wished. Before I had had time to register more than this the Colonel had entered the room. The open doorway lay before me.

28th Oct 2001, 01:55
Wot no one else yet?? Rats have all deserted to other pastures... so on we proceed then.

I now experienced for myself the self same feeling that must have been experienced by those poor unfortunate Aristo's upon alighting from the tumbrils before Madame Guillotine herself.

The ashens taste of defeat lay suddenly chokingly in my dry mouth, a deathly sinking of my heart, the feeling of a terrible lassitude and total resignation to the awful enivitable denouement that must surely be but a moment away.

The thought of fleeing passed but briefly through my mind, alas the corridors of the building had been amply staffed with the black clad, heel clicking, stiffly saluting automans, as we had swept towards this sanctum. I would not have made more than thiry feet, besides the ignominy of it ruled it out immediately.

I now felt tired and old. My leg ached intolerably and though I had had no drink suddenly my head throbbed. A whipped cur whould have seemd as frisky as a pup compared to me now in my present funk.

The colonel had by now preceded me into the large ornately furnished chamber within. I now heard once more the low musical voice which had so charmed me ouside my Club what seemed so long ago.

" Ah Colonel von Stumm, as always what a pleasure it is, how kind you are to visit me, do come in."

I had slowly and reluctantly followed and stood behind the ox's massive figure, partialy hidden by him. I now became witness to an extraodinary scene. As I have already informed the reader the man before me had impressed me with his power and barely contained ferocity. This rutheless Tuetonic embodiment of a military man now became as maleable as a soft putty before the beautiful creature that had greeted him so charmingly.

He bent at the waist and clicking his heels as he did so, spoke now in the thick gutteral of the German found in the South West. When I said before I did not speak German, I understood quite a lot more than I could speak which I do imperfectly, and that only haltingly, but I could follow most of what they said.

"Frau von Velvet, you had but a short while ago mentioned to me your work with Omar Bin Greenliner. He has sent an emissary to see you. I have brought him to you directly. I do hope that this is what you wished."

The fawning obsequiousness of the man seemed quite incongruos and out of place. As he stepped aside to let me come forward I saw her once again, but now in the light and not by gas light on a dark street.

The slim woman that stood before me was poised like some exquisite statue, her cloud of auburn hair, long delicate classical features and pale piercing eyes had the glamour of a wild dream. Whatever fear and loathing I had for what she had done, and intended to do, were powerless against my other feelings for her as a vision of beauty that any man could not have failed to be smitten by.

She was a consumate actress and very much in charge of her feelings, for I knew the instant that our eyes met that she had not failed to instantly surmise exactly who I was, through my fake beard and tribseman's clothing. For the barest flicker of a heartbeat there had been an almost imperceptible tightening of those patrician features, then she spoke.

" Ah you have news for me." This last in perfect Pushtun. Then turning to Stumm went on in High Prussian

" Colonel, you have my undying grattitude. What a darling man you are. If you would now be so kind as to leave this man with me I will question him at lesiure, for I am sure he has much to tell."

Brushing aside his almost stammering concern she took him by the arm and led him to the door. He backed out clicking and murmering, almost beside himself, the matter now quite out of his hands. That it was not to his likeing one plainly saw, yet he was like a child in the presence of a mother ot Governess who had gently but firmly dismissed him.

I too was quite at a loss at this unexpected turn of events.

"Major Hannay, or should I say Colonel, for I belive you have recieved word of your promotion from Sir Walter whom you have but recently come from, or indeed Dick Hannau, Carrington, Mahmoud Idris, Mohamed Ghaffar, or, whoever you might be now."

That she should have rattled of a number of my disguises was bad enough, but to know that I had indeed just been promoted was disquieting to say the least. I was dumbfounded, and must have looked so, for she laughed.

The light and musical laugh was soft and seductive. She regarded me as she had before. A look devoid of sex, a cool appraisal. Here was a woman who with her rapier like intellect keen wit and amazing personality had made her way so surely through a man's world that she had dominated all who had come into contact with her. She had her own agenda and had used every man as a tool to further those ends. I could feel a strange admiration for her, though I knew that she had done terrible things. I too had to a unquieting degree been seduced by the strange spell she wove like some fey princess of old.

" You are wondering why I have not exposed you, had you arrested." she smilingly asked.

" I have my informants and I have followed your progress throughout this with some interest."

" You need something from me." I said.

For a moment I had starled her, for she suddenly hesitated.

" You stopped that man from killing Wolfie." she slowly murmered.

I had not, but in fact had been simply standing right there when the Battalion Adjutant had so nearly had his hand bitten through by this womans unnatural pet. The scene had no doubt been watched my one of the Ragypan's who had got word to her.

Holmes had later in fact related to me how she, as an ardent Arachnid fanatic had become involved in conjuction with Bin Greenliner breeding mutant giant Afghan spiders and crossing them with the rare exotic Shaggbacked Black Brazillian Condor eating variety.

The project on Omar's part had been for the production of powerful undetectable and deadly poisons with no antidote except those he made, for her, well it had spawned the gigantic horror that she had so fallen in love with, that it had become her dearest pet.

'Wolfie', Holmes had earnestly assured me was the key to the women and her one weakness. The only chink in her otherwise impenetrable armour. It appeared that the beast had supplanted him in her affections, a grevious blow which the great man had great trouble coming to terms with. I had heartily agreed, for to be thrown over for what looked like a large piece of black shag rug with eight long and hairy legs is more than most men can take.

I had accordingly informed Sir Walter and Wolfie was guarded by a detail of no less than a company of my stout lads and my man Paddock as the creatures new keeper.

"I have him safe," I said. "He will be well kept and looked after by my own Batman a most reliable and capital fellow. Hilda. if I may so adress you?"

She nodded.

" You have something I seek, and I, have something you treasure. Can we not come to some mutual agreement that would be of benefit to us both?"

She hesitated for a moment. That she had been bent on her evil plan was evident, that she was considering the trade, equaly so. Would my wager play and how were the dice to fall?

The prize at this moment was my very life.

[ 27 October 2001: Message edited by: Paterbrat ]

[ 28 October 2001: Message edited by: Paterbrat ]

Bally Heck
29th Oct 2001, 03:11
James Bond was buried to the neck in the desert sand. “Do you exshpect me to talk Bin Ladder?”

“No Meester Bond I expect you to die. Your infidel colleagues will find your corpse stripped of flesh by these vicious gooly ants. Omar, lay a trail of honey from the ant hill to 007’s eyes.”

“Of course oh malevolent one.”

“Sho Bin Lyin. If you intend to kill me, you might ash well tell me of your evil plan.”

“But of course Mister Bond. It is every archvillain’s ambition to confront the good guy with his plan for world domination before leaving him to suffer a horrible death.’

‘My agents were instructed to steal the prime meridian to throw the infidel world into chaos. You see Mister Bond. The world of Islam works on a different calendar from the West. Our clock is the sun and we time our prayers by it. Your infidel GMT means nothing to us. The meridian which is now located two days camel ride to the east, in a cave located in the side of a small escarpment adjacent to a citrus grove just outside the village of Al Shameer and is presently being guarded by two of my finest warriors disguised as simple shepherds.’

‘It is my intention to destroy the meridian at midnight the end of the infidel year. Your heathen fireworks will misfire and sales of alcohol will fall causing a great recession in the capitalist economies. Good tea will no longer be available and no one will be able to determine opening and closing time. The works of Newton and Einstein will count for naught. The timing mechanisms in all your motor vehicles will malfunction causing lots of backfires and blue smoke. Clocks will tick themselves of walls. The propogandist BBC world sevice will lose it’s annoying pips and they wont know when to broadcast the shipping forecast. Drummers with all your infidel rock bands will drum out of rhythm causing record sales to fall and the British railway system will run on time, confusing averyone.’

‘Mwahhhahahaha. Mwahhhahahahahahahaha. Mwahhhahahahahahahahahah’

‘I will rule the world’

‘Mwahhhahahaha. Mwahhhahahahahahahaha. Mwahhhahahahahahahahahah’

“Right Mr Bond, Omar has finished laying the trail of honey and you will die a slow painful death over the next five days. Omar fetch my camel”

“But great municipal one. Should we not ensure the imperialist agent is dead before we leave?”

“Shut up Omar, you vurry too much”

‘Mwahhhahahaha. Mwahhhahahahahahahaha. Mwahhhahahahahahahahahah’

(Sound of camels trotting and hissing off in the distance.)
“I don’t shuppose I could have a shigarette before you go Bin Laughin?”

(in the distance) “Goodbye Mr Bond”

Bond of courshe had managed to place his handsh together as he was being buried and now manipulated the wrisht watch which Q had given him before he left London.

From behind the rocksh came the shound of a Reliant Robin engine reluctantly trying to shtart. Damn the government cutbacksh thought 007. With a cloud of blue shmoke and a bang the engine bursht into life making Bond fear that the meridian had already been deshtroyed. The faithful three wheeler putt putted around the rock and reversed up to where Bond was buried. The door opened and a pneumatic remote controlled ant shwatter shtarted itsh deadly work. With Bond out of immediate danger he manoeuvered the Robin back and deployed a pneumatic remote controlled sovel and dug himshelf out.

Bond now knew the exact location of the meridian. Now to get there….

30th Oct 2001, 00:36
For what seemed an age, in reality probably only a few seconds our eyes locked in what seemed to me a struggle of sorts. It was almost as if she was trying to exert some sort of willpower over me. Then she lowered her eyes.

" My very hesitation has told you the answer to your question Colonel. I must confess I am drawn to the species and Wolfie is the very apogee of that family of creature.
The Black widow now,... aaaagh an extrordinary genus, a female I have found truly worthy of emulating. So big and powerful beside the insipid male, who barely tolerated and having fullfilled his function has the grace to provide his incipient offspring welcome nourishment. But Wolfie now...!"

Her face lit up as she dreamily thought of her hobby, her passion. I shuddered as I thought of Carew, who it seems had simply been a surrogate meal for a surrogate Black widow female.

She finaly looked back to me. I knew then I would live, at least for a while longer.

"Bah, the tea. That ! is what you want in return.
A muddy brown insipid drink that it seems you English have become enslaved to, how very quaint .
You can take the phial and keep it. What is it to me if you wish to continue to drink the bitter leaf swill.
It is true, that in return for the finest of the brood females, I promised Omar Bin Greenliner that I would release his deadly tea blight amongst the tea plantations of India and Ceylon.
A drop here a drop there, it spreads like wildfire. Within a year the vile bush would have been almost eradicated; but then he can always get someone else to do his work if I do not. I who so love these creatures have worked with that man and helped him in many ways, to achive my ends, he will have to rely on another."

She stopped then and went no further. I did not wish to know for her ends were. Surely no ends that I could like or approve of; that I was going to help her pleased me little.

It suddenly came to me then. I realised that she had been deluded, betrayed by her evil co-conspiritor, for he had given her a male!
The Lieutenant Colonel, a very informed man on spiders had been most sure of that; even remarking that the female of the species would be a truley frightening beast for it would have been almost half as big again. This as he prevented the Adjutant from carrying out his wishes on Wolfie with his Webley.
He had even jestingly remarked that the female would surely have quite amputated the hand instead of simply piercing it through.

It also appeared the the creature had for the time being at least exausted its venom, for the Adjutant was still with us, muttering dark imprecations furiously the next morning at breakfast while eating his porridge rather clumsily with his other hand.

Hilda I knew now would get no loathsome babies from her Wolfie if that indeed had been her plan.
This knowledge though I did not immediately impart but kept it as a card, close to my chest, to be played at an opportune moment.

Then she turned, told be that she would change, and we would go to where she had the phial of blight safe. She was wearing some lacy ruffled confection of a housecoat.

I had assumed that she would leave me and repair to some boudoire where the change would be effected, but I think perhaps she then made yet one last attempt to get me in her thrall, for without a pause nor slightest hint of embarresment, in a trice had loosend the garment and let it slowly fall away.

If it should be granted to me to live to an old age, I will never as long as I live, forget what I saw then.
Had it been done slowly I would surely have turned away, for I am a rough man unaccustomed to women, more at ease under a bright azure sky my rifle in my hand and the veldt stretching away like a wheaten coloured sea to the distant blue hills of my beloved Africa. But she caught me unawares and before I knew I was looking upon her in all her glory.

She reminded me of a sword made of the finest Damascene steel, slim and beautiful a thing of joy to the eye. Her lines were perfection, the curve and swell of her alabaster breasts tipped with the palest rose, a mole nestled under the curve of one. The gentlest pillow of a stomach, her small tight curved buttocks and long elegant legs. Her flesh almost translucent.
I could not take my eyes of her once I had seen her, but could only look on in dazzled awe of her entracing perfection.

My friend Sandy would surely have remarked on my mouth being open, she though was more sparing of my feelings. Glancing my way she caught my rude staring, but gave it no heed, nor passed comment.
It may have pleased her or indeed been her intention that I should see her thus, perhaps to give her more power over me. But once more I digress.

She took me with her and we left that horrible building without let or hindrance. We were driven in a military car that sped through checkpoints on a pass given by her smitten Colonel Stumm. The drive was a long one to a schloss in the Bavarian countryside.
A gingerbread castle like those built by Mad Ludwig, a pretty thing of tall thin spires surrounded by a moat on the one side a high cliff falling away on the other.
There she explained she had her home and there we would arrange the tranfer each to the other what we had to trade.

I had retrieved the Prime Meridian from Bin Greenliners' two guards, one of whom was our man. Now it seemed that I might yet wrest the evil Blue Phial from Hilda von Velvet and prevent another of Bin Greenliner's vile schemes from coming to fruition. All that would be left to do was to destroy the Pink War Machine and all was done but I had a feeling it would not be easy. How were the others doing in their quest

31st Oct 2001, 22:17
" Ere boy, com'ere." the cajoling tone crooning as sweetly as any fond mother had immediate results and from the corner of the cage there arose a black form, dark shaggy and menacing. No less than eight eyes shone like black obsidian cabuchon jewels from amid the shaggy locks. It rose on long sturdy crab like legs covered in stiff bristles. In the front a formidible set of curved mandibles clicked audibly together. With a gliding scuttle the creature made its way over to where the speaker was waiting outside the bars.

The two regarded each other silently, then suddenly the man, dressed in khaki with puttees and highly polished boots put his hand through the bars and began to gently scratch the nightmares head. It quivered gently and sinking down crouched there the eyes now closed. It was in exctasy.

Paddock, for it was he, spent some time carressing his charge before reluctantly dragging himself away to prepare the creatures meal.

Five pounds of fine steak he minced until he judged it in a fit state to be put in a dish which he then went over to the cage with. Without hesitation he opened the door and entered. The horrible shape now rose and in a curious silent gliding run now appeared to move around the man, as if in gamboling play. After a brief moment of holding the dish over the creatures head. Paddock uttered a command.

" Wolfie. Sit!!" Slowly the creature became still and then sank down onto it's stomach.

"Ohhh your a good'un, you are" cried the delighted Paddock. Ere take your food now you beauty." He watched untill the last morsel was gone then stooping gave the beast an affectionate pat, picked up the dish, and left.

Wolfie was in good hands, and it appeared not averse to learning tricks

4th Nov 2001, 23:28
Will Bond's Robin Reliant have the horsepower to shovel him out before the ants regroup or will it run out of fuel instead??

Will Eva notice the bullwhip marks on Adolph's back before they heal?

Will the Ragypans be able to hop to the next Tribal meeting after their thrashing at the hands of the Battalion of East Grinstead Yeomanry?

Will Paddock be able to teach Wolfie to roll over and play dead?

Is there something even more sinister about Schloss von Velvet set high in the Bavarian Mountains surrounded by wilderness. Has Hannay heard wolves howling as his first evening approaches or was he mistaken in recognising the Carpathian Lupus Giganticus that he thinks he has seen lurking beneath his window?

All these fascinating questions and more will be answered... or not, as the mood takes the obviously absent holders of that information, who once again have all sloped off to all Points North East South and West, idle deserting sons of Bessy.

5th Nov 2001, 01:53
Lord Peter DeAth Bredon Wimsey slowed the Bentley yet again as he came atop the pass, and half-turned to his faithful man in the rear seat.

"How's the Burgundy, Bunter?"
"I might venture, your Lordship, that it would be better left in the wine cellar."
"Good God, Bunter, and drink the foul muck they call wine here? It's full of antifreeze."
"As your Lordship wishes. My Lord?"
"Yes, Bunter, faithful old sergeant and retainer?"
"I took the liberty of packing a catalogue from Sotherby's on an auction they are to hold next Michaelmas of various incunabula that might attract your Lordship's eye. In particular, a manuscript of a John Donne sermon"
"Hell's teeth, Bunter, that sounds terribly boring. But if I had to pretend to some sort of literacy to get into Harriet's drawers, then so be it."
His tow-coloured hair waved in the breeze as he carefully swung the car round the Alpine roads. Having been called away from the peace talks in which he had brought the world to the brink of peace by telling the Raggypan tribe to lay down their arms or be wiped out, a miracle feat of diplomacy that only Wimsey, the Foreign Office knew, could achieve, he had been looking forward to returning to the family estates and a few nights of wild abandon with Harriet and a couple of well-trained gun dogs.
"Nearly there, Bunter"
"Yes, your Lordship. May I venture, your Lordship, that it's even colder than it was in the trenches at Verdun?"
Wimsey's right eyelid began to twitch slightly.
"I'd prefer you didn't, Bunter."
"Very well, your Lordship, I shall refer instead to the cold we encountered in the Second Ypres."
The twitch increased in frequency.
"Bunter, unless you behave as a gentleman's gentleman is expected to behave, I shall shoot you in the stomach, and employ that man of my old chum, Wooster. Now HE even has a website of his own."
"A what, my Lord?"
"No idea, Bunter, but it sounded impressive. Ah - there's the Schloss Velvet now."
The Rolls purred to a halt as they surveyed the impressive building ahead.
"Time for a snack, I think, Bunter - one thing I learned at Eton, Balliol and in the Guards is not to face the enemy on an empty stomach. Is there any of that stilton left? Also, I believe some potted pheasant, and there's caviar in the middle of the hollowed-out copy of Rosetti's poems - far more digestible than that bloody awful book's usual contents."
"Yes, my Lord. In the meantime, my Lord, shall I lay out your dinner suit?"

[ 05 November 2001: Message edited by: HugMonster ]

7th Nov 2001, 01:43
HOLY BATDOO Boy Wonder.”

“What Batman? What’s up?”

“The saga of the pink war machine is dying Boy wonder! We must hurry into action Boy Wonder. Quickly now get the Batmobile out we must get to Alabama as fast as possible!”


“Err, maybe it’s Alaska Boy Wonder?”

“I really don’t think it’s either one oh great Bat Brain.”

“Don’t be silly Wonder Boy, Batman is never wrong!”

“Huh, my name is really Robin or Boy Wonder. NOT WONDER BOY!”

“Robin, Robin is a girly name you silly boy. And I NEVER called you Wonder Boy.”

“Ok, whatever. Now where are we going?”

“Oh yes, where are we going? Why are we going anywhere Dobin?”

“The pink war machine, remember? And my name is ROBIN you dumb mumble, mumble.”

“MY GOD we must hurry. Quickly to the Bat cave Bat Boy, not a moment to waste.”

“Godamnit I’m Robin. Your new bimbo is Bat Girl. You know the one with the big you know.”

“Holly Batstuff, I forgot about Bat Girl. I must have, err, we need her on this mission. Where is the Batphone?”

“On your Batbelt next to the Batradio under your Batbeerbelly.”

“Right you are Boy Wonder. Who am I calling?”

“Bat Girl.”


“The pink war machine maybe?”

“Holly Bat feathers! We must be off. To the Bat Cave now!”

“What about Bat Girl, are you going to call her?”

“Call who?”

“BAT GIRL DAMNIT, BAT GIRL! You said we needed her on this mission.”

“Well of course we do silly boy. I know that. Now where is the Batphone?

“The same place it was 30 seconds ago you stupid mumble, mumble.”

“I know it’s on my Batbelt, it’s always on my Batbelt. Why do you always feel the need to tell me what I already know?”

“Hell I don’t know Batman, you tell me.”

“Well just watch it in the future boy. Batman can only take so much disrespect.”

“Yeah, yeah, just call her, ok?”

“Ok. Uh, what’s her number?”

“I programmed her number in the speed dial, just push #69. Ole great Batty One.”

“I knew that.”


“Hello, Wanda’s Mad Passionate Massage Pleasure Palace. For straight no funny business massage push 1. For extra service massage push 2. For extra, extra special service massage push 3. If you are the police hang up. If this is Batman push 86. We accept cash and all major credit cards. Thank you for calling Wanda’s.”

“beep beep (86)”

“Hellllllo Batman, Bat Girl here. What can I for to you, or to you.”

“Holly Batphoneline Bat Girl. How do you always know it’s me calling?”

“Oh I can just always tell it’s you, you dumb mumble mumble.”

“Well no time to waste, pack your bags. We must be off.”

“Off where Batman?”


“Off to where Batman?”



“Huh, just a minute. (loosely places hand over phone) Corbin where are we going again?” Faintly heard in background, “You said Alabama or Alaska. And it’s ROBIN!” “Oh yes Bat Girl we are off to Alabamska.”

“Where? On second thought never mind. How long will we be gone your great Batness?”

“As long as it takes woman, as long as it takes. Batman always takes as long as he needs to achieve his goal.”

“Ha, not all the time you don’t great Batunderaminute. Now before I do anything I need to get your American Express credit card number from you. You went over your Visa limit last week. You know, at the Batnotellhotel.”

“MY GOD woman we can’t be bothered with such trivial details now. The fate of the free world is in my hands.”

“Sorry Batbuddy, no mun, no fun.”

“Well, for gods sake ok. Dorbin don’t listen.”


More pause.

“Uh hang on Bat Girl.”

“Cobbin where’s my American Express card?”

“(sigh) It’s in your Batwallet in your Batpants. And it’s Rob, oh forget it.”

“I knew that.”

“Ok Bat Girl here it is, 123456789987654321, got it?”

“Alright, expiration date”?

“That too? Well ok, 05-03.”

“Please hold the line sir or madam, this will just take a second or two.”

Elevator (lift) music in phone earpiece.

“Dah de dah de de” Batman singing along with music.

“Thank you for you patience sir or madam, you have been approved. Your approval code is AV56Mt74.”

“Now see that didn’t take long now did it? What do you want me bring clothes wise?”

“Well your Bat Girl costume of course and (whispering) bring those thong thingy’s, I really like those thong thingy’s. And some of those see through tops, I love the see through tops. And that little naughty black night thingy, you know the one, the one that shows your, GODDAMNIT ROBIN QUIT LISTENING!!!!! This is a private call”

“Didn’t hear a thing ole great Batguano. (Snicker, snicker.)”

“Ok, standard dress package # 2. I’ll be ready when you get here.”

“Ok, see you in a few minutes. Bye, bye now.”

“Right, off we go Bobin. We must get to the, or have some pink ladies, is that right? It doesn’t sound right.?”

(Big sigh) “The pink war machine, pink ladies are a type of alcoholic drink, you stupid mumble, mumble.”

“I knew that.”

If I am interloping here please tell me to butt out and will do so gladly. I just hate to see the pink war machine go away. con-pilot

[ 06 November 2001: Message edited by: con-pilot ]

7th Nov 2001, 09:41
I awoke as if from a bad dream. I had slept but poorly and felt quite wretched. The stress of the past few weeks was beginning to take its toll. I had since coming to the Schloss begun to despair and sunk into a deep gloom. The apparent beauty of the place had taken on a sinister tinge and the intoxication I had felt at the sight of that ilicit glimpst, now quite worn off.

As so often happens in the ebb and flow of war, the tide had seemingly turned and doom and despondency was the order of the day.

I had not seen Hilda for some days now and had been confined to a quarter of the castle where though provided with all the creature conforts of food and drink and fine quarters I felt isolated and bereft of news.

Feeling lethatgic and quite out of sorts I had taken to roaming what sections were open to me inspection and was able to examine most of the interior at length. It was furnished comfortably in an elegent if strangely feminine way with fine fabrics and furnishings; old portraits of ancient and long dead ancestors however adding a flavour of grim decadence and Teutonice purpose and an antiquarian counterpoint.

The ancestors, a warlike lot always in dark armour and grimly posing had a sinister and forbidding air, all bore a strange resemblace to the haunting beauty that had succeeded them.

Of her I had seen or heard nothing. I was conducted to dine at the appropriate hours alone in the great hall by a wizened and ancient female retainer who seemed bereft of speech. I had tried without success to leave the place and venture outside without success for all points of egress seemed firmly secured. I had been coooped up more surely here that I had in that frightful place in Berlin with all its black clad guards and the frightening Colonel Stumm.

There were it was true one or two passing events which had not failed to catch my attention though. I had been disturbed more than once by the distant howling of what I could only guess had been wolves, though what they might have been doing in this area of Europe I had not idea.

I had also on at least three occasions seen outside my window two stories down and at the fringe of the forest which lapp'd the walls the huge shape of what I had at first taken to be a large dog. Each time it had been late dusk and the light not clear enough for ready identification. The last time though a full rising moon had cast enough light for me to be transfixed by the two ruby glowing coals that had been raised to survey me with a long burning stare before the creature had melted back into the concealing darkness of the impenetrable blackness of the concealing forest.

This day though, had bought tidings of much needed good news. Upon hearing a car drive up the long curving drive I had dashed eagerly to a secnd floor window and beheld an elegant tourer pull up in front of the main entrance. To my utter amazement a familiar form swung himself out of the driving seat. It was none other than an old and familiar form, none other than Lord Peter Whimsy, an old and valued friend of my mucker Sandy.

He had been a fag of my good friend at Eton and I remembered him as a good natured young rapscalion who would be dispatched down to the town to purchase crumpets for our tea and generaly act as a factotem and messenger and oddjob boy for we two young seniors, and Sandy but recently elected to 'Pop'.

As I looked down with rising joy I recognised the familiar figure of his man Bunter emerging from the rear of the vehicle carring a large leather suitcase and a garment bag held carefully over his arm. It seemed as though my prayers had been answered and I and not quite been marroooned quite as alone as Alexander Selkirk on his dreadful island.

As if to set a seal upon this quite heartening event, I suddenly saw a strange glow upon a passing cloud and could have sworn that for an instant I saw emblazoned upon its dark underbelly the strange sight of the silhouete of a huge bat. I blinked and it was gone, but it left a strange comforting feeling that all was not yet lost and that out there in the world outside there were others who were prepared to carry on the struggle.

Tricky Woo
7th Nov 2001, 19:36
(Scene: Hilda von Trapp and Richard Hannay are sat by the fire in Hilda's Bavarian castle. A half-drunk bottle of wine is between them. There's a large basket of squealing kittens behind Hannay; cute. Sleeping at their feet is a large Baskerville hound; not cute. Above the fireplace is a large painting of one of Hilda's ancestors looking like an extremely hairy version of her. Without the breasts of course.)

Hilda: Well, I have to say the last two weeks have been rather nice, Richard, dear. I've been working sooo hard lately, that I really needed the rest.

Hannay: Rather... what's happened to your accent?

Hilda: What? Er... vot?

Hannay: Nothing, darling.

Hilda: Der fire is der dying down... be ein love und pass ich another kitten.

(Hannay passes Hilda a kitten, which she strokes for a moment before she chucks it squealing onto the fire)

Hilda: Dat ist better.

Hannay(shocked): I say, Hilda, you're rather a rotter for such a pretty girl.

Hilda(sadly): Ja... das ist true. Ich put it down to der broken family... (she glances meaningfully at the portrait and then down at the dog).

Dog: Growl.

Hilda: Ja, we haf never got over vot happened to our ancestor... Count Wilhelm von Trapp. He was being such ein nice man until he ist getting his disease.

Hannay(concerned): Poor Wilhelm...

Hilda: Ja...

Dog: Growl-growl-growl.

(Suddenly, the dog climbs to its feet and pads away from the fireplace. It lets out a heart-stopping howl, then reaches up and pulls the servants bell-cord with its teeth).

Hannay: I say, clever dog...

Hilda(loudly): Nein, Wilhelm, do not be eatink der servants again.. das ist ein bad doggy. (then, to a very frightened servant) Not now, Johannes.

(The dog returns sheepishly to the fire and lies down. Hannay is relieved to see its glowing red eyes shut).

Hannay: Well, I have to say, this is a queer sort of place, but I've become rather fond of it... (longingly) as fond as I am of you, Hilda.

Hilda(wide-eyed): Oh Richard, and I too...

Hannay: Yes Hilda, I want to make an honest woman of you...

Hilda(expectantly): ...yes, Richard?

Hannay: I... I... I want you to be my wife!

Hilda(loudly): Darling! I will, I do, I do... oh darling, darling!

Hannay: Yes, I want to marry you, then we can return to Blighty, and then we'll live happily 'til death do us part.

Hilda: For ever? Ohhhhh... say it'll be for ever!

Hannay: For ever? No-no-no, dear girl, until they hang you 'til dead after I've turned you in for your infamous crimes. I may love you dearly, but I'm still a gentleman, and an officer in the British Army. You're a criminal, old girl, and you'll have to pay for it.

Hilda(earnestly): Better an honest woman for a few weeks than for me to continue to live this life of evil... thank you Richard!

(With that, she chucks a few more kittens on the fire to get a good blaze going... and they open another bottle of wine to celebrate).

Hannay: Darling, couldn't you at least wring their necks before you do that?

Hilda: Sorry, dear, I forgot.


(post-coital conversation later)

Hannay(still panting): Hilda, about that accent of yours...

Hilda(breathless): Oh that? Oh well, I might as well tell you: I'm from Stoke-on-Trent originally. Still want to marry a rough bird from the Midlands?

Hannay: Why not, I'm from Wakefield, myself.

Together: Ho-ho-ho-ho-ho.


Hannay: So all that spooky tosh about your ancestors was just that? Tosh?

Hilda: Er... not quite.

(From outside comes a shriek as the Baskerville hound catches and eats the gardener's daughter).

Hilda: Oh dear... I do wish Great-uncle William would stop doing that. The servants are beginning to talk. I'll probably have to behead a few more of them...

Hannay: Hilda!

Hilda(mumbles): Sorry, darling.


tony draper
7th Nov 2001, 20:33
"Ah its god to be home Watson ,is it not"?.
"Why yes, indeed Holmes, nothing like a pot of Mrs Hudsons Earl Grey and our afternoon strawberry tarts".
"This will be a strange case for you to write up Watson"
"I was just thinking the same thing Holmes, so many involved, events of such unsurpassed evil the world will scarsely credit it".
"It brings a bad taste, having to leave it to those young whipper snappers to resolve, but we both grow old Watson".
"Indeed Holmes,although I think that youngster Hannay is a bit to fond of the grog Holmes, and I understand there are even Americans involved now,"
"Indeed Watson hardly bares thinking about".
"I have just realised Holmes, nobody payed us for our endeavers, we have taken a financial loss on this one Holmes",
"Perhaps not Watson"
Holmes throws a small black velvet sack on to the table, Watson quickly empties the contents into his hand, there on his palm is a eight inch glittering faceted green crystal.
"Dear God Holmes this is, this is, my god man, The Green Emperors Tadger".
"Indeed Watson, the largest most precious Emerald the world has ever known, The Emperors Tadger,"
"But how Holmes?"
"Simple watson during the attack on Bin Liners camp, someone thrust it into the pocket of my rags,see Watson".
Holmes turns over the velvet sack the initials H V V, stood out rendered in gold writing against the darkness of the cloth.
"By Jove Holmes do you think???"
"Who knows Watson,who can understand the workings of the female mind, we must contact Senor Colombia, he will give use a good price"
"Will that scoundrel have suficient funds Holmes?"
"Well Watson I may have to take some of the price in ,errr other goods"
"So be it Holmes"
"Err Watson?"
"Yes Holmes"
"Have you seen my hypodermic anywhere".

[ 07 November 2001: Message edited by: tony draper ]

7th Nov 2001, 22:29
"I say, Bunter, old chap, you see that window?"
"Excuse me just a minute, my lord, while I complete starching this dress shirt for this evening."
"Quite right, old chap. Duty first, eh?"
"Indeed, my lord. Which window, my lord?"
"That one, there - thirty fourth from the end"
"Is that the one under the carving, evidently by Gustav Schmuckducker of Leiden, and just past the rather attractive 15th. century stained glass which could be nothing but pure 13th. century Serbian work, my lord?"
"Ummmm - if you say so, Bunter"
"Indeed, my lord. If we are regarding the very same feature, it appears that your friend and colleague Mr. Hannay is in the castle, and I spy a silhouette that one may assume is that of the Baroness Hilda von Velvet"
"Absolutely spot on, Bunter. Pass me my hunting rifle"
"Yes, my lord. I took the liberty of modifying the trigger mechanism, replacing the breech system with my own copy of the new design by Herr Mauser, and reboring it to take the new higher power cartridges, my lord. You intend to shoot the Baroness, my lord?"
"Good God, no, Bunter. I intend to shoot that utter bounder Hannay. I still haven't forgiven him for the night of ten crumpets back at Eton. What's more, he appears to have given the Baroness the Greenwich Meridian, since she seems to be poking the fire into life with it right now. What on earth is that she's doing to old Humpy Hannay? Not to worry - I'm sure Harriet will fill me in on the details back in London. So who's to say we can trust him?"
"Quite so, my lord."

Bally Heck
8th Nov 2001, 01:24
Bond slipped behind the curtain, his Walther PPK held by his face. He heard only snippets of the conversation between Lord Wimsey and his wrinkled old retainer. M had told him via his wristwatch satellite wireless telegraphy receiver that the meridian had been recovered and that at least some of the fictional detectives were safe in London. The pink war machine alas was still at large and posed a dire threat to the security of the civilised world. His old friend Felix of the CIA had suggested carpet-bombing Europe to destroy it. Always a bit gung ho Felix.

The snatches of conversation Bond overheard suggested that Hilda von Trapp and Hannay were in the schloss somewhere. He surmised that Hannay was the fictional John Buchan character from The Thirty Nine Steps and therefore a good guy. Hilda von Trapp? 007 searched his memory. Must be the fictional singing nun from the Sound of Music played by Julie Andrews.

Trouble is, Bond couldn't picture Julie Andrews using cute lickle kitty cats as Aga fuel. He would have to figure out a way of making her sing to find out for sure.

Bond studied the plan of the schloss, which Q had faxed to him on his wristwatch satellite wireless facsimile receiver. Wimsey had probably gone to the banquetting hall to shoot Hannay. "Lord presherve ush from the landed inbred English gentry," though Bond.

As silently as could be, Bond slipped through the labarynth of meandering corridors until he came to the entrance to the great banqueting hall. Through the solid oak studded door he could hear raised voices.

"Put it away Peter, theres a good chap!"

"Not a hope Hannay my old schoolchum. Did you really think you could humiliate me in such a horrid horrid manner with those ten crumpets all those years ago, and expect me just to forget it. No my friend your time has come."

Wimsey lifted the much modified hunting rifle and aimed at Hannay's head.

"Drop the rifle Wimshy, we wouldn't want any akshidentsh now would we?"

Bond stood at the vomitory. He removed the arab disguise, which had served him so well revealing his de rigeur black dinner jacket and bow tie. His automatic pistol held across his chest, legs slightly apart.

Each member of the assembled company reacted differently. Hilda von Trapp perhaps had the most noticeable response. She dropped the latest feline fuel cell onto the floor, moaned out loud and moved the shoulder straps of her flimsy dress off her shoulder. Her jaw dropped . "J..James?...007? of MI5?"

Wimsey dropped the rifle which consequently fired as it hit the floor killing instantly the kitten recently discarded by Hilda.

Hannay uncharacteristically shat himself and Bunter offered to take Bond's jacket.

"Sho, a nishe little party we have here eh? Mish von Trapp, if I shaid to you Raindropsh on roshes and whishkersh on kittensh, Bright copper kettlesh and warm woolen mittensh, Brown paper packagesh tied up with shtring. What would your reaction be?"

"I...I don't know what you mean Mr Bond...can I call you James?"

Hilda had recovered some of her composure.

"I mean Mish von Trapp are you the real fictional von Trapp from the shound of Mushic or are you an evil imposhter......Jeshush H Chrishte whatsh that shmell?"

"Hannay's shat his trousers. Hannay's shat his trousers. Nah nah na nah nah. Hannay's shat his trousers." Ejaculated Wimsey.

"For goodnesh shake Hannay go and clean yourself up. I'm getting the dry boke smelling you."

"Mr Bond. Perhaps you should, shall I say, interrogate me through in my budoir."

"Exshellent idea Miss von Trapp. Thish thread ish among the longesht known to MI5 and now ash we near the end I shtill haven't had a sag. Lead on!!"

8th Nov 2001, 05:05
"My lord, if I may take the liberty of offering Mr. Hannay a spare pair of your trousers?"
"Certainly not, Bunter - I only brought 28 pairs with me"
"Ahhh - slightly more than that, my lord. I took the liberty of planning for such an eventuality and packed an emergency kit as well"
"Great Scot, Bunter! What's in it?"
"Not much, my lord - fifteen suits, about thirty shirts, with spare collars, four Etonian ties, five Brigade of Guards ties, a few pairs of shoes, your fishing tackle, the new manual by Dr. Ruth, a rubber truncheon, a hamper from Messrs. Fortnum and Mason, and the snake venom antidotes."
"A rubber truncheon, Bunter?"
"Just in case, my lord. You did say you were less than partial to the sausage that is available in these parts."
"Very true, Bunter. Oh, very well. Allow him the temporary use of a pair of cavalry twill trousers. But disinfect them, and sew a crumpet into the seat of them first."
"Certainly, my lord."
"And while that lout from MI6 is entertaining the Baroness, and Mr Hannay is (I hope) bathing before changing, we shall return to the automobile with the genuine Meridian, and hence to England."
"My lord?"
"Yes, Bunter?"
"My lord, I thought we saw the Greenwich Meridian was being returned to England in the company of Mr. Holmes? And secondly, do you wish to wear black tie or white tie this evening?"
"I said genuine Meridian, not Greenwich Meridian, Bunter. As an alumnus of Balliol, you must expect my loyalties to remain with the Oxford Meridian, which this is. And white tie, I think. Only a complete bounder such as Mr. Bond would wear black tie when a lady is wearing a sleeveless evening gown."
"Of course, my lord. Two more questions, if I may make so bold, your lordship - why on earth do you insist upon calling all your Bentleys Mrs. Murdle, and will you wish me to drive on our return to England?"
"To answer the first, Bunter, that is a very long story, and please do not mention that name in front of her ladyship, as she is wont to become a little excitable. And secondly, no, I shall drive, as you are taking the pink war machine back."
"Indeed, my lord?"
"Certainly. You will find it in the fourth garage from the right in the old Mews building."
"I will, my lord?"
"Yes, Bunter. It was clear from only a cursory examination that the doors of that garage have recently been replaced. They are also rather larger than all the others. Furthermore, if you examine the kindling that the Baroness has been using, the wood has not been cut, but crushed, is of the same colour as the other garage doors, but look here - traces of pink paint."
"I see, my lord. I shall get my photographic equipment immediately, conduct a full examination of the crime scene, and will have all results ready for you by the time we board the Boat Train."
"Very good, Bunter. Oh - and Bunter?"
"Yes my lord?"
"You'll also find a rather dour Scotsman hiding in the garage. He may be a little sulky, so please run over his foot as you reverse out."
"Very well, my lord."

[ 08 November 2001: Message edited by: HugMonster ]

8th Nov 2001, 05:33
Surreal.....Your all a bit hat-stand..... :confused:

8th Nov 2001, 13:03
The events of the last few hours had been mindnumbingly fast and things had threatened to slip completely out of control. The old adage that it never rains it pours, had produced a veritable deluge of rum characters and rapid changes of directions.The twists and turns had been quite bizarre and almost beggared belief.

Hilda had suddenly re-appeared in such a state of nympomaniacal agitation that I had been forced, quite against my will I hasten to add, to participate in an event I will not bother the reader with.

This had been followed, surrealy, by a scene of quite depraved cruelty to some poor unfortunate kittens by Hilda who now, accompanied by a large and very smelly canine reject from Battersea, revealed herself mockingly to be an imposter from the lower strata of Midland society and Nothern Working Men's club singer, and taunted me with this.

This last shocking event had occurred after I, impelled by my duty as a gentleman, had offered to marry her after having enjoyed her fruits of conubial bliss. No sooner had this occurred when into the hall burst Lord Whimsy holding a rifle and accompanied by his man Bunter.

Whimsy was as I had remembered him, quite unconnected with reality and rather dim. He seemed to harbour some grudge from school and was ranting hystericaly about 'Crumpet'. I mistakenly took this to be a reference to Hilda and was remonstrating with him, trying to calm him down, when into the hall stepped a complete stranger in a rather ill fitting Moss Bross Dinner jacket and quite appalling readymade bowtie. One could see this last fact at a glance due to the fact that having obviously been put it on in haste had its elasticated portion carelessly visible over one wing of his unfashionabley long wing dress shirt collar.

After waving his pistol around and threatening to shoot Whimsy he ended by striking a rather odd pose and crossing his arms rather theatricaly he slurringly asked Whimsy to put down his gun. Whimsy, clumsy and timid as ever, dropped his rifle agitatedly to the floor where it accidentaly discharged quite fortuitously killing the poor unfortunate kitten Hilda had been tormenting and about to fling in the fire.

It was finaly at this stage that I had a most unfortuate accident due to the quite appallingly high Pheasant served at lunch, obviously been hung far too long, and had gone quite rotten. I had forced myself to choke down this offering with great difficulty only because Hilda gone on at great length how she had prepared this with her own fair hands especialy for me. In retrospect probably to poison me. This quite humiliating accident forced me to hastily retire.

Not before though this scene of utter chaos had been finaly compounded by the unruley dog sinking its teeth into the dark haired stranger's leg and tearing his rented clothes.

Hilda had now taken him to dress his wounds, and no doubt seize the opportunity to assuage her insatiable sexual appetite, and quite unhealthy tastes in lovemaking involving the use of a rather large Argentinan braided leather stockwhip, a device whose use I had politely declined.

I had repaired back to my bedchamber where I had been visited by possibly the only sane member of this rather odd lot, Bunter, a man's man of perfect poise and impeccable politeness. He had kindly lent me a pair of bags belonging to Whimsy and taken the opportunity of asking me if I could use his services as he was getting somewhat tired of his rather dim and excitable master.

His offer I warmly welcomed, as Paddock, marvelous a chap as he was, could in no way compare to the polish and inscrututable urbanity of Bunter. Paddoch had quite often mentioned his desire to retire to a small cottage in Cornwall near his elderly mother and look after her in her twilight years and this seemed a wonderful opportunity to kill two birds with one stone as it were.

Explaining to him how the Greenwich Meridian was now safe and doubtless already safely back in it's rightful place, the wherabouts of the small but deadly blue flask of Bin Greenliners Arachnid tea blight, for that was what it had been produced from, and the hiding place of the Deadly Pink War Machine in one of the Schloss's garages, I enlisted his willing aid in one last effort to clean up this whole unwieldy mess.

He acquiessed impurturbably and listening to my instructions grasped at once the finer point of the complex plan I now unfolded. Having noted it down in detail, and the two of us having concluded our business, he explained to me rather sorrowfully why he had finaly been driven to leave Whimsy. It had been by ceaseless comparison by his innane master to some fellow called Jeeves. If Whimsy was so enamoured of this paragon of servitude Bunter had concluded , then Whimsy could have him and be damned.

This seemed to suit us both rather well, I having taken an instant shine to his honest manner, keen mind and urbane rectitude. Immensely heartened by this fortunate and welcome change in the situation I could now turn in with complete peace of mind.

Hilda could cavort frolic and lash her shlurring stranger to her hearts content, it appeared he had an even worse drinking problem than I. Bunter having reassured and calmed down the hysterical Whimsy, would slip out and rendevous with me at the garage, I having first retrieved the deadly blue flask, would join him there we would then together take the deadly machine back to England and hand it over to Sir Walter.

The plans now made, I having changed and cleaned up now quite felt myself again. The next few hours might well see the ending of another chapter in this odd saga. What could go wrong now. God alone knew and just for now he wasn't telling, only time would.

Tricky Woo
8th Nov 2001, 15:10
(Interior of a dusty, Bavarian garage. Skulking near the door is a miserable, dour Scotsman, muttering to himself. In the corner of the garage is a pile of old, rotten bridles. Hanging from the rafters is a canoe, three bicycles and a windsurfer. A typical garage, one might think, other than the fact that there is a f**king big pink tank parked in it. Unusual, that.)

Rommel: Ve haf vaited far too long for der bitch von Trapp.

Schmidt: Ja, mein General.

Rommel: Time to get der fock out of here, I think... Schmidt, start the engine und let us der go.

(The huge engine in the panzer starts, creating a cacophany, cloud of smoke and dust, and a somewhat shaken Scotsman; who cares about him, huh? The noise is REALLY a bit too much)


Schmidt(wide eyed): BUT GENERAL, WE CAME IN...



(The tank lurched forward, instantly destroying the rear of the garage, leaving the roof to collapse. Strangely, the fascia of the garage remained completely intact; not even a crack. The tank disappears into the distance, with only the occasional crunch marking its progress as it knocks over a tree of three.)


Rommel: Into der Blacken Forest, Schmidt! Ve vill be der 'Babes in der Vood'! HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!

Schmidt(smiling): Gut, I vas der sick of all those focking dezerts.

Rommel: Do you thinken der camoflague vill still be der suitable in der forest?

Schmidt: Ja-ja, der pinken is der sehr versatile, ich thinken.

Rommel: Qvite so... qvite so.

(The sound of the panzer fades away)


(In front of the garage...)

Lord Whimsy: Righteo, Bunter, I'll just open the door and bag the blighters..

Bunter(shocked): Open the door of a country garage without tweeds and a riding crop? Certainly not, Sir... I shall do it.

Lord Whimsey(sternly): I do hope you are not thinking of taking all the credit that is due to me, Bunter?

Bunter: No Lord Whimsey, I come from a long line of Bunter's who never got credit for anything:

First, there was Francisco Bunter who discovered America; of course his servile duties made him immediately sail back to Spain, wake up Lord Columbus with tea and toast, and bundle him off to Queen Isabella to gain the rightful recognition for this wonderful deed.

Next, dear old Fraser Butler, who's gentleman master had no taste for work or science. Anyway, Fraser liked to make experiments with kettles, and the like. One evening as he was laying out his master's evening dress, Fraser mentioned that perhaps it would be suitable for Mr Watt to claim credit for the working prototype of his 'steam-driven engine' that had been constructed in the basement.

Not to forget Butch Bunter. Still rather a contentious character in the Bunter family due to him working for two American brothers. Still, he atoned for it by ensuring that the brothers got full credit for inventing the 'Bunter Flier'. How Butch laughed when the Wright's first flight was only a hop of a few feet, when he'd been flying for years and had recently perfected his aerobatics.

Recently, there was Buzz Bunter, the first man on the moon...

Lord Whimsy(bored): Shut up, man, and open the door before I fall asleep.

Bunter: Yes, My Lord...


(Back in der Schloss...)

Lord Whimsey: No pink panzer there, I'm afraid. Can't imagine what happened... oh, but we did find this dour, miserable Scotsman... what should we do with him?

Hilda: Put him in the basket with the kittens, dearie... we were running a bit low on fuel, anyway.

(The dour, miserable Scotsman is dumped into the large basket with the kittens. He sits muttering oaths in a corner, while all the kittens studiously ignore him. The kitten with a white leg sneers a bit at him. "Loser", says kitty to itself).

Bond: The way that I shee it, thish shtory has had far too many charactersh introdushed.

Hannay: Quite so, Bond...

Bond: Sho, I shuggesht that we remove a few immediately.

Lord Whimsy: But how do you think that can be accomplished, MISTER Bond?

Bond: Like thish...

8th Nov 2001, 15:33
The gentleman in the badly-fitting Moss Bros jacket pulled out a small box. On top of it was a red light, a switch and a pushbutton. He flicked the switch with his thumb, and the light came on. Before Winsey had a chance to ask anything further, Bond pushed the button.

From behind the garage came an enormous explosion. The scene was lit up like daytime for a brief second, all the windows (including the rather excellent Serbian masterpiece that Bunter had previously remarked upon) smashed. Wimsey picked himself up, and rushed to the now empty casement. He was just in time to see a German Panzerkorps hat drifting down. He turned, a steely glint in his eye.

"Bunter, I think we have seen the last of the pink war machine. Unfortunately this slightly reduces the evidence available to present to Inspector Parker. Not to worry. This changes my plans only slightly. You shall drive Mrs. Murdle."
"Certainly, my lord. I hope that his lordship did not mind the slight subterfuge in which I was I was forced to indulge with Mr. Hannay?"
"Of course not, Bunter. He always was a gullible so and so. Ask Shorty Carruthers. I had ten crumpets, but when Humpy was still a fag himself, Carruthers had him put through twelve, plus four English muffins."
"I see, my Lord. Now I understand why Mr. Hannay was blackballed from the Bellona Club"
"Quite so, Bunter. By the way, please pack this blue vial very carefully."
"Indeed I shall, my lord."

Outside the window a voice was heard muttering dourly.
"Think they can blow me up, do they, the sodding sassenach funny bloody PPRuNers? They've not heard the last of me..."

Bond turned round to the log basket, his left eyebrow raised.
"Hmm - Shcotsh shertainly move around a bit. Mishter Wimsey, can I intersht you in a lift back to London? My helicopter ish jusht ten minutesh away."
"Thank you no, Mr. Bond. It rather sounds as if you've been drinking. By the way, to be quite correct it should be "Lord Peter" or "my lord" when you address me. Not that anyone but Miss Sayers really has a thing about it. While you're waiting, would you mind finishing off that dour scotsman outside? Bunter and I have a Boat Train to catch"
"Shertainly, Lord Peter"

[ 08 November 2001: Message edited by: HugMonster ]

Tricky Woo
8th Nov 2001, 15:47
Right, Huggy, you sodding well asked for it...


Bond: One more thing, Lord Whimshy...

Lord Whimsy: What do you want now?

Bond: There'sh shome unfinishhed bushiness here that I musht clear up.

Lord Whimsy: Ahh I see... the filthy luchre, Bunter, give the man two sovereigns, and then send him on his way...

(BANG! BANG! Bond has drawn his Walther PPK and shot both Whimsy and Bunter between the eyes. Their brains are splattered all over the wall. Dead as doornails, the pair of them. Bloody well serves Huggy right for trying to kill Rommel and Schmidt).


Rommel: Vot der fock vas that?

Schmidt: Ein bomb, Mein General, attached to der siden of der pinken panzer.

Rommel: I haf losten minen panzer cap. Der cap was der given to me by der Fuhrer. He vill be der p!ssed vith me...

Schmidt: Nefer mind, at least der panzer ist ok, even if der pinken painten ist ein bit smudged now.

Rommel: Do ve haf another tin of der painten?

Schimdt: Er, nein... but ve do haf ten tinen of der peach.


Bond: I ushed to love lollypopsh when I was a little boy in Shcotland.

Kojak: Who loves ya, baby?


8th Nov 2001, 21:01
Now we join up with our hapless duo in the Bat Cave, in a secret location know only to Batman, Robin and a couple million other people who have watched the Batman movies and TV series.

“Ok Batman, where did you get the information on this pink war machine thingy?”

“Well Boy Wonder I don’t know if can share that information with you. I’m not sure if you a high enough security clearance.”

“Security clearance? Is this some kind of a top secret government thing?”

“Must be old boy. The information about the pink war machine is located on an encrypted ultra, ultra, top-secret, eyes-only, code violet heavily guarded web site. Only Batman with his powerful intellect, mathematical skills second to none, genius level of the obscure and unchallengeable detective skills could break into this web site. Yes only Batman with his far-reaching foresight could have deduced that any web site guarded so heavily would contain such information that is so critical the safety of the free world. Even the great all knowing, all seeing, all hearing, most wise Batman had a very hard time accessing this web site.”

“Alright already, enough, enough ole great Batblowhard. I’m online on the Batcomputer. What’s the address?”

“Whose address?”

“Aw jeeze, can’t you keep a thought in that Batbrain longer than a nanosecond? The web site you stupid mumble, mumble.”

“Oh yes, now write this down, it is unbelievably complicated.”

“Ok I’m ready.”

“Ok, ready?”


“I SAID are you ready?”

“Yes I told you that I was ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“GOD, the web site you Batdingleberry!”

“Oh yes, ready?”


“Ok, the first letter. w.”

“w, ok got it.”


“Ok another w.”


“Wow, boy this real tough alright, www, jeeze.”


“Yeah great logic, dot.”


“FOR GOD’S SAKE JUST GIVE ME FLIPPING ADDRESS, you stupid mumble, mumble.”

“No need to get that way now, but if you insist, here is the rest. Pprune.org.”

“Ok, www.pprune.org.” (http://www.pprune.org.”)

“Right, while you are trying to get in I will go over to the Batbar and get a Batginandtonic. When you give up trying to break in let me know and I’ll show you my secret way bypassing all of the guard devices that protect this very dif-“

“I’m in.”

“WHAT? It took Batman months of hard dedicated work just to get by the first gate. How is possible that you, just a mere mortal, could access such a secret site so quickly?”

“Just lucky I guess, you dumb mumble, mumble. Now tell me about this web site, which on second thought may not be such a good idea.”

“Well this web site has members that are the bravest of the brave, the truest of the true, the stoutest of the stout, the strongest of the strong and they are lead by a true genius by the name of, hum, uh, err, Donny? or is it Bobby? Connie, no can’t be Connie that’s a girly name. Buddy, yes that’s it, Buddy Day. Batman never forgets anything.”

“Well according to what I am reading pprune stands for ‘professional pilots rumor network’. It is a web site for pilots and other people with an interest in aviation.”

“Nonsense, utter nonsense boy. There is no way a mere pilot could design such a complicated web site that even challenged Batman’s fabulous intellectual skills. And to infer that other pilots could possibly access this site is just impossible, quite impossible.”

“Yeah, whatever. Now where can I find this pink war machine thread?”

“The pink war machine is very cleverly hidden in a forum called Jet Dash. It was posted by a truly gifted genius by the name of Dapper, Tom Dapper. A man whose intelligence could possibly be said by some to nearly equal that of Batman’s, not by me of course.”

“Well if you ever meet this guy don’t tell him that, he’ll probably shoot you for insulting him. Ok, let’s see here, I got it, it’s called ‘Jet Blast’ and the guy’s name is Draper, Tony Draper.”

“I knew that.”

”Alright, I’ll tell you what, why don’t you go over to the Batbar and get a Batginandtonic while I read this thread and find out what the hell you have been babbling about.”

“Great idea. While Batman drink his Batginandtonic Batman will formulate a plan to save the free world.”

About three Batginandtonics later.

“Ok Batman I think I have it figured out. I won’t go into detail, mainly because you won’t remember any of it anyway. Basically the Nazis stole the prime meridian from England thereby throwing the time-space continuum out of whack. After a great sea battle between World War Two Battleships and a pirate sailing ship (which I have yet to figure out) the prime meridian ended up in Afghanistan, then to Germany I think. In any case we need to get to Afghanistan and pick up the trail there.”


“Hey, Batman wake up!”


“Whats dat, whozzse, dat?” (hic)

“Jesus Christ how many drinks did you have?”

“Tree.” As Batman holds up four fingers.

“Look go drink some Batcoffee and sober up you slob. We need to get to Afghanistan and Germany.”

“An apple stand, whyiss dooss we gotta go to an apple stand in (hic) Gremananny?” (hic)

“AFGHANISTAN YOU DRUNKEN IDIOT. It’s a country in the Middle East south of Russia and between Pakistan and Iran.”

“(hic) I cankew that.”

“I’m going to get our clothes, try to sober up.”

“(hic) k.”

About an hour later. (Batman must have many changes of underwear)

“Ok Batman we are packed and ready, let’s go.”

A miraculously sober Batman replies, “Good job Binbin off we go in the Batmobile to the Batairport and get the Batplane. Oh yes, don’t forget that we need to pick up Bat Girl at the secret rendezvous point.”

“Yeah, pick up (a very accurate term I must say) the bimbo at the back door of Wanda’s whore house, go to the airport and get the airplane. Good plan ole great Batbatty.”

“Yes Batman needs Bat Girl to keep him warm on those cold nights on the polar ice cap.”

“Ice caps? Oh Christ sake, we going to Afghanistan not Antarctica you Batpicklebrain.”

“I knew that.”

[ 08 November 2001: Message edited by: con-pilot ]

8th Nov 2001, 21:32
"Wha.. huh - warrruuuufff gerroff!"
"James, James - wake up"
"Yes, you darn Scottish hump of muscle, plus a bit else I rather like - but enough of that. You've been talking in your sleep"
"I wash having such a lovely dream, Baroness."
"Hannay has gone, so has that Southern blonde twit with his manservant, and taken the pink machine as well!"
"You mean the pink war machine? Sho - you had it all along. Mish Moneypenny wash right - I should never trusht another woman. You drugged me, you fiend!"

<sound of banging on Schloss door>

"Wo ist mein beautiful panzermaschine, du verdammte frau?"

"Oh no!"
"Now whatsh the matter?"
"They've also taken the genuine, Oxford Meridian as well!"

"I say, Bunter?"
"Yes, my lord?"
"Drive a little slower. My old pal Hannay just spilt some of the 1901 Burgundy over Mrs. Murdle's seat."
"Sorry about that, Wimpy old boy - the plate in my skull, dontcha know. Don't have your man slow down. How's that chap Marlowe getting on behind us in that abortion of a camouflage job? Just as well for him we stumbled across him, but I think he'll look a little out of place at the Drones' Club, don't you?"
"Don't worry Humpy old, boy - he's right behind us. And too right"

8th Nov 2001, 23:58
Silently the turbine powered Batmobile drives up the alley and stops behind Wanda’s Mad Passionate Massage Pleasure Palace.

“Now just where in the hell is Bat Girl going to sit. I told you we should have brought the SUV. The Batmobile only has two seats, and I am not going ride on the roof like last time.”

“She can ride on your lap Bat Boy, plenty of room. Look, there she is. (sigh).”

“What the hell took you so long, I’ve been out here for hours. I had to turn down at least three tricks, you’re going to pay for that buddy boy.” Bat Girl looks in car, “Now where in the hell am I supposed ride, you should have brought the SUV.”

“You can ride on Bobin’s lap, plenty of room. We are only a mile from the Batairport. Now get in, please.”

“Pretty Please.”

“ (sigh) Ok, an extra 100. Now please get in.”


“OK, OK, just get into the goddamn car!”

“Alright, don’t be so tacky, move over Bat Flake and give me some room, boy.”

“Well hello to you to Bat Girl, whore.”



“Queenie bitch!”

“It takes one to know one missy!”

“Alright you two, you know Batman doesn’t like that type of talk. Now be nice.”

“Ok, her first.”

“No, him first.”

“No, you.”


“I’m not going first, you go first.”

“The hell I will you bitch!”

“Will not.”

“Will too.”

“KNOCK IT OFF YOU TWO! I really mean it, be nice, I won’t tell you again.”

“(sullenly) ok.”

“(sullenly) ok.”

“Now isn’t that better, Batman and his best friends off on another great adventure to save the free world.”

Bat Girl and Robin start shoving each other and whispering to each other “bitch, whore, slut.”

“He touched me Batman, make him stop!”

“I didn’t touch you, I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“GODAMNIT, QUIT IT YOU TWO! We’re almost there.”

“She started it.”


“Did too.”

“WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP! Batman is losing his patience.”

Bat Girl and Robin become quiet but continue to push and shove each other as the Batmobile pulls up at the Bathangar. The passenger door opens and Bat Girl and Robin fall out on the ramp wrestling. Batman gets out and looks at the two and says, thinking that they are hugging.

“See, I knew you two could learn to like each other. Now Bat Girl let whatsisname up so he can get the Batplane ready and load the baggage while I file a batplan to Australia.”


“I knew that.”

Now the sleek majestic Batplane is out of the hanger ready to go and Batman is going through the cabin checking supplies. Bat Girl and Robin stand glaring at each other.

“Ok, five cases of gin, ten cases of tonic, one bag of ice, one bag of potato chips (crisps) for food and a diet coke. Now Boy did you remember to bring the Battimemachine?”

“No, you didn’t say anything about the Battimemachine. If you had I would have brought it, I don’t forget things.”

“Well Batman is sure he told you, never mind, just be a good boy and run back to the Batcave and get the blasted thing.”

“Ok, let me have the keys.”

“What keys?”

“The keys to the Batmobile.”

“Batman believes that you have the keys.”

“I don’t have the keys, you drove.”

“Ah yes, but you got the baggage out of the Battrunk (Batboot).”

“That’s because you opened the Battrunk (Batboot) with the button thingy on the dashboard.”

“Oh, well they must still be in the Batmobile. Go check and then go get the Battimemachine.”

Robin turns, gives Bat Girl another nasty look and leaves the Batplane.

“Well hey ,hey, hey Bat Girl now that the boy is gone why don’t we practice joining the mile high club, practice makes perfect you know.”

“Not in your case it doesn’t Batman, but you’ve paid for it so let’s get it over with.”

“I’m back Batman.”

“Back, you never left.”

“Yes I did.”

“You mean to tell Batman that you have gone to the Batcave, got the Battimemachine and came back just now.”



“No then.”

“When then.”

“Then, then.”

“Then when?”

“Just now.”

“Now? I thought you said then.”

“It was then, but then is now.”

“So now is then?”

“No, then is now.”

“Batman must sit down, Batman has a pain in his Bathead.”

“It’s all very simple. I went back to Batcave, got the Battimemachine and used it to get me back here now.”


“Then, but I’m back now which was actually then.”

“Batman needs a Batginandtonic, on the second thought just the gin. Why don’t you fly the Batplane to Austria Boy Wonder. We’ll stay back here and rest poor Batman’s head.”

Both Bat Girl and Robin turn and yell at Batman. “Afghanistan you idiot, Afghanistan.”

“I knew that.”

(One could wonder why the time machine is not used to go back to the beginning of this story and stop the theft in the first place. Well go ahead and wonder. Time travel is a very tricky thing, as you will soon see.)

9th Nov 2001, 09:55
The pace had begun to pick up and by morning there had been frenzied action in the Schloss. Bunter had handled his master admirably by simply acquiescing to his every command as always, without a murmer. Whimsy had in his usual manner managed to spook the hiding German driver and his grease monkey who had impetuously fled with the pink machine.

Bond was recovering from a night of extreme lust with Hilda and I shuddered to think what his back must have looked like. Raw mince was an image which floated briefly by. Still I gather these OO chaps have a pretty good training and can take most villany in their stride, though I seriously doubted that anything would have prepared him from what I knew Hilda could hand out.

Sherlock Holmes had confidentialy told me that it had taken him nearly two years in a Swiss sanitorium to recover from one night with Hilda. The plastic surgeons bill alone had almost reduced him to penury. He had laughed heartily when I had asked him why he had not sought help from his friend and companion Dr Watson.

" What Watson saw of the poor devils who had fallen into the hands of the Pathans was nothing compared to what I looked like after she had finished with me Hannay. I was nearer dead than alive and it was only the icy water which had staunched the bleeding, I can tell you.She was the devil incarnate, something I will never forget," he added with a touch of melancholy wistfulness.

The massive explosion woke me, and I was just in time to see that the massive pink monster had escaped destruction and was churning off into the forest with my tracking device, borrowed from Bond beeping merrily away as I wached it on the wrist tracker, so carelessy put aside by the de-robing desperado.

Bunter was going to gull Whimsy into offering me a lift back to London, I had the blue flask safely and a duplicate which I was going to allow Whimsy tp discover. Bond would have to shift for himself and the lovely Hilda was going to damned well get her spider back herself.

10th Nov 2001, 17:06
"I say, stop, for heaven's sakes stop!!!!"
"What on earth for, Humpy?"
"The pink war machine - it's not there anymore!"
"Bunter, would you oblige the dear chap and stop for a moment?"
"Certainly, my lord"
"It was there behind us until a few minutes ago, and it's no longer following us!"
Hannay had been raving for most of the journey, and Wimsey was beginning to tire of it. Part of Hannay appeared to think that the two Huns had made off with the pink monstrosity from the Schloss, part of him was watching it following behind Mrs. Murdle, but most of him lay on the leather upholstery of the rear seat moaning.
Lord Peter, who had taken pity on the poor raving chap, recognising what a night with Baroness Hilda Von Velvet had done, and forgiven him for the ninth and tenth crumpets.
Hannay leapt out, and ran back along the way they had come, shouting and screaming as he went.
"Bunter, I tell you, that's the last time I waste any of the '01 Burgundy on a chap."
"I quite understand, my lord. Rather unforgiveable, if I may make so bold. Ah, my lord?"
"Yes, Bunter?"
"Unless we impart a certain amount of celerity to our progress we shall miss the next boat, and it would be unwise to linger on the continent with our current cargo."
"Quite right, Bunter. Drive on."
Bunter released the handbrake and the Bentley smoothly accelerated.
"Strange chap, Humpy. He always was. We suspected he was not quite right in the head ever since he wanted to play a double reverse diagonal without a suitable avenue whilst playing Mornington Crescent."
"Very unwise indeed, my lord."
"He was always subject to fits of excitability, and tended to lose things - his spectacles in particular, but on this occasion he appears to have lost something slightly more important"
"Which is, my lord?"
"This blue vial, for example. My strong suspicion is that the Baroness had brainwashed him in order to spread tea blight throughout the Empire"
"I believe you're right, my lord. Whilst appearing to console him over the unfortunate death of that kitten, I relieved him of another. It is in the glove compartment, with a full chemical analysis I conducted whilst waiting for you and he to emerge from McDonalds, my lord"
"Bunter, you're a wonder. It's a dashed shame the pink war machine seems to have vanished. Ah well, we have the virus with us, and we have rescued the Oxford Meridian. Mr Holmes recovered the Greenwich Meridian as a back-up option, and the Raggypan people are behaving themselves. All in all, quite a successful trip, I think."
"Indeed, my lord."

One of the most satisfying things to Lord Peter about being British was the way the small things in life worked when run by the British. Thus the boat trip from Calais to Dover was on time, unlike most of those run by Continentals and other lesser breeds, the way his suite was furnished with an excellent supply of champagne, and that he could find adequate privacy from the lower classes in order to relax and study the Dr. Ruth manual that Bunter had so thoughtfully packed, before his return to Harriet's rather demanding arms.

"Yes, Bunter, you, like I, were born British, and consequently have been awarded first prize in the lottery of life."
"Quite so, my lord. I wonder, my lord, whether he'll ever find the pink war machine."
"No doubt we will discover in time, Bunter."

"I told them I'd be back, the sneering sodding clever-clogs. They think they're oh so smart, don't they, that sodding Pratingbrat and PrickyWoo and that ThugMonster. I'll get them all... and that sodding Danny bloody Fyne - they'll all be sorry..."

"Chuck him overboard, Bunter"
"Right-ho, my lord"

"Bunter, please amend that last remark, in view of damned persistent dour Scotsmen. You and I were born English..."
"Quite so, my lord."

[ 10 November 2001: Message edited by: HugMonster ]

12th Nov 2001, 16:03
My shoeleather was getting a little tired, as was I, by the time a guy with hair the colour of horse's p!ss in some swaggy car stopped. Seemed they wanted to take pity on me, and I've never been one to scorn having pity taken on me, but it's usually better when a dame does so.

On this occasion they had me climb in their battlewagon and follow them halfway across Europe. We stopped at a Burger bar which the continentals seemed to think was American. Nobody but nobody does a burger like Greasy Joe, who had learnt how on his last stretch inside. His place just off the strip is usually full of private dicks, hookers, pimps, drugs, illegal hooch, loud jazz and smoke. My kinda place.

It got kinda boring just following these guys. I don't mean boring like slightly tedious like a ballgame when the pitcher forgot to turn up, but boring like you wished even Fat Celia from the chorus line in Smokey Pete's would come and talk to you.

I started applying what little of my mind was available to working out how the darn machine I was driving worked. All the real hardware, I reckoned, was in the back, but there was still plenty left for Mrs. Marlowe's little boy to play with.

I'd not finished all my schooling before I decided I wanted to be a cop, so the foreign lingo all the labels in meant about as much to me as they would to Charlie Wu, and he was blind. But I played anyway.

After a while I suddenly realised that the guys in front had stopped suddenly. One of the guys, the one with the crazy eyes and the funny scar dived out and ran back down the road, straight past me, shouting. The swish automobile waited briefly then pulled away. I couldn't work it out, so I stood up in my seat. Crazyeyes looked up at me and his eyes went a little crazier, if that was possible.

He started burbling and pointing at my legs. I looked down and went a little crazy myself. My legs weren't there. Last time that happened I'd bought some bad moonshine off a client and I'd sworn off anything that wasn't out of Kentucky with tax label attached. I tried to leap down, but my non-existent left foot hit something and I tripped. Next thing I knew I was sprawling all over the front of the battlewagon. Then it dawned on me. It hadn't been there a second earlier.

Crazyeyes started laughing hysterically. It made me want to plant a fist in his teeth. I didn't need him laughing and pointing. That happened enough when I was a schoolkid. He was burbling something about a cloak, and he tried to dive head first past me into the hatch. I pulled him out and sat back down to think.

The Krauts had obviously developed some kind of way to make their tank invisible.

That stood to reason. You make a tank and paint it that colour, you need to make it invisible to avoid hurting your eyes.

Tricky Woo
12th Nov 2001, 18:28
Rommel & Schmidt(singing happily together):

"Young man, there's a place you can go
I said, young man, when you're short on your dough
You can stay there, and I'm sure you will find
Many. ways. to. have. a. good time!

It's fun to stay at the... YMCA!
It's fun to stay at the... YMCA!
They have everything... for a man to enjoy
You can hang out with all the boys..."

(The singing stops as the pink panzer grinds to an abrupt halt).

Schmidt: "Der hello, vhat ist dis?

Rommel: "Vhy haf you stopped der focking panzer, Schmidt?"

Schmidt: "There is der car der blocking der vay, mein General.

Rommel: "Hmm, but ve are in der hurry... load der high explosive shell, and ve vill see if ve can move der car out of der vay"


Schmidt: "Der shell ist loaded, Sir".

Rommel: "Ok... I move der gun... und I der aim der gun... und der... DER FEUER!!!"



As the smoke clears, the Desert Fox and his faithful companion catch sight of four smoking wheels, a large crater, and... nothing else. As they look on with satisfaction, a butler's bowler hat drops from the sky, followed by the tattered remains of a gentleman's tweed suit collection. Face it, HugMonster, they're f**ked for sure this time.

Rommel(cheerfully): "Onvards to Paris..."

Schmidt: "Jawohl".


As the infamous pink panzer lurched forward, there was a yell followed by a crunching noise as a corny American private detective was converted from three dimensions into two dimensions.


Rommel & Schmidt(resume singing):

"...Cause tonight... for the first time
Just. about. half-past. ten
For the first time... in history
It's gonna start raining men.

It's Raining Men! Hallelujah! - It's Raining Men! Amen!
I'm gonna go out to run... and let myself get
Absolutely soaking wet!
It's Raining Men! Hallelujah!
It's Raining Men! Every Specimen!
Tall. Blonde. Dark and lean
Rough and tough and strong and mean..."

(A happy panzer crew disappear in the distance...)


(Thus the evil Tricky Woo has his revenge on HugMonster for (a) trying to kill off Rommel and Schmidt and (b) resurrecting Lord Whimsy and his butler in spite of the fact that I'd explicitly got Bond to shoot 'em both in the head.)


(All German translations and special effects courtesy of Warlord comic, circa. 1972).

12th Nov 2001, 19:14
As they relaxed on the ferry, which our more attentive readers will recall our heroes had already reached, Wimsey was rather alarmed to note that Bunter was without his hat.

"Bunter, we shall have to pay a visit to Simpson's of Picadilly immediately upon our return."
"Indded we shall, my Lord. I regret that several of your suits are beyond rescue as well."
"Darn it, Bunter."
"I've tried that, my Lord, but to little avail, I regret to report."
"Ah well. This hire suit will have to go back as well - there's a deposit on it."
"Not to worry, my Lord, that will brush off."
"What did you go back for before we embarked?"
"Merely, my lord, to ascertain that the minefield which I laid behind us had done it's work in the manner intended. I followed the instructions correctly, it appears, since there were remains of pink shrapnel everywhere, a couple of bloody limbs, both in German uniforms, a disembowelled corpse also in German panzer uniform and the remains of another, quite dead, with the remains of a panzer gearbox exploded into it."
"Good God, Bunter - you don't do things by halves, do you?"
"I found it better not to when dealing with certain elements of society that have fled their native countries to take refuge in places like Switzerland, my lord."
"Absolutely right, Bunter. Next thing you know we'll have people deserting comfortable existences in desirable spots like Luton to join the Raggypans."
"Pardon me, my lord - but you describe Luton as desirable? To my recollection it is full of Greek chappies running aerial transport operations for the underprivileged."
"Well, you know what I mean, Bunter."
"Indeed, my lord."

Tricky Woo
13th Nov 2001, 12:16
Rommel: Vell, Schmidt, vho vould haf der thought ein panzer vould overtaken us und hitten der minen der meant for us?

Schmidt: Ve vere very lucky, mein General.

(Rommel reaches for the radio)

Rommel: Admiral Doenitz, bitter...

(pause, crackle)

Doenitz: Ja, it ist Doenitz?

Rommel: Admiral, I haf ein smallen problem...


Doenitz: Up vith der periscopen!


Doenitz: Der ist der ferry... ja... FIREN EIN!



Doenitz: FIREN TWO!





Doenitz: Ok, ve go home, now...

Müller: Er... ok... vhich vay ist home again?

13th Nov 2001, 16:15
At Dover, Bunter immediately went in search of a dealer to replace Mrs. Murdle with the latest model Bentley, whilst Wimsey perused the local papers.

It was whilst so occupied that he was once agains truck by the blessing of being English. He had already noted the inability of Continental organisations to run to time - perhaps Mr. Mussolini might amend that in future - but what specifically caught Lord Peter's eye was the headline "French Ferry sunk - U-boat seen in Channel". Had they not been so slow to clear the harbour mouth at Calais, they might have escaped, mused Wimsey.

"Ah well, the Devil takes the hindmost", he remarked later to Bunter as they rolled into Oxford.
"Indeed, my lord. Will your lordship wish to go first to the Radcliffe Camera?"
"Certainly, Bunter. Returning the Meridian is our first priority. Then I think we are due some recreation."
"Your lordship wishes to return home?"
"Certainly not, Bunter. I need to do a little more research first. The Pink Pussycat-A-Go-Go please, Bunter."
"Yes, my lord."

13th Nov 2001, 19:27
Sir Walter raised his bloodshot eyes from the report he had been studying and an expression that seldom appeared flitted across his worn features. I could hardly credit the way he changed as an unaccustomed smile lit his face up.

"Well Hannay, most of this mess appears to have become unscrambled. I have to say that things had got to a pretty bad pitch, the outlook was bleak and things were going from bad to worse. The mood at the carriage wallahs forum had reached a new depth and strict measures had been enforced to keep the unrulier elements in check. This Omar Bin Greenliner appeared to have us all running scared and morale countrywide was at an all time low.
I must say though things seem to have been sorted pretty well though and I'm grateful to all of you who pitched in and helped."

"It was nothing real.."

" Quiet man, I haven't finished yet. That chum of yours, Arbuthnot, heard from him yet?"

" No Sir I ...."

" Yes sterling work he's done liasing with the Norther rebels, I hear Kabul has fallen and they are pushing down into the south now. Khandahar next eh? Root out that Bin Greeliner fellow?"


" Good, good. Teach that bounder a lesson. Damned fuzzy wuzy, thought he could cock a snoot at us and ****** civilisation, the Mahdi tried, even got our man Gordon. Old China, a good man that, felt for the native, had their interests at heart and stuck with them, died doing his duty.
There are those people y'know that laugh; say it's oldfashioned; that patriotism, duty and loyalty to queen and country are mere concepts of an outmoded time. They not and never will be.
Anybody who says a passport nothing but a travel document and deserves no loyalty shouldn't have it, he doesn't deserve it.
Enough of that. We are not out of the woods yet, there is unfinished business and every man and woman in this country will have to live with the consequences of what has happened for years to come but the immediate danger seem to have been brought to manageable proportions, and the end of the world seems not to be just round the corner.

The fight isn't over by a long chalk, but people aren't running so scared. The theft of the prime meridian and the appearance of that terrifying pink war machine had everybody in a blue funk and white around the gills, but spirits have raised now.

Quite a crowd got in on the act eh what?
Come on Hannay what's the matter, cat got your tongue. Still playing the strong silent type eh what?

I hesitated. The list of those who had pitched in was long, and every single one had contibuted to raise our spirits and inject a little madnes to the quest. I had been laughed out loud and enjoyed every single contribution, the voyage had been a pleasant one. We had been given generous lattitude by the grand high panjandrum and had strained the bounds of time and place in unfettered freedom.

To have been given the space and joined by such company was pleasure indeed. I would enjoy a drink this evening and I would raise a glass to the forum as a whole, to those who gave it to us and those who joined us on the case of the pink war machine, and last and not least to those men and women who stand guard out on the wall that stands between us and the darkness of chaos, who ensure that we sleep safe in our beds at night. Good health to all of you

13th Nov 2001, 20:39
"Are you PC 149 Smethurst, currently a beat officer at Bow Street Police Station?"
"I am, yer 'onour"
"And can you please tell the court in your own words what happened on the evening of the 13th. November, officer"
"Ho yus indeed, yer 'onour. I wos proceeding in a northerly direction along Curzon Street when I received a report from Dizzy Doris - beg pardon, yer 'onour, from Mrs. Mablethripp, that there was a disturbance at the Pink Pussycat-A-Go-Go establishment. This is, as yer 'onour may be aware, a nightclub frequented by journalists, lawyers, diplomats, Members of Parliament (both Commons and Lords), drug addicts and pilots. In short, yer 'onour, the scum of the earth. I proceeded at high speed in my Panda car to the address concerned."
"In your what, officer?"
"Panda car, m'lud"
"Is this some kind of furry animal?"
"Hum, no, m'lud. It is a police automobile."
"Here we see, members of the jury, the lengths to which we now have to go in order to apprehend criminals. It is a sad day when..."
"My Lord?"
"Yes, Sir Roderic?"
"May PC Smethurst continue with his evidence?"
"Yes, yes, if you insist."
"Thank you, my Lord. Constable?"
"Yes, yer 'onour. In the aforesaid establishment I was presented with the sight of several gentlemen severely the worse for drink. The first defendant - that's the gentleman on the far end of the dock - said - and I shall have to consult my notebook 'ere, m'lud - 'Ah ha! A peeler! Let's debag 'im, Humpy'. Then he and the second defendant proceeded to remove the lower part of my uniform. The gentleman wearing the deerstalker hat peered at my nether regions through his magnifying glass, and said to the fourth defendant 'Ineffectual, my dear Watson.' That gentleman then proceeded to apply his attention to a hypodermic and introducing it towards my person."
"And at what stage, did you become aware of the two foreign gentlemen, Constable?"
"Shortly after the events heretofore described, yer 'onour, I was sat on a bar stool and the contents of several cocktail glasses were emptied into my hat. A person of the female persuasion, whose origin by her accent I could not divine, but who is in the dock now, said 'Here you go, Fritzy baby, have a drink on the law'. The sixth defendant then proceeded to drink out of my hat, and clapped it upon the head of the gentleman who is now standing next to him. I noticed that there were two further incongruously-dressed gentlemen in a dark corner watching all the goings-on, and the gentleman in the dinner jacket..."
"Huhhhh warrruppppp gerrofffff.... what? Where am I?"
"Ah, your lordship, the Constable was giving his evidence when your Lordship - ummm - your Lordship's attention appeared to wander."
"Yes, yes, get on with it, Constable."
"Yus, yer 'onour. Well, these two gentlemen..."
"Which two gentlemen?"
"Defendants eight and nine, yer 'onour - these two gentlemen retired through the rear door of the establishment. Through the open door I heard the sound of a powerful automobile engine of the diesel variety startin' up and then the rear wall of the club was demolished by the arrival of what I can only describe as a pink thing. Events thereafter are slightly unclear, yer 'onour, since Sammy the barman picked up a soda water syphon and discharged it at the pink thing but missed and hit me in the eye with the stream. However, I understand that Mabel and Ethel, two of the young ladies employed by the establishment to provide their interpretation of famous events from history in dance, became quite soaked by the ensuing melée and, I understand, required to remove their garments in order to dry them. At this point I believe I may have lost consciousness."
"Thank you, officer, you may stand down."
"Thank you, yer 'onour"

There was an unfortunate incident in court when proceedings were interrupted loudly from the public gallery by a dour Scotsman.

"I told them I'd be back, but they didn't sodding well believe me, well, I'd swear on a stack of bibles except the Lodge won't let me, but you mark my words, they'll all be sorry, the clever bastards, they'll all be sorry. And no I won't serve on yer sodding jury, nor pander to yer sodding cleverclogs lawyers, that bloody Davaar, he's one of them, and that JP_Justice, I tell you, they'll all be sorry they treated me like that..."
"Usher, throw that man in the cells for contempt of court."

At this point His Lordship Judge Woolbrain adjourned the court for luncheon. The case continues.

[ 13 November 2001: Message edited by: HugMonster ]

Bally Heck
14th Nov 2001, 00:16
"Hello Pink. How are you doing?"

"Bally! Bally! Is that you m'boy?"

"Yes it's me old fella. How are you?"

"Oh Bally Bally. Not so bad. My eyes aren't what they used to be and I'm a bit deaf. Me bones are aching a bit son.

"Well your an old thread now Pink!"

"Don't I know it son, don't I know it. Y'know, in thread years I'm almost as old as the Queen Mum. 147 posts old now. 148 if you count this one. D'ye remember when I was a young vigorous thread in my thirties."

"I remember old fella. You almost passed away through negelct!"

"I did Bally, but you rescued me with that young good looking American thread doctor. I was almost a goner then. But since then I've had a marvelous life boy. Oh when I look back on it, I don't think I would change a thing. So many wonderful creative people, implausible plots, long dead fictional detectives, spies, German world war two generals, nymphomaniacs. I've had them all But I'm tired now son. I feel.......I feel the end is near. The great despotic grim reaper is ready with his padlock to consign me to the PPRuNe archives to sink in to obscurity."

"Don't talk like that Pink. You've got a lot of life left in you yet. Didn't you see the way Tricky cheated certain death for the panzer?"

"I don't know son. The server won't take it and you know in this cyberworld how bandwidth is all.. By the way have you seen my dad?"

"What. Draper? He's found other younger perter more alluring threads to wax on."

[email protected]! Sprang from his loins I did and he pays lip service to me and then leaves me for a younger sexier thread. Never trust a geordie son. Never trust a geordie!

"Ah Pink. Don't talk like that. Draper's a good man. Just impetuous."

[email protected]!! Where was he when I ws dying of neglect. Down in the boozer supping brown swill. Thats where he was. (extended bout of coughing) I'm tired now Bally. If I don't make it throught the night could you tell Huggy and Pater and Tricky and Con and all the others that an old thread says thank you?

"Don't talk like that old fella. You'll live a while yet."

"Could you go now Bally. I'm tired. Oh and ask the nurse to come in when you go out (wink)."

"Night Pink"

14th Nov 2001, 02:03
"And now, the News At Ten with Peter Sessions."

"Good evening. In the sensational trial at the Old Bailey, all defendants have been found guilty of causing a breach of the peace after a drinking session at the Pink Pussycat-A-Go-Go nightclub in Soho. Sentences passed on all the defendants range from a week's imprisonment to three months. Counsel for the defence, Mr. Trader Owing, described the sentences as 'disappointing' before his departure with Harriet, Lady Wimsey, who was apparently somewhat distraught and emotional. Police were called and assaulted in the worst case of club rage yet recorded in London. Reports that an unidentified newsreader was also present... errrr - Caroline darling, can you please fix the autocue? We go over now to our correspondent Kate Ladie."

[blank screen] Cut back to newsreader

"Anyway, love, as I was saying to Peter Snow yesterday, it's not very romantic just sitting behind a desk. Mind you, with his taste in ties, he'd be sure to get shot as soon as he set foot inside a war zone...."

[Looks up at camera]

"Ah - we'll try to bring you that report later in the programme. The Home Secretary, David Blanket, has announced new measures to curb club rage. When asked what he intended to do to provide counselling for Police Officers suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after being debagged by romantic heroes of fiction, Mr. Blanket refused to answer further questions.

"The list of those involved in the so-called Soho clubrage incident is still growing. A senior judge who was apparently not invited to the party said in court today that it was a great shame since he had always liked the colour pink, and liked seeing Home Secretaries dressed... is this correct?

"Senior Police Officers have denied accusations of favouritism today in their dealings with private detectives who happen to find themselves, through no fault of their own, in custody charged with public order offences. We go over now to our Criminal Correspondent - I'm sorry - that should be our Crime Affairs Correspondent, Joshua Brosenberg."

[crackle hiss zzzzzzzzzzzzzzztttt crackle] Cut back to newsreader

"Well, I thought I'd pee myself when Jimmy and Bunter hit the gas straight through the back wall... - er - I'll get back to you, Caroline love"

Looks up at camera]

"There are unconfirmed reports that the vehicle which was used to demolish a large part of the nightclub has gone missing from the Police Pound. The officer on duty, PC Smethurst, was unavailable for comment, having recently departed for what was described as a 'well-earned' holiday in Barbados. On return, he is expected to take early retirement due to ill-health. The officer in charge of the case, Superintendent Snatcher, told BBC News that reports of Constable Smethurst retiring to a £4m house in Surrey were 'pure speculation'."

"And now over to the Weather Centre for an update by Michael Frish...

Michael? Michael? For heavens' sake, man, put your trousers on..."

[ 13 November 2001: Broadcast edited by: Peter Sessions ]
[ 13 November 2001: Broadcast presented by: Peter Sessions ]
[ 13 November 2001: Studio Production by: Peter Sessions ]
[ 13 November 2001: Executive Editor: Caroline ]

Copyright (c) MMI BBC QED

[ 13 November 2001: Message edited by: HugMonster ]

tony draper
14th Nov 2001, 02:36
"Good god"
"What is it Watson"
"This old book I found Holmes, written by some foreign chap called Nostradamus"
"Well Watson, what has alarmed you about it"
"This Holmes the 93 quatrain"
"Read it to me Watson"


"Err sorry Watson, that doesn't make a lot of sense"
"Hmm, you could be right Holmes, it just sent a shiver up my spine Holmes".
"Medieval nonesence Watson"
"Indeed Holmes ,I wonder how those chaps are getting on with that case we handed over".
"It does seem a lifetime since we came across those tracks Watson, and such a convoluted plot ensued"
"Not confident those chaps will pull it off Holmes, far to many involved"
"You are probably right Watson, what time is it old chap?".
"Not sure Holmes, none of the clocks have been right for months"
"Still, it has been interesting Watson"
Indeed Holmes,Ah! I think I hear Mrs Hudson approaching with our afternoon Earl Grey"
"Hope its strawberry tarts again Watson"
"Indeed Holmes"

Thus far, with rough and all-unable pen,
Our bending author hath pursu'd the story,
In little room confining mighty men,
Mangling by starts the full course of their glory.
Small time, but, in that small, most greatly lived
This star of England. Fortune made his sword;

[ 13 November 2001: Message edited by: tony draper ]

14th Nov 2001, 04:28

Draper steps out into the sunlight, putting on a pair of cheap sunglasses. He looks up and down the crowded street.

People on their way to and from lunch, no doubt.

Cars choke the street in front of the police department as they wait for pedestrians to clear the way.


A single sheet of paper comes out of the fax machine, face down.

149 INT. Hug Monster's office

Fyne still stares at the bulletin board.

SUDDENLY, Fyne's face changes. He leans in closer to the bulletin board and squints his eyes. His face changes again.

First a look of puzzlement, then confusion - finally realization.

The coffee cup tumbles from his hand. It hits the floor with the SMASH of cheap porcelain. Coffee splatters everywhere.

Hug Monster snaps out of his droning and looks up in surprise.

Fyne'S P.O.V.

Fyne is staring not at what is on the bulletin board, but at the bulletin board itself.

His eyes follow the aluminum frame, mounted firmly to the wall. One might note it's sturdy construction and it's convenient size. Big enough to hold a lifetime of forgotten and disregarded notes and facts. Years of police trivia that has been hung and forgotten with the intention of finding a
use for it all someday. One might want such a bulletin board for one's self. One would look to see who makes such a bulletin board.

Fyne's eyes are locked on a metal plate bearing the manufacturer's name.

Fyne's eyes flash all' over the bulletin board. He finds a picture of Hug Monster in the far corner. He stands beside a scale
in fishing gear. He proudly holds a hand out to his freshly caught marlin. His eyes skim quickly over and stop on an eight and a half by eleven inch fax sheet of what must be a
THREE HUNDRED POUND BLACK MAN. Fyne glazes over his name, it is irrelevant. His aliases stand out.

Slavin, BRICKS, Shank, REDFOOT, Thee, Rooster...

Fyne'S EYES WIDEN with sudden realization. He runs for the

His foot crushes the broken pieces of Hug Monster's coffee cup. The cup that hovered over Draper's head for two hours.

Fyne is in too much of a hurry to notice the two words printed on the jagged piece that had been the bottom of the
cheap mug.



Fyne is sprinting wildly down the hall for the stairs.


Draper looks behind him and sees ANOTHER moderator standing just inside the doorway, lighting a cigarette. The moderator notices Draper and watches him in the way that moderators look at people they cannot place in the category of idiot citizen, or stupid criminal.

Draper smiles politely, meekly at the moderator and walks down the steps into the moving throng.

Fyne runs up to the desk where Draper had only moments before picked up his belongings. Hug Monster is right behind him, a look of absolute confusion on his face.


The Cripple? He went that way.


The moderator gestures towards the door.

Fyne runs outside looking around frantically.


Draper limps his way carefully across the sidewalk, avoiding people as best as he can.

He looks over his shoulder, getting farther away from the police station. He can see Hug Monster and the moderator on the steps,
looking around with strange, lost expressions on their faces.

He does not notice the car creeping along the curb beside him.

155 INT. CAR
The driver's hands tap the wheel patiently. His eyes follow Draper as he fumbles through the crowd.


Fyne pushes and shoves, looking this way and that.

LOW ANGLE on the feet of dozens of people.

Draper's feet emerge from the crowd on the far side. They hobble along the curb.

SUDDENLY, the right foot seems to relax a little, the inward angle straightens itself out in a few paces and the limp ceases as though the leg has grown another inch.


Draper's hands are rummaging around in his pockets. The good left hand comes up with a pack of cigarettes, the bad right
hand comes up with a lighter. The right hand flexes with all of the grace and coordination of a sculptor's, flicking the
clasp on the antique lighter with the thumb, striking the flint with the index finger. It is a fluid motion,somewhat showy.

Draper lights a cigarette and smiles to himself. He turns and sees the car running alongside.


Jack Beer pulls the sheet out of the fax machine and turns it over, revealing the composite sketch of Keyser SOZE.

Though crude and distorted, one cannot help but notice how much it looks like Tony Draper.

The car stops. The driver gets out.
IT IS Tricky Woo, or the man we have come to know as such.
He smiles to Tony. Draper steps off of the curb, returning the smile as he opens the passenger door and gets in.

The man called Tricky Woo gets in the driver's seat and pulls away .

A moment later, Agent Danny Fyne of Jet Blast wanders into the frame, looking around much in the way a child would when lost at the circus. He takes no notice of the car
pulling out into traffic, blending in with the rest of the cars filled with people on their way back to work.


Oh God forgive me for nicking the last slot, but I thought it would set Tony straight!

Danny, give the masters another 10 posts to weave their magic.

Unworthy, unworthy, unworthy.

[ 14 November 2001: Message edited by: Eric ]

Bally Heck
14th Sep 2003, 09:54
Threads live so much longer these days don't they. But never so good:{

Ric Capucho
14th Sep 2003, 10:23
Let it go, Mr Bally.


tony draper
14th Sep 2003, 11:04
What blue remembered posts are these
what threads what lines are those,
those are the threads of lost content
I see them shining plain
These are the plot lines that we wrote
and cannot write again.


14th Sep 2003, 18:16
It was definitely something to look forward to, most enjoyable, it was a good un!:ok: