OK it has been suggested to start 2006 Volleyball:
Updated Guidelines:
1. GENRE HOPPING: Just to make things interesting, each new post must switch to a different genre style (i.e., Sci-Fi, Horror, Gumshoe Mystery, Romance, Fantasy, Juvenile, Comedy, Anime/Cartoon, Superheroes, etc.). You must announce that genre at the top of your post, before actually beginning.
2. CONTINUITY: A given post must end abruptly, in mid-story, with ellipses (...) and the next person to post MUST pick up immediately where the previous post left off, using their new genre style - after that, all bets are off. You can steer the story wherever you wish, being as conservative, or as crazy as you desire.
3. TURNS: Participants are not allowed to respond to their own posts - after you post, you must wait for at least 1 other person to post before posting again. If 72 hours have passed and no one else has posted – you may post again. To avoid crossing posts, we'll use a 'token key' system - if the thread appears open, and waiting for a response, post "OK, MY TURN" ... after that, you have up to TWO HOURS to make your post. If more than one hour goes by, it's thrown open to all comers who wish to declare it's THEIR turn. However, if nobody else has claimed the turn by the time your delayed post is ready, then go ahead and post it. Once you have grabbed your turn - for your post simply "edit" your turn lock. Dropped tokens will at some stage be edited out...
4. EFFORT: Don’t trivialize - put a little effort into making your post interesting & entertaining, otherwise there's no point in playing. Be as funny, or as serious as you like. The whole point is to have a little mutual fun bouncing around a constantly evolving plot - like a crowd with a beach ball.
5. LENGTH: There is no minimum or maximum length for any given post - provided you can write it in less than 2 hours.
6. RATING: The forum is essentially PG13 - we will exercise some latitude in this area - but if you wish to cross the line you do so at the risk of censorship!
Scoring Rules:
1] Post count [This is more for keeping an easy eye on active participants]
2] Originality [Has this material been used before on this thread]
3] Continuity [Did this post successfully close on the preceding post]
4] Guideline Breakers [As above - should be obvious]
5] Bonus Points [WOTD, answer to other game (MQG, 20QG, etc...) etc...]
Each post is eligible for 1 point in each category - The idea with category 4] of course is to keep your score low! The person with the most points during a given week can gain a Sherlock point.
The guidelines are just that: a list of recommendations that make the game fun and exciting. The scoring rules are for those who are overly competitive and want to keep score in every thing they do, you don’t want ot know what else they keep score on. If you are not the competitive type just ignore your score, don’t sweet it. Any and all comments to posts should be put in the corresponding 2006 Volleyball Comment thread.
For historical archival purposes, here are links to all previous volleyball threads thus far, in reverse chronological order:
Volleyball 2005 (3 pages)
Volleyball 2005 – Commentary (17 pages)
Volleyball 2004 (5 pgs)
Volleyball 2004 - commentary (27 pgs)
Volleyball 2003 (5 pgs)
Volleyball 2003 - commentary (10 pgs)
We are starting out with a clean sheet of paper; anyone can step up and make the first post.
LET’S HAVE SOME FUN!!!
Volleyball 2006
Moderator: Ghost
Volleyball 2006
Last edited by Ghost on Thu Feb 02, 2006 12:51 pm, edited 1 time in total.
If ye love wealth better than liberty, the tranquility of servitude than the animating contest of freedom, go from us in peace. We ask not your counsels or arms. Crouch down and lick the hands which feed you. May your chains sit lightly upon you,
S Adams
S Adams
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Kvetch
- Sweeper
- Posts: 11844
- Joined: Tue Apr 20, 2004 2:12 pm
- Location: North of the Sun and East of Chaos
- Contact:
GENRE: Bulwer-Lytton (cf Paul Clifford)
It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents--except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in an unnamed and generic big city, so that when we come to try and sell the film rights, movie companies will take it more easily, that our scene lies), rattling along the railings, and fiercely agitating the scanty flares of the hippies that struggled against the darkness (At this point it might be moot to sugest that if the image of hippies in scanty flares, disturbs you even mildly, then you should consider trying to have the author given aversion therapy against writing). Through one of the obscurest and inchoate quarters of this big city, and among haunts little loved by the so called 'gentlemen' of the police, a being, evidently of the lowest circles of hell, was wending his solitary way. He stopped twice or thrice at different shops and houses of a description correspondent with the appearance of the quartier in which they were situated, and tended inquiry for some article or another which did not seem easily to be met with - quite believably since genuine shrunken heads (As shrunk by the Jivaro Indian clans of South America, as opposed to the cheap counterfeit tsantsa churned out by the infernal pits of Minnesota) are not easily obtained from the best of emporia even in the wide light of day. Unsurprisingly considering the time of night, all the answers he received were couched in the negative; and as he turned from each door he muttered to himself, in no very elegant phraseology, his disappointment and discontent (Not that lesser demons are known for the range of their vocabulary at the best of times, and this being was under considerable stress). At length, at one house, the landlord, a sturdy butcher (of what is probably best left uninvestigated, suffice to say that it would have blanched paler than the finest ivory the face of the most hearty of men, and the parlous knowledge of the goings on within that house might well have driven them into flight from the still unnamed town where this scene is set), after rendering the same reply the inquirer had hitherto received, added, "But if this vill do as vell, Bob, it is quite at your sarvice!" (It is, one hopes, unecessary to note that certain dental abnormalities, rather than crass characterisation lead to this particular mode of speech.) Pausing reflectively for a moment, Bob responded that he thought the thing proffered might do as well; and thrusting it into his ample pocket, he strode away with as rapid a motion as the wind and the rain would allow. He soon came to a nest of low and dingy buildings, at the entrance to which, in half-effaced characters, was written "Miskatonic Court." Halting at the most conspicuous of these buildings, an inn or alehouse, through the half-closed windows of which blazed out in ruddy comfort the beams of the hospitable hearth, he knocked hastily at the door. He was admitted by a lady of a certain age, and endowed with a comely rotundity of face and person.
"Hast tha got it, Bob?" said she, in an absurdly false Yorkshire accent, quickly, as she closed the door on the guest...
It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents--except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in an unnamed and generic big city, so that when we come to try and sell the film rights, movie companies will take it more easily, that our scene lies), rattling along the railings, and fiercely agitating the scanty flares of the hippies that struggled against the darkness (At this point it might be moot to sugest that if the image of hippies in scanty flares, disturbs you even mildly, then you should consider trying to have the author given aversion therapy against writing). Through one of the obscurest and inchoate quarters of this big city, and among haunts little loved by the so called 'gentlemen' of the police, a being, evidently of the lowest circles of hell, was wending his solitary way. He stopped twice or thrice at different shops and houses of a description correspondent with the appearance of the quartier in which they were situated, and tended inquiry for some article or another which did not seem easily to be met with - quite believably since genuine shrunken heads (As shrunk by the Jivaro Indian clans of South America, as opposed to the cheap counterfeit tsantsa churned out by the infernal pits of Minnesota) are not easily obtained from the best of emporia even in the wide light of day. Unsurprisingly considering the time of night, all the answers he received were couched in the negative; and as he turned from each door he muttered to himself, in no very elegant phraseology, his disappointment and discontent (Not that lesser demons are known for the range of their vocabulary at the best of times, and this being was under considerable stress). At length, at one house, the landlord, a sturdy butcher (of what is probably best left uninvestigated, suffice to say that it would have blanched paler than the finest ivory the face of the most hearty of men, and the parlous knowledge of the goings on within that house might well have driven them into flight from the still unnamed town where this scene is set), after rendering the same reply the inquirer had hitherto received, added, "But if this vill do as vell, Bob, it is quite at your sarvice!" (It is, one hopes, unecessary to note that certain dental abnormalities, rather than crass characterisation lead to this particular mode of speech.) Pausing reflectively for a moment, Bob responded that he thought the thing proffered might do as well; and thrusting it into his ample pocket, he strode away with as rapid a motion as the wind and the rain would allow. He soon came to a nest of low and dingy buildings, at the entrance to which, in half-effaced characters, was written "Miskatonic Court." Halting at the most conspicuous of these buildings, an inn or alehouse, through the half-closed windows of which blazed out in ruddy comfort the beams of the hospitable hearth, he knocked hastily at the door. He was admitted by a lady of a certain age, and endowed with a comely rotundity of face and person.
"Hast tha got it, Bob?" said she, in an absurdly false Yorkshire accent, quickly, as she closed the door on the guest...
"I'm the family radical. The rest are terribly stuffy. Aside from Aunt - she's just odd."
Style: Dumas plus some amazingly amusing alliteration
"Hast tha got it, Bob?" said she, in an absurdly false Yorkshire accent, quickly, as she closed the door on the guest. "Not precisely, but something that will do as well," he snapped. "And that ridiculous accent ceased to amuse a soul at least two weeks hence. Do us all a favor and desist immediately."
"You voice the thought that has been on my lips for nearly a lifetime," hissed a soft voice from the darkness within. The guest started abruptly, then harshly barked a reply. "My lord! This is not quite the thing. Tonight, of all times..."
"Ah, clearly you have percieved the import of this undertaking. I am delighted at your grasp of the gravity of the situation."
The sodden stranger in the doorway produced his purchase from his prodigious pocket. "But you speak falsely, sir. I assure you that this fellow has not had the least intercourse with the grave."
"How, not? You cannot doubt his expression is uncommonly grave, for one so lucky as to have been invited to one of our prestigious gatherings."
We must now turn our gazes to the remarkable building in which we find our hero. Though dimly lit, the glow of a few candles sufficed, had the reader been present, to garner the impression of a vast but decrepit hall. Furniture was scattered about seemingly haphazardly, disparate pieces speaking of unnumbered years of accumulation.
Into this shadowy cavern stepped the guest, who, had a decent observer been present, would have been percieved as resembling nothing so much as a drowned rat. "Now, dear sir, I am delighted by your dizzy repartee -- but truly, tonight's undertaking is of great import. By what right do you present yourself here and how do you presume to meddle in our arcane affairs?"
The voice, now clearly ussuing from a dim form at an unlit table, replied...
"Hast tha got it, Bob?" said she, in an absurdly false Yorkshire accent, quickly, as she closed the door on the guest. "Not precisely, but something that will do as well," he snapped. "And that ridiculous accent ceased to amuse a soul at least two weeks hence. Do us all a favor and desist immediately."
"You voice the thought that has been on my lips for nearly a lifetime," hissed a soft voice from the darkness within. The guest started abruptly, then harshly barked a reply. "My lord! This is not quite the thing. Tonight, of all times..."
"Ah, clearly you have percieved the import of this undertaking. I am delighted at your grasp of the gravity of the situation."
The sodden stranger in the doorway produced his purchase from his prodigious pocket. "But you speak falsely, sir. I assure you that this fellow has not had the least intercourse with the grave."
"How, not? You cannot doubt his expression is uncommonly grave, for one so lucky as to have been invited to one of our prestigious gatherings."
We must now turn our gazes to the remarkable building in which we find our hero. Though dimly lit, the glow of a few candles sufficed, had the reader been present, to garner the impression of a vast but decrepit hall. Furniture was scattered about seemingly haphazardly, disparate pieces speaking of unnumbered years of accumulation.
Into this shadowy cavern stepped the guest, who, had a decent observer been present, would have been percieved as resembling nothing so much as a drowned rat. "Now, dear sir, I am delighted by your dizzy repartee -- but truly, tonight's undertaking is of great import. By what right do you present yourself here and how do you presume to meddle in our arcane affairs?"
The voice, now clearly ussuing from a dim form at an unlit table, replied...
[url=http://www.iblist.com/users/profile_view.php?id=3663]iblist profile[/url]
The voice, now clearly ussuing from a dim form at an unlit table, replied...
[Genre – operetta aria a la Gilbert and Sullivan, sung to the tune of A Modern Major General]
I am the very model of a modern imp atemporal
I've come from future hells to make your sordid lives more amoral
We’ll have a little fun tonight of ilk Mephistophelean
Your foes we will turn into something ugly and amphibian
I'm very well acquainted, too, with evil matters magical
I know my incantations, both the simple and quadratical
I’ve met the famous witches, and I quote their spells historical
From Medea to Sabrina, in order categorical
From Medea to Sabrina, in order categorical
From Medea to Sabrina, in order categorical
From Medea to Sabrina, in order categorical
I'm very good at integral and differential calculus
That helps invoke the curses made infamous by old Aeschylus
In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral
I am the very model of a modern imp atemporal
In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral
He is the very model of a modern imp atemporal
I know our magic history, from Morgan to Hermione
No exorcist will find me out, of that you have my guarantee
For teachers Hecate suggested studies of the weird sisters
I listen to them still on this device that uses transistors
I quote the prime locations of the portals to the underworld
And soon we’ll see the day when our dark standard can be unfurled
My victims have all tended to be secular new humanists
The world, you know, will soon be run by nothing but the Satanists
The world, you know, will soon be run by nothing but the Satanists
The world, you know, will soon be run by nothing but the Satanists
The world, you know, will soon be run by nothing but the Satanists
I won’t repeat the errors of that nephew of our great Screwtape
No my temptees won’t have even the slightest chance for an escape
In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral
I am the very model of a modern imp atemporal
In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral
He is the very model of a modern imp atemporal
You may be wond’ring why I asked you for a shrunken human pate
You’ll learn my motto is to always be prepared to desecrate
Indeed I’ll start you on a journey down the glorious “Left Hand path"
A few more spells and soon you’ll know the joys of ev’ry psychopath
Yes I have learnt what progress has been made in modern deviltry
And I know more of tactics than a tempter in a nunnery
I’ve even had a smattering of thaumaturgic strategy
You'll see a better imp has never written up an elegy
You'll see a better imp has never written up an elegy
You'll see a better imp has never written up an elegy
You'll see a better imp has never written up an elegy
I’ve so much tempting knowledge, that’s been stuffed into my cranium
It’s everything we’ve learned right through the end of the millennium
And so, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral
I am the very model of a modern imp atemporal
And so, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral
He is the very model of a modern imp atemporal
With this suddenly many things became clear to our hero . . .
[Genre – operetta aria a la Gilbert and Sullivan, sung to the tune of A Modern Major General]
I am the very model of a modern imp atemporal
I've come from future hells to make your sordid lives more amoral
We’ll have a little fun tonight of ilk Mephistophelean
Your foes we will turn into something ugly and amphibian
I'm very well acquainted, too, with evil matters magical
I know my incantations, both the simple and quadratical
I’ve met the famous witches, and I quote their spells historical
From Medea to Sabrina, in order categorical
From Medea to Sabrina, in order categorical
From Medea to Sabrina, in order categorical
From Medea to Sabrina, in order categorical
I'm very good at integral and differential calculus
That helps invoke the curses made infamous by old Aeschylus
In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral
I am the very model of a modern imp atemporal
In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral
He is the very model of a modern imp atemporal
I know our magic history, from Morgan to Hermione
No exorcist will find me out, of that you have my guarantee
For teachers Hecate suggested studies of the weird sisters
I listen to them still on this device that uses transistors
I quote the prime locations of the portals to the underworld
And soon we’ll see the day when our dark standard can be unfurled
My victims have all tended to be secular new humanists
The world, you know, will soon be run by nothing but the Satanists
The world, you know, will soon be run by nothing but the Satanists
The world, you know, will soon be run by nothing but the Satanists
The world, you know, will soon be run by nothing but the Satanists
I won’t repeat the errors of that nephew of our great Screwtape
No my temptees won’t have even the slightest chance for an escape
In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral
I am the very model of a modern imp atemporal
In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral
He is the very model of a modern imp atemporal
You may be wond’ring why I asked you for a shrunken human pate
You’ll learn my motto is to always be prepared to desecrate
Indeed I’ll start you on a journey down the glorious “Left Hand path"
A few more spells and soon you’ll know the joys of ev’ry psychopath
Yes I have learnt what progress has been made in modern deviltry
And I know more of tactics than a tempter in a nunnery
I’ve even had a smattering of thaumaturgic strategy
You'll see a better imp has never written up an elegy
You'll see a better imp has never written up an elegy
You'll see a better imp has never written up an elegy
You'll see a better imp has never written up an elegy
I’ve so much tempting knowledge, that’s been stuffed into my cranium
It’s everything we’ve learned right through the end of the millennium
And so, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral
I am the very model of a modern imp atemporal
And so, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral
He is the very model of a modern imp atemporal
With this suddenly many things became clear to our hero . . .
Last edited by clong on Tue Apr 18, 2006 12:21 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Kvetch
- Sweeper
- Posts: 11844
- Joined: Tue Apr 20, 2004 2:12 pm
- Location: North of the Sun and East of Chaos
- Contact:
[GENRE: Random Superman reference (sadly, no real genre at all.)]
With this suddenly many things became clear to our hero - an unfortunate side effect of having BSAXV - Bad Song Activated X-ray Vision.
Clearly revealed among the suddenly crystalline chairs and tables, lounged a tall gentleman wearing an impeccablely pressed pinstripe suit and sporting a pair of unobtrusive horns (The Saville Row look had recently replaced the inchoate blob of writhing flesh look among the upper echelons of hell, much to the releif of this particular individual).
"I see that you do retain your rather unusual ability - that is good" the lounger continued "We were worried that the destuction of that damn planet, Xenon, would cause you to spontaneously generate a new set of demonic super-powers. But obviously your X-ray vision is still fully working, if activated oddly"
The visage of our hero darkened with no little anger at this mockery, but no sane being would go against a denizen of the 7th circle of Hades.
"Yes, my lord, Bob here retains his rather unusual abilities, and he is perfect for our plan" the hissing voice interjected. Bob's eyes jerked across to where the voice was coming from, and as always he wished he hadn't, because...
With this suddenly many things became clear to our hero - an unfortunate side effect of having BSAXV - Bad Song Activated X-ray Vision.
Clearly revealed among the suddenly crystalline chairs and tables, lounged a tall gentleman wearing an impeccablely pressed pinstripe suit and sporting a pair of unobtrusive horns (The Saville Row look had recently replaced the inchoate blob of writhing flesh look among the upper echelons of hell, much to the releif of this particular individual).
"I see that you do retain your rather unusual ability - that is good" the lounger continued "We were worried that the destuction of that damn planet, Xenon, would cause you to spontaneously generate a new set of demonic super-powers. But obviously your X-ray vision is still fully working, if activated oddly"
The visage of our hero darkened with no little anger at this mockery, but no sane being would go against a denizen of the 7th circle of Hades.
"Yes, my lord, Bob here retains his rather unusual abilities, and he is perfect for our plan" the hissing voice interjected. Bob's eyes jerked across to where the voice was coming from, and as always he wished he hadn't, because...
"I'm the family radical. The rest are terribly stuffy. Aside from Aunt - she's just odd."
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Sean Whitton
- Legionnaire
- Posts: 3576
- Joined: Thu Aug 05, 2004 1:35 pm
- Location: Booktown, L-space
- Contact:
[ GENRE: Corporate Blah (for lack of a better name for it) ]
. . . one of the concomitant of this modus operandi was the exodus of his eyes from his crown as the ebullience burgeoning betwixt his constitution could only obtain its eschewal by making use of his eyes that hung junior to the solstice that might habitually be corresponded with his brand. He had made many exertions to oust this affliction from himself, for fellows excoriate this in his forbearance of their mien, which was a divertissement of his which he had stalked for a right smart spell. Solicitous about what those around him at this moment in the eternal chronology of the multiverse might project of him, for he was afraid that his opportunity would be wasted, and that he would not be voluntarily gifted with the chance again. Vehemently, he made arrondi to assume a more felicitous position enamored with his hapless efforts to do better, as he promptly fell into syncope as the liquid about him forced his submissal…
[Ghost: edited out comments of how did I do?]
. . . one of the concomitant of this modus operandi was the exodus of his eyes from his crown as the ebullience burgeoning betwixt his constitution could only obtain its eschewal by making use of his eyes that hung junior to the solstice that might habitually be corresponded with his brand. He had made many exertions to oust this affliction from himself, for fellows excoriate this in his forbearance of their mien, which was a divertissement of his which he had stalked for a right smart spell. Solicitous about what those around him at this moment in the eternal chronology of the multiverse might project of him, for he was afraid that his opportunity would be wasted, and that he would not be voluntarily gifted with the chance again. Vehemently, he made arrondi to assume a more felicitous position enamored with his hapless efforts to do better, as he promptly fell into syncope as the liquid about him forced his submissal…
[Ghost: edited out comments of how did I do?]
Formerly known as 'Xyrael'.
[url=http://en.wikipedia.org/]Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia[/url]
[url=http://en.wikipedia.org/]Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia[/url]
-
Sean Whitton
- Legionnaire
- Posts: 3576
- Joined: Thu Aug 05, 2004 1:35 pm
- Location: Booktown, L-space
- Contact:
[Genre - Terry Practchett (Attempt)]
...which was really getting on his nerves. Slipping quietly out and into the throng of the city, A86 soon realised that his task was going to be more difficult than he thought - he had no idea where the ambiguous 'usual location' was. To make matters worse, he also didn't know who he was working for, or what his name was, or why he was slipping into the throng. Confused, our hero travelled on. High up on a nearby tower, a small blue orb sizzled in the hands of a wizened old mage. The memory-wiping spell had worked perfectly, but now he had the difficult task of destroying the orb. It was a tricky little thing that was very good at breaking out spontaneously and giving the knowledge to someone else. The mage carefully picked up the orb and wrapped it in a thick navy blue cloth, before getting up and banging his head on a conveniently placed beam. The orb loosened itself and fell away into the crowd, until it suddenly landed on the head of the unsuspecting and still wandering A86. All was well, except he still didn't know the location of the 'usual place'. Wandering back to the town centre, he headed for the secret hideout. "The tall whale swims no earthly seas," he began to the doorkeeper who had an incredibly large nose. In fact, it was so large that the society had been forced to install a new window on the door so that he could see out at all. This being responded with a hearty "the small quote posts not on the fora." Continuing on, A86 countered with "a high post sees not the sky it reaches for." The door opened smoothly, completely ignoring its watchman's cries of alarm as he was slowly pulped against the unforgiving stone wall. Entering the semi-gloom, our hero paused...
...which was really getting on his nerves. Slipping quietly out and into the throng of the city, A86 soon realised that his task was going to be more difficult than he thought - he had no idea where the ambiguous 'usual location' was. To make matters worse, he also didn't know who he was working for, or what his name was, or why he was slipping into the throng. Confused, our hero travelled on. High up on a nearby tower, a small blue orb sizzled in the hands of a wizened old mage. The memory-wiping spell had worked perfectly, but now he had the difficult task of destroying the orb. It was a tricky little thing that was very good at breaking out spontaneously and giving the knowledge to someone else. The mage carefully picked up the orb and wrapped it in a thick navy blue cloth, before getting up and banging his head on a conveniently placed beam. The orb loosened itself and fell away into the crowd, until it suddenly landed on the head of the unsuspecting and still wandering A86. All was well, except he still didn't know the location of the 'usual place'. Wandering back to the town centre, he headed for the secret hideout. "The tall whale swims no earthly seas," he began to the doorkeeper who had an incredibly large nose. In fact, it was so large that the society had been forced to install a new window on the door so that he could see out at all. This being responded with a hearty "the small quote posts not on the fora." Continuing on, A86 countered with "a high post sees not the sky it reaches for." The door opened smoothly, completely ignoring its watchman's cries of alarm as he was slowly pulped against the unforgiving stone wall. Entering the semi-gloom, our hero paused...
Entering the semi-gloom, our hero paused...
. . . in the doorway, only to be crushed as the building that housed the aforementioned secret hideout was struck by a small meteorite and smashed into oblivion. Fortunately the only partly dissolved memory orb was dislodged from his brain by the force of the blow delivered by the falling door beam. The orb fell into the gutter, rolled into a nearby storm sewer, and landed in a pile of rotting trash, where it was eaten by a hungry and not-too-bright wandering rattus norvegicus named Hortense.
[genre – Willard meets Duncton Wood]
Hortense stopped, momentarily stunned, as her rat consciousness merged with the heightened awareness of the time traveling assassin. Then she went back to nibbling on the rancid greasy refuse.
A86s memories gradually infused into the brain of our unlikely new heroine. Her first conscious thought was “this does create complicationsâ€
. . . in the doorway, only to be crushed as the building that housed the aforementioned secret hideout was struck by a small meteorite and smashed into oblivion. Fortunately the only partly dissolved memory orb was dislodged from his brain by the force of the blow delivered by the falling door beam. The orb fell into the gutter, rolled into a nearby storm sewer, and landed in a pile of rotting trash, where it was eaten by a hungry and not-too-bright wandering rattus norvegicus named Hortense.
[genre – Willard meets Duncton Wood]
Hortense stopped, momentarily stunned, as her rat consciousness merged with the heightened awareness of the time traveling assassin. Then she went back to nibbling on the rancid greasy refuse.
A86s memories gradually infused into the brain of our unlikely new heroine. Her first conscious thought was “this does create complicationsâ€
GENRE: Rats of Nimh
...the once dingy, pitiful dwelling had been virtually transformed. Where piles of various feces had once lain emitting rancid stench were floors polished to a high sheen; the ancient car tire stuffed with refuse that had once served as his bed was gone and had been replaced with plush furnishings of almost regal elegance. There were three large reading chairs with footstools and lamps. A long sofa with several cushions placed strategically along its inviting flank. Countless hardcover volumes lined the once-nondescript concrete walls, as well as several oil canvasses depicting scenes of nature so beautific they almost arrested her heart. Dominating the entire chamber was an enormous desk of mahogany piled with masses of scrolls, arcane quill and ink, more books, and various parchments covered with a spidery, other-worldly cursive. Translucent panels embedded in the walls cast forth greenish light that soothed her anxiety and filled her with new-found optimism.
“You have returned,â€
...the once dingy, pitiful dwelling had been virtually transformed. Where piles of various feces had once lain emitting rancid stench were floors polished to a high sheen; the ancient car tire stuffed with refuse that had once served as his bed was gone and had been replaced with plush furnishings of almost regal elegance. There were three large reading chairs with footstools and lamps. A long sofa with several cushions placed strategically along its inviting flank. Countless hardcover volumes lined the once-nondescript concrete walls, as well as several oil canvasses depicting scenes of nature so beautific they almost arrested her heart. Dominating the entire chamber was an enormous desk of mahogany piled with masses of scrolls, arcane quill and ink, more books, and various parchments covered with a spidery, other-worldly cursive. Translucent panels embedded in the walls cast forth greenish light that soothed her anxiety and filled her with new-found optimism.
“You have returned,â€
Colourless green ideas sleep furiously
She spun, heart racing, and was greeted with the sight of…
(genre - Dr Seuss parody)
The Rat in the Hat!
And he said to me, "Why do you stand there like that?"
"I know it is dry and your midden’s not scummy.
But disease is less likely this way, you big dummy!
I will teach you of hygiene," said the giant rat.
"And where to find gouda," said the Rat in the Hat.
“I know of your mission to get the mad man.
and I know some good tricks I will help you to plan."
As confused as I was I knew not what to say.
For I had been ratty much less than a day.
But a part of me said, "No! No! this is too strange
Am I sure he’s not aiming my mind to derange?â€
(genre - Dr Seuss parody)
The Rat in the Hat!
And he said to me, "Why do you stand there like that?"
"I know it is dry and your midden’s not scummy.
But disease is less likely this way, you big dummy!
I will teach you of hygiene," said the giant rat.
"And where to find gouda," said the Rat in the Hat.
“I know of your mission to get the mad man.
and I know some good tricks I will help you to plan."
As confused as I was I knew not what to say.
For I had been ratty much less than a day.
But a part of me said, "No! No! this is too strange
Am I sure he’s not aiming my mind to derange?â€
…gone like a rat being chased by a cat! Or a cat told to scat by a very BIG rat…(or perhaps like a rambler fleeing his flat, wife following closely and swinging a bat - or a gatling gun, maybe: rat-a-tat-tat!) 
Without further chat A86 sat on a mat and examined weapons left by the rat…
GENRE: The Da Vinci Code
At a glance, the first item appeared to be a simple wooden staff, but then A86’s eyes seized upon arcane markings along its flank. Good Lord! she thought. Cuneiform! The ancient language of the Mesopotamians, their famed civilization nestled between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, known in combination with the Egyptian civilization as The Fertile Crescent, in the beginning peopled with the Sumerians followed by the Assyrians and the Babylonians!
She sombered, thinking of all the terrible misconceptions the world carried concerning the Mesopotamians. It was a crushing sorrow she had carried all of her professional life - even some of her amateur life. The Code of Hammurabi, for example: widely believed to be a set of ancient laws inscribed on an eight-foot stela of black diorite, named after the ruling King. Only a handful of scholars and bathroom-fetish-enthusiasts worldwide were aware that its true title was The Commode of Rammurhapi – a graphic, often visceral record chronicling the carnal escapades of the King’s rakish younger brother in the restroom facilities of the royal palace.
Though hardly a paragon of virtue even by ancient standards, Rammurhapi had nonetheless been a man of considerable ingenuity – designing and crafting the earliest known versions of what became modern bathroom bidets. It was no coincidence that one of his favourite consorts had been named Bidette, and that repeated references were made in the chronicle to her daring and experimental nature. No doubt she had been a muse of more than one sort to the young sibling Royal.
I guess they were good at making staffs too, A86 thought.
She hefted it, felt the weight, then carried it over to the mahogany desk to try and decipher the script. For a long moment she scrutinized it, then picked up one of the quills and scrawled her translation on a scrap piece of parchment:
Sangreal Oatmeal tastes good with just a dash of Cilice
She frowned. This was not what she had expected. She looked again, and was relieved to see additional writing further along the surface. Quickly, she translated once more, scribbling again:
In London studies a Doctor a Dean approved
A86 felt her heartbeat quicken. Could the “doctorâ€
Without further chat A86 sat on a mat and examined weapons left by the rat…
GENRE: The Da Vinci Code
At a glance, the first item appeared to be a simple wooden staff, but then A86’s eyes seized upon arcane markings along its flank. Good Lord! she thought. Cuneiform! The ancient language of the Mesopotamians, their famed civilization nestled between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, known in combination with the Egyptian civilization as The Fertile Crescent, in the beginning peopled with the Sumerians followed by the Assyrians and the Babylonians!
She sombered, thinking of all the terrible misconceptions the world carried concerning the Mesopotamians. It was a crushing sorrow she had carried all of her professional life - even some of her amateur life. The Code of Hammurabi, for example: widely believed to be a set of ancient laws inscribed on an eight-foot stela of black diorite, named after the ruling King. Only a handful of scholars and bathroom-fetish-enthusiasts worldwide were aware that its true title was The Commode of Rammurhapi – a graphic, often visceral record chronicling the carnal escapades of the King’s rakish younger brother in the restroom facilities of the royal palace.
Though hardly a paragon of virtue even by ancient standards, Rammurhapi had nonetheless been a man of considerable ingenuity – designing and crafting the earliest known versions of what became modern bathroom bidets. It was no coincidence that one of his favourite consorts had been named Bidette, and that repeated references were made in the chronicle to her daring and experimental nature. No doubt she had been a muse of more than one sort to the young sibling Royal.
I guess they were good at making staffs too, A86 thought.
She hefted it, felt the weight, then carried it over to the mahogany desk to try and decipher the script. For a long moment she scrutinized it, then picked up one of the quills and scrawled her translation on a scrap piece of parchment:
Sangreal Oatmeal tastes good with just a dash of Cilice
She frowned. This was not what she had expected. She looked again, and was relieved to see additional writing further along the surface. Quickly, she translated once more, scribbling again:
In London studies a Doctor a Dean approved
A86 felt her heartbeat quicken. Could the “doctorâ€
Colourless green ideas sleep furiously
-
Kvetch
- Sweeper
- Posts: 11844
- Joined: Tue Apr 20, 2004 2:12 pm
- Location: North of the Sun and East of Chaos
- Contact:
Curious to examine the other weapons, she returned to the mat, and…
[Genre: Tom Clancy (and a little plagiarism)]
...picked up a delicious confection of stainless steel and kevlar. It was a Kilgore VLA .36 - hand made by artisian smiths is Saxony, the highly polished rifled bore making it supremely accurate out to 300 metres. The depleted unobtanium slugs make it a fight stopper, even through full body armour at the limit of accuracy.
When set to full auto, it is capable of up to 20rps, but that rate of fire will eat into the relatively small 100 bullet magazine very fast - it is best used in semi-auto or single shot if you want to be able to move with it, although if you hook it up to the optional autofeeder, it is as good as a fixed emplacement machine gun any day.
This one was fitted with all the options - laser sighting and IR target tracking, palm-print recognition system, integral grenade launcher with voice and manual switchover between frag, gas, smoke and EMP. Not to mention the crocodile leather grip (the secret of the tanning known only by shamans of an obsure amazonian tribe).
Although, considering that it was scaled down to rat size, it might not have much effect on Dr. Kvetch - but it'd reduce his cat to pulp. Pity there were only a few cases of ammo.
A86 put the gun down regretfully, and moved on to the next item...
[Genre: Tom Clancy (and a little plagiarism)]
...picked up a delicious confection of stainless steel and kevlar. It was a Kilgore VLA .36 - hand made by artisian smiths is Saxony, the highly polished rifled bore making it supremely accurate out to 300 metres. The depleted unobtanium slugs make it a fight stopper, even through full body armour at the limit of accuracy.
When set to full auto, it is capable of up to 20rps, but that rate of fire will eat into the relatively small 100 bullet magazine very fast - it is best used in semi-auto or single shot if you want to be able to move with it, although if you hook it up to the optional autofeeder, it is as good as a fixed emplacement machine gun any day.
This one was fitted with all the options - laser sighting and IR target tracking, palm-print recognition system, integral grenade launcher with voice and manual switchover between frag, gas, smoke and EMP. Not to mention the crocodile leather grip (the secret of the tanning known only by shamans of an obsure amazonian tribe).
Although, considering that it was scaled down to rat size, it might not have much effect on Dr. Kvetch - but it'd reduce his cat to pulp. Pity there were only a few cases of ammo.
A86 put the gun down regretfully, and moved on to the next item...
"I'm the family radical. The rest are terribly stuffy. Aside from Aunt - she's just odd."
A86 put the gun down regretfully, and moved on to the next item...
[genre – Heather Gladney]
To my surprise it was a pair of miniature rat-sized scaddas. Perfectly balanced, I noted with approval as I lifted the blades. I narrowed my eyes to deeper slits. Scaddas were weapons that I knew well. Master Kilti had despaired that I would ever gain the dispassionate serenity of a Master of Scaddas. But in the end he had pronounced me a worthy pupil, the most stubborn Sati of Scaddas to ever leave his training, I remembered with a snort.
Suddenly I felt icily and utterly sober. No I thought. Not here! My hands and feet went numb. Tiny pinpoints of light reflected off of the blades of scaddas, illuminating a fog of dust motes in the air. These tiny swirling seed points of brilliance grew larger with frightening speed, whirling outward and opening as they blazed, aureoles spinning in my inner sight. Coruscating fire flared wider, triggering a vision of an avalanche of enveloping fog, a vision of white death rolling through the air, inexorable and inescapable.
“Noâ€
[genre – Heather Gladney]
To my surprise it was a pair of miniature rat-sized scaddas. Perfectly balanced, I noted with approval as I lifted the blades. I narrowed my eyes to deeper slits. Scaddas were weapons that I knew well. Master Kilti had despaired that I would ever gain the dispassionate serenity of a Master of Scaddas. But in the end he had pronounced me a worthy pupil, the most stubborn Sati of Scaddas to ever leave his training, I remembered with a snort.
Suddenly I felt icily and utterly sober. No I thought. Not here! My hands and feet went numb. Tiny pinpoints of light reflected off of the blades of scaddas, illuminating a fog of dust motes in the air. These tiny swirling seed points of brilliance grew larger with frightening speed, whirling outward and opening as they blazed, aureoles spinning in my inner sight. Coruscating fire flared wider, triggering a vision of an avalanche of enveloping fog, a vision of white death rolling through the air, inexorable and inescapable.
“Noâ€
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Kvetch
- Sweeper
- Posts: 11844
- Joined: Tue Apr 20, 2004 2:12 pm
- Location: North of the Sun and East of Chaos
- Contact:
[Genre: Story references]
Galvanized, I leapt to my feet, and… gently concussed myself on a lowhanging beam.
After the pretty tweety birds had gone away, I stood up, more carefully this time, and resolved to try and remember that the holes where rats live are not generally designed for leaping in - nor, indeed, are rats. If I'd wanted to leap, I should have had my mind merged with a squirrel - or instead perhaps a perch or a wild goose. Any of them would would be faster than a rat - although perhaps less well suited to travelling through early twenty-first century London.
Wrapping up the various items the mysterious Rat in the Hat had given me in the mat, and securing the mat to the end of the cueniform staff I tried to whistle - but rats are obviously not made to whistle. As I was about to leave the chamber, to seek the world above, I though for a moment I heard the church bells of London chiming out turn back Agent Eighty Six, thrice times king of assassins. Had I forgotten something?
Oh, yes, my towel - to go time travelling without a towel is the height of foolishness, and it seems it has managed to travel with my psyche into rat format - so now I have a nice rat sized towel, with a bit of wire woven in, and the corners soaked with vitamins.
Picking it up, I scuttled up and out of that ancient chamber. Some time later, I emerged into, if not the bright light of day, at least into the light of day. The sky above london was the colour of a television tuned ot a dead channel, then put through a yellow filter.
Looking around me, my eyes widened, as ...
Galvanized, I leapt to my feet, and… gently concussed myself on a lowhanging beam.
After the pretty tweety birds had gone away, I stood up, more carefully this time, and resolved to try and remember that the holes where rats live are not generally designed for leaping in - nor, indeed, are rats. If I'd wanted to leap, I should have had my mind merged with a squirrel - or instead perhaps a perch or a wild goose. Any of them would would be faster than a rat - although perhaps less well suited to travelling through early twenty-first century London.
Wrapping up the various items the mysterious Rat in the Hat had given me in the mat, and securing the mat to the end of the cueniform staff I tried to whistle - but rats are obviously not made to whistle. As I was about to leave the chamber, to seek the world above, I though for a moment I heard the church bells of London chiming out turn back Agent Eighty Six, thrice times king of assassins. Had I forgotten something?
Oh, yes, my towel - to go time travelling without a towel is the height of foolishness, and it seems it has managed to travel with my psyche into rat format - so now I have a nice rat sized towel, with a bit of wire woven in, and the corners soaked with vitamins.
Picking it up, I scuttled up and out of that ancient chamber. Some time later, I emerged into, if not the bright light of day, at least into the light of day. The sky above london was the colour of a television tuned ot a dead channel, then put through a yellow filter.
Looking around me, my eyes widened, as ...
"I'm the family radical. The rest are terribly stuffy. Aside from Aunt - she's just odd."
Looking around me, my eyes widened, as ... I saw a strangely familiar looking cat and a dog approaching me.
[Genre – Shakespearean drama]
CAT
What strange rodent is that? It can report,
As seemeth by its state, of our survey
The latest news.
DOG
This is the good agent
Who like a wise and hardy spy essayed
To locate our fell prey. Hail, plucky friend!
Say to this Cat the knowledge of the hunt
As thou didst leave it.
RAT
Auspicious it seems;
As Nimrod, that relentless does hunt down
And end his victims. The wise Hatted Rat--
Worthy to be a wizard, for to him
The powerful elements of nature
Do swarm in glory--from the far sewers
With fair and wondrous weapons me supplied;
As fortune, on his damned bonnet smiling,
Show'd like a rebel's whore: but all's not well:
For we brave beasts--well we deserve that name--
Disdaining fortune, with this brandish'd steel,
Cannot smite our bloody execution,
Like valour's minions carving our passage
Till we locate the sinestral scholar;
Which skulks in the shadowy shelved stacks
Of speculative tomes Imperial,
Nor fix his head upon our battlements.
CAT
O valiant rodent! glorious vermin!
RAT
Yet ere his evil plans canst be challeng’d
Expeditious conveyance ‘cross the town
Must be procur’d, lest these small pedes with
Discomfort swell. Masters of camouflage:
No sooner justice can with valiant arms
Deliver’d be than our hasty transit,
Come! The bookish rogue’s surveying vantage,
With furbish'd arms and new supplies of books
We must anon assault.
CAT
Surpris’d by this
Our target, Kvetch, will most certainly be!
RAT
As doves by eagles, or hares by lions.
If I say sooth, I must report that we
These weapons should survey ere attacking.
Our foe I mean to bathe in reeking wounds,
Or memorise another Golgotha,
But I am tired, my sore feet cry for help.
Cat! Hail that hack our party to transport.
CAT
So well thy words become thee as our chief;
They smack of honours soon to be. Taxi!
Exuent all
[Genre – Shakespearean drama]
CAT
What strange rodent is that? It can report,
As seemeth by its state, of our survey
The latest news.
DOG
This is the good agent
Who like a wise and hardy spy essayed
To locate our fell prey. Hail, plucky friend!
Say to this Cat the knowledge of the hunt
As thou didst leave it.
RAT
Auspicious it seems;
As Nimrod, that relentless does hunt down
And end his victims. The wise Hatted Rat--
Worthy to be a wizard, for to him
The powerful elements of nature
Do swarm in glory--from the far sewers
With fair and wondrous weapons me supplied;
As fortune, on his damned bonnet smiling,
Show'd like a rebel's whore: but all's not well:
For we brave beasts--well we deserve that name--
Disdaining fortune, with this brandish'd steel,
Cannot smite our bloody execution,
Like valour's minions carving our passage
Till we locate the sinestral scholar;
Which skulks in the shadowy shelved stacks
Of speculative tomes Imperial,
Nor fix his head upon our battlements.
CAT
O valiant rodent! glorious vermin!
RAT
Yet ere his evil plans canst be challeng’d
Expeditious conveyance ‘cross the town
Must be procur’d, lest these small pedes with
Discomfort swell. Masters of camouflage:
No sooner justice can with valiant arms
Deliver’d be than our hasty transit,
Come! The bookish rogue’s surveying vantage,
With furbish'd arms and new supplies of books
We must anon assault.
CAT
Surpris’d by this
Our target, Kvetch, will most certainly be!
RAT
As doves by eagles, or hares by lions.
If I say sooth, I must report that we
These weapons should survey ere attacking.
Our foe I mean to bathe in reeking wounds,
Or memorise another Golgotha,
But I am tired, my sore feet cry for help.
Cat! Hail that hack our party to transport.
CAT
So well thy words become thee as our chief;
They smack of honours soon to be. Taxi!
Exuent all
GENRE: Cockney Dystopian
The sky remained the colour of a television, tuned to a dead channel – the ephemeral yellow filter now fading and replaced with subtle greenish tinges of post-mortem decomposition. Bollocks to colour bars.
Back curving in a practiced arch and tail undulating breakdancer-worm-fashion, Cat sauntered toward the curb, feline wiles tuned to maximum efficiency as she scoped the rain-splattered London street for proximate cabbies. Rat and Dog skulked back under the crumbling overhang of a long-abandoned existentialist bookshop, its hung-askew door sign stating “Remain Fishingâ€
The sky remained the colour of a television, tuned to a dead channel – the ephemeral yellow filter now fading and replaced with subtle greenish tinges of post-mortem decomposition. Bollocks to colour bars.
Back curving in a practiced arch and tail undulating breakdancer-worm-fashion, Cat sauntered toward the curb, feline wiles tuned to maximum efficiency as she scoped the rain-splattered London street for proximate cabbies. Rat and Dog skulked back under the crumbling overhang of a long-abandoned existentialist bookshop, its hung-askew door sign stating “Remain Fishingâ€
Colourless green ideas sleep furiously
-
Kvetch
- Sweeper
- Posts: 11844
- Joined: Tue Apr 20, 2004 2:12 pm
- Location: North of the Sun and East of Chaos
- Contact:
[Genre: Montage!]
The director says we need to speed up the plot here - can you compress the next bit to a montage, please - Yrs, Bob.
Unfortunately, there are about 4MB of images behind here, so I'll merely link
The director says we need to speed up the plot here - can you compress the next bit to a montage, please - Yrs, Bob.
Unfortunately, there are about 4MB of images behind here, so I'll merely link
"I'm the family radical. The rest are terribly stuffy. Aside from Aunt - she's just odd."
[genre – Rush Limbaugh radio commentary]
Have you heard the latest news from our friends across the pond?
It seems that an upstanding young man, a college librarian at Imperial College in London, was recently assaulted by a degenerate pack of animals. There he was, minding his own business, quietly shelving books when a trio of animals jumped him and attempted to gnaw on his limbs.
And this was not just your typical pack of rabid squirrels, folks. The deeply misguided liberals have brought us a point where a female dog, a male cat and a female rat, apparently living together as a family unit in sin against all precepts of God and Nature, are ganging up to attack law abiding British citizens. Yes the misdeeds of Bill Clinton have finally come home to roost.
Fortunately this young man had been reading my recent book, and was able to whap them each on the head with his hardcopy, and then call the local animal control department. The crazed animals were quickly apprehended and remanded to the local pound. Now as you know the British are a bit queasy about capital punishment, but in this case there is a movement afoot to have the animals euthanized as soon as possible in as painful a manner as possible, and I for one would love to be there to pull the switch.
Now those liberals from PETA and Queer Nation both somehow got wind of it and they have come out in force, demanding that these evil critters be released back into the wild and treated with “understanding.â€
Have you heard the latest news from our friends across the pond?
It seems that an upstanding young man, a college librarian at Imperial College in London, was recently assaulted by a degenerate pack of animals. There he was, minding his own business, quietly shelving books when a trio of animals jumped him and attempted to gnaw on his limbs.
And this was not just your typical pack of rabid squirrels, folks. The deeply misguided liberals have brought us a point where a female dog, a male cat and a female rat, apparently living together as a family unit in sin against all precepts of God and Nature, are ganging up to attack law abiding British citizens. Yes the misdeeds of Bill Clinton have finally come home to roost.
Fortunately this young man had been reading my recent book, and was able to whap them each on the head with his hardcopy, and then call the local animal control department. The crazed animals were quickly apprehended and remanded to the local pound. Now as you know the British are a bit queasy about capital punishment, but in this case there is a movement afoot to have the animals euthanized as soon as possible in as painful a manner as possible, and I for one would love to be there to pull the switch.
Now those liberals from PETA and Queer Nation both somehow got wind of it and they have come out in force, demanding that these evil critters be released back into the wild and treated with “understanding.â€
Of Kvetch [genre - The Silmarillion]
It is said that Limbaugh looked not for the assault that came upon him from the east; for so great was his pride that he deemed that, after defeating the legions of the District Attorney in Palm Beach County, none would ever again come with open war against him. Moreover he thought that he had forever estranged the English Liberals from their American cousins, and that content in their blissful realm the English Liberals would heed no more his kingdom in the west.
But at the last the champion of the Liberals came up out of the east, and the challenge of the kazoos of Imperial College filled the sky; and Florida was ablaze with the glory of his arms, for the champion of the Liberals was young and fair and terrible, and the swamps rang against his feet.
The meeting of the host of Limbaugh and the champion of the Liberals is named the Great Battle, and the War of Wrath. There was marshaled the whole power of the throne of Limbaugh, and it had become great beyond count, so that Florida could not contain it, and all the southeast was aflame with war.
But it availed him not. The conservative commentators were destroyed, save some few that fled and hid themselves in the editorial offices of small rural town newspapers; and the uncounted legions of conservative bloggers perished like straw in a great fire, or were swept like shriveled leaves before a burning wind.
Then, seeing that his hosts were overthrown and his power dispersed, Limbaugh quailed, and he dared not to continue his broadcast. But he loosed upon his foe the last desperate assaults that he had prepared: specious arguments, Syllogistic Fallacies, non-sequiturs, and "Post hoc, ergo propter hoc" fallacies. And the onset of that dreadful verbiage was such that the champion was driven back, for the coming of the invective was with great thunder, and lightning, and a tempest of fire.
But mighty Kvetch, shining with white flame, battled on, bringing forth the forces of logic and reason and compassion. Before the rising of the sun, it came to pass that Kvetch slew the dreadful verbiage, and the arguments fell broken upon the ears of Limbaugh’s legions of listeners. Then the great champion descended into the deeps of the studio, where Limbaugh stood at last at bay, and yet unvaliant. He sued for peace and pardon; but his arguments' legs were cut out from under him and they were hurled back in his face.
Thus an end was made to the power of Limbaugh in the southeast, and the evil realm brought to naught, and out of the deep prisons of muddled thought a multitude of slaves came forth beyond all hope into the light of day, and they looked upon a world that was changed. . .
It is said that Limbaugh looked not for the assault that came upon him from the east; for so great was his pride that he deemed that, after defeating the legions of the District Attorney in Palm Beach County, none would ever again come with open war against him. Moreover he thought that he had forever estranged the English Liberals from their American cousins, and that content in their blissful realm the English Liberals would heed no more his kingdom in the west.
But at the last the champion of the Liberals came up out of the east, and the challenge of the kazoos of Imperial College filled the sky; and Florida was ablaze with the glory of his arms, for the champion of the Liberals was young and fair and terrible, and the swamps rang against his feet.
The meeting of the host of Limbaugh and the champion of the Liberals is named the Great Battle, and the War of Wrath. There was marshaled the whole power of the throne of Limbaugh, and it had become great beyond count, so that Florida could not contain it, and all the southeast was aflame with war.
But it availed him not. The conservative commentators were destroyed, save some few that fled and hid themselves in the editorial offices of small rural town newspapers; and the uncounted legions of conservative bloggers perished like straw in a great fire, or were swept like shriveled leaves before a burning wind.
Then, seeing that his hosts were overthrown and his power dispersed, Limbaugh quailed, and he dared not to continue his broadcast. But he loosed upon his foe the last desperate assaults that he had prepared: specious arguments, Syllogistic Fallacies, non-sequiturs, and "Post hoc, ergo propter hoc" fallacies. And the onset of that dreadful verbiage was such that the champion was driven back, for the coming of the invective was with great thunder, and lightning, and a tempest of fire.
But mighty Kvetch, shining with white flame, battled on, bringing forth the forces of logic and reason and compassion. Before the rising of the sun, it came to pass that Kvetch slew the dreadful verbiage, and the arguments fell broken upon the ears of Limbaugh’s legions of listeners. Then the great champion descended into the deeps of the studio, where Limbaugh stood at last at bay, and yet unvaliant. He sued for peace and pardon; but his arguments' legs were cut out from under him and they were hurled back in his face.
Thus an end was made to the power of Limbaugh in the southeast, and the evil realm brought to naught, and out of the deep prisons of muddled thought a multitude of slaves came forth beyond all hope into the light of day, and they looked upon a world that was changed. . .
-
Kvetch
- Sweeper
- Posts: 11844
- Joined: Tue Apr 20, 2004 2:12 pm
- Location: North of the Sun and East of Chaos
- Contact:
[Genre: The Hobbit]
for with the fall of muddled logic and fallacy, crystal clarity had returned to the land. There was order in the cities of the East, and the verdant plains sang again with life.
All over the world began a time of prosperity and peace, but all was not well, for the dark forces waxed again in hidden places, and the small town newspapers became again dark and dangerous places, and conservatives again insinuated their voices onto the airwaves - at first only late, late, at night, but they have been moving slowly, secretly, into earlier and earlier slots. But into each age, there are born heroes to combat the darkness - some more unlikely than others.
In a hole in the ground there lived a hamster. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hamster-hole, and that means comfort.
It had an almost round door like, like a rather eccentric maiden planetoid, painted soylent green, with a once shiny yellow brass knob in the (almost) exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats--the hamster was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill--The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it--and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No going upstairs for the hamster: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes, although being a hamster he never actually wore any), kitchens, dining-rooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The best rooms were all on the lefthand side (going in), for the hamster was a follower of that famous sinistral Kvetch, who threw back the forces of conservatism all those years ago. Also, these were the only rooms to have windows, deep-set round windows looking over his garden and meadows beyond, sloping down to the river.
This hamster was a very well-to-do hamster, and his name was Echus. The Echii had lived in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what an Echus would say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is the story of how an Echus had an adventure, and found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours' respect, but he gained--well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end.
for with the fall of muddled logic and fallacy, crystal clarity had returned to the land. There was order in the cities of the East, and the verdant plains sang again with life.
All over the world began a time of prosperity and peace, but all was not well, for the dark forces waxed again in hidden places, and the small town newspapers became again dark and dangerous places, and conservatives again insinuated their voices onto the airwaves - at first only late, late, at night, but they have been moving slowly, secretly, into earlier and earlier slots. But into each age, there are born heroes to combat the darkness - some more unlikely than others.
In a hole in the ground there lived a hamster. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hamster-hole, and that means comfort.
It had an almost round door like, like a rather eccentric maiden planetoid, painted soylent green, with a once shiny yellow brass knob in the (almost) exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats--the hamster was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill--The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it--and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another. No going upstairs for the hamster: bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries (lots of these), wardrobes (he had whole rooms devoted to clothes, although being a hamster he never actually wore any), kitchens, dining-rooms, all were on the same floor, and indeed on the same passage. The best rooms were all on the lefthand side (going in), for the hamster was a follower of that famous sinistral Kvetch, who threw back the forces of conservatism all those years ago. Also, these were the only rooms to have windows, deep-set round windows looking over his garden and meadows beyond, sloping down to the river.
This hamster was a very well-to-do hamster, and his name was Echus. The Echii had lived in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what an Echus would say on any question without the bother of asking him. This is the story of how an Echus had an adventure, and found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours' respect, but he gained--well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end.
"I'm the family radical. The rest are terribly stuffy. Aside from Aunt - she's just odd."
[genre - an imitation of Virgil, as translated by John Dryden]
Of Arms and hamster sing, who, forc'd by Fate,
And fell tollbaby’s unrelenting hate,
Expell'd and exil'd, left the quiet Hill.
Of his gerbil sidekick, Ghost of Landfill,
Their most glorious deeds, on land and ‘neath;
And how our hero lost most of his teeth
In pitched battle with a feline fiend;
And how a graying wizard intervened
In the doubtful campaign, before he won
The Cthulhu realm, which all do-gooders shun;
His banish'd gods rescued from rites divine,
And settled sure succession in his line,
From whence the race of Kiwi fathers come,
who drink only Mount Gay Extra Old Rum.
O Muse! the causes and the crimes relate;
What goddess was provok'd, and whence her hate;
How the Queen was led by an incident
To harry so brave, so just a rodent;
Involv'd his anxious life in endless cares,
Expos'd to wants, and torrid love affairs!
Can heav'nly minds such high resentment show,
Or exercise their spite in hamster woe?
Against Waikato’s mouth, so far away,
An ancient town was seated on the bay;
A French Canadian colony; made
Stout for the war, and studious of their trade:
Haulhage the name; belov’d of tollbaby
More even than dark chocolate, maybe.
Here stood her temple; here, if Heav'n were kind,
The seat of a vast empire she design'd.
Yet she had heard an ancient rumor said,
(Kept ‘live in a forum discussion thread,)
That times to come should see the hamster race
Her Haulhage ruin, and her tow'rs deface;
Nor thus confin'd, the yoke of sov'reign sway
Should on the necks of all the nations lay.
She ponder'd this, and fear'd it was in fate;
Nor could forget the war she wag'd of late
For conqu'ring cats against the hamster state.
Besides these causes working in her mind,
His lack of proper grammar intertwined
To make her heart his doom towards inclin’d.
Out to ensure he take it on the chin
She drove the hamster party to an Inn
Where bullies debated quantum theory.
Laying a trap for wanderers weary
That oft had led to an ending tragic
For those not guarded by Hamster magic.
But just as they prepared to spring the trap
The door flew open with a startling clap,
And in walked a stranger mysterious
Who sensed portents most deleterious,
And offered our heroes this sage advice . . .
Of Arms and hamster sing, who, forc'd by Fate,
And fell tollbaby’s unrelenting hate,
Expell'd and exil'd, left the quiet Hill.
Of his gerbil sidekick, Ghost of Landfill,
Their most glorious deeds, on land and ‘neath;
And how our hero lost most of his teeth
In pitched battle with a feline fiend;
And how a graying wizard intervened
In the doubtful campaign, before he won
The Cthulhu realm, which all do-gooders shun;
His banish'd gods rescued from rites divine,
And settled sure succession in his line,
From whence the race of Kiwi fathers come,
who drink only Mount Gay Extra Old Rum.
O Muse! the causes and the crimes relate;
What goddess was provok'd, and whence her hate;
How the Queen was led by an incident
To harry so brave, so just a rodent;
Involv'd his anxious life in endless cares,
Expos'd to wants, and torrid love affairs!
Can heav'nly minds such high resentment show,
Or exercise their spite in hamster woe?
Against Waikato’s mouth, so far away,
An ancient town was seated on the bay;
A French Canadian colony; made
Stout for the war, and studious of their trade:
Haulhage the name; belov’d of tollbaby
More even than dark chocolate, maybe.
Here stood her temple; here, if Heav'n were kind,
The seat of a vast empire she design'd.
Yet she had heard an ancient rumor said,
(Kept ‘live in a forum discussion thread,)
That times to come should see the hamster race
Her Haulhage ruin, and her tow'rs deface;
Nor thus confin'd, the yoke of sov'reign sway
Should on the necks of all the nations lay.
She ponder'd this, and fear'd it was in fate;
Nor could forget the war she wag'd of late
For conqu'ring cats against the hamster state.
Besides these causes working in her mind,
His lack of proper grammar intertwined
To make her heart his doom towards inclin’d.
Out to ensure he take it on the chin
She drove the hamster party to an Inn
Where bullies debated quantum theory.
Laying a trap for wanderers weary
That oft had led to an ending tragic
For those not guarded by Hamster magic.
But just as they prepared to spring the trap
The door flew open with a startling clap,
And in walked a stranger mysterious
Who sensed portents most deleterious,
And offered our heroes this sage advice . . .
-
Kvetch
- Sweeper
- Posts: 11844
- Joined: Tue Apr 20, 2004 2:12 pm
- Location: North of the Sun and East of Chaos
- Contact:
[Genre: Self-referential]
"You know, have you considered asking the author to intervene?
I mean, if you are in such a state that you cannot possibly escape, then you need to get the author to create a neat Deus Ex Machina (preferably with items already in your narrative) for you, or to go back and redraft the story, so you never get so trapped that you can't escape.
Since this appears to be a collaborative story, you probably can't get a redraft done quickly enough, so, considering the tropes you seem to be using, a rescue by Eagles might be appropriate..."
And outside, over the waiting feline hordes of She Who Must Be Obeyed (Tollbaby, if you'd lost track) comes a harsh aquiline screech.
"Or perhaps forget the eagles - they are a bit too obvious."
Outside, the screech is abruptly cut off.
"You can perhaps hope that one of the Quantum Philosophers is actually a rebel Hamster sympathiser, who can arrange to let you use his quantum escape tunnel? He'll have to be killed quite quickly though, since he is more powerful than you, and will steal your limelight.
Hmm, yes, that'll work." The mysterious stranger gestures at one of the philosophers, who jumps up, and opens a hole in the ground. "Quickly, down the tunnel." The stranger pushes the bemused hamster and gerbil down the hole, cuts the throat of the philosopher and closes the quantum tunnel all with a single gesture.
***
The Mysterious Stanger stretches, sighing. "Blimey, how much effort does it take to keep this story on track? Bloody writers..." With this last invective, he fades away, like the Cheshire Cat - his scowl fading last....
***
Meanwhile in the escape tunnel...
"You know, have you considered asking the author to intervene?
I mean, if you are in such a state that you cannot possibly escape, then you need to get the author to create a neat Deus Ex Machina (preferably with items already in your narrative) for you, or to go back and redraft the story, so you never get so trapped that you can't escape.
Since this appears to be a collaborative story, you probably can't get a redraft done quickly enough, so, considering the tropes you seem to be using, a rescue by Eagles might be appropriate..."
And outside, over the waiting feline hordes of She Who Must Be Obeyed (Tollbaby, if you'd lost track) comes a harsh aquiline screech.
"Or perhaps forget the eagles - they are a bit too obvious."
Outside, the screech is abruptly cut off.
"You can perhaps hope that one of the Quantum Philosophers is actually a rebel Hamster sympathiser, who can arrange to let you use his quantum escape tunnel? He'll have to be killed quite quickly though, since he is more powerful than you, and will steal your limelight.
Hmm, yes, that'll work." The mysterious stranger gestures at one of the philosophers, who jumps up, and opens a hole in the ground. "Quickly, down the tunnel." The stranger pushes the bemused hamster and gerbil down the hole, cuts the throat of the philosopher and closes the quantum tunnel all with a single gesture.
***
The Mysterious Stanger stretches, sighing. "Blimey, how much effort does it take to keep this story on track? Bloody writers..." With this last invective, he fades away, like the Cheshire Cat - his scowl fading last....
***
Meanwhile in the escape tunnel...
"I'm the family radical. The rest are terribly stuffy. Aside from Aunt - she's just odd."
-
Kvetch
- Sweeper
- Posts: 11844
- Joined: Tue Apr 20, 2004 2:12 pm
- Location: North of the Sun and East of Chaos
- Contact:
[Genre: David Eddings' Belgariad books]
Here ends Volleyball 2006, Book Three of the Volleyball-iad.
Book Four, Volleyball 2007 will continue the stories or our heroes in other far and mysterious lands. Or not. Who knows. Vive La Volleyball.
Here ends Volleyball 2006, Book Three of the Volleyball-iad.
Book Four, Volleyball 2007 will continue the stories or our heroes in other far and mysterious lands. Or not. Who knows. Vive La Volleyball.
"I'm the family radical. The rest are terribly stuffy. Aside from Aunt - she's just odd."