BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Dead Horse
Date: 12 Dec 02 - 06:13 PM

"Bugger! That was the last of the Sloe."
The Commodore (promotion at last) reaches underneath the sou'wester and produces a flask of Nelsons Blood, "Anyone for *sucking the Admiral*?" he enquires. "Suckers are ten a penny, but swallowers are hard to find" He now collapses in a heap (What of? You may well ask.)

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Catherine Jayne
Date: 12 Dec 02 - 06:14 PM

Iceberg....something about a big boat......

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Catherine Jayne
Date: 12 Dec 02 - 06:15 PM

Dead Horse.....does The Admiral know about the sucking?????

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: katlaughing
Date: 12 Dec 02 - 06:16 PM

LeeJ!!! More, more!!!!

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Liz the Squeak
Date: 12 Dec 02 - 06:25 PM

Hmmm dreamt I was being caressed by 20grit sandpaper again; least it wasn't my chesticles this time.

Oh....! what is this in my hand?? Looks like a... well, don't quite like to say what it looks like. Last time I saw one of those it had a squeaker in one end.. Ooooo... just like this one. The other had a big hairy bloke on the other end....

Ah.

Well, it's hairy..... and it's big. 2 out of three is pretty good average for me.


So where's the carol singing then? Anyone want to try 'Hark the Harold?'... or 'It came upon the Mudcat clear'?

I'm worried about 'My guru'.... they know I purr when VERY pleased... although the snoring is just not true. it must be an asthmatic wheeze! If I didn't know better I'd say 'My guru' is too close for comfort...

Best be getting that Swanno out of Morty's cleavege... brave men have been reduced to tears in there. I think it's the Ralgex, or the Wintergreen ointment.


LTS

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Rapparee
Date: 12 Dec 02 - 06:52 PM

...and indeed they were. Were. As the quiet man, rapier at his waist, had rescued them and brought them with him to the Tavern to reunite the family.

Confidently, he strode to the bar, asked for a full liter of Bushmill's 16-year-old, or Redbreast. The bartender gave him an odd look and provided a 16-year-old with a red breast. Calmly, the quiet man reached into his pack and pulled out...a trumpet.

Fortunately, he also had a mute. The 16-year-old was entranced, and drifted away into the crowd. The quiet man settled for a liter of poteen. Or Sheep Dip.

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Amos
Date: 13 Dec 02 - 12:31 AM

Mario continues chanting to his thong with a look of puzzlement on his face. "Isn't it supposed to rise up flaming or something?" , he mutters. The Bailey's seems to have crossed up childhood memories of Indian fakirs taming cobras with Buddhists chanting Om and setting themselves on fire, all retained haphazardly from a fourth grade perusal of the American Child's Encyclopdia of the World Book Omibus set, which he got by saiving box-tops from Wheaties which he paid for by delivering Grit door-to-door which was really exhausting and uphill both ways....

He slumps, drained by a flood of memory and the efforts of basting that Auroch, and swoons into the nearest davenport and the bliss of temproary unconsciousness...

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: alison
Date: 13 Dec 02 - 02:59 AM

well at least its cool in here......... its been pretty hot the last few days........

so where are all the nibblies... and make mine a baileys with a flake in it thanks....... need a chocolate fix....


slainte

alison

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: My guru always said
Date: 13 Dec 02 - 03:33 AM

Meanwhile Santa Cruz dusts himself down, croaks a feeble HoHoHo and staggers to the Bar to restore his spirits...

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Rustic Rebel
Date: 13 Dec 02 - 04:53 AM

Suddenly there was a silence that filled the room. It started by the fireplace and moved through the tavern quite swiftly.
As if out of thin air, there stood a man. A beautiful man he was.
Very tall and statuesque. He wore a grey morning coat of flowered chintz, with a cambric shirt and nankeen trousers. His hair was very dark and long, thick curls flowed around his shoulders. He was clean shaven, with a square jaw and a firm dimpled chin, and eyes that sparkled when he gazed your way.
All eyes were upon him now, and then he smiled.His smiled gleamed a light enough to be blinding, for inlayed upon his tooth was a diamond of the highest quality. When the reflection from the fire met it,it shone so brilliantly,the chameleon turned itself white.
He moved across the room with an agile gracefulness, and as he passed through the crowd, a waft of his perfumed body, of frankincense and myrrh filled the air.
Everyone he passed seemed to elapse into a tracelike state of being.
He moved like a mellifluous song to the oaken bar, and with swift grace, reached into his side bag to produce two, highly polished, gleaming, gold bullion bars, and placed them on the bar.
He then spoke clear and softly, five words.
He turned and opened the door and a mist seemed to surround him and swirl at his feet. As suddenly as he appeared, he was gone.
The crowd was in awe.Even men had drool from the corners of their mouths.His words that were so softly spoken still echoed through our minds.And then we rejoiced!


His words- "The party is on me."

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Dead Horse
Date: 13 Dec 02 - 05:52 AM

"That was my connection, and he's left two solid bars of Columbian Gold!" He eyed the assembled throng. "Bloody miracle he found this place, I swear he can walk on water, which is damn usefull when ye don't get shore leave" Rolling hisself a huge spliff, and thoughtfully scraping some *dust* into the cats bowl, he collapses in a (different) heap. "All we need now is a brace of floozies from Madam Gashees, and a good pox doctor"

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Noreen
Date: 13 Dec 02 - 08:45 AM

And from the silence a contented mutter:

"Good old Bert, always comes up trumps."

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Rapparee
Date: 13 Dec 02 - 09:20 AM

Around him, the party was beginning to pick up speed, yet the quiet man knew that, without food, it might well slow down. Picking his mobile phone from his pocket, he flipped it open.

"Scotty? Beam done two or three tonnes of archeopteryx."

"Soitenly," replied the answering voice, in a Scots accent.

"Cleaned and plucked. Mario shouldn't have to do all of the work. And include some good barbecue sauce. Out." And he closed the cell phone.

Looking around, noticed...no! It couldn't be! Some fool had been writing tennis scores on a piece of paper -- 6-0, 6-0, 6-0 -- and had rolled it into a tube which was now being run through a pencil sharpener!

Quickly, nearly instantly, the quiet man yanked away the paper tube.

"Watcha do that for?" asked the grinder, belligerently.

"You fool! You bloody, stupid fool!" whispered the quiet man, loudly. "Do you want to end this, this...orgy...party...good time...drunken brawl...folk festival...whatever this is? Think man! DON'T YOU KNOW WHAT OCCURS AT GROUND ZEROES????????????"

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: MMario
Date: 13 Dec 02 - 09:38 AM

We've already managed to survive the ONE RING - what could be worse?




(the phone is broken - it doesn't ring more then once...)

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Amos
Date: 13 Dec 02 - 09:38 AM

(oo, Rapaire....someone oughter grind YOUR zeroes for that one!)

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Roger the Skiffler
Date: 13 Dec 02 - 09:43 AM

..the tone deaf one slumped on the bar stool jerks awake, wrenching his hair free from where it was stuck to the spillage on the bar. He is puzzled by the ringing in his ears until he realises that some joker (Liz or Morty at a guess) had hung bell decorations on his ears while decorating the tree. Then he found someone had stuck a mince pie up his kazoo to silence it,and to add insult to injury, some cat had used his washboard for a litter tray.
Pouring out another 3-star he croaks in a voice within a few miles of Roy Wood's :
"I'm glad it isn't Xmas every dayeeee"
He realises as he looks blearily at the inflatable sheep that it is beginning to look strangely attractive. Had he drunk too much or was he coming down with New Zealand 'flu? He has another prophylactic drink just in case it is the latter. He also thinks "one must stop thinking in the third person mustn't one?")
RtS

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Dead Horse
Date: 13 Dec 02 - 12:14 PM

"A washboard? Why didn't you say you had a washboard? Here's my socks, have 'em ready by Sunday" "Oh, and not too much starch, the doc says I shouldn't have too much starch". The Admiral (Connections, you know....)goes off in search of a percussion section for his Cajun Band, the Bayou Leevee, whilst pulling a 'tit noir from under the old sou'wester. "Anybody got a teefer? a triangle will do, at a pinch?"

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Rapparee
Date: 13 Dec 02 - 12:38 PM

"No," says the quiet one, "but I do happen to have a tambourine, a trumpet, and a tympani in my pack. Also the world's only ukeolo."

"And that is...?" queried the Admiral.

"A ukeolo bears the same relationship to a ukelele as a picollo does to a flute."

There was widespread regurgitation upon the receipt of this information.

"What key does it play in?" asked the Admiral, hesitantly.

"Flat," replied the quiet man. "Sharp, though, whenever you want it to play flat. It's really quite flexible."

Without warning, huge ceiling beams, heavy stones, classical music scores and other debris fell, blocking off the booth where several sat playing whist.

"My God!" exclaimed the quiet man, dashing to the scene of the wreck.

A large man was already there, trying to shift the pile with his hands.
A button on his shirt randomly lit up messages reading "rm -r *" "SPEWED" and "Kiss Me, I'm Amos."

"A nihilist, I see," said the quiet man.

"Only sometimes, and then partially," was the reply.

"Can we get the entry to this booth cleared? I thought to teach them something of poker."

Amos shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid not. It's going to take jacks or better to open."

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: artbrooks
Date: 13 Dec 02 - 12:41 PM

The guy over in the corner behind the spittoon perks his (long hairy) ears up and says to himself "percussion section? Did I hear somebody say percussion section? I've got my bodhran, eight tippers, a set of spoons and one of those damn egg things. Wonder where I can get a triangle?"

He opens the basement door and goes down the stairs. Opening the second door at the bottom, he steps out into the warm sun beating down on the yard of a New Mexico ranch and c a r e f u l l y closes it behind him. Kicking a couple of rattlesnakes out of the way, he goes over to the ranch house's back door and takes down the cook's "come and get it" triangle. He walks back over to the barn, crunching a few tarantulas that are trying to cross the yard, aned goes up the steps to the hayloft. Opening the door, he's back in the Tavern again.

"Now," he muses, "where did that guy go?"

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Amos
Date: 13 Dec 02 - 12:50 PM

Whist begorr, Rapaire, but yer a scalawag of the first water!! LOL!!



A

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 13 Dec 02 - 02:03 PM

The hinged pet door that Katlaughing had installed on the Tavern door that opens onto the Emerald Isle swings open and in walks an entire family of bodhrans: twenty-four inch Daddy Bodhran (who was barely able to fit through the pet door), eighteen inch Mamma Bodhran, and at least a dozen bodhranlings of various sizes.

Daddy 'Hran sees Art Brooks sitting in the corner alone and, with the trained eye of a veteran grifter, recognizes a patsy when he sees one. He motions to the rest of the Bodhran clan and they all fall in behind him in a manner reminiscent of ducklings waddling after Mamma Duck. When they arrive at Art Brooks' table, Daddy 'Hran jumps up on it, so surprising poor Art that he knocks a freshly drawn Guinness onto the floor.

"Greetings!", calls out Daddy 'Hran in his deep bass voice. He is attempting to whisper, but twenty-four inch frame drums have a difficult time with volume modulation and several other 'Catters are easily able to overhear the ensuing conversation. "Me and the Missus heard that there was to be a percussion session here and you, my man, look like a person that knows a bodhran when he sees it. Now, I'm not wanting to waste your time here, so I'll get right to the point. What with the economy on the skids and all that rot, me and the Missus find ourselves in pretty dire financial straits. The only way we can see out of our current unfortunate situation is to take the drastic step of selling our own children to make ends meet."

Liz the Squeak, who, along with Morticia, is sitting at the next table, overhears the conversation, jumps up out of her chair and loudly squeaks, "Baby bodhrans! Oh! How cute! May I pet one?"

Morti grabs her by the arm and pulls her back into her chair. "Careful, Liz! You don't know where they've been or what kinds of diseases they might have. Just leave them alone."

Art Brooks, now having fully recovered from the shock of witnessing a leaping bodhran, reaches down and picks one of the young bodhrans up by its cross-bars. He takes a quick look at the inner rim and flings the thing against the wall. "Aha!", he shouts out, "Just as a suspected! Made in Pakistan!" He reaches out and grabs Daddy 'Hran just as he is attempting to leap off of the table. "You low-life scum!", he hollers into the bodhran's face. "Trying to pass off cheap off-shore drums as genuine Irish bodhrans! You should be ashamed of yourself! Begone! And do not despoil these environs with your putrid self again!" (That fourth Guinness had put Art into an oddly Shakespearean frame of mind.)

Well, the big bodhran is totally shocked at having been discovered in his scam. This type of thing had never happened to him before. He leaps from the table, gathers his retinue around him, and makes a mad dash out the pet door before any of the Mudcatters have a chance to pull out their Swiss army knives.

Meanwhile, over in the corner where several instruments have been casually tossed, a large Cooperman bodhran turns to a nice looking Tony Stuart and says, "Hey babe. Wanna see a really nice looking tipper?"

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Amos
Date: 13 Dec 02 - 04:17 PM

Replete with auroch, merriment, songs and bleeding fingertips, the Stranger smiles a slightly warm smile around the room, kisses the girls and makes them cry and hugs the barmaid --but only for a decent interval-- and heaves the Dreadnought case toward the door. As he reaches it the Cuppucin riding in its usual place blows kisses to the Mudfolk all across the various corners of the Tavern.

The burbling of the giant motorcycle engine quickly settles into a steady heartbeat of power and with a graceful lean and a swift acceleration, the Indian fades into the night, bound over the mountains tothe warm desert dawn ahead.

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: SINSULL
Date: 13 Dec 02 - 05:16 PM

And the baby bodhran, still sniffling from his jolt against the wall, cries "Daddy?"

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Dead Horse
Date: 13 Dec 02 - 06:42 PM

Surveying the rubble strewn floor, the First Sea Lord thinks to himself "Same old thing every weekend, these whist drives are getting to be a nuisance. They don't call 'em *the devils callin' cards* for nothin'". He gently fingers the pearloid buttons on his 'tit noir and plays:-
Hey you get down the fiddle and you get down the bow
Kick off your shoes and throw 'em on the floor
Dance in the kitchen 'til the morning light,
Louisiana Saturday night!

Waiting in the front yard sitting on a log,
Single shot rifle and a one eyed dog.
Yonder come the kinfolk, in the moonlight
Louisiana Saturday night!

My brother Bill and my other brother Jack,
Belly full o' beer and a possum in a sack.
Fifteen kids in the front porch light,
Louisana Saturday night!

Kinfolk leave and the kids get fed,
Me an' my woman gonna sneak off to bed.
We'll have a little fun when we turn off the light,
Louisiana Saturday night!

At least, thats what he intends to play, but seein' as how he only got the thing last week, and is still on the first page of Mark Savoys *Learn To Play Cajun Box* it comes out sounding like J'ai Passe Devant De Porte, played with one finger. A voice in his ear says "This is Tracy Schwarz, lets play it again"
He gives it two fingers, Churchill style.

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Liz the Squeak
Date: 13 Dec 02 - 06:49 PM

The song says 'don't stick knives in babby's heads' but it doesn't mention bodhrains... where's the little bugger got to?????

LTS

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: SINSULL
Date: 13 Dec 02 - 07:03 PM

Lizzie! It's Christmas! He's little enough. Maybe we can convince him he is a diaphragm. So instead of hearing bells,you'll get banged! How about it?

God, I have to get a night job...

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Dead Horse
Date: 13 Dec 02 - 07:30 PM

Yeah, a night job will keep you off the streets, right?

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Rapparee
Date: 13 Dec 02 - 10:30 PM

The night was yet young, and the quiet man sat, nursing his Pile Driver (prune juice and vodka). Untroubled, his brow unfurrowed, he unconsciously traced the curves of his rapiet's hilt with his left index finger.

The party was starting to get rowdy, now that the whist players had been rescued. The snow drifting through the hole in the roof added a seasonal touch, the flakes catching the colors of the lights on the tree -- or, he mused, the coloUrs of the lights for those living in countries which spelled things in odd ways.

Interesting, too was watching Liz and Sinsull trying to capture the baby bodhran. They had the thing cornered, but it was spitting and snarling, its baby fangs dripping with bodhran venom. The quiet one knew that the most the venom of such a young one could do would be to paralyze its victim for a few hours, a condition not unlike drinking certain liquors.

"Ah, yes," he thought, "For I have been to Ludlow Fair, and left my necktie god know where. And if I don't find it I'm gonna be awfully pissed off, since it set me back better than thirty bucks US."

At that juncture a body fell through the hole in the roof, landing with a thud amidst the rubble and dust of the floor.

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 13 Dec 02 - 10:45 PM

Momentarilly, the dust cleared to reveal that it was Santa Cruz's head elf, Elf-Dude that had made the unscheduled appearance from a vertical direction.

"Holy shit! What a rush!", he muttered while shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. "Dude! I just stepped out of the frikkin' sled to go take a whiz and BOOM! Here I am! Man! Anybody got a joint? Who's the cutey over there? Hubba-hubba! She looks just about the right size for the old Elf-Dude."

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Dead Horse
Date: 14 Dec 02 - 12:49 AM

"Help yoursELF to the Columbian Gold on the bar, 'tit vert, while I see about that there wayward instrument" The bosun (what can I say? Some mix up about a secretary and a defence account, I was innocent of course) reaches into the depths of the sou'wester once more, and out pops a harpoon gun. He aims at the creature in the corner and fires.
Liz ducks, Morti gasps. The wee Afghan bodhran is neatly skewered and impaled against the wall panel.
"Got the bugger, and mounted him in one go" he cried. "Bring him alongside and get yer flensing knives out, and I'll show ye how to make a new skin for the stuffed mouse"

Editors Note: No actual bodhrans were injured in any way during the compilation of this thread. Complaints of bad taste, however, should be made in writing & sent snail-mail to Dead Horse Enterprises, Kent, U.K.

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Dead Horse
Date: 14 Dec 02 - 12:18 PM

A note from ACME Supplies Ltd.
Warning to users of ACME Inflateable Harpoon Gun MklV.
Under NO circumstances must the sharp pointy thing be inserted into the barrel the wrong way round (i.e. point inwards) as severe damage to delicate components may result, such damage not being covered by warranty.
Personal injury may also be sustained owing to backwash of violently escaping gases, and uncertain trajectory of pointy thing that may occur.
The self retrieving mechanism (elastic) connected to barrel may also come adrift, causing temporary loss of pointy thing.
Our lawyers have asked us to remind all customers that unauthorised use or modification renders all guarantees null and void.
Yours
C.D. Character, President.

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Rapparee
Date: 14 Dec 02 - 03:28 PM

"No! Leave it there!" shouted Elf-Dude. "It'll make a good addition!"

He looked up. "Yo! Santa! Lower that cable, man!" And a three-quarter inch steel cable, a large hook on the end, thudded to the top of the debris pile. Having missed Elf-Dude by only a fraction of a micrometer, he pulled is belt away from his body and sniffed inside his pants.

"Thank goodness! Still clean inside! Thought for a minute there...."

He took the hook and hooked it (what else could he do with it?) to the underside of the trapdoor to the Whine Cellar and stood up and tall to his full height of point six eight meters.

"Yo! Fat Boy! Pull 'er taut!" he shouted again, and the cable snapped tight, humming slightly. Elf-Dude scrambled again to the top of debris and asked the sea of upturned faces, "That's done! Now...which one of you cats are gonna be the first to play the world's biggest gutbucket fiddle?"

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: My guru always said
Date: 14 Dec 02 - 05:18 PM

Smoking, dusty & slightly sing-ed the Stray falls off the mantelpiece & meanders back to the safety of the tree.

'Camo, y'oull bugger, come and give us a bit of a bed-bath... things are hotting up out there & some 'as got their weapons out. Be quick, must look our best in case of journalists....'

'Ooooh, loads more pressies under here, whch one shall we rip to bits first?'

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: SINSULL
Date: 14 Dec 02 - 08:15 PM

"Holy crap!" He killed the baby bod!" SINSULL carefully removes the spike from the impailed mini-drum and gently takes the little tike down. "What a waste...but maybe MMario can do something with it. A little duct tape and we can use him to hold the possum dip."

"Some Christmas party. Wonder how many more will die tonight." She goes off to the kitchen singing "And we say so; and we hope so. Poor Old Horse..."

"Hey MMMMM. Here's a little livestock to add to your larder. Have you got a strong rope handy?" And she hums "Poor Dead Horse..."

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: mg
Date: 14 Dec 02 - 08:24 PM

And then comes in the Welsh Rugby Team with a huge yule log they liberated from somewhere. Some are adorned in blinking electric lights and naturally they are singing Deck the Halls in what we can only assume is Welsh.

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Dave Wynn
Date: 14 Dec 02 - 09:09 PM

A small spotty dog lurks outside (he really must get some oxy10 or hydro-cortizone for those spots). Shivering with the cold and hoping some kind insider will open the door to let him creep close to the fire and warm his old bones (he hates bones a la rare).

Casually flicking an errant flea from behind his left ear he settles down on the sidewalk , his limpid sad eyes gazing with hope at the dark oaken door. The red to orange glow of the warmth inside kindling just enough spirit in his failing body to wait , wait , wait for the heaven of possibilities that lie beyond that dark frame.

Stuggling now to raise his rhuematic back legs to clear his small body from the deathlike cold of the floor , he farts , glances with suprise at his rear and thinks "bloody sprouts".

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Dead Horse
Date: 14 Dec 02 - 10:00 PM

Oh ho! A new bodhran skin. "Come in little doggie and see what the nice sailor has got for you" From the faithfull sou'wester an iron-on Guinness Transfer is produced. "Anybody got a steam iron" Steam does have its uses, after all, he muses. But still he hankers after the days of sail. Softly humming a few verses from *Donkey Riding* he sharpens his skinning knife.
If I'm not voted off this Big Brother house soon, mayhem will ensue.

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: mg
Date: 14 Dec 02 - 10:06 PM

small spotty dog does make it to the warming fire, where someone gives him a plate of stew and a dish of water. All the other animals have eaten, and surround him in a semicircle. All at once they fall to their knees..even small spotty dog with rheumatiz. It doesn't hurt a bit. The lusty ladies quit their flirtatious behavior, the spirts of present and future are transformed from hags into dignified mature but beautiful female apparitions and the rugby team stops singing one of their songs that makes even the l.l. blush and spontaneously starts to sing the Christmas Rose as only they from the Rhanda?? Valley can sing. The little urchins take the melody and the rugby men do the descant. The Morris team play their tamborines quite vigorously.

mg

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Sorcha
Date: 15 Dec 02 - 12:26 AM

An the pore fiddler is plum wore out. Turnin' violet colored here, I is. Did the 6 hr session Xmas party today, so sorry, no more tunes tonight. Sleep tight all you cats and rats and elephants......eat some figgy pudding and go to sleep.

That leather mouse sure is holding up well.

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Catherine Jayne
Date: 15 Dec 02 - 06:07 AM

In through the saloon door swaggers someone unknown to most but as soon as they begin to preach on the dangers of smoking, the bar almost full of cigarette and cigar smoking 'catters, realise it is the Guest known as 'Smoking Yuk'..........

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 15 Dec 02 - 07:04 AM

As Smoking Yuk's anti-tobacco rant reaches a fever pitch, Elf-Dude unhooks the huge hook from the whine cellar door, hooks it through a belt loop of Smoking Yuk's bluejeans, gives Santa Cruz the "lift-er-up" signal and he/she is depositted into a snowbank on the rooftop.

In total outrage, he/she screams, "I'll get that sonofabitch BWL for doing this to me! I'll send him a PM that'll scorch his eyeballs!". Then, he/she realizes that to do so would be to reveal his/her true Mudcat identity, so he/she is just going to have to suffer the outrage in silence. Ah....the unsuspected perils of anonymity!

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Dead Horse
Date: 15 Dec 02 - 09:03 AM

It's not my fault, I had a bad experience during my formative years, when the saddle came off my three-wheel bike and I didn't notice until after I had leapt aboard with the usual *High Ho Silver* cry. More High than Ho, I can tell you.
Where was we all, ah yes, list'nin' to some Welsh lot from the Randa valley. I thought all rugby players were from Randy Land?
Most Welsh folk, too. Reminds me of Madam Gashee, bless her heart. She knew how to treat a shellback to a good time, before he woke on a three skys'l yarder bound round the Isle Of Wight. In a gale. In December. With a hangover. AND a dose of the old water-works flu. Without his trousers. And no bottle. And........(Dear reader, he goes on a bit, don't he?)

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: artbrooks
Date: 15 Dec 02 - 09:48 AM

The scruffy little guy looks up from the chimney corner, where he has been sitting cross-legged for the last several hours addressing holiday cards and, using his exquisitely painted Malachy Kearns tunable bodhran as a desk, composing his annual newsletter. "Well, that's finally done," he says, straightening up with a groan. Walking over to the copy machine at the end of the bar, he stares for a moment at the weary fiddler and the dead hamster who are doing something together on top of the machine that MUST be illegal in Wyoming. Asking them politely to move over, he selects a subdued chartreuse paper and prints off 200 copys. "The hell with 'Spaw and his opinion of newsletters," he mutters under his breath.

The dead hamster looks up from where he is gently nibbling on the fiddler's...ear... and asks him if he wishes to join in. "Nah, thanks anyway, but I gotta go mail these" and he goes out the pub's front door and strides off into the cold,snowy morning.

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Dead Horse
Date: 15 Dec 02 - 01:38 PM

At last, her indoors enters, and is looking to dance. Her feet are twitchin' and she's scanning the crowd for suitable musicians.
"O.K. Who's got a banjo?" she calls. "Start tuning up while I get me taps on"

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 15 Dec 02 - 02:09 PM

(Flash forward to December, 20, 2002. Approximately 200 friends and relatives of the scruffy little man in the corner receive copies of his Christmas newsletter. Not a single one of them has any inkling why it is written in 6/8 time signature.)

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Morticia
Date: 15 Dec 02 - 02:31 PM

Pssssst, Elf-dude, fancy a good.....erm, reasonably okay time then,dearie?Always wanted to be on matey terms with Santa....might mean I can by-pass that 'been good all year' crap.

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Cluin
Date: 15 Dec 02 - 05:25 PM

A scruffy looking character shows up at the bar, grinning gap-toothed and scanning the room with his one good eye. He slides a leather gig-bag off his shoulder and lovingly draws out a beaten old Guild with a rude cartoon of a rampant unicorn in a state of amour drawn on the front in black marker

"Barkeep! Would ye tap a bastard a pint of bitter whilst I innerduce some old-fashioned Christmas spirit inter the proceedin's?"

"Here's a song my dear ol' nursemaid, Sandpaper Sally, used ter sing me when I was pickin' the lice outer her back hair ever' night..."

(noodling on an Em7 suspended yoho chord, by way of an intro, whilst hawking and launching a particularly evil-looking loogie into the spitoon... 2 points!)


"You're a bastard, Mister Grinch!
I hate
your fuck-ing
guts!

Without a moment's heh-zeetay-shun, I would kick you in the nuts,
Mister Gri-i-I-INCH!"


(hits a slow strum on the E demented chord in preparation for the too-long recitation)

"Now after a lifetime o' watchin' you maltreat yer little dog Max, an' mislead poor little Cindy-Lou Who, year after year after year after year... I really must say...

Your at-tit-tood SUCKS!"

"Ah, ye gotter luv the classics, wha? Where's that pint, now?"

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Gareth
Date: 15 Dec 02 - 07:03 PM

Rhondda, Mary, Rhondda - pro Ron thaa, and I can assure you that we were not singing :-

"Oer yw'r gwr sy'n methu caru,
Ffa la la la la, la la la la.
Hen fynyddoedd annwyl Cymru,"

CLICK 'ERE for "Nos Galen"

Howerever it does you credit that you did not recognise the words of the naughty song we were singing -

"Now all together butties, and remember, there is Ladies present."

And the Aberflyhalf RFC turn round, leave the inflatable sheep unmolested, and in perfect harmony and descant :-

" Oh there is a Tavern on the Net, On the Net,
Where the Mudcatters met, Oh they met,
With Wine and Beer and Auroch roasts come free,
And never touch reality, reality.

Oh do not let this Log off grieve you,
For you know we'll never leave you,
But the Best of Butties have to part, to part,
Adieu, again Adieu, Adieu, Adieu, Adiue,
We can no longer stay with you,
We'll hang our harp on the old Rowan Tree,
And may the the world go well with theee "

The inflatable sheep, uses this diversion to scuttle away, honour intact. "Arrrgh! not fast enought!!, the Dead Horse Morris from darkest Kent are waiting, Welly Boots at the ready.

Gareth

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Liz the Squeak
Date: 15 Dec 02 - 07:43 PM

Hmmm French Tickler gumboots.... didn't think you could get those outside of Wales.....

LTS

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: GUEST,JennyO
Date: 16 Dec 02 - 12:12 AM

The 200th guest wanders in with a fresh brace of bodhrans on her back and sits down at the bar. "Did I miss the roasted aurochs?" she sighed. "Oh well, better late than never! Make mine one of those guinesses with the foam on the top and a dash of chocolate."