Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: GUEST
Date: 24 Jul 13 - 04:22 AM

I tried the ICQ chat. I could never get it figured out. I always felt I was missing all the fun.

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Morticia
Date: 24 Jul 13 - 04:17 AM

good times

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: gnu
Date: 24 Jul 13 - 03:47 AM

Thanks, LEJ... forgot all about it.

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Bill D
Date: 23 Jul 13 - 07:29 PM

"Remember the scheduled HearMe sessions, Max's Radio Show..."

Oh my... yes! I still have some old conversations from when we had a side conversation going on in ICQ chat...in multi-colors... while the radio show was going on! I found an ICQ Chat Player and can relive the banter.

I never joined the Mudcat Commandos Men's Auxiliary, as I was no writer... but I read it as Kat and her intrepid team slogged onward!

And I DID hear Kat sing on HearMe.

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: GUEST,Nathan Tompkins
Date: 23 Jul 13 - 07:11 PM

Yeah...we did. there were so many things to keep people coming back for more....those were the days when if you wanted to troll, you'd ask, "What is Folk Music?", or start a gun control thread.

Those were the days when we had Song Challenge threads, people wrote stories, plans were made to write novels, plays, people were enthusiastic about their music, and just getting to know one another...before all the strife, and the same old political threads.

Remember when accomplishments brought people together here, in this world wide virtual community? Remember when horrible tragedies did the same?

Remember the scheduled HearMe sessions, Max's Radio Show, the later PalTalk groups, the concerts that floated over the bandwidth?

Remember when most of the threads were not political, with the same people going on and on about things...and no one's minds ever changed?

There was magic here at Mudcat...and there still is. I will always love this place for the people here.

However, it is a fact that so many wonderful people have faded from these electric pages. Some are gone...others just moved on, myself included....

That being said, I will always love it here...because of the people that still exist here behind their computer screens. I will always come back from time to time to check on it.   i am just too damn busy these days to do otherwise.

Mayhaps, one of these days the old Cat will find her magic again.

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 23 Jul 13 - 02:51 PM

What fun we had, huh?

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Rapparee
Date: 18 Aug 04 - 11:06 AM

The Idaho Legion has temporarily sobered up enough to stay in their saddles. Not necessarily upright, but in their saddles. And if the horses would only show up they'd be ready to ride.

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: SINSULL
Date: 17 Aug 04 - 06:53 PM

I want to know what happened in the movie theatre between Spaw and Wyo. And where is Karen in all this?
Worth a read if you haven't guys.

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: freda underhill
Date: 14 Jul 04 - 08:54 PM

I'm refreshing this because it's so funny!

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: katlaughing
Date: 01 Oct 01 - 09:12 PM

DtG...LOL, very inventive!

Okay, LeeJ and Amos, but I'm not going without the commandos!

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Dave the Gnome
Date: 01 Oct 01 - 07:57 PM

It was in the days of Caravans across the blazing sands when Horses used to talk in the language of Man.

Young horses were not named until they were at least two years of age, when their characters could be measured and quantified. Until they reached that time they were simply known as 'Os'.

It was in this time that a Caravan set forth across those sands and amongst them was a Mother, Father, 3 year old and 1 year old horse.

The Father was set the task of leading the long trail of wagon pulling Horses and Camels, for he was wise and knew the sand well. And he was pleased. Mother was loaded with all manner of goods, including three bolts of cotton and a pan destined for the grand Caliph of Cairo. The 3 year old (Known as Hugertya in the language of horses - although that term does not translate well into the language of humans.) was given charge of two bolts of Linen and a water gourd. 'Os, the 1 year old, was given a roll of silk to carry as he was youngest.

After some miles had passed 'Os began to complain to Hugertya that the silk was far too heavy and he needed someone else to carry it. Hugertya asked father if he could, but of course Father could not as he was leading the whole caraven. 'Os asked if Hugertya would carry it but Hugertya felt he could not.

This left only Mother. 'Os asked if his Mum would help but Hugertya, on seeing how his Mother carried an immense weight already, could only respond -

Sorry, 'Os, 'ar Ma's bin laden with enough stuff already.

And so, in years to come, the Taliban authorities quoted Hugertya's words. Osama bin Laden is carrying enough responsibilty already - we do not wish to add to that burden...

Sorry, best I could come up with at short notice:-)

DtG

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Amos
Date: 01 Oct 01 - 07:25 PM

Well, I think Kat ought to drift OOB over the rugged mountains and discover bin Laden in a remote cluster of goathide tents and use her telepathic beams to steer and American Blackhawk on a recce mission to the location.

A

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: sophocleese
Date: 01 Oct 01 - 06:37 PM

Actually one of the 'threats' to the Taliban that I've read in an e-mail states "Give us Osama Bin Laden or we'll send all your women to college!"

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 01 Oct 01 - 05:56 PM

I don't know Kat. The thougt of old Usama being seized by a group of armed feminists appeals to my sense of justice.

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: katlaughing
Date: 01 Oct 01 - 05:26 PM

Cute, Jock, my dad will like that.

Alex, my thought exactly. I think this was an ill-timed refresh. Of course by anon-ee-muhs.

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: John MacKenzie
Date: 01 Oct 01 - 04:38 PM

Could a welder's daughter be described as "A brazing hussy"??

Jock

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: GUEST,Mary Bee
Date: 01 Oct 01 - 04:37 PM

You people are Americans are'nt you?? come on in now.. play times over.!

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: mousethief
Date: 01 Oct 01 - 03:55 PM

Why?

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: GUEST
Date: 01 Oct 01 - 03:06 PM

refresh

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Dave the Gnome
Date: 30 Sep 00 - 06:56 PM

"How did I get here?" thought Davinia, not for the first time, or not, possibly, the last.

Recollection slowly crept in. The mission. The attack by 6 whirling dervishes... or were they a longsword morris team? Relief at being hailed a holy one. Shock as her(?) followers ran off at the first hint of trouble. Rapture at the sight of strong cider. Horror at the effects of same...

Something about a crow, or was it a woman, was lurking there but she could not put her finger on it.

The palace was now deserted but for Omar Sharif lookalikes clearing away trays of food fragments and wasted flagons of fine ale and wine. She knew she had to act now but nothing told her the next step.

Suddenly she had it! The crow had told her that Kat had been rescued!!! No more need to help there so her main mission could go on unhindered.

Now how could she continue with the crusade? Counting the servants present - 6 - a smile flickered beneath the beard.

"Omar" she called coquetishly "Can you dance or play concertina....?"

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: WyoWoman
Date: 29 Sep 00 - 01:48 AM

"My god," U.S.WW thought as she collapsed into one of the seats at the back of the theater, "Has this all just been a movie? If so, someone needs to fire the continuity people, call in Syd Field and learn a thing or two about structure..."

She sat in silence for a moment, watching the credits roll for the newest release in the "Silence" series. "Silence of the Clams," she had heard, lacked the punch of its prequel, "Silence of the Rams," and was limp, pallid even, compared to that wonderful Scots flick, "Silence of the Tams." Her companion was exasperating, she thought, fidgeting around, fishing for popcorn money. She turned to get a closer look at him in the darkness of the theater.

"Forget the damned popcorn," she said. "Ali Inkomfree might still be in the lobby. HEy, wait a minute. Weren't you just telling me something about your wife? And isn't that your hand? And isn't it on my knee?"

She paused for a moment, noticing that hand. Once again, it was oddly familiar. She looked at his face. The light from the screen -- still silent, of course. There is little silence more silent than that of clams. Even happy clams -- flickered across his face. Their eyes locked. Her heart did that funny little flipflop thingie it used to do back in Peter T's dum-dum-doobie-doobie-do thread. Why, she'd almost think it was Catspaw with his paw on her ... oh, my ... She was definitely getting a strong Mudcat vibration now. She looked again and her companion reached up to the neck of his Taliban robe. With one swift motion, he pulled an amazingly realistic mask from his face.

WyoWoman sank back in the seat with a sigh of relief and then began laughing so hard she could barely contain herself. It was him. The famous Mudcateer, her friend and companion. She hadn't seen him for such a long time... except ...

"Wait a minute," she said, peering into his face with her laser-like baby blues. He had never been able to lie when she locked those tractor beam eyes on his. "That mask you just pulled off... did you just happen to have another of those on recently? Did you just happen to be posing as, maybe, a GUARD in the Taliban HQ? Have I been HAD???"

He said nothing. Just smiled mysteriously as he pulled a tiny piece of straw from the neck of his robe. His hand moved ever so slightly up, up ...

On the silvery, silent screen, the clams just smiled and smiled.

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: katlaughing
Date: 29 Sep 00 - 01:34 AM

Floating out-of-body, Kat watched as WW and her fellah went in the theatre. "This should be good," she thought. "Better than any picture show. I'll just hang out here for awhile and see how these two do. Damn! I thought I'd finished Ali Ali Inkomfree with my Plastic Magic Fingernail poison. He must be one tough son of Ali!"

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Peter Kasin
Date: 29 Sep 00 - 01:11 AM

He turned back to U.S. Wyo, saying "We better duck into a movie theatre and hide! Have you seen Silence Of The Clams?" Wyo furled her brow - "yeah, saw it. Luckily this is a cineplex. We don't have much time! How about There's Something About Mary Poppins? There are some classics playing upstairs - Florist Of Arabia/From Beer To Fraternity." He looked around frantically. "No, Wyo, we're better off at National Velveeta/ The Man Who Would Be Burger King/Gunfight At The Really Good Corral/Al Pacino as "Pepsico" quadruple feature. We can wait him out. He'll never be able to sit through Velveeta, let alone find us there." Wyo looked at him slyly - "Can we hide in the balcony?" He replied, "Baby, the whole theatre is a balcony - well, one quarter of one." They sprinted to the ticket line, where he then frantically opened his wallet, cards dropping out as his shaking hands flipped open the card holders. Then his face blanched. "What, now!" Wyo shouted. "We've got to get in that theatre!" "Oh, Wyo, I can't believe it. I left my student discount card back at the..." Wyo cut him off, through down a $20 bill, and snatched up the tickets. Just as Ali came dashing around the corner, they ducked behind a crowd that headed for the main theatre. "Wyo, nobody's going to Velveeta upstairs. Change of plans. I'll get some popcorn..." Wyo pulled him by his front shirt, whirled him around, and pushed him into the main floor theatre.

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: katlaughing
Date: 28 Sep 00 - 12:24 PM

Suddenly Sgt. Kat's split personalities merged into one, again, she felt a weird quaver, like her body had been split in two, then rejoined. Shaking her head, she looked up to see a motley crew of men with various weapons. All about was wreckage from the fight. Now, why was she back in here, when she had been running towards the rendevous...naw, nevermind, it was that split thing all over again.

Guard me boys, I've got to go into stasis she said. Have to see if I can reach that sorry, sackbutted, Agent 12809769687452864 and find out why Spaw and the rest of them aren't here! THEN, we will see about getting out of here! If I don't make it back in, just carry my carcass outta here and find me a Prince Charming with a killer kiss!

At that, she folded her legs, went into a lotus position and promptly left her confused body behind, personality and soul-spirit intact.

After a few hours, it was obvious the Sgt. wasn't coming back for a long time. Her body was cool to the touch, breath very slight..they loaded her onto a litter, still sitting upright in Lotus position and carried her away with them to the rendevous point. It was going to be a long journey.

Kat floated through the middle planes...looking, looking. She was very tired. This mission had taken so many twists and turns, it was no wonder she suffered a split personality....seeing a soft downy comforter realm, she settled down, content to let events unfold around her, knowing either way, karma and free will would carry her to her next destination. Well, that and the fellahs who carted her bod around!

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: GUEST,Little Crow Woman
Date: 28 Sep 00 - 12:04 PM

This person is not Taliban! Little Crow Woman thought to herself. What is IT?-he?-she? doing sprawled on the grate like that.......................
Well, I'd better go investigate...

*Caw*

Davinia woke up, grouchily.
There seemed to be a very intelligent crow watching her carefully.
She looked back at the crow.

The crow hopped on one foot, towards Davinia, and then flew a few feet away, and looked back.

Something's strange about this picture, thought Davinia.
Why is there a crow wearing a necklace of colorful yin-yang symbols and trying to get me to follow it?-he?-she? ---

Suddenly, the grate gave way under Davinia's weight. She cursed mightily as she fell, and then she landed heavily, blacking out again.

When she came to, there was a woman looking at her, much in the way that the crow had.
She looked for all the world like an Indian.

"Hello, I am Little Crow Woman. It looks like our comrades have rescued Sgt Kat and her Commandos. How are you feeling? Your head looks sore."

"How do you think I'm feeling!" Davinia snapped at her.

"I can heal you," said Little Crow Woman. "And then we can rejoin our comrades, and rescue the Afghan women."

Davinia thought that the woman was just a flake, but decided to play along. That's the safest thing to do with insane people, she thought...

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Naemanson
Date: 28 Sep 00 - 10:58 AM

The group stumbled along through the sewage and the dark. "This must be what it's like in an internet flamer's mind!" thought Naemanson. Suddenly Meebo hushed them.

"We're almost there!" He sounded excited. Mousethief grunted as Naemanson bumped into him in the dark. Somewhere out of the dark overhead there was a rumbling noise and, interwoven with that, a sound of light laughter, a woman's voice, and a light tinkling music. With some difficuylty he identified the rumble as a snore coming from the grate over his head. There was a belch and the rancid smell of apples drifted down on them.

The group moved on slowly and climbed up a set of slimy stairs. They stopped at the top. Meebo gestured towards the holes in the wall. "Look!" he fairly squeecked in his excitement.

The group ranged along the wall and peered through the holes. They were looking into what can only be described as a scene from the Arabian Nights combined with a Roman orgy. Bodies were draped in amorous couplings over the pillows and divans that lay scattered around the room. Some musicians played in a corner and the doors were guarded by large men with drawn scimitars.

Naemanson was about to ask Meebo what was so important about this scene when he heard Mousethief gasp. "That's Sergeant Kat!" He whispered, "We've gotta get in there and rescue her!" Little Hawk looked like he wanted to point out that those women didn't seem to need protecting. They appeared to not want any distrubance at all but Mousethief was insistent. They studied the thick stone walls before them. "How do we get through?"

Naemanson put on a determined look. "If you want in there cover your ears!" And he set the bow to the strings of the now amplified psaltery.

There was an ear splitting howl of dissonance as he bowed two adjacent strings. The stone in front of them groaned in protest and then split outward from them as though trying to escape the sound. The wall crumbled crushing two of the half naked eunuch guards.

The group dashed into the room. Naemanson sawed at the strings while Little Hawk calmly began pegging arrows at the other guards. Meebo went into a karate stance and took on the two guards on the left and mousethief drew a pencil thin rapier and confronted the guards on the right. As the music filled the room the other musicians fled in terro followed by those survivng male attendants. The fight was quickly over and the rescuers stood panting heavily in the now silent room facing the scantily clad women they had rescued. One of them stepped forward, a chewed stogie clamped in her teeth…

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: WyoWoman
Date: 28 Sep 00 - 01:44 AM

U.S. Wyo had come late to the party. Then again, she often came later, rather than earlier. ... It just seemed to work out better that way. Now, for instance, standing next to her "boy toy" thoughtfully provided by Ali Ali Incomfree, the two of them watched the mayhem unfolding in Ali's Great Hall.

"this isn't to my liking," Wyo said with a deep sigh. "I'm a Libra, with a Scorpio moon. This violence shit just grates on my nerves."

"YOU'RE a LIBRA with a SCORPIO MOON???" her "attendant" gasped. "My WIFE i a LIBRA with a SCORPIO MOON... so playful and passionate and ..." with that the man began to sob.

Wyo was astonished. Here in the troops of the great Ali Ink, she hardly expected to find a sensitive New Age guy. But surely, these tears were genuine, and the warm, limpid brown eyes like pools of bubbling crude ...

"What happened to your wife?" she asked, putting a kind hand on his forearm. "what has happened to YOU?"

His shoulders shook. He turned his back on the scene below, and when he had gained his composure somewhat, he said, "It was Ali Ali. He took all our wives and forced them into his harem several months ago. He promised all of us that we could get our wives back if we would come here and serve as his buck-harem. All we had to do is, um, take care of you Mudcat femmes and we could have our own women back..."

"Then why are you crying?" Wyo said solicitously. "You could be using this diversion to go and open the harem where your wives are being kept. You could join forces with us and together we could crush the scurrilous reprobat extraordinaire, Ali Ali Inkomfree..."

"Yes, yes," he interrupted. "That would be such a great plan. But ... " he paused, groping for a way to explain his terrible dilemma. "My wife, you see. It's that Libra/Scorpio thing... The Libra would forgive anything, but that Scoprio? She'll kill me if she thinks I, um, took care of your 'every' need ... "

"Ah," Wyo said. "I understand completely. Well, listen. You just help us kick Ali's ass from here to Antarctica and I think we can figure out a way to deal with your wife. Appeal to her inherent sense of justice or something..."

The man's bright eyes sparkled with hope. He started to speak, but instead, his face froze in terror, his gaze fixed just over U.S. Wyo's left shoulder. Wyo didn't even need to ask. Ali Ali Incomfree's turban was plainly reflected in the young man's glistening brown eyes ...

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: katlaughing
Date: 27 Sep 00 - 10:05 PM

"Every womon for herself! Activate your Fingernail! To their eyes! To their eyes!" Kat howled out the command. "Meet up at the second corner turn, after the left-handed organ-grinder's third setup corner, near the Shop of Veils where the old shoes have herbs planted in them! Go, now! Aaaaaiiiiieeeeee, hah!"

And, with that, she struck Ali Inkomfree across the face, slashing his eyes with her Plastic Magic Fingernail Activator, leaving a trail of deadly poison near his eyes.

Or was it poisonous? she thought to herself. It was supposed to be like those frogs, one touch and lights out, so why am I still fighting with the guy?!! And, WHO in the gawddess's name come up out of that toilet??!!

This would be a fine time for a certain brother and troops to show up. Oh gawddess! Oh gaaawwwwdddeesss!!! Anyday now! And, with that she gave an extra kick and block with her lightening flashing hands like steel knocking Ali down. Stepping over him, she ran towards the nearest door. Women were everywhere, fighting, biting, running, it looked like they had the upper hand.

She almost tripped over some huge kind of rat that actually spoke to her. Spoke?? She could only hope they all made it to the rendevous point....as she gained the doorway, she looked out to see a full moon brightening the courtyard, shadows seemed to move about in the darker reaches...shadows with a sinister look to them....

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Susan A-R
Date: 27 Sep 00 - 09:35 PM

"Oh My, but you do make a mean Baba Ganoush baby." Susan cooed to the strong, dark, stranger who had settled across from her on the elegant rug. "I bet your tagine is really something. Now I personally love those briouats myself, all of that butter, powdered sugar, flaky pastry and meat. Mmmm." She ran her tongue delicately over her lips, and the man across from her trembled.

Susan desparately hoped that her line of chatter had covered the sounds she was hearing, seemingly from right under her classy divan. If she didn't know better, she'd swear it was that fellow tuning up for another apsalt. She hoped he'd either be quick about it, or . . . but wait! What was happening in the corner with the screen, the powder room, was it?

Then all doubt was washed away (so to speak) when there came a loud crash, and chunks of broken porcelein rolled out from under the screen, immediately followed by yells, whoops, harmonica wails, and the blast of the psaltery.

Her wiles must have been more powerful than she thought, for it took a moment for her "buddy" to catch onto the situation. With a quick flick of the wrist, susan sent her baba into his eyes, and followed up with a lashing kick as she whilred to see what her commander would require of her.

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Dave the Gnome
Date: 27 Sep 00 - 04:06 AM

"Hrmfgh Blurrrrrl Grrrrng" muttered Davinia from her position on the floor with her nose stuck in some sort of grating.

If only those fiends hadn't brought out the Finkles old Knacker Wurdler scrumpy she might have been able to pass some vital information on to her collegues.

Right now she wasn't even sure of what she was seeing. There seemed to be a sewer tunnel stretching away into the distance below the grate. She could distincly hear the voices but could she realy believe what she was seeing? After all talking rats were not something you saw every day.

And who were they talking to? Odd images flashed from her past. Sewers, talking rats, now what else... Surely not ... no... not a Ninja Turtle rescue party???

The shock was too much and combined with the old Knacker Wurdler Davinias senses reeled, followed by the room as she finaly passed into gentle oblivion...

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: GUEST,Little Crow Woman
Date: 26 Sep 00 - 09:17 PM

*Ok, Little Hawk, I see you're busy right now. How about I go put the sleep potion in that likker, and you take it from your end, ok?* - She thought to him.

Changing into Crow form, she flew with her potion clutched in her claws, and disappeared into the sky...

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: mousethief
Date: 26 Sep 00 - 12:44 AM

Suddenly, they heard the one thing they most feared: voices. Small, pipey voices, coming down the sewer pipe. The four men and one possum stood as still as stone, listening.

Slowly the voices grew louder, and clearer. Eventually they could make out what the voices were saying.

"Foist we goes t' our hidey-hole, and we has a little nap, den we go back d' da palace ta collect da scraps. Dass what Oi thinks we's should do."

"Ah, R.J., you wouldn't know how ta think if ya loif depended on it. Rememba who's in chahge heah. We go to da palace now. It'll take us a long toim ta get deh, since somebody went and lost us ouah skateboa'd."

"Who done dat?" asked R.J.

"Youse did, you idjit! Geez, if you woin't my bruddah, I'd trade you in for somebuddy smahta."

"Don' say dat, A.J. Remembah what owwer mudder-"

"God rest ha soul," interjected A.J.

"... said. You'se gotta take good care o' me."

"And I will, ya lunkhead. You'se da stupidest rat in all da woild, dough."

"I knows, A.J., I knows."

"They're rats," Mousethief mouthed to Naemanson, who could just barely make him out in the faint light from a sewer grate not far away.

"Talking rats," mouthed Naemanson.

"Amazing!" mouthed Mousethief.

Suddenly the talking rats turned a corner in the sewer, and practically ran into the rescue squad.

"What ah youse guys doin' he-ya?" yelped the smaller of the two rats, who was apparently (to judge by the voice) the one called "A.J."

"Escaping," said Mbo. "Which we'll be happy to get back to if you don't mind."

"Now what wudd a bunch of noice goys like youse be doin' in a nasty ol' prison loik dis?" A.J. asked.

"That's for us to know, and you NOT to find out," said Mbo, still not quite used to the idea of talking to a rat. "This is like some weird Disney movie or something," he thought to himself.

"This is nuttin' loik no Disney movie, Mbo," said A.J.

"Hey! You copped my thoughts!" exclaimed Mbo.

"It's not loik it was haaahd or nuttin'" said A.J. "Youse got psychic enahgee spillin' all ovah dis place."

"And yet you didn't know we were here until you turned the corner," Mbo shrewdly pointed out.

"Psychic enahgee don't toin cornahs too good," observed A.J.

"Hmm," said Mbo, pausing to think about this.

"Well, ah we goin' to dose mudboiks uv yoahs, or ain't we?" asked A.J. "I'm int'rested in seein' what koind a speed we can get on dose babies, and I'm t'inkin' youse might could use a psychic rat wit' youse in yoh rescue attempt, no?"

"Just one question," said Little Hawk.

"Shoot," said A.J.

"What kind of accent is that? It's like half Boston and half Brooklyn, with a little mid-South thrown in for good measure."

"Oh, you'se a woise goy, ain'tcha? If youse wants ta know, my mudda-"

"God rest ha soul" interrupted R.J.

"... was frum Brooklyn, and my Fadder-"

"Coise him!" interjected R.J.

"... was from Boston. Happy?"

"Delerious," said Little Hawk. "Now let's get out of here."

"Glad to oblige," said A.J.

"Follow me," said Mbo.

The four men, two rats, and one possum fell into line, and slowly trudged forward through the raw sewage, following Mbo into they knew not what.

Alex
O..O
=o=

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Naemanson
Date: 25 Sep 00 - 07:41 PM

The boy was obviously addled. Everyone knew that there wasn't a motorcycle made that was better than a 1972 Triumph Trohy Trail. Except maybe a 1952 Black Vincent but that was another song.

Still he'd got them this far so he must know what he was doing. The talk about the swamp song was definitely some kind of code. Naemanson wanted to talk to the mouser, uh, the mousethief about this but didn't dare so he followed silently....

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Mbo
Date: 25 Sep 00 - 07:18 PM

pssssssst....over here! whispered a voice. Mbo could see Naemanson, Mousethief, Little Hawk & Cleigh making their way down the dark hall. Over here! he whispered again. In a dark corner of the hall, there was a single sewer grate. The escapees could see something small reflecting a tiny pinpoint of light at them. They made their way towards it. As they reached the corner, they could see a hand reaching up through the grate. It had a Hohner HotMetal "G" harmonica grasped in it. Silently, Mbo lifted the grate. C'mon, down here. There are sewers that run underneath this compound. That's how I got in. I'm Special Agent Mbo, and I was sent here to rescued you by the World Anti Male-Bashing Association (WAMBA), on orders from President Si Kahn himself. Be as quiet as possible and slip down here. We we reach the outside, I have a couple Lonestar Roughrider Dustbikes waiting. Nothin' can out run 'em. Not even the minions of Kat herself..

One by one, they each silently lowered themselves down the short shaft and into the sewer. When Little Hawk at last dropped down, as quiet as a mouse (not a mousethief) replaced the grate. And so he led them through the labyrinthine sewers, reeking of cheap perfume.

The time has almost come. he whispered to the desperate men behind him. When THE SWAMP SONG will be released upon the world. And President Kahn thinks you four are the best suited for this immense task...

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: katlaughing
Date: 25 Sep 00 - 06:55 PM

mumble, mumble...Ouch, damn it, this stupid veil! Alright wimmin, here's the way I see it. They're men, right? And, we all know what men want, right? We will dazzle them with a few teases; spin them round with a few twists and twirls; get them all hot and bothered, let them think they are gonna get "it", THEN, we'll go for their throats. Remember the Magic Plastic Fingernail Activator? You either bite down on it, releasing the cyanide so yer lips are sealed forever, OR, you pierce the enemy's throat with it. Sweet release for them and you get yer arse outta there! Alright, whadda ya say? Hut, 2,3, 4, GO!

Heya, Ali, darlin'...this is Godiva chocolate, isn't it? How did you know it was my favourite? C'mere, sweetie. It's been a long, long time....

As Kat worked her wiles with Ali Inkomfree, the rest of her crew spread out with the various boy-toy cum guards...glimpses of beauteous flesh, rippling muscles flashing in the flickering light of braziers fragrant with exotic scents....

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Naemanson
Date: 25 Sep 00 - 06:44 PM

It was dark in the cell. He knew there were others in there with him but he couldn't see how many and he had no idea who they were. He only knew that the parachute harness was starting to chafe him in places he'd rather not have chafed. He felt his way across the cell, occasionally stumbling over another prisoner. His head hurt, not from the blow that felled him but from the sound coming from the speakers in the walls. This would be the fifteenth replaying of Song Sung Blue. Following that would be Cracklin Rosie. He didn't think he could stand it much longer.

He reached to door to the cell and peered out into the hallway. There was a switch on the wall just out of reach. He pulled up one of the dragging parachute strings and tied his mechanical pencil to it. After several attempts the pencil hit the switch and the overhead bulbs came on. They were only forty watt bulbs but after the darkness the light hurt his eyes.

He turned to see the others looking at him. He shrugged. "It seemed like the thing to do," he muttered. One of the prisoners looked for all the world like an Indian. He uncoiled from the lotus position he had assumed and strode silently forward. He studied the hall.

"I see they have piled our belongings in that other cell." He commented calmly. Naemanson stared at him. It was as if the strains of Cracklin Rosie were having no effect on him. He looked around. The possum was here slowly and calmly beating his head against the floor.

If only we could get the door open said a third person. Naemanson and the Indian turned to look at him. They saw a slight young man dressed in grey. He moved as though each step was a dance. They watched him as he studied the problem and Naemanson thought he heard him mutter something about someone called Fafhrd.

The others introduced themselves as Little Hawk and Mousethief. They looked at the possum and Naemanson said, "I think his name is Cleigh."

"Well," said Naemanson, "if we are going to ever get out of here we have to work together." He looked at them. "If we can get to our stuff we have a chance. How are we going to get this door open?"

Mousethief studied the lock for a minute and then pulled some tools from a secret compartment in the heal of his shoe. He began to work on the lock. Cleigh got bored with beating his head on the floor, stepped between the bars, and wandered off down the hall. He reached the end and turned around pacing back down to the other end. The other prisoners stared at him.

"Hey, Cleigh!" Little Hawk called softly, "Can at least see if you can find the keys or bring us some of our stuff?"

The possum studied the prblem and said, "Gee guys, it ain't too easy frum heer. I cain't get into thet room cuz the dore is lokd."

"But you can just walk between the bars!" Naemanson called, fighting his frustration.

"Yep!," said Cleigh, "and then whut? I'm lokd in t'other room!"

Suddenly there was a click and Mousethief gave a satisfied grunt. The door swung open. He glided across to the other door and got to work.Naemanson took up a position on one end of the hall and Little Hawk strode to the other. Suddenly Naemanson heard the unmistakable sounds of approaching feet. He turned desperately to see Mousethief swing the door open. Naemanson and Little Hawk sprinted down and in to the room. As Little Hawk scooped up his quiver and bow Naemanson grabbed his psaltery case.

"There isn't time for that," Mousethief muttered.

Naemanson ignored him as he drew the psaltery from the case and then reach in and clipped a bulbous object underneath it. He was feeling in his pockets as he explained to his companions. "This isn't just a regular bowed psaltery. This was built by one of the master crafters. The attachment is an amplifier which makes this an a-psaltery weapon. And with this, "he held up a small copper topped cylinder, "I can commit a-psaltery and battery! Let's go…"

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: GUEST,Little Crow Woman
Date: 25 Sep 00 - 06:40 PM

How did I get here? Through the Door at the Crack at the Edge of the Universe, of course!

Little Hawk! I heard what just happened! We must rescue those women from Ali the Fiend! I will brew up my extra-sleepy tea, and we must put a few drops in all the likker at Ali's Lair. Shift to Hawk form for this, no-one knows about that "skill" of yours... and mine...

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Morticia
Date: 25 Sep 00 - 06:33 PM

Dear Mother,
well you will not believe what has happened now.After a cunning subterfuge in which people dressed like the Mudcat Commandoes lured the rescue parties out into the desert,we were rounded up and brought to some sort of boodoire, with fancy hangings and chocolate and all kinds of good stuff.
Only problem is,I think they want our ....well, you remember what the Little Sisters of the Demented and Irrational said about my innocence? How a psychotic and homicidal little hellbat could remain so mysteriously untouched by anything even remotely resembling real life and wasn't it a miracle? I think I'm about to be de-miracled.
You will be proud to hear that I said we should die rather than surrender our honour but Wyo said "Not so fast small fry", and she thinks she left her honour with her virtue ( on a train somewhere,she thinks) and even the Sarge was saying that they were kind of cute and all.
Davinia was on my side until she saw all the silk hangings and little bells and then she got that funny look in her eye and started capering and stuff,Susan has started exhanging recipes involving curds ( or was it Kurds?),.......and well,forget about sending the clean jammies ...I don't think I'm going to need them.
I remain your dutiful .... ooh, you little devil, get your hand off my yashmak daughter.......( please excuse the wobbly writing......
Morticia

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Peter T.
Date: 25 Sep 00 - 05:52 PM

{Sorry, Sir Sean Connery.
yours, Peter T.}

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Peter T.
Date: 25 Sep 00 - 05:34 PM

Ali Ali Inkomfree sat down on his throne, and clapped his hands. Within a few moments, the real Sgt. Kat and her Mudcat Commandos entered the exotic room. They had all been washed in milk baths and perfumed and clothed in fine silks which revealed many of their spiritual assets. Ali gestured for them all to sit down on the extensive divans he had prepared for each of them, covered with patterns of peacock feathers, and trimmed in gold. Bowls of chocolate and fruit lay within easy reach. Roses were strewn everywhere.

"Welcome, welcome, Howling Commandos, and especially your exquisite leader," he said. "I hope that your ordeal has not tamed that fighting spirit for which you are so widely renowned. It was with some reluctance -- since I have long wished to witness your prowess on the battlefield as well as on other fields of endeavour -- that the maddened horde of my people rushed down upon your attackers, following the strange myriad signals and forms -- arrows, harmonicas, small possum like creatures, and so on -- that seem to follow you around like dogs following a caravan. It was dangerous, but we were able to rout your foes. It was necessary to -- um, how shall I put it -- protect my investment."

"You disgusting scum-sucking fiend," said Sgt. Kat, at her most exquisite.

"Please, Sarge -- may I call you Sarge? -- I have always been delighted by the name Sarge, from my days at Harvard reading comic books when I should have been studying -- I should be wary of who you refer to as "scum-sucking" given the delicacies that your Susan has been inflicting on your Taliban captors. Many of them have already handed themselves over to Medecins Sans Frontieres in various pitiful states of disarray."

"You remind me of someone I once knew who longed for love," interjected sophocleese. "There was a song ---"

Before she could continue, a silken handkerchief was gently whipped around her mouth by one of the attendants, who, as was suddenly noticed by the hitherto slightly confused commandos, was a strapping Afghan lad with a striking resemblance to the young Omar Sharif.

Ali smiled. He was somewhat Omar Shariflike himself. "I apologise for our rough methods. We are barbarians of course. Perhaps some other time for one of your enchanting melodies. In the meantime, it should be of some comfort to know that you are no longer prisoners of the Taliban army, but guests of mine."

"Prisoners, you mean!" piped up Morticia. "You are going to have your way with us!! You have bought us like trinkets, baubles, bangles, bright shiny beads, ting-a-linga. We are to be white slaves!!!!"

"Ah?" said Ali. "The beauteous, if somewhat naive, Morticia. May I tell you what a pleasure it is to have such a storyteller amongst us, we have been reading your intercepted letters with unalloyed pleasure? A veritable Sheherazade. I look forward to some bedtime stories."

"This won't last," vowed the swarthy Big Michelle. "We have a clique, a gang, an in group, a secret network of those who I am sure are already flying to our aid, including the FAIR ONE (rainbow caps), the elusive Mmario (no spaces) and the great bert ( all lower case)!!!!

The great Afghan chieftain looked even more bemused. "Ladies, you have turned many heads already, included a number of heads of state. I have already had a number of substantial bids for you already this morning, as well as various knick knacks. " He reached over to a low table nearby. "This little cassette recorder, that plays 'Lara's Theme' was sent by the Premier of Russia." He gestured towards a large heap of objects and letters in a corner -- "A Mr. Sean Connery has sent a personal note to me declaring and witnessing to the fact that certain of you ladies are Scottish National Treasures, in substantive, and may I say, mouth-watering detail. The President of the United States has authorised the deployment away from American soil of something known as Catspaw, some terrifying new weapon, I assume. The head of the International Olympic Committee, Mr. Samaranch, has telegraphed to me his understanding that U.S. Wyowoman was currently exploring a range of possible new Olympic events that appear to be, if not televiseable to a mass audience, certainly, er, pathbreaking. He says that he speaks on behalf of the entire Olympic movement, and especially a group he refers to as "That Crazy Bunch of Fact-Finding Guys from the Penthouse in Salt Lake City. So you are not without admirers, among whom, naturally enough, I count myself."

"Wait till Rick Fury, gets here, you demon in burnoose!" chimed in Davinia, which made the new set of ankle bells she had on tinkle, which intrigued and somewhat distracted her.

Ali shrugged. "I hope they are more of a force to be reckoned with that that ragtag collection they have sent to rescue you from "a fate worse than death" so far. A lost tourist, a young bewildered man with a dry harmonica, what appears to be someone out of a wildwest show, and a variety of others. The Taliban have taken them all away to the Neil Diamond Dungeon of Terror. We shall probably not see them again for awhile. We await Colonel Fury with amusement." He clapped his hands.

A number of doors opened, and a substantial banquet was rolled forward.

"Ladies, in the meantime, some Eastern hospitality. First some delicacies, and then --" He clapped his hands again. "In my realm, we operate according to what you in the West so amusingly call, "the buddy system."

Out from behind the mounds of food now stepped some extraordinarily agile and darkly handsome young men, wearing flowing white silken robes, edged in purple. It was again noticieable that they cut from the same mould as the darkly handsome gentleman who had gently stifled sophocleese's musical stirrings. "Each of you howling commandos has been assigned a buddy, who will, how shall I put this? attend to your every want, they are remarkably attentive, so that you will perhaps warm to me as time goes on."

"This is beyond disgusting, " cried Morticia. "This is morally degrading, this is worse than weapons of war, you fiend, we will have nothing to do with this, this sordid spectacle, this attempt to undermine our womanly solidarity -- how little you know of our strength, you swine, Oh, how you underestimate our fortitude, our resolute ---!!!!"

At this point Sgt. Kat tugged on her sleeve and gave the secret commando huddle signal.

"Excuse us for a second, will you, fiend?" asked Sgt. Kat.

Ali, the fiend, smiled: "Of course, Howling Mudcat Commandos. Take your time. Lunch can wait. "

The Howling Commandos went off into a corner, taking a couple of grapes and some bars of chocolate with them as a temporary snack, and began to discuss this latest and most disconcerting train of events....

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: GUEST,GUEST, Little Crow Woman
Date: 25 Sep 00 - 04:35 PM

Hi, sweetheart!

I decided to come along.

Indian Healer reporting for duty.
Although I've never brewed a pot of coffee in my life, I do make a mean herb tea. We could probably sneak it behind the enemy lines and use it to demoralise the Taliban! (I just need to be using the right herbs. *wry grin*)
And Little Hawk will be much more effective if he's comfortable at night...

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Little Hawk
Date: 25 Sep 00 - 01:38 PM

Little Hawk here, volunteering for duty. You definitely could use an Indian scout. Not that I don't have grave reservations (no pun intended) about allying myself with any branch of the US military...I still have distinct memories of Sand Creek...the blue-coated bastards, murdering, raping, and pillaging...and of Wounded Knee, and a thousand other shameful occasions...

However, Kat's Commandos are mainly women, and that gives me some confidence. It was not the women who persecuted us. Plus, I am willing to help anyone against those damned Taliban fanatics...may they rot.

The scene:

Little Hawk crept silently to the edge of a jagged, rocky ridge. There was no one to be seen, but he had a distinct feeling that the enemy was near. His soft mocassins and buckskins were perfectly suited for stealth, and he carried only a bow, a quiver of arrows, a mirror for signalling, a skinning knife, and a medicine bag around his neck. In the medicine bag were certain sacred objects...a little stone from the Black Hills, a lock of hair from Little Crow Woman, some tobacco and Sage, a tie of sweetgrass, and a card entitled "Little Miracles". If you opened the card, it read inside..."Each person represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by our meeting that a new world is born." - Anais Nin

Now ensconced securely in a shadowed nook at the peak of the Ridge, where he could take in the entire Eastern approach, Little Hawk considered those words once again. Indeed, the women were the heartbeat of the nation, and the teachers of compassion. It was almost beyond comprehension what these wretched Taliban fanatics were doing to their own women. And yet, one must respect his enemy. Hate the evil that is perpetrated, but hate not the perpertrator, because he no doubt imagines that he is defending what is normal, proper, and even sacred in his own terms. So he would respect the Taliban fighters...and he would kill them...until their women were free.

Does the fight against oppression ever end? Not on this Earth plane, this sacred place of the four directions, because it has been provided that we might have a chance as wandering spirits to put all our great theories to test in the crucible of physical experience. Oh ye gods and spirits...how far you have journeyed from the unity of the One into these dramatic and tragic realms of limitation...and yet how beautiful a realm it is.

Little Hawk's musings were interrupted by a faint glimmer of light that flickered for a moment in the first beams of dawn. It was the sun glancing off metal. A moment later he heard the sound of boots scraping on stone, and he saw them. A whole column of them, making their way up the slope. Taliban.

First, the signal. Moving to the rear of the ridgline, Little Hawk flashed three bright flashes with the mirror to Kat's commandos back in the village. They were no doubt still recovering from their celebratory excesses of the night before. Typical yanks! Hopefully their hangovers would not ruin their marksmanship. In any case, thought Little Hawk, with the amount of firepower that they customarily carried, they could hardly miss. He grinned at the though of it. In Vietnam so much ordinance had been expended that it cost upwards of $50,000 (in the money of the late 60's!) to kill each Viet Cong. They could have just paid them all not to fight, instead, he though wryly, and there would have been no war. But that would have been too easy, and it wouldn't have sold any weapons, would it?

When my people found the paper money on Custer's men, he thought further, we used if for what it was really good for...starting fires, and making little folded fans and toys for the children. What a foolish people, to worship little pieces of paper...and then there was their constant addiction to pointless swearing and various macho demonstrations of that sort...very immature behaviour...

But here were coming the Taliban. Time to delay them. Little Hawk crept back to his former postion, calmy fitted an arrow and let it go, exhaling as he did so. He sent a spirit hawk to guide it.

The arrown ghosted down in almost complete silence, just a tiny hiss of air, and took the first climber in the heart. He went down with a shriek of dismay, as Little Hawk vanished behind a boulder.

All hell broke loose. The Taliban were firing wildly at the entire ridge line with everything they had. If the mirror signal had not been seen, it hardly mattered now.

It was really an amazing amount of noise...enough to wake the dead in Peshawar, in all probability, thought Little Hawk. Not that the dead needed waking...they are in general more alive than the living, particularly if the living are to be found in the suburbs of Los Angeles or places like Mimico...

These silly Taliban are far too reliant on heavy firepower as well, thought Little Hawk. Time to show them the value of simplicity.

He took up a new position. Fire was slackening now. He could faintly hear someone yelling orders to the West. Kat's Commandos must be on the move.

The Taliban were moving forward warily. Little Hawk fired two more arrows and nailed two more of them, ducking out of sight even as the arrows struck home. The Afghans uttered cries of rage and astonishment, not having expected an assault by such ancient weapons. They surged forward in a concerted charge, making for the ridge line.

They do not lack courage, thought Little Hawk. Indeed, they thirst for a warrior's death in their chosen paradise. So much the better.

It was time to abandon his postion, but he took out two more of his opponents before doing so, and then ran like the wind down the reverse slope, dodging northward all the while, to take up a new postion and hopefully flank them from there. Just like Crazy Horse did to Crook at the Rosebud, bleeding them from ridge to ridge, until they finally lost heart and took the long and weary trail back home.

Ah, hah! Here were Kat's commandos, forming up on the following rise. Every kind of firepower imaginable did they have ready to hand, and their red-rimmed, slightly psychotic eyes were glaring across the void, fingers ready on oiled triggers. Little Hawk whooped to them gaily, and gestured to the East. God help the wretched Taliban.

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: MMario
Date: 25 Sep 00 - 10:03 AM

MMario de TerraChat bowed as he was presented to Her Majesty, the plumes of his hat sweeping the tiled castle floor. He signaled to the court musicians to start the music for his grand musical ode; but instead of the strains of sackbut and virginal he heard instead a rough voice:

d*mn your hide, MMario! Snap out of it man! Sgt. Kat and her commandos need your help and you aren't getting out of it by retreating into delusion. Max blast you! If you don't snap out of it I'm having your caffiene ration cut!

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Dave the Gnome
Date: 25 Sep 00 - 09:37 AM

Davinia, seeing Naemanson marching out in an apparant daze, stuck her(?) face around the corner of the alley she had last been seen capering down.

"Mmmmm" she pondered, "What might Spaw be playing at? Plenty of silk here to make the hankies but no bells (belles?). And why send an agent with no idea what is going on?"

Shruging her shoulders she began to cut 12" squares from the parachute material. A tingle down her spine made her dive for cover just as the sword whistled above her head. Rolling heavily to the left she leapt up and flicked both hankies into the face of her assailant. He fell heavily but she then saw the rest of them...

Five other sword wielding assasins in colourful costume stopped their deadly dance of death as the strains of wheezy instrument fell into silence. The looked dumbstruck and then, one by one, they fell to their knees.

"Oh forgive us , great one. We did not know that you were the prophesised holy one."

Davinia kept quiet but her mind was racing

Whistling "Jockey to the fair" Davinia skipped back down the alley, this time followed by five awestruck devotees who had substituted their swords with more silk hankies cut from the parachute silk.....

Was this the mission Kat had planned or was she falling into a sub plot unleashed by a devious enemy? Who was the enemy? The Afgans? The Russians? The Morris Ring???

If she could just use her new powers to find out and infiltrate the inner sanctum there may just be some hope....

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Naemanson
Date: 24 Sep 00 - 08:38 AM

Naemanson was once again in that comforting state of confusion. "Forget about the girls!" he muttered to himself, "You're in trouble here." He sat down in the alley and shook his head. "I'm obviously having hallucinations when I'm seeing a cleigh possum with a blunderbuss." Still the sight jarred a memory fragment loose and it floated on the pool of his consciousness like a blob of scum. Where had he seen a cleigh possum before?

Suddenly it hit him. Spaw! That rat bastard he had known so many years ago used to hang out with a cleigh possum. It was rumored they were so much more than just friends! It was also rumored that Spaw worked for the CIA or the FBI or some such government agency. "From what I knew of him and the possum he could have been working for the ASPCA providing love lessons."

Still, Naemanson admitted to himself, when the chips were down so was Spaw. But there was no one better to have on your side. "Wish he was here," he muttered. "At least he'd be able to get this parachute harness off of me."

He staggered to his feet and drew his psaltery. There was only one way to deal with an hallucination and that was fight fire with fire. He set bow to strings, turned his back on the cleigh possum and marched out into the compound playing a lively march tune....

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: mousethief
Date: 24 Sep 00 - 12:00 AM

"Yes, I know my name is Alex, and I know I go to a church that was founded by Russian immigrants. But I'm not Russian and I don't speak a word of Russian, except for 'Gospodi, pomilui.'"

The president looked up at the tall man whom some call Agent Mousethief, but he did not smile. "What does 'Gospodi, pomilui' mean?"

"'Lord have mercy,'" said Agent Mouse.

"Perfect," said the president. "Because you'll need a lot of that where you're going. You do own a parachute, right?"

"No, I don't own no stupid parachute. I'm a computer programmer at Boeing Spares. I help sell airplane parts. I don't jump out of the damned things."

"There's time to learn, agent, time to learn. From 30,000 feet, at 30 feet per second per second. You do the math."

Within hours, Agent Mousethief was on the aging Aeroflot plane, whining and lurching over the North Pacific, headed for Moscow. "Well, I've always wanted to go to Russia," he mused to himself, "but rather as a pilgrim than a spy."

"Shpy now, peelgreem laytair," said his interpreter, a short man named Boris with a waxed mustache out of which small bits of borsch kept falling.

Suddenly the plane lurched violently to the left, or port, if you're facing foreward, but it's on your right if you're facing aft, and that's why we use words like "port" and "starboard" and not "left" and "right" so everyone knows which side of the ship -- or in this case plane -- you're talking about. Agent Mousethief sadly thought about what his instructor in English 181 back at the University of Washington told him about too many explanatory parentheticals in his prose. But that was a long time ago, and didn't seem to apply to the deadly situation he found himself in. The door to the cockpit was jarred open by the violence of the plane's motion, and banged against the bulkhead, revealing ... empty seats. The cockpit was empty. The pilot had bailed out over Newfoundland.

"I've never flown a plane before," admitted Agent MT.

"Me too," said Boris.

"Do you own a parachute?" the veteran spy asked.

"Da," said Boris, lapsing back into his native tongue. Three beet cubes and a bit of stringy carrot fell onto it, and he sucked it back into his mouth.

"Then now's the time to use it," yelled Agent Mousethief, as he kicked the door open and jumped into the blackness of the night.

"On second thought, I have flown a plane before, and I hate parachuting," said Boris in flawless English, as he closed the cabin door and casually strode up to the cockpit.

Meanwhile, Agent M was drifting slowly towards the North Atlantic, when he fell through a hole in the space-time continuum and landed directly in the middle of a pile of horrific green goo which looked like the exploded remains of a vegetarian stew even HE wouldn't eat, even during Lent.

As a band of grim-faced men in funny hats closed in around him, he regretted but one thing. He should have held out for the $100 per diem.

O..O
=o=

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Tinker
Date: 23 Sep 00 - 10:30 PM

On the other side of camp...

Oh, What happened….? Pssslgggh!!! Sand?
I was sitting at the Tavern, with Bubba near the fire. And I ordered a drink, or was it two …. It had been a very long day. No, I won't remember middleschoolers and hip hop….
But this Mudcat Place seemed safe enough, if a bit diverse. Besides, I brought Bubba and he'd never let anybody hurt me. Any dog who can play catch with a soccer ball tends to discourage trouble.
But my head…. Must've been the free rounds.
But wait a minute, my clothes….. Tattered cutoffs, pocket tee, 2in leather belt, and there's a six inch sheath knife on my belt. Wool socks and boots. I haven't dressed like this since girl scout camp.
Oh, NO! I've been calling myself Tinker here. Must be some sort of cosmic joke. Cause the twenty odd pounds I've gained since then didn't come off. Good thing or Bubba would weigh more than me.I remember talking to the bartender.
"Hey, what's your name?" I asked.
" Schrodinger" said the man.
And I started to laugh, but it hurt. Didn't know virtually drinks could pack that kind of punch." I guess this place has it's own rules, "I said, "Like Lovecraft's Café." He smiled wryly, "You might say …." Then Bubba jumped and stared at the bar. A low growl rose from his throat. "What's up boy…?" "Oh he must smell my cat…" Cat?!!… I tightened my grip on the leash.
Then the cat leaped over the bar after a thieving mouse with an olive, and Bubba took off. My feet left the ground and we went off through the mirror on the back wall…....
Damn Thread Jump....Come On Boy,Let's Find the Crew...Guess someone out there has work for us...

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Susan A-R
Date: 23 Sep 00 - 09:39 PM

A miniature cleigh possum, whistling his way along the alley with a small blunderbus under his arm. The possum whistled cheerfully, occasionally shooting what appeared to be armour piercing possum pellets through the walls on either side of the alley./ His little whixkered face was wrinkled in concentration and he barely noticed when the man behind him yelled

Jeysus Cleigh, would you stop that whistling. . .

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: bbelle
Date: 23 Sep 00 - 03:31 PM

And into the Travel Agency of Psychoses and Strange. Our motto ... We Take No Prisoners.

The Head Psycho looked up and Naemonson could see only one eye peering at him. The other eye was checking his hair for nits. Naemonson, obviously distraught at this invasion of privacy cries out "What, in the name of all the rocks on the shore, are ye doin?" Head Psycho says in a wry, scratchy voice "Why I'm checking for nits, nitswits, that is. Ye gotta have nitswits for brains to walk through our door." Then Head Psycho whispers down low in his wry, scratchy voice "But ya ain't got any."

Ah, thinks Naemonson, I'm FREE AT LAST, FREE AT LAST! He feels safe. Until Head Psycho whirls around in his chair (actually he whirls around a bunch of times and gets that really goofy, dizzy look of the confused) and laughs in a voice that Naemonson has heard recently and cries out,

"Man, if ye ain't got no nitswits, ye ain't got no brains, either."

Naemonson opens the door to the alley, looks both ways for safety and what to his wonderin' eyes should appear, but ...

Subject: RE: Sgt.Kat and Her Howling Mudcat Commandos
From: Naemanson
Date: 23 Sep 00 - 02:57 PM

Naemanson, an Uzi submachine gun in each hand, strode through the compound. The enemy poured fire on him from doors and windows but he casually picked them off one by one or in droves. Finally the dust and smoke parted as he defeated the renegade chieftain. The women were free. They crowded around him to congratulate and thank him, pressing up against him to....

Naemanson woke up. Hours must have passed and Davinia had not returned. The compound had once again settled down. Naemanson got to his feet, picked up his psaltery case and walked down to the end of the alley in which he hid. The parachute strings dragged behind him. He peered out to see the results of the night time activities. A wall had collapsed and the green stains around the fire seemed to indicate that something caustic had been splashed liberally around. His stomach grumbled.

His parachute was draped over one wall and he could hear sounds coming out from under it. Someone, no, two someones were in there and they were either in pain or having a very good time. He chose not to look.

There was no movement that he could see though he assumed someone was keeping watch. He frowned. This was certainly nothing like what the travel agent had promised. His frown deepened. What was it about that travel agent?

He shrugged off the thought. He had been promised beautiful valleys, majestic mountains, and lovely willing young women. He was fairly certain there had been no mention of the machine guns and screaming confusion he had seen that night. What to do?

As he saw it he could continue to hide or he could find the local office of that travel agency and lodge a firm complaint. From where he stood there was only one door that looked official. Taking a deep breath he stepped out of the alley...