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Mudcat Tavern: Welcome Home Party
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Subject: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: JenEllen Date: 29 Jun 01 - 04:42 PM "What a mess.." she thinks to herself as she grabs a broom and dustrag. This place has been empty for a while, and frankly, still smells a bit like possum, but in the scant few seconds it takes to clean cyberspace, the tavern is open and ready for the WELCOME HOME PARTY!!! The stage is cleaned off and the trapdoor still works. The jello pit is full of glistening green jiggle. The jukebox has all of your favourite songs. The snuggle pit is fluffed and ready for all sorts of creatures. The neighbors have been warned. The bar is completely stocked, and by the looks of the mail, Bert's paid the credit card off. All done and humming songs about civets and mynah birds, the woman opens the door to the tavern. She then pours herself a tall cold one and props her feet on the barstool beside her, ready to welcome everyone home. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Jack the Sailor Date: 29 Jun 01 - 05:17 PM "This tastes like Crap!" he said. "Not bad!" He savoured the rich aroma of his coffee and wondered how his wife had found out about his mistress. "Perhaps that nosey kid with the Cherios on his breath had told her. Should have minded my business. Should have let him drive away."
She hears him mumbling to himself and wonders whether she should talk with him or just turn up the jukebox. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Peter K (Fionn) Date: 29 Jun 01 - 05:19 PM Must be a hell of a party going on somewhere else... |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Geoff the Duck Date: 29 Jun 01 - 05:24 PM Yeah, but what's a party when you can't get into th kitchen! |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Peter T. Date: 29 Jun 01 - 05:36 PM A somewhat disshevelled figure, since he had pawned his shevells in order to purchase the surprise gift, enters quickly,and goes to Mistress PushmiPullu, and pulls out from his raincoat a large package, and says with a shaky voice: "Here, for the pppartty", and rushes back out into the gathering brightness. Mistress PushmiPullu puts down her broom, gingerly opens the package, and sees a green jello mold in the shape of something unmentionable and embedded within it an array of small marshmallows spelling out the words: "Heron Go Braugh!". She shrugs, and puts it on the bar, thinking to herself, something like bringing coals to Newcastle, For He's A Jelly Good Jello and so on, and then remembers that there is some Newcastle Brown Ale somewhere, and it had better be on tap as well. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Kim C Date: 29 Jun 01 - 05:37 PM Safira Yasmeen will now perform the new belly dance she just learned. ;-) |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Ian Stephenson Date: 29 Jun 01 - 06:03 PM A creaking noise is heard from one dark corner of the room.. a door with "gentlemen" faintly visible on its cracked surface swings open, and from it a hunched shadow of a man emerges, hobbling towards the light. "how the bloomin' nora did I get there...grunt" at which point he promtly falls over and is silent in a heap on the floor. It is determined from his name-tag that this figure is none other than "Hall Monitor". His face was turning blue. It became evident that this was due to the fact that the sun had moved west since his fall, and a ray of sunlight was illuminating his face, heavily stained with blue food colouring. He seemed to be the butt of a severe practical joke gone HORRIBLY WRONG. but who was the culprit? who'll be caught blue handed THIS time? |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Matt_R Date: 29 Jun 01 - 06:08 PM Ha ha! Does anyone mind if I play "Fiesta" by the Pogues? |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: JenEllen Date: 29 Jun 01 - 06:10 PM As Mistress Pushmipullu turns up little Ricky on the jukebox, she realizes "Damn, the cheerios..I knew I forgot something! Sorry Rob, have some more coffee?" She winds back through some folks trying to force their way into the kitchen (where's MMario with the keys?) and past the translucent scarves and hypnotic sway of Safira Yasmeen herself. How did we get so lucky? She returns to her barstool just as Dishevelled'n'Dubious enters the tavern. The golden velour lounge pillow in the nightclub of her heart, tassles and all. She winced slightly as he reached into his overcoat, the deja vu of the Cygnus Loop from the last exploding supernova to grace the tavern haunting her, she shakily accepts the package he offers. "Heron Go Braugh?", she thinks. She's seen the discovery channel, herons go braugh-less. She then remembers the sage words her nana told her about not eating anything that's been in someone's armpit, it went something like "Don't eat anything that's been in someone's armpit.", and she set the quivering marshmellow-studded unmentionable in the pie case as she went in search of the Newcastle Brown. ~Mlle Pullu
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Amos Date: 29 Jun 01 - 06:32 PM There was a sudden splintering, crashing, sound exploding outward into the dusty, mumbling and imbibing ranks scattered here and there on the tavern's shadowed floors, and the wide and sturdy kitchen doors swung violently outward, propelled by the screaming throbbing bubbling power of a 1939 Indian in full flight, having lifted off from the ramp-like Jello Brick Assembly Line which runs along the inner wall of the great Mudcat Tavern Kitchen. The giant machine, balanced like a heron in a glide, rced across the Tavern interior and landed in perfect two-pont form along the edge of the jello pit. Shrieking in protest, the giant motorcycle. sideslipping and turning, slammed to a halt on the dance floor, slewing through a perfect 180-degree sliding stop. Gleaming in chrome and chaos, it balanced for a single ineffable moment in time, its huge mufflers burbling happily as its smoking brakes cooled and calmed in the quiet afternoon light. Swinging the stand down with a practiced twist of a knee-high buttersoft leatherboot, a tall, long haired man wearing a trenchcoat that went nearly to his ankles swung himself onto the deck of the Tavern. He wore a wide-brimmed bushranger's hat, curled cockily up on one side, and a mane of long brown hair which clung neatly to his muscled neck, brushing his shoulders as he swung a piercing glance across the crowd. At his back, a padded guitar case of Dreadnought proportion; at his waist, a strange utility belt; and on his shoulder, trig fur gleaming in the dappling sunlight, a huge Capuchin monkey carefully guarded his balance with one hand touching lightly on the stranger's neck, while the other waved with interest across the species boundary at the curious onlookers sucking up booze at the bar. The tall stranger strode toward the bar, the monkey swaying gracefully on his broad shoulder; he doffed the wide-brimmed hat, leaned across the shined mahogany surface, and looked deep into the shimmering, fire-blue eyes of the redheaded beauty who manned it. "I opened the kitchen for ye," he said smiling. "Does that earn me a pint of yer best brown stuff?" |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: JenEllen Date: 29 Jun 01 - 06:45 PM "Sure thing, Tiger, but what's the monkey having?" she smiles, "and would someone mind explaining that little blue feller on the floor? It's a bit early in the evening to be smurfed on the turf, isn't it?" ~Mlle Pullu |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Geoff the Duck Date: 29 Jun 01 - 06:53 PM The screech of car tyres outside the door, followed by the crash of a bumper scattering trash cans across the sidewalk, resonated through a cracked window. A door slammed, and in the silence which followed, Mistress PushmiPullu thought that she could hear the distinctive, uneven step of a limping man approaching the Tavern. A head peered round the door. Is this the emergency 24 hour chiropodist? the man said hopefully, my bunion is killing me! Sit down croaked the blue faced recumbent figure, I'll be with you once I figure out what the heck I am doing under this table!.
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Amos Date: 29 Jun 01 - 06:56 PM The stranger glanced along the dark, perfectly aligned skid marks of the Indian's landing track to where the fair Keepstress was pointing. "Huh!" he remarked. "The monkey will have the half-pint size of the same, thanks, and as for that blue blur on the deck, I believe it's that disheveled poet wandered through here without watching for crossing traffic. Hmmm -- he does look awful disheveled smurfed out like that, but maybe I can help!" He reached deep into the inside pockets of the voluminous trenchcoat and pulled out a strange brown paper package, wrapped up in string. Laying it on the bar he deftly slid the knots and laid back the wrapper, revealing a beautiful, perfectly matched set of curved, balanced and firm shevels. Lifting one in each hand and hefting them thoughtfully, he glanced at the Keepstress and turned to the blue smudge, which stirred with the application of the finely formed and weighted shevels and rose up full-formed anew, babbling inspired couplets in Elizabethan terms, and staggered up to the bar to beg for an ale of his own. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: JenEllen Date: 29 Jun 01 - 07:07 PM "Couplets for Ian the Blue? Let's see, if I can remember this... (my couplets runneth over at times) Give me women wine and snuff Until I cry out hold enough You may do so sans objection Tll the day of resurrection For bless my beard they aye shall be My beloved trinity Geoff, you came to the right place. Have a drink and let Safire walk on your back for ya, that'll set you right. And a pint and a half for the guy with the monkey on his back, shevells and all. Keep those things around, I may have a use for them later." ~grinning Pullu |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: GUEST,Palm Civet Date: 29 Jun 01 - 07:32 PM Is it time for me to Sing yet? She nodded solemly and as I took the stage, noticed a lonely Bodrhan player huddled in the corner. "I could use some accompaniment." I smiled As I started crooning my celtic version of "Do that to me one more time" a hran appeared in every right hand and a tipper in every right. A dark figure took out an UZI. As the din abated he looked at the man on the floor and said "I see you've been bobbing for coffee beans. Don't you hate it when they put that blue stuff in the flush box?" As te Bodhrans were converted to nacho bowls things started to return to Norma....... The way they were before. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Jon Freeman Date: 29 Jun 01 - 07:38 PM I wander in, tatty and with no airs and graces about me as usual. I ask the owner about spaw, passing comment that I thought the new sign was there to welcome him home and that I can't see him around. I then say "Oh Well, put a double Jim Beam in for the old bugger, I'm sure regardless of what doc's may say, it will do him good and I'm convinced he will enjoy it", pay up and leave quietly. Jon (good to see you back spaw) |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Bill D Date: 29 Jun 01 - 07:45 PM wanders in....sits quietly in the corner and orders a nice IPA and waits to see who shows up..... |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Amos Date: 29 Jun 01 - 08:35 PM The dark-haired stranger wrapped the rounded, firm shevels in their proper brown paper wrapper again, and redid the strings. By the dim light over the bar, it could be seen that the word "Braugh!" was neatly printed on the often-used wrapper, but whether it referred to the holder, the owner, or the delicately rounded instruments of healing within, one could not readily discern. Slipping the packet into the mysterious folds of his trenchcoat, he carried his huge "Mudcat" 1.5-quart glass brimming and foaming with a rich brown brew, the monkey dancing cheerfully along his wode shoulders, to a table in the shadows, and proceeded to unsling the shining mapled Dreadnought, and finger it meditatively, humming. Fending off the monkeys occasional effort to experiment with the gleaming tuners, he ran a few gentle riffs, ringing out quiet tones as bright and gleaming as the polished instrument itself in the dappled light. He took a long draft of the brown brew, and lit a thin cheroot with an ancient battered Zippo lighter with a scarred Admiralty anchor embossed on its brass lid. He stretched his lanky legs, the long soft leather boots protruding from under the table into the dance floor, and smiled. He was truly home, and knew it better than any words could say.
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Sorcha Date: 29 Jun 01 - 08:46 PM Jeeze, it's about time somebody opened this place up again! I sure hope the air conditioning is cranked up--it's 97 F/ @35 C at my place---too bloody hot!! Better than yesterday, tho; the high was 107 F/close to 40 C. Too hot to think, let alone get anything done. Somebody pour me something. As long as it's cold and alcoholic, I don't care what it is. Maybe we should play some Scandinavian or Innuit music to cool things off, what 'cha say? Fins Jenta? |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: GUEST,RobDale at the Bar Date: 29 Jun 01 - 09:01 PM Hi Jen. I'll have a Chevis Regal, a Jack Daniels and a Molson Dry please. Who is the guest of honour? Tell me about him. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: JenEllen Date: 29 Jun 01 - 09:16 PM Mistress PushmiPullu walks over behind the bar and says, "You got them glitter go-go cages done for me and my tassled squirrels in record-time Sorch. For you, I'll crank the air to 'arctic' and pour you any darn thing you want, but so help me hannah, if you punch up the theme from Ice Castles on the jukebox again...." she threateningly brandishes a paper umbrella. "....and our song-darling of the day, Rob! You should have been here earlier, the civet was doing Captain and Tenille again. I swear, that sends me straight to the deck every damn time. By the way, he left something for you on the stage..." she grins as she sets up his drinks. "And our guest of honor? You'll hear him clacking, but mostly the tavern is a nice spot to come home to and share...Like our lovely sapphire-studded beauty over there," pointing to Safira, "since the last tavern, she's taken up the dance and now she's gone and brought that shimmy home. Hang around a bit and you'll never know what you might see next." ~Mlle Pullu |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: JeZeBeL Date: 29 Jun 01 - 09:21 PM A stranger, with bleached hair that went wrong, but still looks cool in kind of a funky way....that no one has ever seen before walks shyly into the bar, wondering who on earth would be holding a welcome home party at this time in the morning (2:17qm), and why on earth she was still awake. She mumbles "oh well" and walks across the room saying hi to all these new faces and asks mistress pullu for a double JD and a pint of her finest ale. She looks around and sees musicians sitting round tables laughing and drinking, and cringes as she asks if anyone would mind another bodhran player joining in........ |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: GUEST,Rob at the Bar Date: 29 Jun 01 - 09:34 PM Sounds good, but I can't drink anymore alcohol. Give me a pitcher of Coors Light please. By the way, has anybody seen my civet costume? I think I left in the Men's room? |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: JenEllen Date: 29 Jun 01 - 09:42 PM "Welcome JeZeBeL!! Are you legal?" grins Pullu as she sets up her drinks. "You can join in anywhere you like, if you know something icy, sing it for Sorcha, okay?"
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: GUEST,SOOTRDOPCBBASRTB Date: 29 Jun 01 - 10:16 PM A rather portly man sitting and the end of the bar is joined by a slightly less portly man in abn ill-fitting United States Postal Service uniform. He starts to speak in a generic New England accent. It is a little known fact that the earliest examples of the modern bodhran were made in the area which we now know as the Pacific North West. They were made out of civet hides and decorated with pictures of Mynah Birds. That is why even to this day the Bodhran is traditionally tuned to a minor key. The dark figure begs the bodhran players to start playing again. Palm Civet walks approaches the monkey with lust in her eyes. RobDale, pays his tab, leaving a generous tip for Mlle P.P, and waves to the regulars as he leaves. "I'll be back in a little while. I'm just going into town to buy a set of bagpipes." Cheers everyone! Thanks for the kind words Jen SomeOneOtherThanRobDaleOrPalmCivetButBearingAStrikingResemnlenceToBoth |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Rt Revd Sir jOhn from Hull Date: 29 Jun 01 - 11:00 PM A man wearing a hat walks into the bar, cant decide wether to take it off or not. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: katlaughing Date: 29 Jun 01 - 11:06 PM Psalterykat psauntered through the pswinging doors, her cool demeanour betrayed by the glistening psheen on her brow. Pstill pslinking pslowly across the room, pshe psat on one of the bar pstools and psaid, "Oh, dahlin' womon, mix me up a cool amaretto and psour, if you please, for Ah feel quite faint from aw this heat." |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: JenEllen Date: 29 Jun 01 - 11:13 PM Man walks into a bar? OUCH! Mistress PushmiPullu lays her towel on the bar and unties her apron, shift is over! "Okay, the last drink I pour tonight is for the psultry psaltrykat, gorgeous wilted thing that you be. Maybe you'd like to join Sorcha in the psnow-psong psection of the tavern right up close to the A/C?" ~Pushmi
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Sorcha Date: 29 Jun 01 - 11:58 PM The Orca Wail has spent the last several hours in the Plain Water Pool......so cooling listening to Snow Deer, Jingle Bells,White Christmas, (etc), so let's make it Christmas In July.....(well, it's almost July!)
Can't believe it's still 85/28 here......I know this is the Bannana Belt of Wyoming, but this is ridiculous!! Welcome Home, Dear Friends and Merry Christmas to you all!! (If it weren't so hot, I would make Figgy Pudding!) |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Amos Date: 30 Jun 01 - 12:09 AM The tall stranger slips the Dreadnought into its case, bottoms down the last six ounces of Orful Brown stuff and walks over toward the jukebox, slapping his widebrimmed bushrangers hat firmly into position. The Capuchin reels affectionately, hanging onto the man's shoulder-length hauir for stability and grins ebulliently at all and sundry as they pass. From behind the jukebox, the stranger wheels out the gigantic 1939 Indian, and reflects on the night when he first won it from the Universe by leaping off a speeding Harley into a ghostly green-furred limousine. Ah, the memories! With a deft swing of his leg, he mounts up and fires the gigantic engine into a deep liquid purr, bubbling inbto the dark Tavern corners with a bassoprofundo power reminiscent of the motor yacht Sequoia. He settles intot he saddle and with a twist of his wrist, the giant bike leaps out through the Tavern's front door, over the gravel apron past the moon-pinned coolibahs along the winding road, and down, along, around and away upon the faint twisting two-lane blacktop road cascading through the silvering moonlight, chasing he knows not what, leading he knows not where, a journey forever certain that it is moving, and forever joyful. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Sorcha Date: 30 Jun 01 - 12:41 AM too many adjectives Amos......good thoughts, but too many adjectives.......and Merry Christmas to you, darlin'! |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: catspaw49 Date: 30 Jun 01 - 12:51 AM Ah but Sorch, it's all in the adjectives. It's the true charm that makes Amos famous! Love it Amos............. Spaw |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Sorcha Date: 30 Jun 01 - 01:17 AM spaw, what the H are you doing up at this hour??? You supposed to be Resting, Eating,Farting, ect......
Adjectives--why use 4 when 1 will do? I stand by my point, and too many adjectives make it more difficult to read even if it is fun. Orca the Wail (somebody ought to write a song about that..) |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Amos Date: 30 Jun 01 - 02:01 AM Geez, guys, if ida thought I was submitting this for effing critique I wulda tried to make it more Papaesque: The beer was brown. Two inches were left in the glass. He guzzled. Along his broad back the drunk monkey swayed. "Goodbye," waved the monkey. "Goodbye!". The man kept going to the back of the room. The giant Indian was waiting, gleaming. He tossed one boot over the smooth worn saddle and stomped down on the starter. The engine roared. The Indian leapt outward, foward, through the door. And disappeared. Down the road. The winding blacktop. A taillight blinked, and the deep roar folded into the deep night. "Goodbye". |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: JenEllen Date: 30 Jun 01 - 02:15 AM A sultry voice from a table in the corner pipes in as the darling PushmiPullu looks up from her songbook, "Gawdamn...someone gets a little bit cranky when she's hot, don't she? There's got to be a song in there somewhere, she says...hmmm..." Sorcha's Song (Spanish Ladies)
I'm cutting you off
The hamsters are loose
So, think chilly thoughts
luv,
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: hesperis Date: 30 Jun 01 - 03:05 AM Not MY hamsters, I hope? (Though that would be a funny sight, I doubt they'd like it much...) Hessy walks right up to the bar, and sets a box on the shining (sortof) surface. She is wearing snakeskin, and is obviously revelling in the heat. (It makes her hair even more beautiful than norm - the way it usually is.) "I brought hummus and flatbread! Well, corn chips, but they're sort of flat." She said. Everyone else in the room stared at Hessy. "What's in it?" "Chickpeas and spices and garlic." "Oh, I love that stuff!" Someone said, reaching for it. "Be careful! It's got a LOT of garlic in it." "Oh, that's ok, I love garlic." "I mean, It's got A LOT of garlic -" "What the-?!!!!!!!!!!" :choke, gasp, cough, water streams from eyes: Hessy casts a helpless look around the room, and shrugs. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: nutty Date: 30 Jun 01 - 05:14 AM I've heard about this place but I've never been before. I hesitate as I reach the door and listen . I can here music - Irish music? - but it sounds good so I pluck up all my courage, I open the door and step inside. There I stand (knees knocking slightly) but no-one takes any notice. In the corner ... huddled round the air- conditioning are the musicians . "Musicians" ... well I use the word very loosly - what sounded reasonble through a closed door is a bit more difficult to comprehend from close to. The Accordian player has definitely never attended a Sam Pirt Workshop and the bohran's have obviously wilted in the heat and are definitely off-key but there is laughter and enthusiasm and no-one else seems to care. I walk to the bar and ask for a glass of water .... the hair on the back of my neck rises as I feel all eyes turn on me .......I slink into a seat in a dimly lit corner of the room and watch the proceedings.............................
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Ian Stephenson Date: 30 Jun 01 - 05:54 AM Ian the Blue has been stood at the bar, staring into space for the last hour. His head JOLTS and then looks around. "have YOU ever tried making blue curaco sunrise while sleep-walking??" he shouts angrily at Mistress PushmiPullu. "oh..is this mine?"..he picks up the now warm pale ale, produces a folded-up blue drinking straw from his back trouser pocket, unfolds it, and proceeds to begin canceling out the extreme dehydration by drinking quickly and finishing the pint. He raises his right hand and throws it down on the bar. Then having produced blue chalk from his back trouser pocket, adds another mark on the tally on his right hand. "another please, Mistress PushmiPullu". He sits and mumbles quitely under his breath. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Geoff the Duck Date: 30 Jun 01 - 07:15 AM In the distance an etherial whistling floats on the ether, pauses outside the tavern entrance, then lazily enters through the barely open door. It is followed by a rattle of birch aainst cowhide, which looks furtively around for the whistle, tries the barbershop door, but cannot get in for the four part wall of sound, and finally settles for the tavern. When it finds the strains of the whistle have already arrived its timbre noticeably brightens, and it heads for the bar. Far behind the first two arrivals, a weary ching, ching of bells drags itself up to the tavern. The jingle slips under the door just before it is flung wide by a tall man festooned in ribbons. the bells are tied on leather thongs round his knees, a hide drum slung on a cord in the crook of his left arm and a three hole pipe in his left hand. His face is covered in what appears to be green paint, and you can hear the emulsion in his voice as he says, have I got the right place for the Party?? He staggers to the bar, The name's Handnancy, William Handnancy! It's been a long walk, but I wouldn't want to miss this night! Do you have any decent beer? Oh yes, I can see that you do. Could you find the time to pour me a pint of Civet Strangler, I could do with something light to start off with, and a bag of those things which look like raccoon balls, by the way, what are they made from? Raccoons balls, I thinkcame the reply! And I must buy a drink for the honoured guest, something special, I think! What can I see? His gaze ranges along the bar, pausing for a moment at the barrel of Winky Wobbler, moving past the Beaver Bitter, wincing at the sight of the Nutcrusher Crumple and moving swiftly along the line to the Sneck Lifter. Suddenly his eyes light up, and his green face seems to lighten a few shades.Ah, perfect! Get him a large pint of Old Scrotum's Todger, and make sure it is hand pulled. You can't beat a good head! William slopes off to a table in the corner of the room to observe the proceedings. The belly dancer appears to be doing the dance of the seven army blankets, but William is not an expert in these matters, and she might simply be complaining that the air conditioning has been turned too high. He sees the blue faced man, and wonders which mumming team he belongs to. Dust settles around William's pint of Civet Strangler, as the garlic laden atmosphere of the Tavern absorbs into his soul...........
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Peter T. Date: 30 Jun 01 - 08:25 AM Things get busy, and although it is the end of her shift -- and certaily many people have tried to get hold of the end of her shift -- Mistress PushmiPullu is still pullullating with partiness, only slightly disrupted by the reappearance (if, indeed, so insignificant a person could even have said to appeared in the first place) of the increasingly distraught figure in the beerbattered raincoat. He had been losing his traughts in attempting to push (or pull, which attracted Mistress PP's eponymous attention) a very large painting through the door. Eventually, after the painting bent and the frame of the door and the frame of the painting cracked simultaneously, it slid in. Since the main colours of the painting roughly coincided with the colours dribbled down his coatfront, it was rightly assumed by the disassembling patrons of the bar that the painter was in their midst. Mistress PushmiPullu, though of a kind heart, continued to wonder if discretion were not the better part of velour, and tentatively -- as the latest issue of BarWoman had suggested in its path-breaking article "How To Brush Off The Losers and Attract The Winners: Ten Experts Tell You How!!!" -- asked about his hobbies. Hobby. "What is the painting about?" He was in the process of propping it up over the bar, and had stood back to take a good look, which was a mistake, since he had been standing on the bar. As usual, her question threw him into a tizzy, actually in this case just missing a a spittoon. Restored to his feet, he cleared his throast, which was a singularly unpleasant experience, like all those Bob Dylan albums in the early 1980's, and then said: "It-It is for Catspaw, for his party." On bad days Mistress PP wondered why she had not gone into air traffic control, since she seemed to spend much of her life talking men in fog back down to the ground, but she persisted: "What does it represent?" He warmed to his subject. "It is a vast panoply representing all -- The ALL - some of it, anyway -- anyway, over here on the left is the Delaware, and in the boat are all his virtues -- and then, under that leg, you see that leg? is the Expulsion from the Garden of Eden, which is an aerial symbolization of Columbus, Ohio, with palm trees, of course." "And what is that?" "Oh. Well, that started out to be the Raft of the Medusa, but I don't know, it metamorphosed into a steamboat, representing his endless quest for beauty, and SHE. Plus great cars. The big stuff on the right -- you see that??" She saw that. "That is the Venus of Urbino, not that I got the legs right, but the spirit of Titian is there, except for the acrylics, he was not big on acrylics. But this is the best part --" And he waved to the far right of the massive painting. Mistress PP was busy trying to remember the number you dialed when you had an aesthetic emergency, so she simply nodded, and began backing away. "This is the Assumption of Catspaw into Glory!!!! You see the vast crowds of angels here, and the choir, and the way the beams of light strategically cover his private parts? You don't see the use of purple and orange like that much these days!" Suddenly she remembered the number, and ran for the telephone. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Geoff the Duck Date: 30 Jun 01 - 09:25 AM Watching from the corner, Handnancy quietly took out an oversized handkerchief and began, as unobstrusively as possible, to scrape the green paint from his face. Much as he appreciated good painting, he had decided that this was an occasion to blend into the background. The paint on his visage would have been more likely to blend him into the foreground, perhaps even put him into the picture, and that was where the blood might fly!!!!! Once William was sure that all traces of artism had been extricated from his image, he returned to his pint, no longer a quiet pint, it appeared that not all the civets had been strangled before brewing, and one was definitely complaining about sharing William's glass. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: JeZeBeL Date: 30 Jun 01 - 10:24 AM JeZeBeL sweeps back over to the bar to carelessly order another 6 pints of mlle pullu's finest beer, and spots Ian the Blue hanging off the edge.... "My dear, we can't have you looking like that, here let me buy you another drink (even if u aint legal in the american side of this bar)".... Ian the Blue looks up carelessly and grins a thank you, cos that's about all he's capable of at this time of night. She isn't quite sure, but maybe that's the sweet dulcit tones of a galacian tune being played on......oh, no it can't be....no don't let him in........ JeZeBeL runs to hide in the corner, just incase, as she remembers that she still needs to give this person money for accordion lessons....she hopes that he doesn't hear the people inside the bar over the accordion and carries on walking..... |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Ian Stephenson Date: 30 Jun 01 - 10:31 AM Ian the blue's head jolted. again. He awoke to realise that he had been staring again, at a naked man, and there was another blue chalk-mark on the tally on his right hand, and an empty pint glass and a folded blue straw on the bar in front of him. "How the bloomin nora did I get here??".. and as his bleary eyes cleared, he found to his amazement that all the naked mans' private parts were perfectly masked by rays of sunlight, and this man was standing perfectly still, and he was very small. once again ian the blue had not heard the most important part of the conversation. Having had his second epiphany of the day (the first happened while reading the scrawled handwriting on the wall of the gents toilets about the meaning of life.) he tried and immediately failed to get mistress's attention for another pale ale, and once again began staring, and stopped doing everything. ian the blue had fallen asleep. Again. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: JeZeBeL Date: 30 Jun 01 - 10:37 AM Jezebel walked back up to the bar, having seen that Ian the Blue had fallen asleep.... oh, whata perfect oportunity.... She sniggers....brings her leg behind her............. and kicks the bar stool from under him. He falls to the ground with a thud, but somehow he still doesn't wake up. JeZeBeL is very annoyed by this. So she picks him back up puts him back on the stool, throws a bucket of cold water over him, which wakes him up...THEN kicks the stool from under him again. SHe orders him another drink and wonders off to her hiding place again...u know, just in case..... |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Ian Stephenson Date: 30 Jun 01 - 10:47 AM ian the blue's head had just jolted. "how the bloomin nora did I get here??!?" he mumbled. he had the distinct feeling that he'd been asleep again, but there were gaps in his memory...he'd remembered going to sleep, dry, and staring at a tiny miniture naked man. Now he was wet, and staring at the wooden planks that was the bar. the bottom of the bar. he stood up, sat down on the next stool along, and began doing nothing at all. ian the blue had fallen asleep. Again. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Amos Date: 30 Jun 01 - 11:23 AM Two cheery voices floated through the swinging door on the summer breeze. "Ho! Mistress Jen!!" The sound of a plank whistling through the night air and landing hard on something soft could be made out, drifitng in from the general area of the gravel parking lot under the Coolibahs by the road. It was followed by a series of mighty grunts and the rusty rattle of gravel crunching in moonlight. The Kindly Ms Pushmipullu, attracted by the scent of danger combined with the vaguely comedic, dashed to the Tavern door and quickly stepped into the parking lot. She reappeared a moment later with two flushed and angry looking short and roly poly men, each being held a good foot off the floor by her no-nonsense grip on their shirt-collars, leaving two pairs of very small feet kicking and swinging in the settling dustcloud. "I'd say you BOTH needed to learn some manners!" she remarked firmly, and they both looked up at her from their suspended positions, their eyes wide with surprise and simulataneously began to crinkle up their faces in looks of absolute remorse and chagrin. Their sheepishness, reflecting from their wide blue eyes and their round little faces was intense and sincere-looking and their remorse was so palpable that the KeepMistress could not stay angry, and shook them lightly with a laugh. They each bowed briefly toward her fromt he waist, and the two of them turned and sidled off, settling at the far dark end of the bar where they clambered up on a pair of high stools, removed their propellor-beanies, and waited politely for the Keepstress to take their orders. When she did they ordered seltzer water. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Peg Date: 30 Jun 01 - 12:29 PM (sidling in wearing a pair of sunglasses) Anyone mind if I sit in the corner with a pen and notebook? Do join me if you want, but sleep deprivation and this hot weather have sapped my conversational abilities... Oh, and a wheat beer with lemon for me... and maybe a garden burger? When do the songs begin? (humming "I Live Not Where I Love" under her breath) Peg
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: JenEllen Date: 30 Jun 01 - 12:34 PM (Oh, Hessy, you'll have to share that recipe! Sounds like it could become a tavern staple..) "Never a dull moment," she thought to herself as she set twin seltzers on the bar and retreated to the battered payphone at the back of the tavern. The number! As casually as possible under the circumstances, she retraced her steps and once again walked behind the bar. There. By the Nerf baseball bat 'Peacemaker', a tiny case with 'In Case Of Aesthetic Emergency- Break Glass' printed on it's lid. She returned to the phone and dialed the number....several different tones led her briefly to believe that the call was being routed to another planet, when a voice startled her out of her reverie.
"Neil Young CEN-tah......" the voice chirruped So she held, but just barely. The muzak drifting into her ears was none other that the rare recording of Neil Young and Paul McCartney doing "Ivory and Ivory" from the Wings Over the Cesspool album, followed by the advert for the upcoming tour, don't miss it...
She was ready to hang up when the voice chirped again:
She shivered as she looked at the monstrosity behind the bar. "It's a painting..." she started.
"So what do I do now?" asked Pushmi
"He isn't by chance drinking Luwak is he?"
She hung up the phone feeling not one bit confident about the entire experience. She casually tip-toed over to the table and sat across from the beer-battered brush hound. ~Mlle PP
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: JeZeBeL Date: 30 Jun 01 - 12:47 PM "Hmmm, garden burger....I have never made one of them before" people can hear mlle pullu saying from the bar.
Several comments start flying around like: "Is that a veggie burger?" So everyone looks at Peg sat in the corner to explain what a garden burger is. JeZeBeL, whilst busy playing lazy summer tunes on her trumpet, looks down at her glass, to realise it is yet again empty.....she puts the sparkly brass trumpet down and tells everyone to guard it with their lives....and saunters, well, maybe staggers, across to the bar again. When she gets there, she sees that Ian the Blue has yet again fallen asleep, so she pulls a pair of scissors out of her pocket and proceeds to chop off his hair, well he did say he needed a hair cut. Inside JeZeBeLs magickal bag, she finds some hair paint and wax and the likes of face paint. "We're going to have to do something about this half blue face of his" she points out the mlle pullu. Well, out comes the blue hair paint and she slaps a bit of that on....then proceeds to put wax in it and spikes it all up. People are looking around in sheer amazement at the masterpiece that is being created before their eyes. JeZeBeL is working fast, hoping that the young lad doesn't wake up before she has finished.... More green and blue hair paint comes out..... Then she shouts to the bloke with the long white beard and hair in the corner, who has a very strange accent from the north of england, if she can borrow his banjo a second. He frowns and nods and puts another fag in his mouth. JeZeBeL brings the banjo back towards Ian the blue and smashes it over his head. People stand back and look in amasement... "I don't believe it....it's, it's, it's the mudcat logo!!" And lo and behold, on top of Ian the Blues head is the fish jumping out of the banjo. JeZeBeL apologises to Bill, and says she'll buy him a new one. Bill says no worries as she passes hima pint of coca cola. Ian the Blue is still asleep. Everyone cheers and applauds at what JeZeBeL has created. "A beer for everyone" shouts JeZeBeL. And she sits back in her corner and picks up her whistle to play. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Amos Date: 30 Jun 01 - 12:51 PM [Macaroni MOSAIC? Charles in a SPEEDO??? Seigried and ROY??? Jesus H. Christ, gal!!! How many planets did you eat for breakfast!!! ROTFLMASO!!!. Love, Dumendee Leda Gemini, |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: JenEllen Date: 30 Jun 01 - 12:52 PM (aside: BRAVA!!!! JeZ, stylist to the stars. However do you get those whiskers to lay right, I can never seem to figure that out....)
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Peter T. Date: 30 Jun 01 - 02:39 PM "You see," said the Bohemian artist who was in danger of confusing Mistress PushmiPullu for his beloved Pushmimi, who had died in their tiny garret some months earlier when, in her final tumultuous aria, so strongly had she howled that all the tubercular goo in her lungs had been expelled, and the sudden inrush of oxygen into what had been unexplored lung tissue for many months, had made her giddy, and she had rushed out onto the landing and toppled down 7 flights of stairs, killing the concierge, herself, and two members of the chorus. This tragic mishap had seriously affected his mind, and darkened his pallette, not to mention the pallet on his floor. "You see, it was Bernard Berenson who determined that the best way to detect original paintings by famous artists was not to concentrate on the main features, but on those things that an artist would do without thinking about it, and which no one else would notice, for instance, earlobes, how the big toe was painted, and other body parts out of the limelight. That was how he authenticated many a painting for Isabella Stewart Gardiner and many another patron of the arts" "Yes?" replied Mistress PP, wondering with each passing second when the siren was going to be heard approaching from a distance. "So. So, since I want to be a similarly famous artist, I am taking the similar route, but starting with the body parts. The jelly mold and the "Apotheosis of Catspaw" -- see all the body parts? -- are starts in that direction. My next painting is called "Ankles." Did you know that almost nobody paints the malleolus properly?" Mistress Pullu put her leg up on the table, revealing her ankle peeking out from under the end of her shift. "You mean this?" she suggested. It was in many ways a godsend that the emergency vehicle arrived at just that moment, the siren wailing the first two bars of "Heart of Gold", so that the dead faint into which the disconcerted Bohemian had fallen upon catching a glimpse of ankle disrupted the proceedings hardly at all. The professional staff entered, took one look at the painting, and the painter out on the floor, and went to work. Within moments, both had been whisked away -- the painting replaced with a Georgia O'Keefe watercolor, and the painted replaced with empty space -- and the merriment continued. Mistress PushmiPullu sat for a moment at the table, and looked down at the calling card which had THE NEIL YOUNG, etc. on the front, and on the back had the following rubric: OUR STAFF ARE TRAINED PARA-NORMALS. YOUR FRIEND/ENEMY/LOVER/HUSBAND/WIFE/ACQUAINTANCE/DISGUSTING BUM/RICH WELL DRESSED, HOW COULD SUCH A THING HAPPEN TO HIM, WELL IT JUST GOES TO SHOW, DOESN'T IT/MOTHER/IS IN GOOD HANDS. IN LIEU OF FLOWERS SEND LOOSE CASH IN ENVELOPES. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Amos Date: 30 Jun 01 - 03:19 PM (Peter, I am absolutely cracking up here. You have altogether too much time on your hands! Jez and Jen, you two are a truly fearsome twosome indeed!) A |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Sorcha Date: 30 Jun 01 - 03:37 PM Oh my, thanks for shutting me off there. I needed that! These cyber hangovers are hell ya know? (ROFWP!!No way can I compete with that, so I'm gonna bugger outa here and just read while I wet my pants!!) |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: GUEST,RobDale, from a very strange place Date: 30 Jun 01 - 04:31 PM As the door opens, the tavern is immediately filled with the stench of HOT BUTTERED POPCORN! A mirror appears from around the doorjamb and the room is quickly scanned. Noting the dearth of nice young men in their clean white coats in walks Rob Dale. He is followed by a haughty young civet cat proudly displaying his/her walking harness and looking way to pleased with him/herself. "I need a double tequila Now!" says Rob as the colour slowly returns to his face. "You won't believe what just happened to me." "A couple of men from North Ontario just tried to haul you off to the loony bin." came a chorus, in five part harmony, from everyone in the bar. Except for the guy with the blue face who just went "Urp!" and Sorcha who just frowned and wiped his brow.
"Oh" "I expected this. This'll calm 'em down." says RobDale while taking six little aliminium foil frying pans from a paper sack he had stashed under the bar. "Cook these up and serve them while I tell you the story." Amid the mariachi shaking and the percussive popping of the golden kernels, in a strong pseudoshakespearian voice developed by playacting way too many Star Trek reruns he begins to relate...
As we have oft speculated
The civet is clean like a raccoon
And civets are great around people
For as the attendants approached me
My civet made a popcorn smell on the opposite side from me
But that is all enough of that
The women garther round, attracted by the creature's smooth silkiness and pleasent demeanor. "What do you call it?" they ask. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Amergin Date: 30 Jun 01 - 04:45 PM A man sits quietly in a corner, staring into his empty glass of Bushmills...and his empty pint of amber ale...and an empty pitcher of porter.... He sits there scratching his scraggly reddish beard, drunkenly muttering to himself...just loud enough to be overheard.... Thank you for calling Neil Young's Center for the Terminally Screwed. My name is Nathan. How may I help you today? The drunk starts rocking back and forth in his chair as he plays with what appears to be an imaginary headset. I see. Do you have a case number for me? Oh. So the helper did not give you a number to give to me? Oh, ok. Could you take a look at the bodhran player for me and see if she has an ID number? I'm not sure where it is. It could be under her badly bleached hair, or it could be on her underside, or on the neck. Ok, thanks. Just for verification purposes may I please have your name and street address? No, I will not use the information for nefarious purposes. I am just trying verify that this is indeed you, so I may be able to help you better. No, the FBI will not have access to this information. I promise this is just to see if the person on this account is really you. No, you will not be deported for giving me any of this information. Sir, if you are not willing to help me verify that this is indeed you, I cannot help you with thsi particular issue. Ok, thank you. Yes that is indeed you. He suddenly starts bashing his head into the table. Sending a loud crack through the gay laughter each time his forehead meets the dark varnish of the plywood table. Ok, what are her eyes doing? They are just fluttering open and closed? Ok..Yep, it is her. Ok let's try this. Let's go ahead and unbutton her shirt all the way. No, she will not sock you. She is in no postion to do anything of the sort. I promise. Do you want me to help you or not? Ok, great. Now let's go ahead and pour a pint of guinness onto her face for about three minutes. Yes, I'll let you know when the three minutes are up. The fellow stops pounding his head and starts scratching himself all over his body...even in the in the more obsecenely private places..... Ok, the three minutes are up. You can go ahead and button her back up. What are her eyes doing now? They are still opening and closing? Ok. So what We're going to have to do now is we're going to have to send out a couple of men with white coats to come and possibly replace your bodhran player. So what I will do is I'll put you on hold for a minute and I'll get ahold of dispatch, then I will transfer you on through to them so you may schedule a time when the white coats can get there. Oh, yeah, you can leave her by the side of the road. We'll take care of it. Ok, well, thank you for calling Niel Young's Center For The Terminally Screwed and have a nice day! Then, then red faced scraggly bearded, wild eyed young man suddenly emits a loud shriek and starts pulling out handfuls of his own hair..... |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: JenEllen Date: 30 Jun 01 - 04:47 PM The Belle Ferroniere, our own PushmiPullu, sat quietly for a moment, turning the calling card over in her hands. Her malleotic malcontent fell faster than a truck-stop waitresses arches. What had she done?? Wood or canvas? Paper or plastic? The answer came in a flash, but how could it be done? She looked towards the two bumblers blowing bumbles in their seltzer and barked to them, "Hey! You two!, C'mere.." as she waved them over.
All they had to go on was a truth, ugly as an orthopaedic shoe, and a jello mold. That was how, over that dark table in the Mudcat Tavern, amidst the glitter and crayons, the Tarsal Tunnel Project was born. ~Mlle PP |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Amos Date: 30 Jun 01 - 04:51 PM Life's an awesome set of lessons, If you choose to truly live it! Endless educative sessions Learn to take it, learn to give it! If you cannot stand the heat dear, Arm your sweet self with a trivet! But if you retreat to neat beer, Best you buy yourself a Civet! Face a little like a monkey, A |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Liz the Squeak Date: 30 Jun 01 - 04:53 PM Hey, do any of you know how I got this blue chalk mark round my thigh? And who's beard is this in my coke? I've been out playing with Harley Davidsons today, so I need something small, light and preferably in leather..... Who is that in the corner, banging his head on the dart board? LTS |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: hesperis Date: 30 Jun 01 - 04:53 PM "Well, you could start by asking it if it is male or female." Hessy said. "Why are you all so interested in my personal affairs - oh, you mean the civet. Certainly..." (Aside: Jen, the recipe is in spaw's heart healthy cookbook thread. http://www.mudcat.org/thread.cfm?threadid=35890&messages=52#493188) |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: GUEST,A Quiet Voice in the Neil Young Center Date: 30 Jun 01 - 05:07 PM My my hey hey Looks like I'm in here to Stay I wann go Can't get away My my hey hey |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Amos Date: 30 Jun 01 - 05:10 PM As the two roly poly twins walked bowlegged across the shadowy planks of the Tavern floor to answer the call of the feral Belle Ferroniere, it could be seen that each wore a wide leather belt, spangled with rhinestones, around his chubby little waist, and a bloused white shirt of Egyptian linen, a gold lame weskit, and Lincoln green moleskin trouser ending at perfectly matched ankle boots with folded tops. Between that and thier little propellor beanies, one would have thought them identical, except for their belts, one of which was marked in large letters of inlaid ivory, "DUM", while the other was marked "DEE" in the same way. The twin Tweedles, for it was indeed they, dearly Beloved, nodded and whispered with their now beloved Keepstress. One of them returned to the end of the bar and drawing a small electronic telphone out of his pocket began a hasty conversation, his back toward the din of bodhran, banjo, guttural snipe and dobro picking up in the hearty crowd. The other drew from his blouse pocket a small thin pipe with three tiny holes on one edge, went to the door and blew, far and wee, a chirping, ululating wild-blood whistle song into the moonlight. The two funny looking roly-polys retreated tot heir corner, smiling at Mamzelle PP as she fended off even more orders for pale, dark, striped, layered, mixed, shaken and stirred drinks warm and cold, (howya like THEM adjectives, milady?)and watched their little wrists, on each of which was a tiny replica of the very wristwatch worn by Mossad agents. Warbling and whistling from the distance, born through the busy Tavern's windows and doors on the summer night air, strange sounds began to grow -- a distant shrilling, mellowed by a far burbling sound as though a large motorboat was approaching. The sounds went unnoticed in the fray of musical counteproint sweeping the Tavern. Suddenly, a crashing and shattering impact, as the door to the Tavern was torn open from without by the return of the dark stranger on the might Indian motorcycle, at the same time as the main window burst inward, shriven to shards by the mighty form of a giant kestrel. "Now! Now! Mz Belle!!! Jump it!!" squeaked the twin little falsettos, and the rolypoly twins, the kestrl, and the slim well-turned ankles of the Keepstress collided in a surge of rapid action as they converged on the giant Indian as it made a sweeping three-sixty, gliding sideways and around and coming to a complete, idling, smoking halt at the very edge of the Jello Pit. In half a second the stranger had doffed his wide hat, helped the beautiful Keepstress onto the rear seat, settled the ruby-eyed Kestrel onto her shoulder, balanced Dee and Dum onto the left and right handlebars, and gunned the engine. The mighty Indian again shattered the peaceful night air, turning across the gravel and swinging not south, as it had before, but north toward the mighty highway that lead across the wide waters of Pontchartrain, through the endless plains, to the remote riverside where only one destination worth mentioning could be found -- the Neil Young Center for the Terminally Screwed. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: GUEST,RobDale Date: 30 Jun 01 - 05:18 PM That's the problem, I can't tell and we've been dating for a month.. Oh you mean the civet. That's the problem no one can tell. I guess I'll just have to get another civet and see which one has the cubs, kittens, puppies, civettes ... little civets. But in the mean time, what to call it. Nice suggestion Amos except it may be a little awkward for a pet's name. "Here ParaDOctored! here ParaDOctored! come on ParaDOctored." Did you know that the guy who sold me the civet told be that they are excellent mousers. Kill rats on plantations and get along well wth other animals? (Except presumably rats and mice) Better watch your hamsters Folks! |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Liz the Squeak Date: 30 Jun 01 - 05:22 PM Hey, that Indian was WAY KEWL wasn't it? If it comes back can I play on it? And by the way, this blue chalk mark.... you realise it isn't coming off?! LTS |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: GUEST,Robdale Date: 30 Jun 01 - 05:29 PM "Sigh." "I sure wish there was a way to get back at those facist brainwashers at the NYCFTS." "My cousin, the archatect (just say "guy" this is no time for spellcheckers! we don nedd no stinkin spelcsekors!) who designed the place gave me these blueprints on his deathbed. I'm sure he would have wanted them put to good use! |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: GUEST,A Quiet Voice in The Neil Young Center Date: 30 Jun 01 - 06:05 PM Well I dreamed I saw a silver perkalator Brewin something that came from a cat There we monkies hoppin and popcorn poppin And Jell - o in a vat
All in a dream |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: GUEST,scatologically deviant songwriter Date: 30 Jun 01 - 07:17 PM A sheaf of papers falls out of his pocket as he prepares to leave. He's had a good time and enjoyed the company, especially the hunours ladies and the infamous Amos. But for now, her yearns for something different. Perhaps a beer that is not quite so virtual would fit the bill? He is also concerned about his civet, who has consumed too many virtual toodys. He, the civet, is eyeing the hamsters with mischief on her mind. What kind of mischief? He doesn't want to know! The patrons wave goodbye, the hostess blows them a kiss and man and civet go peacefully into that dark night. A slightly anthropormorphic dark night, whose silence is broken by a series of interesting sounds.
"But I'm not scatologically deviant" As $300 dollars worth of coffee beans rattled to the ground.
"What'll we do with the weasel?" "Hey! what do you have in the bag? Don't bogart the popcorn man!" HISSSS Snarl (catlike utterences typical to distressed civets) Ambulance doors closing, motor gunning, tires screaching and the sound of a civet, clinging, Indianna Jones-like, to the bottom of a truck.
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Ian Stephenson Date: 30 Jun 01 - 07:30 PM ian the blue's head jolted.. having looked at the mass of hair on the floor surrounding his stool, he realised once that once again he had been staring into nothingness for a number of hours. "how the bloomin' nora did i get here?" he muttered under his breath. Having realised that no-one had noticed him move or speak, ian the blue began to stare once more, and began not to move, and eventuall to do nothing at all. ian the blue was asleep. Again, only this time he was sleepwalking..... after stumbling through the kitchen,..he appears only moments later carrying a small bottle of blue food colouring, and stumbles through the mudcat tavern, staring into nothingness, and disapears through the door with "gentlemen" faintly visible on its cracked surface, back into the gents. ian the blue is asleep. Again. and he sleeps by the toilet bowl, waiting,.........for the next session of the MUDCAT TARVERN. sweet dreams. ian the blue. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Amos Date: 30 Jun 01 - 08:06 PM Under the faint silver of a risen moon the quiet countryside was troubled by a deep bass burbling roar as the giant Indian carved the night flying up along the river road, past the dark farms and the sleeping corn, to a rising hill above a meadow where stretched the long silhouettes of the Big House -- the NYCTS!!! The stranger guided the mighty machine to a quiet stop alongside the river, into a tree-shrouded clearing. Clambering off, the brave party drew braches across the track until there was no sign they had enetered the grove, and covered the Indian with fresh-cut shrubs and treelimbs until it was completely unnoticeable. They sat along the edge of the clearing, then, enjoying the moongleam among the midnight leaves, while Dee (or perhaps 'twas Dum) whispered on his cell phone and his twin made friends with the proud kestrel and the Capuchin monkey who traveled with them. The demoiselle leaned her back against an oak, thinking it was a trusty tree, and sighed happily; the stress of the evening's highjinks began to wear off, and the peace of summer countrysides in moonlight began to slowly take its place. The stranger stood watching the fields beyond the road's edge, waiting.... until the moment was right... the timing had to be perfect or the attempt on the Tunnel could kill them all! He smiled quietly and lit a long cheroot carefully hiding the Zippo's glim, and hummed a river song under his breath.
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Lonesome EJ Date: 30 Jun 01 - 08:22 PM "TO Catspaw!" He shouted, hoisting a frost schooner of German Lager, and they all raised their glasses alike, the Spawman included, and silence reigned as they drained their glasses, silence but for the muffled soul-click that emanated from the deep recesses of Catspaw's chest. "Click on, Brother," he smiled, and taking another glass of beer from the bar lady he wandered among the revellers until he found himself standing at the threshold of a room he had never noticed within the sanctum of the Mudcat Tavern before. "And I thought I knew this place from stem to stern" he mumbled, stumbling into this quiet, wood-panelled alcove, quiet and cool as a cave, and he found a leather armchair near the window and sat down. Leaning against the wall, hidden by a shadow from the chair that stopped the only light coming from a small, latticed window, he found an old sixstring. The fretboard was worn, the dark stain lightened where years of fingering had taken the finish away. The spruce top was yellowed, the lacquer finish alligatored as if some invisible spider had woven its web within the translucent surface. A mother-of-pearl rosette encircled the sound hole, glowing with a dim luster even in the darkness of this forgotten corner. He picked it up, the string sounding a subdued note as the guitar settled against his thigh. He pressed down the E minor, feeling the soft give and smooth action, hearing the resonance that seemed to come not so much from the guitar as from the air around him. Quietly he began to sing
If I had possession over Judgement Day The voice, like the guitar, might have been inside his head rather than coming from the figure who sat ten feet from him, half-reclining on a couch. "Not bad. Robert wouldn't mind hearing that, I bet," it said. How long had the man been there? In the dim light of the room, he saw a figure dressed rather absurdly : silk shirt with ruff at the collar and cuffs, concho-studded leather belt, long legs clad in burgundy velvet, heavy-lidded eyes above a wide smile, long black hair that framed the even deeper black of his skin. A slim forefinger played gently across his chin. The man's fingers were disproportionately large, but seemed possessed of elegance and beauty. "You know you look just like him," he said. The figure smiled again and said "no, I really think he looks more like me. You have all the hand positions just right, man. It sounds real clean. You play with skill. Do you love to play?" He smiled and said "thanks. Yeah I really enjoy playing." The figure smiled and stammered a little as he said "no, that's cool. But do you love to play? Would you die if you couldn't." He smiled, sadly. No, it didn't really mean that much. It was a thing to learn, and in the learning he had in fact lost something, some of the lust for the playing that departed in direct relation to the increase of the skill. He looked up to see the figure still gazing at him, still smiling, and it said " no, man, no. It's no tragedy. You see....I'll never be free of it. Never." And without words the black man held his hands out, and he rose from the armchair and placed the guitar in his hands, the stranger's hand wrapping around the neck as he turned the guitar upside down, the long fingers of the right hand pressing gently on the strings, the left hand moving across the glowing rosette in a cascade of ringing notes. He held his breath for a span of time as the impossible melody summoned the sweep of sailing ships upon the ocean, the howl of cold winds against forlorn towers, the very turning of the earth on its great axis. The visions flowed quietly on, melding with dreams until at last he awoke in the empty room, the guitar beside him where he had discovered it. He rose and walked to the window and found he had slept some time indeed, for the sky was rich with stars, and the half-moon had already risen high. Outside a cooling breeze had sprung up, as it sometimes did on Summer nights, and it found its way through the trees, and through the windows of the Tavern where it banished the heat of the long day, and fell among the revellers like a blessing. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Amos Date: 30 Jun 01 - 08:32 PM [Tears, sighs, laughter and applause for the Golden Tongue of the Cat. There's none as fair when he has the sauce up in him, and that's ferdinkum, lads!] |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Lonesome EJ Date: 30 Jun 01 - 08:58 PM Alright then! My turn behind the bar. Back the pump truck up to the jello pit and let 'er slide. Belly up to the bar lads for a round on the House in honor of our good friend, and for all the pickin' and poetry that's comin' down the line! We're just gettin' started! |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: JenEllen Date: 30 Jun 01 - 11:21 PM (aside only because I'm 'supposed to be' at the center, but damn Leej, you silver-tongued dawg you....) |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Bert Date: 01 Jul 01 - 12:17 AM The Rory opens again and a tired looking grey haire old fart stumbles in clutching his credit card tightly to his chest. "OK, OK," he said, "Who gave them my card number THIS TIME?" He lumbers up to the bar and orders a pint of the black vile stuff. After eyeing the other customers suspiciously for a while he wonders why he feel like singing the Woad song. He shrugs and sings it anyway, and then looks rather bemused as he catches sight of a blue face at the end of the bar. "Wow" he exclaims "The songs are coming to life". He looks around and psees kat klutching a psaltery. "Alright, alright he yells, I'll psend you the bloody pstrings, I'll post them on Psunday" "Nah where's tha bloody Spaw, or is it Pspaw, I've gotta bone to pick with him, insulted me he did just cos I was tryin' to 'elp Texasannie with her bad back" "Got no respect for his elders that young whippersnapper" "hhhhhhhhhhhhhh aooooooooooo" says Tree. Well actually she just randomly hit the keyboard over my shoulder. "Hey my glass is empty Hey Mistres Pushpa, fill em up." ----------------------------------------------- THREAD CREEP - I went to Brittinghams Pub, in Philadelphia, on Thursday with Naemanson. The barmaid asked what we wanted, I said "A pint of the black vile stuff" - She pulled me a pint of Guinness without batting an eyelid. I guess Seamus Kennedy has been playing there for too long. Bert. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Jack the Sailor Date: 01 Jul 01 - 02:01 AM As I am tossed into the cell I fulfill the realization of all of my eigenstates. For having entered Scrodingers ward I find that I am the Voice in The Neil Young Center. I am the dark figure with the Uzi. I am Civet cat and I am often RobDale. As the drugs start to take effect I wonder what will be servered for breakfast. I hope it is Cherios. I hope that they are in those little "Variety Pac" boxes I used to like when I was a child. I hope I get four boxes
It's morning and breakfast coming
Amos and P.P. out on the grounds --------- More thread creep Happy Canada Day!!! We'll miss you Chet Is it just me, or could this story use a villian?
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: JenEllen Date: 01 Jul 01 - 04:12 AM PushmiPullu sat leaned against the tree, her head still reeling from the midnight ride. Kicks just keep gettin' harder to find. She laughed to think that for probably the first time in history, the Indian let 'em know the British were coming.
The crunching footfall spoke for the stranger in the brushcoat. She turned her head to face him, and waited for him to speak. He didn't. After a long pause, her conscience got the better of her.
"Well," the stranger straightened, looking towards the Center, "they say that the Voice on the inside seems to think the doors are unlocked. But they are also saying Cheer-eee-oh-deee-oh-deee-oh, and silly civet, tricks are for kids. You just have to trust them..." As they followed the twins to the gates of the Center, her mind unfolded like an origami swan. That was the horrible thing, you want to know how it works, but once you unfold it, you can't get it folded back again no matter how hard you try. What do you say? "Hello, sorry I didn't realize you weren't a lunatic until it was too late?" slip through the door and play your MaeWest drawl, "Hey, you didn't finish your drink?" she barely resisted the urge to run. "Suck it up," she thought to herself, "if you can hadle the Tavern on a Friday night, you certainly can break into the most guarded nut-house in cyberspace." Mysteriously, the twins appeared with two white lab coats, she and the stranger put them on. The music drifted lightly over the loudspeakers, Harvest Moon, "Not all that bad, really..." she thought, then cringed. "This place will eat your soul..." They had to hurry.
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Morticia Date: 01 Jul 01 - 07:16 AM "Jeeziz" muttered the portly figure at the gate," I hate pulling night duty.This place gives me the bloody creeps in daylight, but at night.....sheesh!" He rummaged around in the greasy bag on the counter in front of him and eventually dragged, kicking and screaming into the light, a couple of pork rind sandwiches that had seen better days and an original off key, Albanian nose flute. Standing, just feet away, the stranger and the barmaid ( hey, good title for a song!) watched with fascinated revulsion as he crammed one into his mouth and the other up a cavernous, and not entirely clean, nostril.Noises emanated from the booth built entirely from little round dics with titles such as " Hammond Organ Tunes You Know and Despise" and " Listen with Psychopaths".They were worse than the Tavern on a Friday night when everyone picked their favourite key and then drifted off it. They were worse than Wild Rover done by a coach load of elderly tourists.They were worse than PUPPY LOVE done by Neil Young and Donny Osmond! " You know what this means?" said Mlle Pushmi, tears streaming down her immaculate visage...." Yes," said the stranger tersely...." Get out the ear plugs....we're going in!" |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: kendall Date: 01 Jul 01 - 09:46 AM I've been by this place a number of times, but, never dared to venture in. There is something ominous about that door, it is green. Dont know what goes on in there, but, it reminds me of a film titled "King of Hearts". |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Amos Date: 01 Jul 01 - 10:31 AM (Miiiidnight. One more night without sleeeeepin' Waiiiiiitin' -- til the mornin' comes creeeeeepin' Greeeeeeen Dooor, what's that secret you're keeeeepin? Just the thing for a summer mornin' eh, Kendall??) |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Peter T. Date: 01 Jul 01 - 11:59 AM Meanwhile, in a dank cell in the bowels of the NYCFTS -- which was a string of descriptive redundancies -- it occurred to the ex-walk-around-as-you-please-artist that while it had taken him certainly almost a half century to fully explore and get comfortable in the recesses of his own mind (the day he discovered the old National Geographics piled up in his medulla oblongata stuck particularly in his recollections, especially when he ran across the famous 1934 "Samoan Women go Swimming: An Anthropological Report with Pictures" article), he was not going to get the luxury of doing that with his new accommodations. For a start he had this large ball and chain attached to his leg, and upon the ball was written "WRECKING BALL, NY" which for a brief moment he thought might have been a factory town along the Hudson River, until he looked up and saw in a prominent place on the wall a photograph of 4 ancient old derelicts except that 3 of the derelicts had been crudely airbrushed out, leaving ghostly rocknroll silhouettes and the logo underneath the one remaining, read simply: "AND YOUNG". Which seemed to him to sum up almost everything that made people unhappy and on the edge of madness in the world, a kind of Platonic groping for what could never be, AND YOUNG as well. His mind raced. He remembered that in one escape he had read about from durance vile, Edmond Dantes had substituted himself for a corpse in a shroud, and been flung over the parapet into the waters surrounding the Chateau Dief, and thereby made his escape, found the incredible jeweled cave of Monte Cristo, revenged himself on his archenemy, and ultimately triumphed with the exquisite Mercedes!! Of course, under the current circumstances he didn't have a corpse to substitute for, though if he killed himself that would get him past Part A of the escape plan, i.e. finding a corpse to put into the shroud, but not past Part B, cutting the shroud underwater and swimming free of the swirling sea around the Chateau Dief, or even parts C-Z, staying alive until he got his hands on the exquisite Mercedes, etc., since he would already have been dead in order to get Part A rolling. Another thought that occurred to him was that Mistress PushmiPullu had said something to him once during one of their intermittent substitutes for conversation that he had not fully taken notice of. She had been drinking wine a lot, and mixing French and Italian wines which was not a good idea, and left her somewhere off the coast of Genoa, more or less in the same spot that drowned Percy Bysshe Shelley, and not all that far from the Chateau Dief, come to think of it, and she said: "Truth is, Coyote, my dream in life is to be able to talk to dumb animals, and I am practicing on men. I figure that a few years of that, and I might be able to move up to plankton." For some reason, this seemed to him to be too optimistic a scenario, but then you had to be an optimist to run the Mudcat Tavern. At this exact moment, when he was beginning to wonder if there might be summer courses at the Neil Young, or elsewhere, that prisoners could take in Elementary Plankton; and also that he might rot in that spot forever, which would eventually get him to Part A of his plan, but again, B, C-Z would be not materially assisted, there was a sound as of someone with no backbeat tapping what sounded like a message on a spoon through the wall. Another inmate perhaps? He leaned against the wall to listen. Not for the first time he cursed his lack of languages. Not only could he not speak a word of Elementary Plankton, but Spoon was new to him. Would no one ever do something about the educational system?????
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Geoff the Duck Date: 01 Jul 01 - 12:25 PM Somewhere deep in within the bowels of the Neil Young Centre came an angry twang. A stocky, mottle skinned individual was attempting to gouge a large ruby out from the neck of an instument. It was difficult to make out what the instrument was supposed to be. Its surface was encrusted with emeralds and rubies, the neck was embedded with diamonds and pearls, you could just make out traces of a vellum skin underneath the garnet studded lapis-lazuli filligree work. This was a truly screwed-up individual. He had started to decline when they first gave him an instrument to play with. The constant jibes of can you play any George Formby had unhinged his mind, so that when a passing guitarist said You should try Jewelling Banjoes! his thin grasp upon reality had finally slipped away, like the audience during his rendition of stairway to heaven with swannee whistle and cow bells. His deranged fingers twisted into knots as he remembered the scorn poured upon him when he was caught trying to scale the walls of Fort Knox using only Scruggs tuners and a Shubb capo, in a doomed attempt to fund his obsession for exotic inlay work. He would make the world suffer in silence if it was the last thing he did. All he needed was to escape from his incarceration. His plans for revenge were ready formulated. The psychologists at the Neil Young Centre had never questioned his requests to watch Adam West in old repeats of Batman, but he had memorised every nefarious plot for world domination, and coded them using the crunchy bits out of the peanut butter sandwiches. His day would come soon! when it did, they would all forget Hannibal the Cannibal! The world would live to regret it had mistreated Albert Toepicker!!!!!!!!! |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Amos Date: 01 Jul 01 - 02:26 PM The plan unfolded like an origami vole being prepared for a vasectomy. They strode up to the guard, the kestrel on the shoulder of the lady and the Capuchin on the shoulder of the stranger, each of them holding a rolypoly squalling Tweedle off the ground with his feet hanging a foot off the floor and his little balled fists swinging in the air. The Tweedles did a consummate job. "E Flat!" So vehement was the altercation that the twins' faces were turning purple as the stranger leaned over and whispered to the guard, who pulled the Andalusian noseflute out long enough to hear. It was clear this was a case of Emergency Admissions, and the guard knew the drill. He pushed a red button under the top of his desk and shortly, two stout orderlies pushing a peculiar gurney equipped with wide black Velcro straps appeared through the heavy door into the interior. They hadn't counted on opposition troops, and the lady and the stranger looked at each other, each of them fingering a hidden capo nervously. They would have to improvise. They followed the gurney through the heavy sliding door, into a long pale-painted hall with thick carpets, the walls lined with framed LP album art from past residents -- hundreds of singers who had perpetrated Mary Chapin Carpenter covers. As the steel door hissed shut behind them the two pulled their wide-framed 44 gauge fast-action capos in a single fluid motion. Within seconds the interns had been capoed to the black velcro bands, their skulls forcibly introduced to each other by the wide muscled hands of the stranger. They left the orderlies muttering about thinking each other the queen of the land and being somewhere in Belfast, and ducked down a cross corridor and through a stairwell door. It would not be long until someone found the orderlies. sent them to Lyrics Rehab, raised an alarum. They had to move fast.
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Geoff the Duck Date: 01 Jul 01 - 04:40 PM Albert sat quietly in the semi darkness of his cell. For several weeks, under the guise of learning to play Bernie Leadon's Journey of the Sorceror, he had in reality been listening to episodes of the Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy. His deranged mind had absorbed some interesting concepts, and he was trying to manufacture his own version of the Infinity Drive from the starship Heart of Gold - mind you, it was difficult with only bottle tops from Bud Lite to use as raw materials. He was certain that just down the corridor he could hear an infinite number of monkeys typing. He knew that all he had to do was wait until they had finished the works of Shakespeare, and then they would write his exit from this cell, although he would miss the quilted walls and the multi coloured crayons which they gave him for writing on the walls. He was using the orange crayon for working on a special case of Einstein's Relativity. He was writing a bluegrass tune to incorporate Bohr's work with Heisenberg's uncertainty principle. Like much bluegrass banjo, it consisted of a lot of notes, but he was uncertain what order they were played, and it sounded relatively bohring. He was certain that if it worked, he could open a wormhole in space which might allow him to escape!! |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: GUEST Date: 01 Jul 01 - 04:57 PM Very Loud and very off-key......
"What do ya do with a drugged James Taylor?
Put electrodes on his head and jack the power "What the hell is that?!!!" "Don't worry Amos." Says the enchanting barmaid. "All of the guards must be in the cafeteria exercising and singing the company work song. This will give me a few moments to explain to you why we are here and what out objectives are. But we must hurry. Plans are afoot to to put an end to someone. We must act before the sweet dreams and flying machines hit the fan!" |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Geoff the Duck Date: 01 Jul 01 - 05:04 PM As Albert scrawled the last orange symbol on the wall, he took a deep breath and struck the corresponding note. TWANGGGGGGGG! It resonated around the room until the very foundations of the Institute shook. A purple and pink swirl appeared in the wall, slowly coalescing into a sparkling mist. Albert's eyes widened as he realised that his theory had worked. Where would it take him? Did he dare enter this paradox of physics? Would this anomaly annihilate him? Would Batman escape from the pit of jello? He stepped forward to the brink of the abyss........ and JUMPED !!!!!!!!! |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Geoff the Duck Date: 01 Jul 01 - 05:13 PM Feeling a strange sensation of Deja Vu, Albert decided not to step into the swirling maw. It would wait until another day! Along the hall, he could hear voices. He waited to decipher what was being said.......... |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Morticia Date: 01 Jul 01 - 05:44 PM Jewelling Banjo's??????Omigawd, time for a change of underwear....ROTFLMAO. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Liz the Squeak Date: 01 Jul 01 - 05:52 PM Wheel hew leeves in o hoyse loike thees? We hov o sord of fishy mewtiff, weeth o sort of warming pyan effect, lots ond lots of straynge musical toypes, raynging from blews to hot jazz. Noice. Newtice the possom effeyct on the mentlepiece heyar..... I say, just look ot all thoyse straynge peeeeple, thores won heyar woth the mewst delightfol little pewny tail, jost lewk at thot! Ond just lewk at the dronked red head in the corrrrner.... thos one hays a bright blew chark mork almewst up to hor dimples..... Albert stood still, waiting for the subtitles to appear. He realised he hadn't had his medication for some time now, so the subtitles were, in all probablility, still stuck on channel 5. Then he realised just who it was.... |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Amos Date: 01 Jul 01 - 05:57 PM "Holy Qubits, Batrman!! It's a self referential Moebius logic strip!! This could be a real threat -- if we aren't careful the Duck fellow could write himself into an endless loop and end up divorced from the time stream, trapped in a baby black hole!!"
"I know what you mean, Robin -- I think -- but look!! He used the hypertext capabilities of his cross-domain bit shifting tool to devise a grafted alternate Eigenstate on to the quantum space just after the field should have collapsed from his initial measurement!! Fiendishly clever!! Somehow I have my suspicions about this Duck's real identity, Robin!!" "You don't mean....." "Yes, Robin, I'm afraid I do!!! This "Odd Duck" with the fiendish talent for phase=space distortion is the Real Joker!!!" [Tune in next week kids, for more of the Daring Duo's fearless adventures. We now return to our regular program, The Mudcat Tavern Adventures....] |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: JenEllen Date: 01 Jul 01 - 07:31 PM The not-quite-so-daring duo crept soundlessly down the halls. Well, actually they made quite a bit of noise, but they still had their earplugs in....
They quickly ran for the back stairs, with the Tweedlers scuttling behind them. The door was forced open, and the small band re-grouped on the landing.
The stranger and the barmaid (I like that title too, Mortee) stared at each other a moment, and then cringed as they removed their earplugs and were assaulted by a continuous looping drone of 'keep on rockin' in the freeee wuuuuuuurld' that spun through the stairwell.
The bowels were indeed rank, and they moved cautiously despite there being no evidence of alarms anywhere in the center. So far so good. Each successive room, in each succesive corridor, made the barmaid fear for her mind. Typing monkeys, rattling spoons, and an alarming collection of Zildjan bedpans greeted them at every turn. They reached the end of the first hall, when the stranger pointed to the last cell.
The search for Coyote continued, haunted by the vague smell of peanut butter, to the further end of the hall. She could imagine her own expression. She'd seen the same dumbstruck look on Bert's mug when she'd told him the card was maxed out. She shook her head briefly and bolted into the room. The decor in the YOUNG room was certainly not on par with the Four Seasons(what can you expect) and the CoyoteFlutterby sat, dutifully wrecked by his ball. The small diorama made of mattress stuffing that sat at his feet spelled out "Be thou, Spirit fierce, / My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one" in an ocean spray of egg-crate foam, and the artist looked blankly up at the two visitors to his humble space. ~MllePP |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: GUEST,Independant Observer Date: 01 Jul 01 - 07:57 PM So they'd just come to steal Art and escape. But what of the Malkovichian plan being hatched under their very noses? What about the Tarsal Tunnel of the Soul? |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: GUEST,Robdale Date: 01 Jul 01 - 08:48 PM Gradually they realized what they had been hearing. familiar voices singing incongruent lyrics. Incongruent both politically and stylistically. "Who needs a union when yah got stock options?" "Billy!" [i]"Slay all the cariboo and drill for oil" [/i] "Buffy!" [i]"The war is over and the economy needs a boost so support Strategic Defence."[/i] "Neil" [i]"Buy, buy, buy, it's good to be a yuppie and consumerism is cool. And poo jokes aren't funny either" [/i] "RobDale, quit interupting Billy Bragg, Buffy St. Marie and Neil Diamond." Who was hijacking their talent? and too what end? They didn't know where this was leading {neither do I} but they felt that their questions would be answered by a little visit to the [b]7 1/2th Floor[/b] where they would find the Tarsal Tunnel room. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Amos Date: 01 Jul 01 - 09:29 PM (ANGLE brackets, Robdale!! ANGLE>/i> brackets!!!! |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Peg Date: 01 Jul 01 - 09:44 PM you guys are weird! and verbal! gimme a beer and dispense with the erudition if ya pleeze!!!
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Amos Date: 01 Jul 01 - 10:20 PM There weren't many options open; the sound of an old diamondtip needle being dragged acroos the 1962 RCA-Stereo Sound release Long-Playing "All But Young: Songs for the Middle Years". sung by Rosemary Clooney, made a stark scraping sound over the PA and they knew the alarm was being sounded. Faintly they heard the sounds of scores of pairs of matched Birkenstocks pounding down the stairwell far behind them. "Quick!!! The Tarsal tunnel to the Soul!!! It's our only way out, the tall stranger snapped. The Flutterby artist stared at them, an amused glimmer in his eyes and an amusing string of spittle swinging from his pearly teeth. The stranger opened his utility belt and pulled out four round fat capsules. Biting into them in quick succession, he heaved them into the hallway through the cell door as far back as he could, where they rolled and bounced letting out streams of colorful smoke -- blue, orange, green and yellow. She looked at him with one perfect eyebrow raised, and he answered before she had time to say anything. "They're Taylor Effect bombs," he explained rapidly. "They make people think they're in tune with their ancient ethnic roots and harmonizing with the universe at the same time." "But that's oxymornic!!!" she protested. "Shhhh -- it's a fragile delusion and we don't have time to lose setting it up twice!!!" he snapped. He grabbed the drooling artist by the shoulder and shook him. "Tunnel entrance!!! WHERE?!" The Coyote artist grinned crookedly, and pointed to the strange blueish vapor vortex that filled the back corner of his cell, the corner they had avoided looking at because they thought it was the latrine. He stepped forward and grabbed the loony artist by one arm, hooisted him to his feet and with a single motion bent and lifted him him over one shoulder. He turned and grabbed the lovely Keepmistress by an elbow, and steered the clump of them across the room and with a single stride stepped with them into the center of the Vortex. The crackling that filled their ears was deafening, the walls vanished and spin into ethereal streaks of spiralling blue lines, and the faint sounds of imminent pursuit faded into a sound reminiscent of the Beatles imitating a speaking tube to the engine room; throbbing peremated their cells and tissues, and they could no longer tell ther upper ends from their lower. Albert Coyote didn't notice the difference in that particular respect, but the others found it distinctly disorienting, and they were grabbing for leather as blind as a pair of bats when they contacted something extremely solid with a thud that made them feel as though their ribs had been driven through their shoulders and their nerves screamed in protest.... ...in the moonlit summer night on the grassy untended slopes of the hill below the NYCTS. Faintly, down near where the hill reached the river and the road, they made out two round shadows cavorting down the slope with a large dark rectangle between them. Gradually, the peace of a summer night replaced the violence of their journey and they slowly regained their sense of place. "The grove! Quick!!!" Half staggering, half skipping,m they followed the twin rolypoly shadows down to the edge of the road and across it to the river bank, tore through undergrowth, ducked branches, stepped loudly on twigs, and tore through brambles until exhausted and dizzy with exhertion they broke into the clearing. The Capuchin, thrilled that something familiar was in view, leapt with a shriek to the ground and ran across th eclearing to a low-lying branch where the kestrel had just come down shrieking protestations at the rude treatment she had been subjected to, and after exchanging a few telling though highly dissimilar noises the two of them turned as one and lunged for the camouflaged shrubbery-pit that held the powerful Indian's silent form. The music still waved across the late summer night, the frailing reaching high across the misting meadows and the dull bodhran rhythms tumbling out across the grasslands surrounding the Tavern, whent he deep burble of the mighty motorcycle was again heard at the doorway, pulling up in a slow and gracious stop in the gravel parking lot. Spaw and Bert were the first to turn around and gape as the travelers, accomnpanied by the battered, drollong but still smiling form of "Toepicker" Coyote Flutterby, two gleeful dwarves and two indignant pets, appeared in the doorway. "My God, man!!! What happened to you!!!?? Where have you been? What have you been doing!!!?" The stranger and the Keepmistress looked at each other for only a brief second, but what passed between them then would take a year to describe., And so, without a moment's pause, they turned and replied in perfect unison, as though from some long-practiced choral routine: "Not much. You?" |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: JenEllen Date: 02 Jul 01 - 12:10 AM The Tweedles looked at her expectantly, but Mistress PushmiPullu shrugged it away. "Forget it boys, I only work one shift a year, last week in June. That's all I signed on for, and that's all their getting. You want any more seltzer, you take it up with Leej!" The two gents looked crestfallen, motioned her to lean down, and each whispered in her ear before scurrying off to the bar. "And YOU," she turned to the stranger, "You.... have to promise me another motorcycle ride after my shift next year. Hopefully under better circumstances?" she grinned. "Thanks for all of your help. It's not entirely over, but I think I can take it from here..."
She walked over to the booth and slid in beside CoyoteFlutterby. They found the Catspaw painting right where the Tweedles had said. Between the both, they managed somehow to carry it's monstrosity back into the mother's arms of the MudCat Tavern. Georgia O'Keefe would have to grace the Gents from now on, but that was okay by Ian the Blue, who spent the lions' share of time in there anyways...and Leej let them hang the painting behind the bar. Mistress PushmiPullu raised her glass to the wall of frame, "Here's to well-placed sunbeams." she thought to herself. Out loud, her toast was one: "To Light and Shadow!" ~MllePP (welcome back Spaw'darlin ~yerJE)
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: GUEST,The Voice in the Neil Young Center. Date: 02 Jul 01 - 12:33 AM "I kinda like it here. And I need some rest. I know Malkovichian force is still around. But the drugs are great! and the company is good. And they let me play a '57 Marten if I promise not to drool it. They promise to let me out as soon as I run out of civet crap songs. I could be here a while. ;-)
The Wait by the Band(ed Civet)
Came to the hospital and my Civet used the head. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: katlaughing Date: 02 Jul 01 - 01:06 AM Psalterykat psat in the corner and plucked her pstrings... |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Lonesome EJ Date: 02 Jul 01 - 02:34 AM LEJ sniffs one of the partly-drained glasses of "vile black stuff", notes the dilated pupils hovering in the eyesockets of Geoff, Amos, Jen and Peter, and exclaims "That's enough! None of you people are driving home. Spread some throw-pillows around on the Turkish Carpet and crack open another keg of giggle-juice : This is looking like an all-nighter." Then mumbling to himself "that's the last time I let Ol' Doc Hoffman tend bar while I step out to post an offtrack bet. Crazy bastard keeps putting argot derivatives in the Guinness..." |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: MMario Date: 02 Jul 01 - 08:48 AM good gad! I go away for a weekend - and here you all sit getting textual! Some could of at least done the bleedin' dishes y'know - or used disposables. The kitchen is a wreck! |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Geoff the Duck Date: 02 Jul 01 - 09:17 AM As the light from Saint Anthony's fire flickered deep within the pupils of Albert Toepicker Coyote, he bade Catspaw a respectful welcome home. He then quietly ambled towards the exit, but paused before he got there, reached up an overlong arm, and swung himself up into the eaves of the Tavern. He curled up on a beam and sank into a reverie. In his mind he started to turn over the day's events, but found that the contents were spilling onto the tables of the Tavern and blowing away with the salt from the peanuts. His plans for world domination and revenge would wait until after he had slept, perhaps for a minute, maybe several weeks, he no longer knew! His last semi-coherent thought was Where would Einstein take me if I tuned the banjo to mountain modal????.... Somewhere down below, William Handnancy rose from his table and headed out into the street. As he stepped down the road he reflected to himself, It's nice to find someplace where you can sit for a quiet pint. Strange though, I thought that the Mudcat Tavern would have been more lively!!!!! |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Peter T. Date: 02 Jul 01 - 09:26 AM The rescued derelict sat at the table, and began to sing in a low, warbly voice: "o bury me not on the lone prairie, where the coyotes howl and the wind blows free, in a narrow grave, six by three, o bury me not on the lone prairie. It matters not, I've oft been told where the body lies when the heart grows cold yet gratn, o grant, this wish to me: o bury me not on the lone prairie. O bury me not" - but his voice failed there, and we paid no heed to his dying prayer, in a narrow grave, six by three, we buried him there, on the lone prairie." "I got to thinking about that in the centre, when it looked as if I would never be rescued. Do you think it matters?" The Tweedles looked at each other and said, ensemble: "What?" "Where your body lies if your heart has grown cold." "Well," said the stranger," I don't suppose it matters. Though they should have responded to his dying wishes, in the song." "Oh" said Coyote," I didn't mean when you are dead. I meant generally." Mistress Pushmipullu waved her hand frantically at the bartender and yelled in a loud voice: "ALCOHOL OVER HERE!!!!!!" |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Amos Date: 02 Jul 01 - 10:16 AM Welcome home, Spaw. It's not The Steamboat Albert Hansell but it has a kestrel and a fistful of really good lines, and we wrote it just for you! A |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Jack the Sailor Date: 02 Jul 01 - 10:59 AM Please to meet you Catspaw! Here's to you! good health and long life!
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: JenEllen Date: 02 Jul 01 - 12:28 PM (Yeah, and the raptor remained unscorched this time...I must be slippin'....) She apologizes profusely to MMario for leaving the kitchen such a mess, and the doors unhinged. (If you do italics in a post does that make to bi-textual? Poor html'ers...) Not buried on the lone prairie, but certainly buried amongst Leej's snuggle-pit, Mistress PushmiPullu snuggles in with Coyote and breaks out in song. (Inspired by giggle-juice, with the Tweedles providing harmony o'course)
Ah Yamboree Queen
On down in Texas she makes sweet potato pie
Now the Buckeye Band is playing on the square
Ah Yamboree Queen ~Pushmi
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: MMario Date: 02 Jul 01 - 12:43 PM Luckily in virtual reality I can use dynamite to clean the kitchen and have the desired results. since that took care of everything in about 1.213456 seconds - and another 30 seconds for the fans to ckear away the smoke...I offer forth my latest discovery - the low carb, flourless, fudge cake - with lovely dollops of bailey's cream mousse to serve with it. Eat heart - it went fast at the party saturday! |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: JeZeBeL Date: 02 Jul 01 - 02:52 PM JeZeBeL...still in her little corner...looks up and realises that she has been out cold for quite some time? Well, 2 days by the looks of things!! Hmmmm....think I'll have a wash in the ladies room..... She walks in only to discover Ian the Blue laying by the toilet bowl....he must've mistaken the ladies for the gents again....or just fancied chasin after them american girls.... Well, what am I supposed to do about this????? She thinks for a while and decides the best bet is this.... She grabs ITB by the scruff of his neck with a HUUUUGE grin on her face, make that a HUUUUGE EVIL grin, grabs him then by his feet and dangles him upside down in the toilet bowl...this should wake him up.....and u know what it did....she threw him out of the toilet and shouted to mlle pullu to get him another drink, while Geoff the Duck sat him back on a stool.... Hmmm, time for a wash now thought Jez........ ............10 mins later she walks out looking like new, it's amazing what you can find in a magical bag!! "Mlle, do you have any CHATREUSE?" "You do!! That's fantastic...I'll take a bottle" Jez starts to feed Ian the Blue the sweet green liquid and then people start to see this strange green glow in ITB's eyes... "What's going on?" She can hear from across the room. "Watch and see" she replies with one of her famous evil grins on her face. ITB suddenly sprung to life, he grabbed his guitar and started playing like no one had seen him do before.. "Well, I mite aswell have one last tune before I go to Ethno" He grins with the green twinkle still in his eyes!! Everyone smiles happily and joins in with a cracking rendition of HOMMAGE A EDMOND PARIZEAU....... Jez smiles to herself.... "my work here is done for the moment...." she says as she takes a big gulp of that delicious green liquid... .......and says "I will return in a few days"...and sweeps out in a long black lace dress with that now familiar green glow in her eyes too......... |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Ian Stephenson Date: 02 Jul 01 - 05:13 PM Ian the Blue was asleep. Again. Only this time he was playing guitar. Fast. and a long way away, somewhere within the depths of his unconscious, somewhere inbetween jigs and reels, his unconscious was talking.... "h how the b bloo bloomin' nn kn nnora did i g get heeere?" ........the green vile stuff had been having odd effects on ItB's brain. Slowly while the chords and rythms of the external world began incresing in velocity, ItB's nerves began to slow, and stop, one by one. as always the last chord was D9. but Ian the Blue was Dead. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: MMario Date: 02 Jul 01 - 05:20 PM nope. dreaming. No one's allowed to die in the Tavern. You may wish you were dead. You may smell as ifyou were dead. but you can't die. |
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Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: JenEllen Date: 02 Jul 01 - 07:47 PM Ian the Blue Boyo, watch yourself. JeZ may come back and try CPR. ~PushmiPullu, Grinning Mistress of the SnugglePit |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Tavern: Welcome Home Party From: Stilly River Sage Date: 01 Jun 13 - 02:18 PM A spammer found this old Mudcat Tavern thread - the spam is cleaned out, but it has been so long since our JenEllen was here I thought I'd post a remark so others could enjoy this ancient Mudcat Tavern party. SRS |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Tavern: Welcome Home Party From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 01 Jun 13 - 11:15 PM for once a spammer is useful! wot a party! wot a lot of wordmasters with awesome imaginations! more! more!! |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Tavern: Welcome Home Party From: Crowhugger Date: 01 Jun 13 - 11:17 PM Thanks, spammer. Love these old threads... |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Tavern: Welcome Home Party From: Rapparee Date: 01 Jun 13 - 11:30 PM What's wrong with welcoming Art Thieme back into the fold? Party on!!!!! |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Tavern: Welcome Home Party From: gnu Date: 02 Jun 13 - 12:08 AM Oh my! Memories! Thanks SRS! It's late but I shall read the works in due time. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Tavern: Welcome Home Party From: Sandra in Sydney Date: 02 Jun 13 - 07:10 AM I meant to include this example of wordmastery from JenEllen her mind unfolded like an origami swan. That was the horrible thing, you want to know how it works, but once you unfold it, you can't get it folded back again no matter how hard you try. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Tavern: Welcome Home Party From: gnu Date: 02 Jun 13 - 05:42 PM like |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Tavern: Welcome Home Party From: gnu Date: 28 Jun 13 - 03:39 PM Welllll, okay but spell it write... InternUT. Case in point. |
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