 sj |
||
|
||
Mudcat Tavern: Welcome Home Party
|
|
|
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. |
|
Subject: RE: Mudcat Tavern: Welcome Home Party From: gnu Date: 02 Jun 13 - 05:42 PM like |
|
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. |
|
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. |
|
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!!!!! |
|
Subject: RE: Mudcat Tavern: Welcome Home Party From: Crowhugger Date: 01 Jun 13 - 11:17 PM Thanks, spammer. Love these old threads... |
|
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!! |
|
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 |
|
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 |
|
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. |
|
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. |
|
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......... |
|
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! |
|
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
|
|
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!
|
|
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 |
|
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!!!!!!" |
|
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!!!!! |
|
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! |
|
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..." |
|
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... |
|
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. |
|
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)
|
|
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?" |
|
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!!!
|
|
Subject: RE: MUDCAT TAVERN: WELCOME HOME PARTY From: Amos Date: 01 Jul 01 - 09:29 PM (ANGLE brackets, Robdale!! ANGLE>/i> brackets!!!! |
|
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. |
|
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? |
|
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 |
|
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....] |
|
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.... |
|
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. |
|
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.......... |
|
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 !!!!!!!!! |
|
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!" |
|
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!! |
|
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.
|
|
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!!!!!!!!! |
|
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?????
|
|
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??) |
|
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". |
|
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!" |
|
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.
|
|
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?
|
|
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. |
|
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....) |
|
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! |
|
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!] |
|
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. |
|
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.
|
| Share Thread: |
