BS: Mudcat Christmas Party 2001

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Christmas Party 2001
From: Amos
Date: 11 Dec 01 - 09:32 AM

The fire-topped barmaid stepped up to the door, her towel in hand, and advised the horns and bladders crowd without that they were welcome to come in and get warm, and even have a few free on Bert's card, but they had to behave and leave their bladders and sticks at the door.

There was a certain something in her eye which quelled their barbarian spirits and they trooped in quietly and were soon comparing notes on variants of Good King Wenceslas with the lass in glasses, who began demonstrating modal scales on her wee fife while the capuchin, well energized by his drap o' Chivas, danced on their table top to the grand amusementof the house.

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Christmas Party 2001
From: The_one_and_only_Dai
Date: 11 Dec 01 - 08:12 AM

From the night outside, a sudden silence descends upon the happy and growing group ion the tavern.

They are suddenly, and uncomfortably, mindful of the dark, and the chill, and the fragility of the fire that keeps them from the eternal cold.

Outside, the mist swirls... a dark shape is seen, or rather not seen, merely suggested by the absence of fog. The shadows move closer to the bright tavern and resolve into a ragged band of several determined-looking folkies. There are five of them.

Suddenly, the silence is shattered by their leader at the door of the welcoming pub.

'Wel dyma ni'n diwad
Gyfeillion diniwad
I ofyn cawn gennad
I ganu!'

The rhythmic cry is punctuated by the rest of the band beating drums, yelling, hitting each other with bladders on sticks and blowing horns. Yes, horns.

Silence fell again, as the sinister group, led by a tall, pale and ragged man with a slightly disturbing yet alluring glint in his eye, and a shirt proclaiming "I Love Stony Stratford, It's Great", waited for the required response from within...

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Christmas Party 2001
From: CharlieA
Date: 11 Dec 01 - 06:58 AM

From out of the cold crisp night, a young woman enters the bar. She is tall with waist length, dark blond hair and is wrapped heavily in a large suede coat, scarf and a hat. Her glasses steam up briefly as she enters. She walks to the bar rather hesitantly and asks "do you have any wassail? If not a mulled wine would do nicely?" Disrobed from her outdoor wrappings, she cleans her glasses on a tissue pulled from a pocket. Her skirt and jumper are of dark green. She carries a fife stuck in her belt. Seating herself on a stool to one side of the bar she looks around shyly and sips her drink.

Cxxx

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Christmas Party 2001
From: GUEST,Roger the skiffler
Date: 11 Dec 01 - 05:16 AM

The Jello man parked his truck for the last time: "Got an order here to clear out the old lime jello and deliver the Xmas Cranberry jello, without added Dolores O'Riordan. Don't you guys ever clean house, Jeez, look at the state at this jello pit, rotten spuds,ugh, an old thong, possum crap, what do you do in there?
Well that's all the crud vaccuumed out and the new supply hosed in. Thanks for the offer of a retirement drink, a metaxas would go down nicely, thanks. Here's a "Jellos R Us" seasonal greetings card from the Management."
Whistling tunelessly ("Goin' down the road feelin' bad") he got in the truck and drove off into the sunset...
RtS (Goin' where the spreadsheets never go...)

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Christmas Party 2001
From: Amos
Date: 11 Dec 01 - 04:51 AM

The darkling clouds racing across the moon cast long silvered shadows on the edges of the well plowed blacktop winding over the horizon. The fields, smoother in snow than they had been through the long dry summer, sparkled in moonshadow and listened to the footprints of deer. Over the rolling sleeping valley, a faint bass vibratioon was heard, a deepthroated soft-edged rumble of power and speed under gentle but firm control.

The night air flashed to a tight probe of solid light as the noise grew and a single powerful headlight crossed the sky and illuminated the stark trees. Out of the shadows in the valley floor, the muscular form of a 1939 Indian motorcycle took shape, stirring the snowdust as it sliced the cold air banking the turns on the long road up to the Mudcat Tavern, heeling to aperfect graceful stop in the gravel lot outside the warm bright windows.

A tall stranger climbed down from the tall frame of the Indian and reached into the saddle bag, freeing the lithe inquisitive form of a long-tailed capuchin monkey who proceeded to clamber onto the shoulder of hs woollined flight jacket. He bent down and unstrapped a Dreadnought hardshell case from the rear rack, and strode for the worn polished entrance, entering the warm tavern in a burst of snow dust and cold air.

"By God, it is good to be here one more time!!! A thimble of Chivas for my friend here, Miss Keeper, if you will, and a quart of vile brown stuff. And a toast to your eternal light, grace, and beauty, to boot!"

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Christmas Party 2001
From: Lin in Kansas
Date: 11 Dec 01 - 01:03 AM

The Red-Headed Stranger notices lights twinkling in the window of the weatherbeaten old building, and from curiosity slides her raspberry-colored S10 pickup into a parking spot next to the rustic porch. She grabs her cue case and heads for the door.

Just inside, she pauses to look around. What the hell? Is that JELLO? LIME Jello??? And where's the pool table? What kinda tavern IS this, anyway?

Nice bar, though. Wonder if they can mix a decent Tom & Jerry?

"Hey, Ms. Bartender..."

Subject: RE: BS: Mudcat Christmas Party 2001
From: Sorcha
Date: 11 Dec 01 - 12:53 AM

Well, Bah Humbug to you to, sweetie! You have just given me another reason not to go to bed.....here is a Hot Toddy to all of youse!!

Subject: Mudcat Christmas Party 2001
From: JenEllen
Date: 11 Dec 01 - 12:50 AM

The battered old truck slowed to a stop in front of the snow-dusted building, the site of so much festivity, and a woman got out. She quickly untied the ropes securing the tree in the truck bed, and began pulling the giant fir up the walk. She paused for a moment at the doorway, fishing under the welcome mat for the spare key, then unlocked the door and pulled the tree inside. After a brief episode of grunting and cursing, the tree finally rested in its stand. Granted, it leaned a little to the left (or if you stood on the other side, it leaned a little to the right) but it stood proudly. The woman grinned to herself as she fluffed the branches. "With a politics like that, you'll fit right in here, my friend!" she thought.

On her next trip outside, she stopped by the Mudcat Mailbox, and carried the handful of letters in, along with the box she'd retrieved from the truck. A cursory glance to the mail showed numerous subscription renewals for the Mudcat Calendar, and a letter from Bert's credit card company. "Well," she thought to herself, "it doesn't say FINAL NOTICE, and it's not ticking, so it looks like we're still in business!" She placed the letters at the end of the bar and turned her attentions to the battered cardboard box she carried. One by one, she took out the items, each on it's own bit of ribbon, and placed them on the tree. There was an avocado, a miniature pair of iron underwear, a green tea bag, a little jar of Vaseline, various bits of possum chow, and some tiny little glittered squirrel cages.

The woman stood back for a second to admire her work, then fished around in the bottom of the box for the finishing touches: a small garland of tulips and sunflowers, and a shiny new potato peeler. "That will do for now." she thought, as she went behind the bar and poured herself a pint. As she made her way to her favourite back booth, she flipped the breakers and listened as the jukebox came to life with Condolezza Schwartz's Holiday Hits. The lights above the jello pit and the bowling alley glimmered and reflected off of the tavern windows as the woman sat down.

Welcome all friends old and new. Happy holidays from the Mudcat Tavern.