BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: artbrooks
Date: 16 Dec 02 - 07:55 PM

The Fartenackle Choir? HERE? The scruffy little guy hasn't heard such news in...hours. He goes off to his corner and opens his sack lunch...a beef and bean chimichanga with extra guacamole, green chile and jalapeno jack cheese on top and red onions and refried beens on the side. Asking the barkeep for a pint of porter to wash it all down with (and as a primer), he settles down to get himself...stoked up.

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: JenEllen
Date: 16 Dec 02 - 06:51 PM

Fart-alonga-Favourites on CD? Oh, Morti, how ever did you know?

I suspect (and I'm hardly ever wrong about these things) that with the fuel at the buffet, and the various rip-snorters and tight-assed #$%@ers around here, we could cover a few octaves on our own.

Mudcat Fartenackle Choir auditions to be held at the furthest corner from the fireplace. B.Y.O.C. (bring yer own clothespin---an' it does give a new meaning to "smoke 'em if ya got 'em", don't it?)

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Gareth
Date: 16 Dec 02 - 06:37 PM

Nevermind it will soon be the day of the Winter Solistice (SP) The Lads and Ladettes of Aberflyhalf RFC are looking for a suitable virgin sacrifice - No, the inflatable sheep will not do, any Ovine creature in the proximity of a Morris Group has thier honour besmirched, and the name, Dead Horse Morris, does not refer to thier hoodening.

They open the temporal door onto the Isle of Sheppy . a pack of Corgi's departs with instructions to find a suitable candidate.

They are frustrated, after all this is the Island of Sheep, and conveniently close to the old Navy Bases of Chatham and Sheerness, no luck, but the temporal door to Hul9 opens. Nipping at the heels the Corgi's drive Punch the Horse towards the door.

There is a role of drums, whose hide shall enliven the Beltain celebrations ? With thier White Robes on will they be mistaken for residents of/from Alabama.

Will the Chameleons become confused ?

Will the beer see the night out ?

Will the Aberflyhalf RFC Choir be sober enough to celebrate Beltain ?
Will any catters convert them back to something approaching Christianity ?

The Chorus continues in its drunken fashion :_
" Twas Xmas day in the work house,
The Paupers had nothing to eat,
- The rest of this is censored as this is a familly Chat room !!!!

Punch the Horse spots the Morris Men, remembers what happened at the Chimney Boy at Faversham, and immediatly places its rear quarters against the wall.

The Christmas tree has seen it all over the years and smiles.

Garth
Gareth

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Rapparee
Date: 16 Dec 02 - 06:29 PM

...and "Wreck Yer Balls On Fences, Golly!"....

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Liz the Squeak
Date: 16 Dec 02 - 05:45 PM

And someone, somewhere, breaks into

'Walking round in Womens' underwear'.....

LTS

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Cluin
Date: 16 Dec 02 - 04:51 PM

...as the remaining members of SPEWED link hands around the Chritmas Tree and begin swaying and crooning:

Mark and Harold are not gay,
"They're just friends", their mothers say...

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 16 Dec 02 - 04:24 PM

Meanwhile....

The ice demon that had followed the Armani-suited displaced yuppie into the Tavern has been watching the proceedings and idly humming "The Acid Queen" from The Who's rock opera "Tommy". "Ah well," he mumbles to himself, "Enough of this spectatin' stuff. Let's start some mischief." He trains his reptilian eyes on the Guinness keg, nods his head, blinks, and a searing beam of unimaginable cold is emitted from his eyes. It slams into the Guinness keg with an audible sizzling sound and instantly freezes the contents solid. "All right!" he chuckles to himself, "No more Guinness! Tee hee! The last time a tavern full of folk musicians ran out of Guinness there was a riot that took a whole precinct-houseful of cops to break up. Let's just sit back and see what happens.....Ya know, that Gargoyle guy ain't shit up beside me!"

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Rustic Rebel
Date: 16 Dec 02 - 04:00 PM

Hey! Who was that gorgeous hunk of man who left those golden kona bricks anyway?
What am I seeing here? Am I going drunkingly insane? I am seeing before my eyes an apparition! The nearer it comes to me I see it is John Lennon with eight little people carrying ukuleles. John comes up to me and hands me a tamborine, takes my hand and heads for the stage. With all the little ukulele players and John we start his song:


Happy Christmas (War Is Over)
John Lennon and Yoko Ono
And so this is Christmas and what have you done
Another year over; a new one just begun
And so this is Christmas, I hope you have fun
The near and the dear one, the old and the young
A Merry Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year
Let's hope it's a good one without any fear

So this is Christmas, for weak and for strong
The rich and the poor one, the road is so long
So Happy Christmas for black and for white
The yellow and red one, and stop all the fight
A Merry Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year
Let's hope it's a good one without any fear

So this is Christmas and what have we done
Another year over, a new one just begun
So Happy Christmas, I hope you have fun
The near and the dear one, the old and the young
A Merry Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year
Let's hope it's a good one without any fear

[Intstrumental]

So this is Christmas and what have you done
Another year over; a new one just begun
And so Happy Christmas; we hope you have fun
The near and the dear one, the old and the young
A Merry Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year
Let's hope it's a good one without any fear


Is this a ghost of Christmas past, I wonder. I hand John the tamborine, and before they disappear, one little person who played the ukalele went over and set his ukalele under the tree, speaking low he said something about Tiny Tim, but I couldn't quite make out the words he spoke.
John said one more thing to me before he left. He said,"you all should check out This site and listen to Yoko's version of 'Give Peace A Chance' , and maybe sign the petition. He turned and told everyone to 'Imagine', and they disappeared.
Damn! That was fun. Hey barkeep could I please have another cuervo and lime. (a little coconut on the side)

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Rapparee
Date: 16 Dec 02 - 02:43 PM

Gathered around the festive centers (The Tree and The Bar, which should be the name of an old Christmas Carol or a Country-Western song but isn't), all the assembled 'Catters broke into a song to celebrate the dual birthdays of Noreen and Beethoven:

"Oh, Freundlich...er, ah, hell, it's in bloody German, fer Chrissakes...oh, fergiddit..."

A duo did play a rousing chorus of "Happy Birthday To You" on lute and piobrach, however, while Welsh Courgies howled along.

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Catherine Jayne
Date: 16 Dec 02 - 02:31 PM

Noreen walks in escorted by Lord Skipjack and a large bottle of Moet to celebrate her Birthday.

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Catherine Jayne
Date: 16 Dec 02 - 02:30 PM

lol!!

Morti walks around distributing the contents of Santa's sack while demanding snogs underneath the mistletoe she is wearing on her headband......the men are queing up!!!!! Best get some good lip balm girl with all that snoggin!!!!

Jen mugs Oakley for some sprouts so she can have a go with the Fart-along-a-Favourites CD......'spaw looks on turning green with envy!

Dead Horse performs a mini fashion show in his new lace basque while Morti snogs Santa under the mistletoe.

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Morticia
Date: 16 Dec 02 - 02:22 PM

All together now.... " I saw Morti mugging Santa Claus"

Sharing out the spoils feverishly so she can share the blame around too, (just in case, you understand),Morti makes a mistake or two in distribution...nothing serious you understand.Dead Horse looks delightful in that lace basque and secretly I suspect Jen has always wanted a set of Fart-alonga-Favourites cds.

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Cluin
Date: 16 Dec 02 - 02:11 PM

North door swings open again to admit several errant gusts of snowflake-laden wind, followed by a frozen-looking dude in a Armani suit, carrying jumper cables.

"Damned cheap battery!"

He fails to notice the ice demon which slips into the Tavern behind him and leaps up to secret itself amongst the roof beams.

Armani shuffles over to the bar, slapping his circulatory system back awake. "Bartender! A double shot of Scotch, please. Neat!"

"Alright", says the barkeep, pouring and eyeing the fellow with his cables. "But don't you go startin' nuthin'..."

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Gareth
Date: 16 Dec 02 - 01:52 PM

Liz - You would be suprised how many Welsh (and Sheep) live down in darkest Kent !!!

Gareth

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Dead Horse
Date: 16 Dec 02 - 12:20 PM

Have you ever tried nailin' Blakeys into a pair of wellies?
It don't do the waterproofin' any good, mate.
AND ye canna creep up on the sheep any more.
Still, the blacked up faces mean we stand a fair chance in the dark.

I passed by the front door, I cried bye-bye on the bell.
Someone opened the door, oh, ya yaie, my heart aches.

I can see, and think about, the lit candle
Whatever comes to pass, my heart aches.

I knocked on your door, when it opened
Oh, I see your mum cry, and you - in your coffin.

"Ye gods, that sure is cheerfull music to waltz by"

Having finished his Cajun classic, (I kid you, not) the old sea-dog hangs an inflateable song bird on the tree, saying "Blow that for a lark" and retires once more to the bar for a nice drop of grog - hold the water.
His better half removes her taps and unzips the accordian bag, and brings forth...............a triangle.
"Where was ye when I needed ya?" he shouts from the barstool.
"In bed with a headache" she replies "and get me a Guinness while yer at it, ye old bastard"
"Coming up, you smooth talkin' bitch. You want chocolate with that?"
"No fancy cocktails fer me, you old scroat"
As their love talk continues in the background, Morti slips into a back room with a huge grin. The huge grin being attached to a small elf. A couple of minutes later, Morti returns with a huge grin. This time it's her own, and she has an equally huge sack on her back.
The elf is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he has gone to a *better place*

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: MMario
Date: 16 Dec 02 - 11:33 AM

*replenishes the aurochs platter AGAIN!* (hmmmm- runnning low - maybe I better toss those two cornish game hens on the grill.)

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: My guru always said
Date: 16 Dec 02 - 04:17 AM

Spot the Dog was happily being fed the tenderest morsels left on the Velociraptor carcass. He & Camo pulled the wishbone while everyone in the bar crossed their fingers & with eyes tightly shut - made a wish....

'This bone looks like it'll make someone a good tipper' declares the Stray. 'That old fellas been a long time posting his letters, bet he'd be able to get a good beat on his Rhan with this', and proceeded to clean the bone for action.

The tree was almost completely decorated now, the rainbow cd's shimmering in the prismatic effect of so many raised glasses. Presents were piled high under the tree - who had put them there & who were they for? No-one knew, it was a secret....

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Liz the Squeak
Date: 16 Dec 02 - 02:57 AM

HA!! Rodent's Rectum... must remember that one....

Can someone get that chameleon off MMarios' hawiaian shirt, before he does himself a mischief?

LTS

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: Cluin
Date: 16 Dec 02 - 01:47 AM

Scruffington lowers his now-empty tankard with a prolonged "Aaaaaaah!" and wipes his whiskers clear. Then he lifts the mug again, this time to his bad eye, which examines it suspiciously.

"Hmmmm.... raku, eh? Well, that bastard won't hold up long. Now for that other matter..."

He heads over to the dark corner and peers down at its sole denizen.
"Yore name Leej?"
Receiving an unfriendly glare in response, he adds, "Well, I don't give no rodent's rectum meself, but I did meet pale-lookin' feller out on the trail with his dobro stuck in somethin' unmentionable. Ast me t'pass a message on to one Eb'neezer Leej, so he did. An' I'll take that raised eyebrow for a conf'mation of yore incognito, so t'speak. He said t'say that the deal's orf for now an' ye can carry on with yer prickish ways for another year at least. Says the talks broke down an' the spirits is out on strike since midnight. Says ye'd be happy with the news and that ye'd stand me a drink for passin' it on."




"Or not. Worth a try tho'..."

Scruffington turns and heads back out of the tavern, but stops by the tree. He fishes in the pocket of his gig bag and draws forth a sloppily soldered ornament made with old useless Kyser capoes with the springs broken or missing. He hangs it from the end of a branch, then continues on out of the tavern.

Subject: RE: BS: MUDCAT CHRISTMAS TAVERN '02
From: mg
Date: 16 Dec 02 - 01:04 AM

Hold the chocolate for a second. There is a bountiful bevy of young Swedish maidens with white dresses and candles in their blond hair singing Santa Lucia. They are bringing with them pails and pails of lutefisk. And it does not go with chocolate.
mg

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

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

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

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

LTS

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

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

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

CLICK 'ERE for "Nos Galen"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gareth

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

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

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

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

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


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

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


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

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

Your at-tit-tood SUCKS!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That leather mouse sure is holding up well.

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

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

mg

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LTS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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