It's A Pisser: A Match And A Puzzle

At day’s end, even Mutherford was in a lighthearted mood. I found myself standing next to him in the W.C. (the tavern’s term for the wooden planks with holes at the ends sticking out over the stream out back). The intimacy was kind of awkward. As an icebreaker I challenged him to a swordfight. He was relieved to hear that I didn’t mean with actual swords, and that I was just yanking his anchor chain anyway.

A red letter day - Gus revealed as a tragic, rather rumpled hero type. That'll be a relief to the staff, who were dreading a repeat of the Mutherford and Nelson fiaschi. They will enjoy weeping over his troubles and lighting candles and sage smudges and such, now that they can picture his dishevelle' and manly appearance more accurately.

I think Gus' portrait will look well in a place of honor on the back bar - I have a nice old mahogany frame that should do. Some candles, some flowers in a brass vase (bronze chrysanthemums, nothing too feminine) and some of snuggs' incense going, and we can properly focus our attention and hopes on Gus' plight.

I think we shall omit chanting for now; "Nam Myo Ho Renge Gus" doesn't quite scan somehow. Still, it has a certain "sumpin sumpin" that might grow on one, rather like a rash.

I'm afraid we'll have to move Flarq's scrimshaw to the ladies' snuggery, which will probably make snuggs extremely happy. As it's only used for consuming sherry, biscuits and a little genteel gossipmongering, though, perhaps Flarq might "go" better in the Club Room.

There! Now that's sorted. It's almost as if "Changing Rooms" came through and did a blitz redecorating job.

The two California whales are a puzzlement. I wonder if they're the ones with a newly-discovered species of undersea worms snacking on their bones. Surely they died natural deaths! Surely Gus will turn out to have an alibi - he was in Washington State buying his original boat and getting his special dispensation whaling license in June, and we don't know when the 2 whales met their doom in California.

We need a private Dick, that's what we need. Or perhaps a public Dick, if the former is in an undisclosed location and not to be found. Someone needs to investigate the evidence.

It's likely we'll discover more as the days go on, but Mutherford's actions and motives are something of an enigma. And I harbor a secret hope in my bosom that the Judge will leaven his justice with mercy, but who can say anything for certain of a man with a "thing" for pelicans.

And surely the legal matter is completely out of Guavan jurisdiction anyway. Mutherford should recuse himself on account of being entirely too fond of cetaceans.

Smells like "thingery" to me. H'rrrrum!

Why is Colin Farrell such a Gloomy Gus?

Now THAT's what I call a Pirate, my dears. 

You can see why I was initially confused. I did, indeed think it might be a pre-family- gobbling-whale-encounter Gus, owing to the number of members visible in the image.

However, it's merely play-acting.  Pity. I'd love to help him polish that lovely swept-hilt rapier.  

 

WWW = While We're Waiting

Since the lunch break seems to have streched into either a short vacation getaway or a quick trip to detox, perhaps we could pass the time by starting a fiction club.

Here is some fiction which seems to have been generated at random by 4 color-coded monkeys (possibly by 4 college students with ready access to recreational medicaments; the style is similar).

It was a dark and stormy night...when a dog
crawled out of a little hole in the... wall. I screamed, for the
cat 'twas missing!.. "Bah!," I said, and immediately left the
house to buy a new one. As I drove down the wet road...I saw my
beloved cat crawling...and twitching across the hard and
silvery...bomb! Damn those Russians! I
extracted my AK-47 (a Russian submachine gun) and blew away the bomb from the
cat, but I had accidentally...hit the dog....oh, well, he deserved it.

Those Reds must have figured out my identity and where I...
go to see blue whales and--agh! As I was shooting the AK-47, I
let go of the wheel! The car crashed into a...Russian tank!
They have opened fire! I think I might have just started WWIII between
the U.S. and a country with an economy the size of a pea! Look!
Its a...flying pig! It dive bombed the tank, destroying
itself with it. The aroma of charred swine filled the air. Just
then a pack of hungry homeless people ran at the free dinner
and...discovered that they like their ham cooked rare. Mass riots
broke out everywhere! I decided to...run like hell when I
just happened to trip on my cat. My cat held a P-45 colt pistol in my
face! The shock! He was really a Russian Secret Service agent
planted to...discover where I lived and secretly plot against me
and...to sell me unisex hair products to test so they
wouldn't test them on his Uncle Bill. I said...
"Ha! I'll never reveal the secret of the Avocado-duck death
bomb program! Especially not the part where...the ducks
eat the avocados! Finding out about my secret plans, the cat promptly
shot me in the leg, and... I gave him a kitty treat for being so unique.

Just now I had noticed he had a pop gun. I only had a cork bruise on my
leg, but the cat had ran off with the...chicken who rather
resembled Bad Vlad Lenin. Coincidence? I think not.

Yes, yes, very odd, yet strangely compelling prose. It will do to go on with.

But we do love any meandering narrative that's got whales in, my poppets, so there's something.

Beware! French Pirates... oh, drat, nevermind.

Piracy certainly isn't the manly, swashbuckling lifestyle choice it used to be if the intent is merely to swap pop music.

Especially French pop music. Botheration.

And Now For Something Completely Different

By order of the Fire Marshal, we shall be withdrawing the "Firebomb 151" from the drinks menu temporarily, pending a slight modification of the ingredients and the addition of a mini-fire extinguisher/drinking straw novelty.  

Notice to staff: like the Bristol UXB, the Firebomb will be lit off in the back garden only.
 
I apologize for any and all inconveniences, misunderstandings, and inadvertent collateral damage.  Eyebrows do grow back eventually, or so I'm told, it just takes time.

In the meantime - developments in the Trial of the Hemi-Demi-Semi-Century! Gus is spinning a yarn or two to the jury,  a rather hard-bitten lot in my opinion who are unsympathetic as to the loss of Gus' dear family to the bloody B. whale (language, etc.).  However, they are sympathetic to the parable Gus tells of his losing at cards to a sharpster and his female accomplice, so the jurors appear to be coming around on a closer heading to Gus' point of view. As a side note, the old gambler's trick of seeing the other man's cards in a reflection off a serving tray bottom was used when Gus was taken as an easy mark by the Alaskan card sharp.

Note to self: see that our bottoms are well scoured and not shiny at all.

Friends of Gus Funraiser (sic)(hic)

It's high time for a funraiser, an eye-opener, what-you-will.  Therefore, I have dispatched some liquid funs poste restante to the Guavan courthouse, in the hopes that it find its way to Gus, Nelson, and the rest of the crew in order to raise their spirits.

Barring that, with any luck it'll be diverted accidentally on purpose to the prosecution, who appears to be somewhat of a lightweight.  With any luck, he'll be under the bridge table with the Bluepeace lawyers at a crucial moment. 

I had to do something with that dratted 151, it insists on bursting into flame at the slightest provocation.  And the Stoli was a little too hot to handle as well, so I sent a case or two.

Tomorrow evening's meetings will take place as usual; I shall be attempting to make a deal for some surplus caviar in the saloon bar, since I still have rather a lot of the Stoli (stim!) left.

Pirate Killings Up, Fashion Sense Down

The body that monitors piracy around the world has reported a sharp rise in the number of ships crew killed in the first half of 2004.Feriocious they may be, but they have absolutely no flair for fashion.

Where is the lace? The salt-stained velvets? The red silk scarves? Bah. That one fellow is wearing an Incredible Hulk shirt.

Philistines. 

A Brilliant And Rather Sexy Legal Brief

*points to obscure legal reference code that says: wherein the pot shall not call the kettle black without the kettle having recourse to due process under the first amendment.* - snuggs

OH, rather well done snuggs! Nicely finessed. I had my suspicions about the mysterious "DIRECTOR" person, but you had the goods.

Your closing argument is almost unassailable. I look forward to next year's salary negotiations with you with some trepidation. In the meantime, you may expect a bonus and some perquisites - much of this involves some slightly used chocolate.

There is nothing sexier than a woman with a sharp legal mind who really knows her way around the briefs.  You'll be beating suitors off with a stick in no time.

Nelson Lends A Hand In Court

A new legal precedent: the first handsfree defense.

I wish Edna well, but I do wonder if her marriage license is written in crayon sometimes. At least she and the children have been well provided for, although they'll have to live with the stigma forever of being the Ugg heirs.

Gus will have to testify as to the tragic events of the loss of his loved ones, who by now are little more than ambergris. Sad, sad story; we'd best make sure there are a stack of hankies ready.

I Do Hope This Is No One We Know

AMSTERDAM (Reuters) - A bird with a penchant for 17th century Dutch art has paid the ultimate price for flying into a museum gallery and pecking a hole in a masterpiece.

Everybody's a critic, but getting shot for expressing one's opinion seems a bit like the ruddy Blackshirts are taking over once again.

Whaling News: Gus May Have Competition

I do hope that the wheels of justice grind a little more quickly than usual; it seems the Norskis and the Japanese willl soon be putting out to sea and on the hunt for blubbery B. whales of their own.

Note To Self: Do Not Eat The Evidence

I have just returned from a lightning-fast inspection tour for the King of Patagonia of a certain chocolate factory in his realm.

Regrettably (the charming Spanish word for this concept is "Lamentablemente,"  with the accent on the penultImate syllAble), the conditions when I got there were not up to His Majesty's standards. There were partially eaten chocolates left all over the floor in the choco-cream room, chocolate fingerprints smeared all over the work surface, and a step-stool was left in an extremely unsafe position.  Additionally, someone had smeared "NO MAS" on the wall behind the table and had been rather spectacularly ill in the waste receptacle.  The criminal investigators may well be able to identify the perpetrators by taking dental impressions of those pieces of candy that were not squashed into a solid mat of milk chocolate goo on the floor.

There were a number of footprints leading out the door, and 9 strips of torn yellow paper littered about. Mysteriously, one set of prints were very, very small. As the master chocolatier, Senor O. Loompa,  is a little person, suspicion initially fell on him, but he denied all responsibility... however,  there was a twinkle in his eye.  It seems La Enana De Race-o  has struck again. In an amazing twist of fate, the security cameras captured her in the act!

If she ate that much chocolate, she may be in need of a doctor-o very soon.

Perhaps Stupid George Should Turn That Ruddy Boom Box Down?

Evidence that noise from humans sources harm whales and other marine mammals is overwhelming, scientists say.

Just my tuppence' worth. Else he'll be responsible for scaring off the B. whale in addition to some other boneheaded contributions to the continuing contretemps of the Overshaw expedition.

A Judge Of A Good Character

I do hope Gus finds an advocate worthy of him in his current legal entanglement. At least The Hon. Solomon Archipelago seems to be an honest and upright beak. Not only that, but has sussed out our crusty Gus' rather well-camouflaged character traits, which glint like veins of gold in the darker recesses of his soul. There be no fool's gold in them thar veins, neither.

Speaking of beaks, I do wonder at the odd "peck" - adilloes sometimes found in the intimate personal entertainment industry. Such as an otherwise respectable member of the judiciary having an unexpected "thing" for pelicans.

Perhaps it's beak envy.

Anyway, there is some hope that after dear Gus has his chat with Barnaby Rudge, he won't be doing porridge in a flowery dell.

Popular and Competent NZ PM breaks speed limit to watch rugby

Yahoo! News - New Zealand PM breaks speed limit to watch rugby: "WELLINGTON (Reuters) - New Zealand Prime Minister Helen Clark is under fire after her motorcade broke speed limits so she could attend a rugby test match between New Zealand and arch rival Australia last week.

This is reality, as opposed to "the popular and competent Prime Minister," which is wholly unreal.

Horrific Sight, Avert Your Eyes

If any of you ladies were harboring any sorts of feelings for Stupid George, steel yourselves for a very keen and well-nigh fatal disappointment.

Poor widower Gus, drinking away the lonely hours while his crew of adventurers disport themselves, still sweet on his poor, whale - et wife (and children, one supposes, but at the moment this is a bittersweet, yet manly longing).

And somewhere out there, in the cold black depths, the B. whale lurks malevolently.

Macho Nacho Man

MARYVILLE, Tenn. - A man was arrested on his 23rd birthday after a police officer saw him nude and covered with nacho cheese from a pool snack bar.

I should like to know if the aforesaid gentleman had either a construction worker's outfit or the full buckskin-and-warbonnet regalia of an Indian chief.

Rather intriguing idea for a happy hour after whaling season, must note it for possible later use.

The Whaling News

Bother, at this rate the blubbery B. whale will be extinct before ever Gus can take his just revenge in the little matter of the eaten family and arm...

Eye Candy Ho!!!

All hands (and bosoms) on deck!

Whichever of you had a yearning for Nelson may cry sadly into your freshly embroidered hankies now, because the lasses that burn with passionate fancies for Flarq have EXCELLENT taste (and luck). And you know what a carp-shoot these things can be on the world-web international-net thingy.

My dear imaginative nikola, please order some sweet almond oil. If Mr. Flarq accepts my offer of employment after this cruise, I shall ask him to stand impressively at the door. A layer of fragrant oil on those skin-drawrings will be heady stuff indeed. Please work out a schedule so everyone gets her fair turn oiling Flarq up for his duties each afternoon.

For the second (or third) day in a row we've something to celebrate (events of late have caused me to lose count). The cash is safely back in Gus' hands, the boat is yet unsunk, the mighty members of Gus' crew will be swinging freely in not one but two sporting houses, and the only fly in the sweet almond oil is that the first stop doubles as Guava Municipal Court during the day.

And we all know quickly and discreetly a judge might be persuaded to rule favorably from the bench

The bottom line, my darling cabbages, is: bottoms up! Celebrations galore! Extra kibbles for all the kitties, too.

And for Sammy, extra juicy bits as well.

Beware Of The Toe-Sucking Bandit!

Le shock! Ladies, be on the lookout:

GREENSBURG, Pa. - A man sucked the toes or kissed the feet of two women and a girl in surprise assaults, police said.

If this is not a problem for any of you, you should at least ask that he reimburse you for anti-bacterial shoepolish.

And now I need to go see a man about a fish.

(oh, and snuggs, my humble apologies, the bar has been polished. I got rather free with my old "can-can" high-kick pint-pulling trick last night, and today I'm paying for it in more ways than three.)

The Pitter Pater of Little Feet

Phew, what a day. At last everything is cleaned up, just in time for the night's debauch.
 
In the meantime , it appears we now have a pool, because there is apparently a cabana boy - rather clever of my staff to unearth this fact.
 
The back garden also features a new pet refreshment and rest area; a rival pub in Snickles Major Sur La Mer had one, and I've been looking for a good excuse to dirty my paws in a good cause... and do my esteemed competitor one in the eye as well.
 
I ask that my patrons and patronesses keep their pets under control, as there are rather a lot of tetchy pub cats who have control issues of their own.  You have been warned.
 
And naturally... kindly take notice of the plastic gloves and sanitary picker-upper-thingy provided.
 
As my dear Pater used to say as he dandled me upon his knee, "If I wanted to hear the pitter patter of little feet, I'd have put shoes on the cat years ago."  Dear me, that doesn't quite scan... h'rrrmmm... Well! Have a lovely afternoon's rest, my lovely pets (human and otherwise).

NOW it's raining men... or something

There! That's got the foam whatchamijigger blowing like a grampus. I'll just warn you, ladies, that Things Happen when you're covered with foam, so carry a cricket-bat with you if you decide to work the dance floor.
 

Not Exactly Raining Men, Is It? Well...

We've got to get this party started, but the jukebox in the corner is rather... not Scottish I should say.  All the musical numbers on it are rather sad and pathetic instrumental noodlings.  Ladies, your mission is to find a good sound system that a reasonably large number of our patrons would not sneer at.  I was hoping for a CD Wurlitzer with bubbles, but deary-dreary-o, such a thing is not easily found.
 
However, there are plenty of set-ups ready, so... well, they probably need to be thoroughly vetted to see if they taste right with the well liquor AND the back-bar bottles.  Needs must, and all that. Anyone care to volunteer for taste tests?
 
And let's see if we can't get this place looking a bit more festive... turn the foam on...  now where is that flippant manual...
  
  

 

2-for-1 Harpoon Happy Hour, Stat!

Ladies, batten the hatches and prepare for a run on the grog. I'm declaring an emergency Happy Hour to celebrate Gus' successful acquisition of a boat that is other than a burning shark-besieged hulk.

We'd best party like it's 1999, and we're several years late for that already.

Nelson Revealed! Swag In The Soup! (fillim at eleven)

My dears, the title link reveals our first picture for the rogues' gallery. Do not take a check from this man - and in matters of the heart, I'd advise "doubling up" on the sundries, if you catch my drift.

It's uncanny, but he bears a strong resemblance to a wharf rat in old Mowee that hollered "whale on the beach" at me when I attempted to commune with the fishies in their natural habitat. His captain was not pleased that he would dare insult a patroness of the fishie-communing excursion yacht, and at lunchtime forced him to play the ukulele and sing while children danced to appease my wrath. This was evidently a fate worse than death for a knave that fancied himself a rock guitarist.

And if I'm not mistaken, I believe his little pop trio was called "Shark Chum," which played later that evening at one of the local bloodbaths that passed for pubs. Mr. Blubridge and I did NOT attend.

And that, my lovely poppets, is a yarn spun from the wool of an honest sheep. Look to the till if Nelson ever darkens our door, and for the love of God do not let him play the ukulele. Once a wharf rat, always a wharf rat.

It's an eerie coincidence and no mistake. Trust no man who is a friend of sharks... especially if the sharks are guarding the swag.

A Sinking Feeling? Egad!

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Oh, dear, this does not bode well.

Note To Self: See To Bog Ventilation

I may have to Get A Little Man In to make sure this doesn't happen to any of our more productive patrons.

So Easy A Little Child Could Do It

SYDNEY (Reuters) - Three Australian children survived for six days after their dinghy capsized off the country's north coast, swimming in shark-infested waters between tiny islands in search of food and water.

Poor dears! Such a sad story. But perhaps their tale of hardy survival will cheer Gus and strengthen his resolve.

Also, there is the family thing. Parents and younger sibling lost...

Pardon me, I have an urgent need to re-count the newly embroidered hankies.

I'm In Such A Lather!

What a stunning development - no wonder I got such a bargain on that foam-disco-bubble-thingy (see the title link, my darlings, or this will all be hopelessly obscure).

On the other hand, last night's entertainment here at the Shoppe solved the "how to get everything ever so clean in a twinkling" problem.

Ladies and gentlewomen (and sundry) - it's a sign. Our humble little establishment really IS The Best Little Grog-Shoppe in Bristol... and the cleanest as well.

I wonder if for liability's sake I should post a "Mind the Dwarf" sign?

I Do Hope We've Lashings Of Visine

As the link in the title suggests: we may be selling rather a lot of those new Very Expensive Drinks soon.

Also, 10 pairs of pirate pants mysteriously came on the market. As dear perseverant Gus fought only 8 pirates, I'm worried about the count.

I'll deal with a little guck, byoockum and scrud problem we have in the scullery if the rest of you can fan around the place making order out of chaos. So long as we can present a charmingly disshevelle' face to the world, rather than outright squalor, it should be sufficient (though the ladies' parlor does need to be neat as a new pin for the less boisterous of our clientele).

Pity we couldn't score some shark so that we could throw a bar-b-cue. However, I do wish dear Gus weren't quite so hard on boats (there's a joke in there somewhere, I expect someone will find it eventually).

Who's Going To Let The Cat-Fight Out of the Bag?

Now my dears, when the time comes, no hair-pulling It's not nice and the gentlemen seem to think it's funny in a way that makes my blood boil. Remember, that Nelson is a scalliwag and a trickster and a no-good piratical surfer dude... so whichever of you is the unlucky gel that he's sweet on, the rest of us should be supportive and sisterly and all that utter rot.

Well, at the very least try to avoid drawing blood, and may the best barmaid/doxy/maid of all work/female supernumerary win.

Of course, we all know it's a member of our staff, because we have the Best Little Grog-Shoppe in Bristol!

I'll stand by with tea, sympathy, and rather a lot of whiskey and iodine if need be.

Ba-da-da-da-da-da-DA! Tequila!

We might need to lay in extra stocks of tequila, as challenge has been given and accepted, it seems, if ever Gus succeeds in capturing the B. whale and comes home safe to port. And we'd better not skimp, because it looks like Smart Ken's preferred tipple is actually Gusano Rojo Caballero. My good snuggs, if you would bespeak the chandlery and ask them to put it on our account, I'd be most grateful.

And we might ask Senor Gusano Rojo Caballero about that trifling matter of the missing worm...

Which Pirate Crew Might This Be?

Personally, I hope it's the Sexy Cursed Badgers, but it's probably the dreaded Crimson Tide.

Not In My House!

After selling the coke to Moses’s connection, Nelson and the boys stopped at a tipple house on Guava Boulevard to toast a job well done. Two of the grogs in the round Nelson bought were laced with a knockout powder...(I'll draw a discreet veil here and give the man some privacy)

Not in my house! That adulteration certainly did not occur in my little shop o' grogs (though plenty of other kinds of adulteries have occured here over the years). I only serve up "extras" at the request of the imbiber, and then I watch him (or her!) drink it down right there (or assist by holding the imbiber's nose). I will be having a word with the barmaids on this matter so that we're all on the same piece of parchment - no "extra somethings for my bosom chums and close pals" nonsense.

That is, with the exception of the little drink I like to call the "Bristol UXB:" I ask that my patrons take it out to the back garden before lighting the fuse. Served in plastic go-cups to reduce the chance of injury from shrapnel. Free refills if the cup survives the initial blast (trust me, it won't survive a second).

My cozy little establishment is no mere tipple house... though in strict fairness, it's becoming more of a tittle-tattle house with all the extra staff and their mammalian accoutrements.

But on the subject of dear Gus' latest, it appears that at last they are about to get under weigh and on the hunt again.

The Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions.

BBC NEWS | South Asia | US disowns Kabul 'bounty-hunters'

I wonder how many more of these wacky zany rogue counterterrorists are out there?

Must remember to check up on an old client of mine that was a danger junky.

Gus Gets Right With The Gods Off Guava Island

So now we’re are sitting here in the patrol boat, bobbing up and down, checking out the tangerines dotting the leeward face of Mt. Guava, and waiting. Thesaurus is praying, hard, to several of his gods, and the rest of us, even though we’ve never heard of none of them, are inclined to join him.

My dears, it's amazing how Gus has persevered in his quest, only to find himself with time on his hands, waiting for Nelson to come back after making the Mother of all drug deals with a brand-new whaling vessel of some sort.

It's a relief to the mind that at heart Gus is an ethical man, if a somewhat crotchety one. And it's good that he and the others are getting in touch with their spiritooal selves. And at last! The whale-killing expedition is where it belongs - out on the bounding main. Or as a dear friend used to call it, "the big blue wet thing."

As you may know, my dears, our intrepid lads found some porn in the patrol boat, while checking it for supplies and any stray Swiss bank account numbers left scribbled on a Post-It note. So they are not entirely without resources in the entertainment department as they wait for Nelson and the others to return.

One incentive for Nelson to return: his sporting house will do land-office business if this crew ever hits port, and he'll make back all expenses and more.

A warning to Gus: there are more Pirates in the waters off Guava Island than you can shake a wooden leg at! Prepare to repel boarders - check for cutlasses in the hold. Or, he might pick up a tidy profit shipping some of those tangerines for the local ship's chandlery.

In the meantime, where the Devil is the horrible blubbery B. whale??

Edited to make a minor correction in the interests of journalistic accuracy...

The Beeb wonders 'When do whales die?'

Interesting... the Norskis use grenade tipped harpoons. Might not Gus and his band of worthies commandeer a Norwegian vessel?

Then the trick would be speaking in that abominable sing-song accent in order to throw off the authorities. And hunting in international waters, one supposes.

Dramatic Gaolbreak With Hail Mary Pass!

Dear me, now it's time for Gus to confiscate himself a nice, fast whale-killing boat of some kind. At last.

Positions Vacant

As it appears that the economy is hotting up somewhat, and due to an increase in custom, it appears that there may be "room at the inn" for staff.

All reasonable applications considered. All unreasonable applications considered fodder for entertainment purposes.

We don't know how long Captain Gus will be getting back to sea, but until further notice we shall be raising many a glass. And that means barmaids, chambermaids, and at least one hopeless drunk at the end of the bar covered in peanut shells.

At Last! A Ripping Development In The Tail Tale!

After the dust and crap settled, Duq yanked Nelson out. Nelson was woozy but okay enough to help Duq (Employee of the Week) spring us from the stockade. We then ran over our barbecued-to-death captors (who smelled pretty good as it happens) and out.

Dear young Duq saves the day. I believe that I shall have a large one to celebrate the successful escape from the dungeon.

And then another one after that to help clear the fumes [cough].

And then the wee-est smitch of a one just on gen'ral princ'ple.

Might need to toddle round to the stores and stock up. After another quick one or two three.

Nelson: Possibly Dutch

THE HAGUE (Reuters) - The Dutch government backs plans for "seals of quality" for well-run brothels and standard contracts for prostitutes, as well as more support for those who want to leave the world's oldest profession, it said on Friday.

I do wonder if Nelson turns out
to be a Dutchman. It would explain a lot...

The Tote-Board Is Now Fully Operational

Please chalk up your drinks and snacks as you see fit. I regret to say that we are completely out of pickled eggs and pig's feet, by order of the Department of Health.

Proposals of marriage will be ruthlessly purged. All others at the discretion of the Proprietress.

Spare a thought for Gus and his whale-killing band of sea-dogs, stuck in durance vile... and soon to appear in an untitled maritime-themed direct-to-video project.

And...Action!

It appears that Gus' life is about to hot up rather quickly:

So slowly but surely, we made it to the “Exit” door. Flarq picked the lock no problem and opened it. It lead not to freedom, though, but to an old torture chamber. And the guards were there waiting for us, psyched to give the old machinery some exercise.

Those sadists really are sadists.

How providential - it appears there is an advertissment by my estimable provider that may offer some ideas for Gus on how to extricate himself from this latest 'mise-en-scene:'

Leather Pirate Boots: Affordable pirate boots for men & women. Express shipping available.

Pirate Boots: Black leather pirate boots for your costume needs. Great prices.

I really do think the best thing would be for Gus and the Venezuelan gendermerie to join forces and make a quick, profitable little art film for discerning cognoscenti. Then in the confusion of the press junket to promote the thing, make good their escape at last. Because, after all, there is still the matter of that B. whale on Gus' docket.

It could be terribly profitable - the world's first pirate pornographic entertainment... that is, with real pirates rather than merely copied off of a bootleg tape shot from a camera hidden in the decolletage of a moviegoing patron (or patroness).

Erm. That was rather too specific a description, perhaps I should be a little more circumspect in future.

If Gus does take my suggestion, I humbly offer the title:

Pirates of the Sado-Masochian...
and the tag line "You will believe that a pirate says "ARRRRRGH!"

Of course, something completely different may happen - there's still CIA-trained killer WMDs lurking about somewhere.