Alas! Just when it seemed Gus and his makeshift fleet might prevail over the Tortolans, and he might have a chance to return to Sybil and the fair shores of Conch after his revenger's tale was done, we're left adrift.
Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands:
Curtsied when you have, and kiss'd
The wild waves whist,
Foot it featly here and there;
And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.
Hark, hark!
Bow-wow.
The watch-dogs bark.
Bow-wow.
Hark, hark! I hear
The strain of strutting chanticleer
Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow.
Will there really be no early-morning walks on the beach hand in hand? *quavers*
It seems that fate has something else in store for Gus, and we shipmates ashore are helpless to do anything about it. There may be nothing left but the singing of dirges and the telling of sad tales from long ago.
Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:
Ding-dong.
Hark! now I hear them—Ding-dong, bell.
I shall require a very large whiskey, and hot tea. I feel a chill coming on.
Snuggs! my dear old snuggsie! Surely not all are lost.
For one thing, I still hadn't solved that BLOODY puzzle.
9 comments:
I hadn't thought to count back how many hopeless, life-threatening crises there have been, but we must be up to around 7 or 8 by now...
Yes, a candle - several of them, in fact - is a good idea. Dear me, that nag champtha stuff always sets me to sneezing, so I'm sure snuggs has got it going somewhere.
Oh, and before I drink meself into a slumbrous stupor, I should just like to say that any ruddy coffee-drinking Germans must be mad to smoke Lucky Strikes. And the water bill alone must be enough to bankrupt them... mad, I say.
Yes, I thought it an odd combination for the german to smoke lucky strikes. but even better was the american that drink water. Who can define logic. Not I. Somehow I suspect gus's gang will be reunited...somewhere. Hopefully not with wings.
Miz Honkey
*returns from medical leave of absence to find all hell has broken loose*
miz b, i thank you kindly for the necessary time off to deal with things of a distinctly personal nature. i hope that cj, my big-haired cuddin from tennesse manned--erm, woman'ed the bar in a most satisfactory way durin' my absence. i notice that she inherited our grandmother's prediciliction for cleanliness bein' next to druidliness, and i marvel at the addition of the top notch still in the back garden. how she managed to inveigle the mcfinster brothers into running it and still stand on their feet is a mystery, but cuddin cj has always had her ways. (an ardent admirer of the wwe and mysterious lacy fan wieldin', is cuddin cj....but apparently, the combination is a working one.)
i had stopped at a local market back home to collect several cases of nag champtha, and to my delight, found that the manufacturer is now producing candles of the same scent and incantation properties. bless fate, i stocked up on 3 gross of those, and shall distribute them in the snuggery and throughought various nooks and crannies in the shoppe. i also managed to pick up the brand new third edition of *the lil big book of backyard spells, incantations and mischief-makin'*...so miz b, i crave a lil more of your generous patience while i search through this massive tome of information to see if i can find anything to aid and abet gus, bob and the boys. i do think we should call an emergency meeting of the lec&ts....whatever i do manage to find...well, it would only hope to extrapolate said incantation a couple of decimal places, or to the nth degree, whichever comes first. as we know, i'm not terribly good at math.
*quaffs a snifter of grand marnier, throws tits to the wind and toddles off to the back garden to speculate, meditate and incantate*
love,
snuggs
Arrrgh, now I understand why old houses on the shore on the East Coast of the Colonies have widow's walks.
widow's walks and all the legends of women wailing by the sea for their lost loves...
(wiping a tear from her eyes) Mrs. Bluebridge, do you think Snuggs would mind if I light a candle too?
Poor Sybil, how will I ever explain?...
flyr, sweetie....
light as many candles as you wish...on one has a monopoly on prayers.
*hands you a black-edged handkerchief embroidered with a harpoon* we seem to be goin' thru these at a spectacular rate; i'll have the ladies of the lec & ts start on some more as it looks as if we may need them. wait....*digs about in trunk* please take one to sibyl and tell her we're thinkin' out her. unless...she's too busy comin' up with a Plan to save her man and bob and the boys. if so, tell her to keep it laugh over, or if there should be a shortage of bandages.
snuggs
Oh, dear flyrchld, there's a sad thought - a motley collection of birds, primates, and denizens of the Interweb thingy traveling to Conch to break the news.
Ay me. Surely there must be SOME survivors. Of them all, Bob certainly has a fighting chance of washing ashore somewhere. And then there's the cheese to keep him from starving... for a little while. And then he'll have the upturned breadfruit crate to shelter in, so his first problem will be fresh water.
There's a hopeful thought for us to cling to in the wreckage of Gus' epic quest; the thought of brave, resourceful little Robinson Bob surviving on a desert island somewhere.
Pity there weren't more rats on the other ships in the fleet, or it could be Conch Family Bob 'n Sons.
By all means, light a candle and hope.
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