Marry Chris' Mass!

Here is a scrimshaw of Flarq's dear wee pet, Narq.

I expect his barq is worse than his byte, my poppets.

All the happy band of adventurers (and one or two bad hats) are spending the holidays on Conch celebrating the Feast of the Not-Havety, where the poor peoples of the world are given gifts and aid and frankincense and mirth. For the good Lord knows they need it. Also there is some Orthodox Whalish observance, but no one hereabouts could tell me anything about it, since the local British-Conchans are mostly Reform Whalish.

However, keeping Gus' holiday card in mind, it's probably something to do with downing rather a lot of Yule cheer and spouting all over the parlour. And that I will not have. Not the cheer, of course. NO one can spout properly through the top of their heads; it generally comes out the mouth and, less appetizingly, the nose. Thus, it's a rather insanitary and unhygienic rite.

Oh, I am in such a frenzy of cleaning and preparationing and propositioning of the Council to render a special License for a block party. The very nice Tortolan steel pan orchestra from Much Wittering-sur-le-Bank has offered to play for a celebration, and they're also offering to help with recipes. This promises to be a special treat; I only hope we can find enough spices and jerked goat.

Speaking of jerks, goats and otherwise, no new arrivals again this week. My current guests got very nostalgic this evening; they booked the Gentlemen's Lounge for the evening owing to the fact it's got a large-screen telly (thank goodness the license for THAT is paid up). I declared it non-smoking for the nonce, since the very pretty sisters had an aversion to tobacco. They all seemed to be having a grand time, except that there seemed to be some sort of problem with the volume control.

Every now and then they would simply chant "Shut up! Shut! Up! Shuttup! Shuttup! Shut...UP!" This was generally when either a loud not-so-young man with a rather feeble hold on reality and his place in it was on screen, or when an outwardly lovely, inwardly despicable young woman was complaining about the accomodations.

Well, she shall have nothing to complain about here should she darken the doors of my establishment. If the Tortolans decide to stay for a while (this party thingy may turn into a regular "giggle" for them)I shall put the prissy princess in the room next to them, as it appears she could use some cultural enrichment.

In any case, the plans for the party proceed apace. And there is plenty of kennel room in case Flarq should want to bring Narq, though of course the Pet Refreshment Garden is in winter mufti for the next few months and not at its best.

Sea or Career Change

The Skiffy channel reports:

Hollywood Seeks Pirates

About 7,000 pirate hopefuls answered a call for extras to appear in Disney's back-to-back Pirates of the Caribbean sequels, which are scheduled to start shooting in February and running into early 2006, Variety reported. Shooting will take place in Los Angeles and the Caribbean island of St. Vincent, the trade paper reported. "

There is probably time for Gus and Co. to make it to St. Vincent and sign up for an exciting career in the moving pictures. It does specify long hair and "thin builds," but I should think that salty seagoing authenticity, plus a well-honed harpoon aimed right at an A.D.'s innards would go far. After, all, some of them actually WERE pirates, and they've all had experience fighting them. As the casting call also specifies "serial-killer looks" their relative hairlessness (if you recall, Thesaurus and Flarq bring down the curve on the crew average, head-of-hairwise) ought to be less of a concern for the casting Johnnies.

Also there ought to be some consideration given Bob, who is now a highly trained maritime rat (and has his master's papers, on account of his breadfruit-crate solo voyage). Perhaps little Bob could even do amusing stunts or at least have a scurry-on part!

It's just a thought, noble Gus. Life has handed you a reprieve from your need for revenge and hatred of all things Blubbery, and since even Moses seems destined for a career as a motivational speaker at AA meetings, perhaps it's time to think about a career change in the new year. After all, it's an odd tide that lifts no boats.

My dears, what a perfectly wonderful holiday it was here at the Shoppe. My good Sir (brevet male) snuggs was in her element as she toddled around topping up drinks and tossing out drunks.

In the meantimes the Roast Beast Feast went over rather well, and everyone ate and drank most enthusiastically. We provided the classic groaning board, absolutely covered with dishes, sweetmeats, biscuits, fruits, Beast, and 'Merrikan style hotcakes and tree-sap (it's very odd that anyone would make such a wonderful sweet treat out of sap, but quite tasty). All and sundry were agreed that it was good to be able to gather together, and after a certain amount of boisterous roistering (complete with quite superior crackers) the old Shoppe was again relatively quiet (except for old Snuffy McFinster, a rather fragrant uncle who was left behind accidently on purpose due to an excess of V.S.O.P & B.O.)

It's a terrible shame to think that anyone might be cold or hungry or ill or suddenly homeless or bereaved at this season. So as we celebrate the end of the old year and the beginning of the new we could perhaps spare a thought for those less fortunate, as suddenly it seems there are rather a lot of them, the poor dears.

Emergency Shopping Expotition!

Once at sea, we meant to celebrate with wine or beer but instead celebrated with instant noodles. This was my fault: when I sent him to the canteen with our remaining funds, I’d told George to get wine or beer.

During this trip to Conch, sharing a cabin with her, I’ve been given even more reasons to love Sybil. Among others, I learned she doesn’t snore. When we get to Conch, we may get married and I may become king of Conch—we’ll have to see.

My first order of business is to ensure that Dickhead is restored to health. Flarq made a salve out of plants he found that'll protect the whale’s wounds from infection. Before he left, Moses also made medicine from some plants he found. After taking it, Dickhead seemed in much better spirits. He’s in a specially rigged-up harness now, being towed by our ship. As it happens, the whale hospital on Conch is the best in the world. My luck finally seems to have turned.

Dear God, I hope dear Gus has not jinxed the denouement!

In case he has not, the Mother of All Parties must be planned and shopped for, and that means an Expotition to various chandleries, such as Debauchery Depot, Booze-Ups 'R Us, and Roast Beast To Go.

Fortunately, at the moment there is still plenty of room to accomodate guests. For some odd reason, my long-expected new arrivals did not turn up last night. I am advised by the earlier guests that the next two might appear to be rather scary at first glance, but turn out to be of the teddy-bear/pussy-cat persuasion. However, there is some glitch in their travel plans, and now it seems that they will not arrive for at least two weeks! Whatever am I to do to entertain these people? Well, I shall send them off to view some interesting archeological sites; we have plenty of those in the area. Apparently there were some actual Amazonian women warriors attached to the Roman army; they tell me that the female half of the no-shows would probably have qualified for "warrior princess." And that the male half would qualify for "surprisingly good-looking once all pretense of ridiculous gym-rat clothing is removed, showing only extremely well defined back and ab muscles."

I shall have to see about that. I expect Sir (courtesy gendered) snuggs will now volunteer to oil him up.

Speaking of oiling up, I do hope Flarq is still interested in the "stand impressively by the door and bar idiots from entry" position.

Rather Like That Improbable Scene in "Dune"

I probably watch too much bad Merrikan skiffy on telly. But the thought of our intrepid band of brothers, Queen, Tortolans, and rat going for a horsey-ride on B's blubbery back and steering with themselves as living reins makes me smile.

Stick A Fork In 'Im, 'E's Done

After the second engine blew up, the Georgette remained afloat, barely. The blast cost the Tortolan sailors their consciousness and their rifles. By the time the smoke cleared, though, their boss, Verman, had regained his consciousness as well as a rifle. At the center of the deck amidships, he leveled the barrel at my head.

Dealer Dan, who’d been slammed into the port rail by the blast, could only watch out of puffy eyes from the deck. And my crewmen, rat and potential future wife were all still darbied in a row to the starboard rail.

“Give my best to Davy Jones,” Verman said, curling a manicured finger around the trigger.

Suddenly he fell over as if shot by a gun. In fact he was shot by a toaster, which had slid Duq’s way during the explosion.

I limped over and scooped up Verman’s rifle from the deck a few feet from where he lay. Fork protruding from his nose, he looked up in entreaty.

“Finish the bastard, Cap,” Nelson urged. The others chanted—and Bob squeaked—along the same lines.

I hesitated.

Mercy is a quality sadly lacking in our times. I have no doubt that Gus shall do the right thing, or that his hesitation will allow the right thing to take place. He follows a Code from a simpler time - and I don't know if he will agree to Mutherford's offer to use the Law to punish Verman for his crimes at last.

It would be better if Verman were to simply slither off the tilting deck like so much offal and go for shark chum, but that end is too good for him.

All those who Gus holds near and dear to him are now helplessly cuffed to the railing of a rapidly sinking ship, with no hope of rescue. Prospects dire - either drown, or be eaten by sharks.

Half a Rapier Wit Is Better Than None

Dear Queen Sybil blogs on Gus' behalf, as he has his hands (2) full duelling with Verman.

"With the sort of grin seen only in asylums, Verman gripped his rapier as if it were a lance, then launched himself at Gus' heart.

Just then the Georgette shook as if she'd been torpedoed. The whale had mustered what little energy remained in him and thrust his sixty-some-tons into the portside hull. The rail in turn knocked loose the elbow joint on Gus's prosthetic arm, sending the trash can lid clanging onto Verman's skull. Verman dropped like a domino and lay on the deck unconscious.

Gus looked over the rail, a mix of disbelief and profound gratitude. The crew and I readied a cheer.

At that moment the Georgette exploded -- George, that idiot's idiot, had put beans in the second engine as well -- the one with the fuel in it. "

Not only is Gus wounded and bleeding, but he is on a soon to be ex-seagoing craft yet again. I think now would be a good time for Dan to load everyone into his snappy Cigarette boat - everyone we care about, that is - and get Gus to the nearest medical facilities.

Of course, Dan may have other thoughts on the matter, since helping Gus may result in Dan getting thrown in the hoosegow.

Pity that Sybil is still not yet a merry widow. Perhaps we ought to take up a collection and contact Tony Bignose, who I believe has retired to the Caribbean after a colorful career making things fall off the backs of lorries.

I have been remiss of late, as I have been entertaining the refugees. We had a new arrival last night; a perfectly charming old couple of a rare and delicious vintage. I am persuaded that they might know a thing or two about California wines, and so while they are laying over I expect we shall have some nice chats about vineyards and foods and the interesting people they've encountered.

They, too warned me of the mysterious blue-haired man, who apparently screams constantly. Not a nice prospect, I assure you; so I have ordered a leather gag from a theatrical props company that supplied odds and ends for that frightening Silent Lambs movie with the fellow that liked snacking on people's livers. Also he shall not be allowed contact with anybody decent except for that one "cuddin" of snuggs'... we might ask him to teach this fellow some manners.

The Re-Armification Of Gus

Flarq, Thesaurus, Moses, and George cheered for Gus—even the rat seemed to jump up and down in exhortation—but their eyes belied their fears. Nelson and Duq wagered on the outcome of the duel, drawing the ire of Flarq. “How dare you be against the Cap?” Flarq asked Nelson.

“Of course I want the Cap to win,” Nelson said, “but whatever’s gonna happen is gonna happen. Also, Duq gave me ridiculously good odds.”

Meanwhile, Gus gamely blocked several blows from Verman. Finally, he lunged himself. In defense, Verman swept Gus’s sword away with such speed that it gave the illusion his rapier was a second shield. The rasp of steel against steel stung the eardrums of all within leagues of the Georgette. Verman then sallied forth and shot his rapier anew. Hoisting his de facto shield, Gus managed to repel it with a resounding peal. Verman immediately sent his blade hissing forth in a blinding series of slashes from which no one but an expert could escape unblemished. With a groan Duq fished his wallet from his pants to pay Nelson.

{Shite! The battery on Gus’s computer is out of bars. I will recharge it and then continue…}

Shite indeed. Although Queen Sybill has a very disarming style, she has left us in media res. I do wish Dan could provide her with a marine battery or a n'AC adapter at this very tricky pass.

Poor Gus, he seems rather outmatched, but has given tit for tat, asking no quarter. What a pity he never had time or n'inclination for fencing lessons before now (but where a cat-food worker could come by them, I certainly don't know).

Solo Voce Di Balena

LONDON, England (Reuters) -- A lone whale, with a voice unlike any other, has been wandering the Pacific for the past 12 years, American marine biologists said Wednesday.

A Pacific whale - well, that's not blubbery Bruce. Still, it's very odd.

Fools' Charade

“You and what navy are going to stop us?” I asked Verman. Other than a ceremonial sword, he was unarmed.

“I and my Employee of the Year,” he replied with a nod towards Nelson. On cue, Nelson drew his pistol.


P.S. Note to other captains: You may not want to let traitorous former pirates among your crew have one of these:

Speaking of the Navy, it's about ruddy time that Knucz person showed up and earned his pay with his zingy dingy or zippy ship or what-you-will. It seems to me that Gus and the dear blubbery pod-revenging whale (no B., he) shall be as small fry in the U.S. Navy's sight(s). He's more interested in Verman and Dealer Dan. I do wonder what Mutherford (or as snuggs calls him, Mo-fritterford, was doing there. But I must say I am quite disappointed in Nelson. Quite, quite disappointed. Good job I'm impervious to that sort of nonsense. Still, it's a pity, as he's rather decorative.

Let this be a lesson to you, my dear gels, never to trust a bold rogue, no matter the twinkle in his eye or the glad (single) hand he offers in seeming chumship. And I do hope dear Sybil becomes a little less sulky soon. She should think of the benefits of widowhood and kick her bridegroom overboard.

However, should no one show up to effect a deus-ex-whaleboat rescue at the last possible second, Gus and his (loyal) crew will simply have to rescue themselves. I'm trying not to give Nelson any clews as to what I'm suggesting Gus might be able to do, but it's very frustrating that our dear captain is not as up on Broadway show tunes as he might be from famous musicals made from the works of Damon Runyon (I recommend the movie version with Frankie, Brando, and of course dear Stubby Kaye).

Perhaps I'd better resort to charades:

*mimes "song"
*mimes "14 words"
(crowd looks resigned but feigns interest as snuggs serves a free round for all)

*sits down*
*sits down*
*sits down again*
*sits down again*
*sits down yet again*

*points at patron in front row*
*mimes someone swaying to and fro whilst seated*
(someone shouts "You're having a wobbler!" and someone else shouts "No, you pissah! She's Whistler's Mum")

*shakes head, shakes hands "no, no, no, that's not right"
*sits and bends forward and backwards as if in pain*

(another patron shouts "you need more roughage" and "No more chili peppers, evah")
(a matron calls out "you're off your rocker, ye daft Betty - OO-er! Rocking!!)

*mimes "on the nosie"*
*repeats "sit down" and indicates "five"*
*points at crowd*

(crowd confused, then shouds "you")

*whilst sitting, rocks back and forth*

("Rocking!" they all shout. "You're rocking")

*mimes "on the nosie" again*
*mimes a sort of graceful dipping, swimming, floating motion*
*mimes an additional side to side rocking*

"OOO-ooo!" cried out the youngest McFinster "Get down, get down, you got the rockin' pneumonia and the boogie-woogie flu!"

*mimes utter frustration, shaking head and indicating "cut, cut, cut"*
*mimes throwing out trash*

(youngest McFinster is summarily ejected)

*mimes "get it right this time, you nest of drink-addled vipers"*
*mimes sitting, indicates "5 times"

(crowd restless. Shouts of "Yes, yes, 'siddown' already.")

*mimes "on the nosie" rather triumphantly, with an air of approaching the finish line*
*mimes rocking"

(crowd chants "you're rocking" in a bored manner)

*mimes the mysterious floating movement, indicating a volume of space around her*

(a thin voice shouts from the back "whale on the beach" and is forcefully escorted out by snuggs)
*mimes paddling the mysterious dipping floating volume, rather angrily*

"I've GOT it," calls out one of the New Yorkers. "Is it 'I'd like to get you on a slow boat to China, all to myself, alone?'" "No, you schmuck, that's fifteen words. Siddown, you're rockin' the bench," said the other. "OOOOOOO!!!" the entire crowd murmurs, very nearly excitedly

*mimes a frenzied "more, more, nearly on the nosie, just a bit more"*

Chad bursts out singing "Luck, be a lady tonight!" to a large round of congratulatory applause.

*mimes "I give up, last call. Time, gentlemen, please" and stalks off to the snuggery, disgusted*

Well, really, I can't make it clearer than that, or Nelson will *whispers* sit down. Though I should very much like to know what the nature of Verman's arrangement with Nelson is. I expect he gets a good discount at the sporting houses, as well. Which would make an admirable distribution network, one supposes. For that Bolivian marching powder that seems to have been part of the story from the very beginning, as it turns out.

The Comeodownance Of Moses

“Let’s let the whale alone,” I said.

The men looked like they might lance me. For what it’s worth, the whale looked grateful.

“Cap, when you had your big realization you’ve been overly obsessed with vengeance before,” Nelson said, “no one wanted to say this and hassle your self-discovery buzz, but odds are pretty damn high Sybil’s flotsam. The sperm oil from out of this big old bastard here’s a bird in hand though—and selling it’ll make all we been through worth it ten times over.”

“It would be wrong,” I said.

Thesaurus asked, “Captain, is this not the bastard responsible for the deaths of your wife and son and the loss of your arm?”

“No,” I said, “Moses is.”

I don't recall there being a bombshell listed amongst the oddly assorted weapons of whale destruction, but bombshell there was. This startling revelation by Gus has all my patrons and matrons speckilatin' madly.

I do wonder about that drug-running cartel, now. Yes, and how odd it was that Dealer Dan had financed the S-1 and that a working prototype was on hand (apologies, dear Gus, I share Leibniz'unfortunate prediliction for off-hand comments).

It appears that Moses' mellow is about to be soundly harshed when Gus gets around to filling the rest of us in on his self-revelatory epiphany.

In other business, the latest guests/refugees arrived for their stopover early last week; thus we have 6 very nice people "in house;" the two sets of New Yorkers, and now a very nice pair of sisters. They also had some dietary restrictions, and also some beverage limitations, but I was able to provide them with some favorite comfort foods and non-alcoholic tipples.

Dreadful combinations, to be sure. It was difficult procuring lime gelatin dessert and marshmallows, but combining them with artificial, no-cow-involved "whipped topping" resulted in a dessert confection that will never replace trifle as far as I'm concerned. And they eat it with a sweet carbonated beverage named after some blight of a medical man with very odd ideas of when his beverage should be consumed. I do like 'Merrikans very much, and the sisters are very charming, but their taste in food and drink would soon put me into some form of diabetic distress.

They've warned me repeatedly to look out for the Blue Haired Man. I've already decided that should he turn up, I shall arrange for a nice farmstay for them, out in the country where they can't bother anyone. And the farmer might appreciate help getting his food and feed crops in.