I have just received a communication from the rugged New Zealander's firm that our next guests are due to arrive any moment. Such a to-do. It's ever so wonderful and exciting, although our current guests are not so much excited as appalled by the prospect of being cooped up for several weeks more with the imminent arrivals. On the one hand (deario!) they're happy he's arriving, and on the other hand (alas!) they're apprehensive. So they've requested a sort of wake be held in the Gentlemen's Card Room for the end of the pleasant part of their stay. They're in there now, drinking quietly and telling each other tales of derring-do, great deeds, and fine beverages consumed.
The mask and strait-jacket are all ready for the gentleman, and I've been asked to have the local quack stop by and see to a few minor injuries the lady suffered during the course of her trip.
Some of them are rather troubling.
I shall put her in the rather frou-frou front bedroom... the one with the stout lock on the door. Her companion shall be found a place in one of the old attic rooms, or perhaps I'll claim we're overbooked and send him down to Dirty Dick's Last Resort (it's a rather raffish place run by a complete prat who spends far too much time vacationing in Florida).
As a special favour to some of the employees of said firm, I've been asked to remove all hatracks and mirrors from the premises. They seem to find this request rather amusing, but if it makes them happy, I'm quite willing to comply.
However, this will make putting on a bit of rouge and powder a decidedly approximate activity.
Wednesday, January 19
Tuesday, January 18
Monday, January 17
Replicant Rats (Note To Self: Check On Bob)
WASHINGTON (Reuters) - Rat cells grown onto microscopic silicon chips worked as tiny robots, perhaps a first step toward a self-assembling device, researchers working in the United States reported on Sunday.
Oh, dear! I do hope Bob is not a candidate for this program! I shall have to have dear Sir Snuggs (courtesy sex change) to verify that Bob has not been contacted by shadowy persons of sketchy background (not the sketchy scrimshaw sort either) who represent research labs.
Sunday, January 9
Botheration, Bugs, and Book Tours
This can't be a happy situation. I do hope it's temporary.
Drat, just when I was about to find out whether Gus shall be coming to Bristol or London for his book tour. I suppose I'll have to see about making the journey to some wild West, rip roaring 'Merrikan town, such as Toledo perhaps.
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Drat, just when I was about to find out whether Gus shall be coming to Bristol or London for his book tour. I suppose I'll have to see about making the journey to some wild West, rip roaring 'Merrikan town, such as Toledo perhaps.
Friday, January 7
The Inauguration (Not THAT One)
Such THRILLING news! Gus is to be elevated to authority; he has somehow found the time to collaborate with Nelson on a book about his (Nelson's) scandalous relations. Apparently the Cookes aren't dimestore pirates after all. And it is to be published, with actual covers on high quality paper. However, such a shame they can't take a writing credit owing to the unfortunate likelihood that they would be thrown in the pokey for profiting from (alleged, never proven) crime. And it's so heart-warming to see Gus reach out and grab for his future with both hands.
Therefore, the inaugural meeting of the Piratical Ladies' & Auxiliary Book Club shall be 1 April, 2005 at the Grog Shoppe, High Street, Bristol at 4pm. Refreshments will be served. Afterwards, members may like to partake of Harpoon Happy Hour, where in honour of the esteemed author of our little club's first selection, F.O.G. Cutters shall be served.
All ladies are eligible for membership. Gentlemen may join as auxiliary members only and must have a high tolerance for cats, tea, gossip, and ladies who get their knickers in a bunch over a wee rat. Any auxiliary-grade McFinsters will be given probationary status for the nonce until we see how they get on with their Big Book o' Words in grade 4 this term.
Please secure a copy of the book in advance from Amazon before the meeting. We British may purchase our copies here.
Pirates of Pensacola
by Keith Thomson (evidently that stooge person - Moe?)
Publisher: Thomas Dunne Books (April 1, 2005)
ISBN: 0312334990
Shipping Information: View shipping rates and policies
Amazon.com Sales Rank in Books: #46,441
Availability: This item has not yet been released. You may order it now and we will ship it to you when it arrives from Amazon.com
Therefore, the inaugural meeting of the Piratical Ladies' & Auxiliary Book Club shall be 1 April, 2005 at the Grog Shoppe, High Street, Bristol at 4pm. Refreshments will be served. Afterwards, members may like to partake of Harpoon Happy Hour, where in honour of the esteemed author of our little club's first selection, F.O.G. Cutters shall be served.
All ladies are eligible for membership. Gentlemen may join as auxiliary members only and must have a high tolerance for cats, tea, gossip, and ladies who get their knickers in a bunch over a wee rat. Any auxiliary-grade McFinsters will be given probationary status for the nonce until we see how they get on with their Big Book o' Words in grade 4 this term.
Please secure a copy of the book in advance from Amazon before the meeting. We British may purchase our copies here.
Pirates of Pensacola
by Keith Thomson (evidently that stooge person - Moe?)
Publisher: Thomas Dunne Books (April 1, 2005)
ISBN: 0312334990
Shipping Information: View shipping rates and policies
Amazon.com Sales Rank in Books: #46,441
| List Price: | $23.95 |
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*(I do hope this isn't one of dear Gus' little pranks.)
**(Sadly, this is nothing to do with boats. Ships. Drat.)
***(Surely this can be improved upon, ladies.)
****(Rubbish. It took ever so long to add the scrimshop!)
Wheeeeaugh. Good job I don't do this web thingy wheeze for a living. In any case, well done Gus!
Editorial Reviews
Review
"Lubbers beware, thar be a thrilling new comic voice asea. The wind at his back, Keith Thomson has created a powerfully funny novel. Stocked to the quarterdeck with characters at once hilariously inconceivable and sweetly heartwarming, Pirates of Pensacola simultaneously thrills and endears itself with every explosively charged page. A delight to set sail with."
- Richard Rushfield, author of On Spec
"Set in modern times, Pirates of Pensacola follows our poor, nebbishy accountant hero into a life of waterlogged crime on the high seas. Best emerging comic novelist for a good long while, with touches of classic Rafael Sabatini and the most imaginative Hiaasen."
- Jeff Danziger, political cartoonist and author of Rising Like the Tucson
"A swashbuckling parody, Pirates of Pensacola is a fine breezy read, filled with laugh-out-loud scenes and some high seas drama. Who wouldn't crave the pirate lifestyle? You get to rob, cheat, carouse, brawl, drink, chase wenches and then rob some more, carouse some more...what a life! How about cutting these rogues some slack instead of a noose? To this book, I give my favorite mock-pirate toast: 'Bottoms up, shot glasses and lasses!'"
- Richard Zacks, best-selling author of The Pirate Hunter: The True Story of Captain Kidd
*(I do hope this isn't one of dear Gus' little pranks.)
**(Sadly, this is nothing to do with boats. Ships. Drat.)
***(Surely this can be improved upon, ladies.)
****(Rubbish. It took ever so long to add the scrimshop!)
Wheeeeaugh. Good job I don't do this web thingy wheeze for a living. In any case, well done Gus!
Thursday, January 6
Guests Doing The Limbo
More slightly distressed guests finally arrived the other night. Yes, yes, yes, they also warned me of the blue-haired man, who is apparently of questionable parentage as well as having dubious style sense.
But these people are lovely; the nicest pair yet. They're a father and daughter. She has the most striking eyes I've ever seen, and he seems to be an expert at games of skill and accuracy (not so on chancy games, though).
He is also something of aconnoseur gourmand when it comes to spicy foods and fine brews and the conversations in the residents' saloon bar have been highly edifying.
But it all comes back to blood-thirsty tales of their erstwhile boon companions and the outrages committed by the mysterious loud person that was also traveling with them. For some reason, they all desperately hope this "git" (pardon) actually does arrive here very soon rather than ruin everything for the remainder that are still on the trip.
Fortunately, that Silent Lamb moving-pictures prop mask arrived, and one of the McFinsters dragged in a slightly used strait-jacket and left it as an apology-offering (which is the opposite of a thank-offering, as you might suspect). He had ever such a sheepish grin, so I suspect there's more to the story of that jacket than was made quite clear. He is such a wooly-pated simpleton, there's no getting a straight story out of him (or a strait one, for that matter).
Of course! that's what we shall have for Sunday dinner! Mutton!
I'd best make sure that it's acceptable to the one New Yorker. He and his friend have cut quite a dash singing at impromptu Karaoke nights - he puts that horrid old pub crooner we had in last month to shame. They also organized a limbo contest with the Tortolan pan orchestra, who are yet to finalize the date of the Big Booze-Up (which may be called on account of reign, if Queen Sybil decides on an earlier wedding date).
But these people are lovely; the nicest pair yet. They're a father and daughter. She has the most striking eyes I've ever seen, and he seems to be an expert at games of skill and accuracy (not so on chancy games, though).
He is also something of a
But it all comes back to blood-thirsty tales of their erstwhile boon companions and the outrages committed by the mysterious loud person that was also traveling with them. For some reason, they all desperately hope this "git" (pardon) actually does arrive here very soon rather than ruin everything for the remainder that are still on the trip.
Fortunately, that Silent Lamb moving-pictures prop mask arrived, and one of the McFinsters dragged in a slightly used strait-jacket and left it as an apology-offering (which is the opposite of a thank-offering, as you might suspect). He had ever such a sheepish grin, so I suspect there's more to the story of that jacket than was made quite clear. He is such a wooly-pated simpleton, there's no getting a straight story out of him (or a strait one, for that matter).
Of course! that's what we shall have for Sunday dinner! Mutton!
I'd best make sure that it's acceptable to the one New Yorker. He and his friend have cut quite a dash singing at impromptu Karaoke nights - he puts that horrid old pub crooner we had in last month to shame. They also organized a limbo contest with the Tortolan pan orchestra, who are yet to finalize the date of the Big Booze-Up (which may be called on account of reign, if Queen Sybil decides on an earlier wedding date).
Wednesday, January 5
Sybil Comes Out Of Her S(h)ell
Our gallant captain Gus feared he was about to get a "Dear Gus" speech delivered in person as he was speaking with Queen Sybil about their future together:
SIR (courtesy gender) SNUGGS! We're going to need a lot of white French lace hankies, and we'd best convene a n'emergency executive planning session of the Ladies' Embroidery Circle & Terrorist Society. A wedding is in the offing.
If dear practical Gus is able to get his Queen (17 master bedrooms) to the altar and properly married, they really shall be in need of the rest of their lives, as putting on a royal wedding is an exhaustive process. And a royal Conchan (beachfront access) wedding, even one immediately prior to a very large "For Sale" sign going up across the island, will be the social event of the season. I expect the palace will be entirely swathed in white tulle, as Her Majesty the Queen (all modern cons.)'s previous marital adventure was such a rushed affair at sea. And now she's going from a somewhat morganatic marriage to a common rogue, to a Gus-omatic one with a rogueish commoner. So very romantic.
I wonder if that daft artist chap Christo is available to do the bannery, signage and swathing? Perhaps he'd give them a discount rate.
And then, of course, it's that old problem of a mixed marriage, but it's been established that dear Queen Sybil, Protector of the Fluke (ballroom, State banqueting hall, 3 dining rooms, 3 reception rooms, private Whalish chapel) is quite Reform-minded.
Fortunately, all the sprucing up, refurbishing, remodeling, and clearing out that must be done for the wedding will make getting Conch (professionally landscaped grounds and public garden fete space available for day rental) a marketable property that much easier, once Sybil (location, location location) becomes Mrs. Overshaw (FSBO). Or perhaps they should consider signing the entire island up for that new home-makeover show, "Curb Your Appeal."
I should like to offer my modest establishment for a shower and act as hostess, with dear snuggs acting as my second - I know that's more properly a duelling term, but this means war (in the matrimonial sense). We must batten down the hatches and woman the gun ports to ensure a nice time is had by all and sundry. And invite everybody that we are reasonably certain is female, or presents an acceptable approximation of same.
If the dear Bride-elect is agreeable then it shall be an affair to remember.
I'm afraid that means no McFinsters, snuggs. Their attendance would be simply disastrous. However, a select allsorts of our dear male chums might be amusing company, and is terribly modern, and Leibniz might like to wear his old wig for giggles.
I wonder how Dead-Sexy Leibniz, Sexy Ken, and Adult Ed R will feel about wearing drag to the hen party? It's either that or the Subservient Chicken again for entertainment.
Note to self: must do something about that leaky faucet in the first floor gents'.
She grinned. She’d been playing with me. The little bastard.
“How are the bars in Oakland?” she asked.
“I’ll take you to every one of them. But you have to promise me you’ll do something for Stupid George first.”
She bristled. “What?”
“Marry his captain.”
I detached a washer from the elbow joint of the new arm and offered it to her.
SIR (courtesy gender) SNUGGS! We're going to need a lot of white French lace hankies, and we'd best convene a n'emergency executive planning session of the Ladies' Embroidery Circle & Terrorist Society. A wedding is in the offing.
If dear practical Gus is able to get his Queen (17 master bedrooms) to the altar and properly married, they really shall be in need of the rest of their lives, as putting on a royal wedding is an exhaustive process. And a royal Conchan (beachfront access) wedding, even one immediately prior to a very large "For Sale" sign going up across the island, will be the social event of the season. I expect the palace will be entirely swathed in white tulle, as Her Majesty the Queen (all modern cons.)'s previous marital adventure was such a rushed affair at sea. And now she's going from a somewhat morganatic marriage to a common rogue, to a Gus-omatic one with a rogueish commoner. So very romantic.
I wonder if that daft artist chap Christo is available to do the bannery, signage and swathing? Perhaps he'd give them a discount rate.
And then, of course, it's that old problem of a mixed marriage, but it's been established that dear Queen Sybil, Protector of the Fluke (ballroom, State banqueting hall, 3 dining rooms, 3 reception rooms, private Whalish chapel) is quite Reform-minded.
Fortunately, all the sprucing up, refurbishing, remodeling, and clearing out that must be done for the wedding will make getting Conch (professionally landscaped grounds and public garden fete space available for day rental) a marketable property that much easier, once Sybil (location, location location) becomes Mrs. Overshaw (FSBO). Or perhaps they should consider signing the entire island up for that new home-makeover show, "Curb Your Appeal."
I should like to offer my modest establishment for a shower and act as hostess, with dear snuggs acting as my second - I know that's more properly a duelling term, but this means war (in the matrimonial sense). We must batten down the hatches and woman the gun ports to ensure a nice time is had by all and sundry. And invite everybody that we are reasonably certain is female, or presents an acceptable approximation of same.
If the dear Bride-elect is agreeable then it shall be an affair to remember.
I'm afraid that means no McFinsters, snuggs. Their attendance would be simply disastrous. However, a select allsorts of our dear male chums might be amusing company, and is terribly modern, and Leibniz might like to wear his old wig for giggles.
I wonder how Dead-Sexy Leibniz, Sexy Ken, and Adult Ed R will feel about wearing drag to the hen party? It's either that or the Subservient Chicken again for entertainment.
Note to self: must do something about that leaky faucet in the first floor gents'.
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