Mrs. Blubridge's Grog Shoppe

Still Here?? Whatever for?

2009-06-04T20:30:00.003Z

Oh my DEARS. The persistence of the Internets astounds me.

It appears that dear Gus is following me around via a Twittering craft of some kind. Perhaps the boat makes a chirping sound as it goes? V. unsure on that point. Still, it appears that it may be time to dust things off after my long semi-retirement.

No, I was not in durance vile. It was a very nice condo in the Sandwiches Islands that my Merrikan chum recommended. But all the recent piratical news of late has made my typing fingers rather twitchy. The political developments, thank the dear LORD, are much improved.

I shall have to make improvements of my own to the dear old Grog Shoppe. We are much in arrears, and I shall have to move my own arrear rather smartly in order to bring it up-to-date and up to snuff (we shall remain a non-smoking establishment, however).

Thrilling Tales of Derring-Do

2006-04-06T20:21:00.000Z

Dear Gus has moved his blogging enterprise to Mindsay.com (actually, quite a number of the other shipmates are there also, as well as myself). He relates there that he had a recent foray with an invasion of carpenter bees in his back garden. My daft Merrikan friend also had a close encounter of the irritable stinging insect kind and she told me the following story, which I related in a comment to Gus.

Hornets. It had to be hornets. My daft friend had an encounter with them at a house she was helping a former friend to sell.

The nest was on the front porch and after much discussion and confabulating an Action Plan was decided upon. Before leaving the house that afternoon, a step ladder, extension cords, and an industrial-size clip-on shop light were carefully and quietly set up on the front porch. Everyone went home, dreading the dark. For at 8pm, my friend and her cow-orkers returned to commit horneticide. They had purchased several cans of Hornet-B-Gon and work gloves. My friend was picked up and she, her "friend" and the "friend's" husband drove in trepidatious silence to the empty house. The husband walked slowly and quietly toward the porch, carrying two cans of canned hornet death. He positioned himself on the stepladder, within easy reach of the nest. All was darkness and quiet.

That night it was my friend's job to plug in the shoplight, which cast a bright, harsh light on the hornet's nest and its small, dark entrance hole. At the agreed signal, she plugged the light in and made sure the cords were out of the way for the man's escape. The man immediately sprayed the contents of first one, then the other can into the hole (his aim was a bit shaky). The "friend" sat in the car with the engine running.

Then a few dark wriggling hornets began staggering out of the nest and it was Time To Go. My friend unplugged the light and legged it for the car, the friend's husband right behind her yelling for his spouse to get ready to "peel." Off they went, congratulating themselves on their lucky escape.

The next day, the nest was much quieter, but there were still hornets and they had made another entrance hole to avoid the poison at the old one. So it all had to be done over again, except this time the husband was not available. It was my friend who had to stand on the ladder in the dark and her former "friend" who plugged in the lamp at her signal. After delivering the second can, they ran off to the car shrieking with laughter and slammed and locked the doors behind them before speeding away...with the windows down, which was a minor oversight, but no harm done.

This time, the nest was thoroughly soaked around both holes and the bottom, and no hornets wriggled out waggling their stingers in defiance, that night or the next day. In spite of this success, my friend decided that, like that disgraced Merrikan politico, she did not have a future in pest control.

High Tech Galleon Plunderers!

2006-02-08T01:56:00.000Z

The husband of my DAFt chum reports:

Spanish police have broken up a ring of undersea looters who have spent the last two years allegedly plundering the archaeological treasures of Spanish galleons and other historic ships that sank off the coast of southern Spain.

At the weekend, the local civil guard in Cádiz announced the arrest of two Hungarian men and an American woman believed to have set up an on-deck laboratory on their ship, the Louisa, where they used hi-tech equipment - including an undersea robot worth €600,000 (£410,000) - to illegally identify, salvage and treat artifacts from the wrecks. More arrests are expected.

Good Lord! They are treasure-salvors without portfolio. Adventurers after our own hearts! I wonder if that rascal Nelson knows them?

Supply Problem Solved!

2006-02-07T20:04:00.000Z

Dear Gus! has been kind enough to gift me with a gigantic beer in thanks for my support of his upcoming, or perhaps it is his outcoming book:

If you click on the book, it will benefit Gus Openshaw very much, and also a personal charity of mine a scosh.

And look at the size of this beer! No more problems of supply for me... er. I believe underbeneath the "Burps Ahoy" banner, it very possibly says "12 fl. oz." which I'm reasonably sure is Merrikish for "Not very much beer, really" or possibly "12 foolish old sotz."
Ah.

Apparently I was wearing "beer goggles" when I received this gift. Never mind.

The Beeb | Africa | US navy captures Somali 'pirates'

2006-01-22T22:37:00.000Z

The US navy says it has captured a number of suspected pirates in the Indian Ocean off the coast of Somalia.

Well done. I am pleased to report that the vessel in question was the U.S.S. Winston Churchill. This would make a certain Former Naval Person quite proud.

Whale Brittannia!

2006-01-20T15:44:00.000Z

A seven-tonne whale has made its way up the Thames to central London, where it is being watched by riverside crowds.
The northern bottle-nosed whale, which is 16-18ft long and is usually found in deep sea waters, has passed Parliament and is moving upstream.

Good HEAVENS! A Whalish relation of the blubbery "B" whale!

Support The Missionary Position of the Flying Spaghetti Monster! Help Buy A Pirate Ship and Fight Global Warming!

2005-12-23T03:20:00.000Z

It is the position of the newly consecrated religion of the Flying Spaghetti Monster that there is a scientific correlation between the obvious lack of classical, sea-going pirates under sail... and global warming.

In the interests of science and enlightened Pastafarian consciousness, all proceeds from the sales of the to-be-published Gospel According to the Flying Spaghetti Monster will go toward the purchase of a pirate ship. Said ship will help to reduce global warming by its very existence. It is a perfectly rational argument, if a little... circuitous. However, you can't argue with the mathematics: there is a direct and opposite correlation between the number of buccaneers and the hotting up of the environment.

As you know, my spiritual affiliation is C of E, but I do have a great deal of affinity for other schools of thought and belief. The dear Buddhists are lovely people, for example, quite peaceful and contemplative, yet with strong aesthetic values.

The Flying Spaghetti Monsterites, or the Pastafarians as they like to call themselves, are quite a bit more anarchic, but they are quite industrious and also very crafty. I am more than willing to lend them a little support (and also purchase the Gospel, since it appears to be tastefully done).

I wonder if there will be any Flying Spaghetti Monsteries, full of monkeys and nunsense?

Modern Pirate Adventuring!

2005-12-22T18:24:00.000Z

So little news of note lately, my dears.

But here, at last, is a tale of a modern adventurer's search for the Pirates of Panama!

The Boat O' Biography Of Gus Openshaw Is Nearly Launched!1!!111!!!

2005-11-08T23:24:00.000Z

MY DEARS!

News at last. Gus has finally gotten off his duff and written his most thrilling adventure to date. Well, actually, he's probably in the fourth or fifth revise of his memoirs of the thrilling adventures of his everso reality-based experiences last year, but the truly thrilling part is that it's to be published as an actual book.

I am so proud of the dear captain. I do hope that those of us loyal shipmates who hung on to hope and burnt incense and so forth might have a chance to meet Gus on his interminable book deal tour junket.

Gus Openshaw's Whale-Killing Journal AT LAST!

2005-10-18T16:47:00.000Z

Simply THRILLING news. I shall have to alert dear snuggs as to the impending somethingess that is about to happen. And perhaps to refurbish our decent funereal wear in case Gus' dire warning comes true.

Ahoy, shipmates, Gus Openshaw here. Hope you all are still alive. I am, for now anyhow. (Yeah, I know, most of you probably guessed that given that I'm writing up this here blog entry now, but for those few of you who didn't, George...)

Reason I might buy it is I'll be going out to sea again soon. Big news on that (that's why there's a scrimshaw of my typewriter below (though truth be told I'll probably type on the computer)) soon.

In the meantime, can you guess what Jesus, me and President Hoover have got in common? If you guess right, there's a pile of scrimshaws in it for you. To submit your guess and/or get on my mailing list, send an e-mail to gusopenshaw@yahoo.com. So I guess the postman really has got nothing to do with either.

We had better issue a Call to Arms, Legs, and sundry other Limbs. All hands on deck (DRAT! PARDON! It's been so long).

Guests Coming Out of One's Orifices

2005-10-11T02:05:00.000Z

With the decline in the pirate trade (everyone seems to have gone Temperance or some such) life has become very quiet here at the Grog Shoppe. During the touristic season the guests come and go and there's very little of note to report.

Howsomeever, we seem to be headed into a much more busy time, as the nice rugged Kiwi fellow's firm has contracted for rooms again for their madcap incentive contest or travelogue or whatever it is. However, I had the presence of mind to have my solicitors (Messrs. Obfusc and Wigtape, Esquires) look over the agreement this time, and I have the right to offer alternate accomodations to anyone for any reason.

Oddly enough, this year it's gaggles and gaggles of 'Merrikan families. My dim friend warned me of this, and I thought I knew the oddities of 'Merrikan family life tolerably well, but each new arrival (or rather, each new set of arrivals) would appear to offer new challenges. I have a guest list, but have no idea which family will arrive when.

The Black family was the first to arrive - that is their name, I mean no disrespect. They are lovely people, and the two young boys are very well-spoken and charming. They seemed quite, quite downcast at being the first to arrive and so I and my staff have done my best to find them interesting things to do and enjoy their rather forced vacation at my humble establishment.

All well and good, but the next family to arrive smelt of gunpowder and lamp oil, and the father did nothing to ingratiate himself further. He seemed to be casting blame all about except on himself for some reason. The young teenage son was quite comely, but I sensed trouble if any future guests should turn out to be teenage girls (which according to my guest list may be the case). So I not so reluctantly found them accomodations at a soulless modern hostelry out by the motorway.

The father had complained of the smallness of my rooms and of the scent of delicious tipples wafting up from the barroom, so off they went said I.

In other news, I've done a spot of housekeeping, and evicted a rather strange Japanese gentleman who seemed bent on running a business out of my very premises. The cheek! He has been summarily ejected.

Avast! A graciously happy Talk Like A Pyrate Day to all!

2005-09-19T16:24:00.000Z

Arrr!

I do hope that all and sundry are enjoying themselves in whatever piratical pursuits as seem best to them.

With the possible exception, of course, of actually illegal booty looting from those less fortunate.

MONDAY'S LETTERS: 'Opus' Creator Expounds on Publishers' 'Acute Terror'

2005-09-12T16:23:00.000Z

The answer to Ms. Bushkoff is that the palpable fear on the part of publishers is simply one of lost subscribers. Just one flame e-mail seems to wreak panic these days. As circulation declines, it has become an acute terror. It manifests itself directly in timidity. And since many desperately want to see comics as expendable (Ha! ), we're slapped down the fastest when we offend. That would be me.

This is new.

The irony is that the very thing that should be utilized to better stem the broken levee of newspaper circulation is spice and edge.

And that is exactly what so many publishers run from. Off the cliff, some of us suspect.

Berkeley Breathed
Breathed is the creator of "Opus," which is distributed by The Washington Post Writers Group

Pirate Jack : A Podcast Novel Podcast Info

2005-09-09T04:02:00.000Z

Yes, yes, it's been quite slack on these premises of late. However there appears to be a new pirate adventure that's come over the horizon.

First of all, one must obtain one of these fangled Pod thingys. Or a computational device that can play music and suchlike from the Interweb.

Then after a certain amount of bother, one can download "podcasts" and listen to music gathered by other Pod thingy people (you can recognize them by the white wires, which are attached to their brains and cause them to be inattentive to others in the immejjit vicinity).

Then one can enjoy a young man's novel pirate adventure novel whilst listening to the pod thingy.

Evidently the author has gone to the bother of reading his story, chapter by chapter, so that one may listen at any such time convenient (rather not while driving a vehicle, however).

It is a very interesting idea. I wonder if Gus has thunk it yet.

The Pirates Of The Great Salt Lake

2005-08-15T00:09:00.000Z

Yes, yes, she's back, more or less. The piratical news has been rather thinly spread of late. Howsome ever, this little item practically sat up and begged to be noticed:

With a scarf knotted around his head, a hoop dangling from his left ear and his eyes black with mascara, Kirby Heyborne stands at the edge of the Great Salt Lake clutching a wooden sword.
It's 90-plus degrees under a merciless sun. Salt from the lake's briny waters covers Heyborne's legs, and thousands of pesky brine flies swarm about his face. He has every right to be miserable.
"I've never had so much fun on a shoot," says the blond, boyish actor best known to Utahns for his comic roles in such LDS-themed movies as "The Singles Ward," "The R.M." and "Sons of Provo." "I go home every day thinking this is the best experience of my life."
Heyborne is making "Pirates of the Great Salt Lake," a low-budget comedy being filmed in 19 days this month with little-known actors and a leaky rowboat. Pirates in landlocked Utah? Aye, go ahead an' laugh, ye scurvy dogs! - Salt Lake Tribune - Pirates of the Great Salt Lake

My word, this sounds very unappealing, and most unfilmable. I should much rather see a movie version of the book wot Nelson wrote, or possibly a novelisation of the blog wot Gus wrote. This project sounds rather like a Young Twits On Parade production of dubious benefit to anyone.

I should doubt whether anyone prepared to swoon at the sight of Messers Depp and Bloom will be plonking down any cash to see a load of gawkishly awkward milk-mustachio'd gits prancing playing "let's dress up like pirates."

Sounds like a great deal of derivative rubbish, and no swear words either.

Actual Pensacolans Unaware of Pirates Still Lurking About

2005-05-25T21:01:00.000Z

My dears, I present my most abject apologies. As you may have suspected, things have been a titch busy chez Blubridge.

Howsome-ever, I take virtual ostrich-quill pen in paw to advise that just this moment I spoke with real live Pensacolans, but alas! They were completely unaware of the existence of the first modern, major, general pirate novel set in their fair city, burg, village, and/or municipality.

They seemed like very nice, personable persons but I found the local accent rather impenetrable. Still, they meant well and seemed kindly enough, so I warned them of the presence of modern pirates still lurking about, and that they might find instruction, enlightenment, and amusement in that book wot Gus wrote. I do this in the spirit of community, fellowship, and the wish to crack on endlessly about piratical doings.

In other news of lurking pirates, I recently made note of the recent foray by Nelson into the realm of cookery. Unfortunately, due to the presence of heavy cream in the scallop dish, Mr. B. won't be able to enjoy it (or at least, not for long before having to visit the little buccaneers' room). And then I bethought me of that Western band of scurvy rogues, the Renaissance Privateer Dragons... and that their chieftain, Laktos the Intolerant, mought have a similar problem with the receipt also.

I wonder if simply omitting the cream would work? The remaining ingredients would make it a tomato-pesto sauce of a sort. Hmm.

Privateer Dragons of the Caribbean-Renaissance Faire Pirates

2005-05-04T18:46:00.000Z

Good heavens!!! These are Nelson's long-lost relations! I do hope he makes contact with them. They have a page full of suggested titles for further reading about Pirates. Yes, even pirates read books, apparently. Who would have thought it?

They appear to be a sort of performance group that goes to Renaissance Faires.

I have emailed Nelson with a tiny suggestion. I do hope he doesn't take it amiss.

More Piratical Merchandise

2005-05-03T03:44:00.000Z

It seems that pirates are not only fashionable and "hippy," they are lurking ev'rywhere. Now it seems that people who quite like pirates may buy pirate dollies to play with.

Be that as it may, here is quite a fearsome pirate dollie indeed - Edward Teach, "Blackbeard." And of course, he was a true son of jolly Bristol.

Always had a soft spot in my head for pirates, I have. For one thing, they are excellent customers so long as they have recently plundered a rich prize, for then paying the bar tab is no problem (and indeed, tips become the stuff of legend, owing to a tendency to largesse that is apparently in direct proportion to the acreage of barmaid's bosom on show).

Now, if this dollie shop ever does a series of the Muppets' Treasure Island movie, I shall be ever so chuffed, as an ancestress of mine has a cameo in that fine flick.

No, not Miss Piggy, silly gubbinses, another lady of the female pubkeeping persuasion.

Mistress Anne Bonny

2005-05-01T03:06:00.000Z

Apparently the British Lib'ry is holding her captive. Must think on this.

Pirates & Fonts

2005-05-01T01:07:00.000Z

Bother. It's ever so frustrating to find a nice piratical hand. Pardon! I meant a nice scripty sort of typeface that evokes piracy without actually committing it.

My New, Even More Brilliant Career

2005-04-29T01:17:00.000Z

My dears, I have taken the plunge. I have decided to offer on sale a few items that may be of interest to the imbibing piratical community that favors this establishment with their custom.

Strictly as a lark, mind you. If there is sufficient demand (indeed, if there is ANY at all) I may add more items of interest to all and sundry.

As the community is a rather diverse one, I shall endeavour to provide a wide range of sizings should I decide to offer apparel. On review of the available products, I see that I shall be able to offer a "dog shirt," which is apparently popular in the former Colonies. Mr Carlisle and Sea Rover will no doubt be happy about that. Regrettably, there appear to be NO "bird shirts" or "cat shirts" or "whale shirts." Again, it appears to be some sort of sizeist prejudice on the part of the cafe pressers. There aren't even any "figment shirts" but we've always gotten around that particular obstacle by believing in them anyway, haven't we?

Still, for those of us somewhere in the middle there seems to be a reasonable selection.

I do hope you'll drop by and give my little swaggery a butcher's. I was thinking of some rather droll bons mot to put on other items of clothing and such. Mr B is quite enthusiastic about photographing your humble publicanatrice but I did have to put my foot down about the costume; I should think a single red rose is definitely what NOT to wear.

A Skiffy Movie Preview: Serenity May 5th

2005-04-27T15:15:00.000Z

My dim but enthusiastic American friend advises me that one of those science-fictiony movies is coming out soon, and there's to be a double-secret sneaky preview on May the 10th in one of 10 American cities. The movie is called "Serenity" and of course it's about those nice people ("shiny," she called them) from a telly show called "Firefly" that was cancelled rather too soon a brace of years ago.

She made me watch it when I was visiting. I must say it was a compelling, even a ripping space yarn. I did quite like that nice but rather scary Captain Tightpants fellow... actually, I quite liked everything about it. She also tells me that the sneaky preview will be held in one of ten cities:

Seattle

Austin

Sacramento

Boston

Altanta

Chicago

San Francisco

Las Vegas

Denver

Portland (the tree one in the Far West)

The double-secret part is that one must be a member of a secret fanny organization (I beg your pardon) in order to get tickets and the locations and times for the sneaky previews. Interested persons may join via the link thingy.

Piracy Trend Still At High Tide

2005-04-22T03:42:00.000Z

Apparently the Skiffy lot (the gentlemen responsible for much of the science fiction on 'Merrikan telly) will be flogging a pirate game next summer.

That is, they shall be marketing a game about pirates. No pirates were flogged in the making of this game (so far as is known, but anything's possible).

Happy Birthday, Mr Da V.

2005-04-21T00:11:00.000Z

Now it can be told... it seems that this Da Vinci cove was somewhat smitten after our recent correspondence, though it's not a very good likeness. Still. I'll take it as drawn.

Dead Celebrity Soulmate Search

2005-04-14T16:30:00.000Z

How thrilling! I got a n'instantaneous response to my personal advert:

Leonardo da Vinci responds...
"I really need to finish these sketches for my latest invention, and then start work on the mechanical lion statue that has been commissioned by the King, but your beauty and intelligence captivate me. Let us meet, and soon!"

I wonder if dear Leibniz is registered? He is spoken for, of course. But he is dead and moderately famous, so he fulfills the two main requirements.

Hmm. I expect Mr. B. might like the "ideal date" idea: disrobe and lie on a couch in the artist's studio and be immortalized in sculpture. That might be good for a few amusing snaps.

Whale Ho! in...New Joisey?

2005-04-13T04:35:00.000Z

Dear animated scamp Bugs Bunny said it best: "I knoo I shudda taken that left toin at Albuquoiquee."

It's a fascinating language, American. So exotic, colorful, and bumptuous.

Gus Tops Gaiman

2005-04-12T23:24:00.000Z

This is worth a chuckle - it seems that at least on this one list, dear literary Gus's whale-killing journal is ahead of some obscure science-fictioner writer's blog. Fellow name of Neil Gaiman. P'raps you've heard of him? Wrote a few books, comics, and the odd short story or two.

(actually, Mr. Gaiman's work is excellent and well, well worth the read).

W00t!

2005-04-12T23:17:00.000Z

Now one wonders if dear Keith (and his ninja-powered inhaler) will go on n'any book tours to the provinces (of course, in place of Captain Gus, who is likely busy with things now that he's home and all).

Oooo-er! Pirate Fonts

2005-04-12T22:41:00.000Z

Note to self: this font comes compleat with bottle of grog and Jolly Roger.

Arrgh Ya Free Saturday Night?

2005-04-12T06:36:00.000Z

This looks like a lovely fashion item for the piratically inclined... except... that gentleman in the corner has a winkie! And the lady (roll the mouse thingy over the "mens" icon) has bosoms! Who knew that mens and womens were so explicit on the Interweb?

Well, that certainly cuts to the quickie. P'on my word, it does. I do think that nearly-dear Nelson might have had a hand in it.

(DRAT! After all this time, too. Pardon.)

Miz B's In Love

2005-04-07T00:37:00.000Z

I fear I have fallen irrevokably in love. Mr. B will be ever so vexed. This is that rascally rogue Nelson's pet, who now has his own blog.

Yes, really. If you believe in daring sea captains blogging from durance extremely vile in Venezuelan jails smelling of insufficiently continent elephants, or modern day pirates living in extremely exotic tropical lairs, then you will also believe in a blogging dog.

After all, he's certainly not the first dogblogger, nor catblogger neither. But he is ever so engaging. Here he is after an adventure chasing catfish; he now knows the difference between the fishy sort of cat and the sort of cat that likes fishy.

Nelson, dear rogue, continues to regale us with yaaaarns about the Sugar Islands, which are definitely not The Grenadines though both island archipelagoes' economies are probably based on a certain syrupy sweet commodity.

It appears that Sea Rover favors a particular sort of cheese crisp; he even has a house brand according to the imagery shown on his fetching (Fetch! Fetch, Sea Rover!) blog.

As a continuing publican service, I shall display a copy of dear Gus' picaresque novel. I do wish to point out that this feature may occasionally be repeated, but it will most certainly not make it a re-publican service, as I have always voted the straight Labor ticket (though I've been having rather dark moods about that wet thicky Blair git for some years now).

OH! that reminds me. Speaking of Loooove, some more guests began appearing from all over the globe some weeks back. Almost all of them have been very nice people.

Just this morning, two very raffish chaps turned up just in their bathing costumes and the most gob-smackingly naff winter headgear I've ever laid me lamps on. Regardez:

Incredible as it may seem, the answer to your unspoken question is "Yes, they dressed themselves. Deliberately." It appears that the older brother bludgeoned a small mammal to death in order to fashion his chapeau. Was it perhaps...a marmot?

Coincidence? I think not.

But they are absolutely charming boys nevertheless. They seemed eager to renew their acquaintance with the blonde twinset - there are two pairs of attractive females currently in residence, and damme if I can tell all of them apart. They're all so much of a girlish muchness. Still and all, I think the one with the rather too-noticeable tailbone tattoo is... oh, bother. They all have names like "Courtney" and "Brittany" and "Buttercup" and "Kungalucia" in the States nowadays.

In any case, 'tis Spring and it appears Love (or its nearest modern equivalent) may possibly be In Bloom. And if so we shall have ever such a tactfully low-key tizzy over the rooming assignments in my nicer en suite accomodations, as the recently arrived darkly handsome Brothers may wish to enter into relations, diplomatic and otherwise, with the artificially blonde Not-Sisters.

Help Wanted: Vikings!

2005-04-05T18:25:00.000Z

For any of Gus' former shipmates who are looking to make a career shift into a less dangerous line of work, the Midgard Historical Center is hiring Vikings.

In what is described as a "rare employment opportunity for Vikings," the center is hoping to hire some non-pillaging, non-looting, more friendly-like Vikings to interact with tourists, educate them in Viking ways, and most assuredly not inconvenience them in any way.

NOTE: it is a myth that Viking helmets had horns on. Thus, Vikings were not as horny as depicted in English monastic chronicles of the Middle Ages.

Piratical Icons

2005-04-02T00:36:00.000Z

If anyone should be in need of pirate-themed art for iconography and so forth, that nice accordion-playing Canadian-Filipino Joey lad has made some.

Adorable Pirate Doggy!

2005-04-01T19:31:00.000Z

Dear rapidly-redeeming-himself-in-the-eyes-of-all-shipmates Nelson! He has posted the first ever pirate home video. It reveals the interior of his current lair and shows a recent training session with his new doggy, Sea Rover.

Snuggs! It's time to do a little gardening! We shall have to make sure the Pet Enclosure and Exercise Garden is ready for this season's guests!

I do apologize for being so remiss; this Blogger interweb thingy has been a bit wonky of late and it completely gobbled up an extremely diverting tale of a few days ago, which left me completely vexed and flummoxed.

It was something or other about Nelson's recent forays into the world of literature and his BLARG and so forth.

Speaking of the world of literature, I have been getting ever so many chuckles out of dear captain Gus' novel wot he wrote with the assistance of his clever but rather weedy stooge, Keith.

I became quite excited that he had put rats in, but alas! they were no relation to sweet li'l num-nums Bob.

Still, it's the thought that counts. And so far there have been several incidents that bear a slight relationship to Gus' actual real-life adventures, but of course in order to avoid legal problems with the Venezuelan federalies, he has had to change much in order to conceal his identity.

But he has followed the cardinal rule: write what you know. Clever of him.

I have not yet finished perusing the oeuvre, so please do not mention any spoilers or I shall have to cut you off quite, QUITE ruthlessly. However, I've read enough to go on with the book club meeting. Is anybody still lurking about?

And surely it's time we start planning a little tequila mayhem between the dears Gus and Ken and Senor Rojo Caballero Wotzisname?

And I do assume the wedding is still on? Otherwise we shall have rather diffy conversation with the caterer's concerning the shower nosh.

Venezuelan Land Pirates

2005-03-23T23:47:00.000Z

Apparently ownership documents dating back to 1830 count for nothing with those jumped-up Venezuelans; they have confiscated a British-owned ranch. I expect that Vermin rotter is at the back of it.

While I applaud the concept of giving fallow land to poor people, I deplore the concept of government-sanctioned land piracy.

And once again, these people have no fashion sense.

The Pirating News

2005-03-19T06:32:00.000Z

It seems the late tragedy of the Asian tsunami cut back on the numbers of pirates in the Malacca Strait.

However, some pirates recently overpowered a... tugboat? and took some hostages.

Well, they have to start somewhere.

Shipped, Mates!

2005-03-19T05:46:00.000Z

Such exciting news: the terribly nice and clever people at the publishers have decided to release dear captain Gus' book early from durance vile, or whatever it is they call literary limbo. I have been informed via my rather dim chum that I shall soon receive my copy of Pirates of Pensacola.

I suppose we had better get cracking around here and get that Book Club meeting scheduled. I wonder if the author (the true one) will be making any appearances? I suppose not, as Great Britain undoubtedly has extradition treaties with a number of inconveniently friendly former British colonies in the Caribbean.

Drat. However, it appears that my dim chum may be able to get her paws on a signed bookplate for me. We shall have to play spies and arrange a blind drop. It wouldn't do to have Nelson, or those bad hoodies that were after that Keith person know our home addresses. The information could be tortured out of them, and then we could receive many unsolicited pirate software and pharmaceutical emails.

I shouldn't mind so much about the unsolicited pirate emails so long as it was really about pirates and buccaneers and privateers and persons bearing a resemblance to either Johnny Depp or Errol Flynn offering to send one artistically posed photos.

No, that I shouldn't mind at all. But I do think it's a rather large temptation to put Nelson in charge of collecting everyone's addresses. For one thing, he might send out some of those "pix" of which he boasts. Still, I'd prefer Depp or Bloom or Flynn there, and no mistake. And for a n'other thing, he might show up on one's doorstep and expect unlimited drinkies and a free berth. And unless he were chaperoned by Flarq would not...

Well.

If Flarq were along, I suppose he'd keep Nelson in check and keep the very strange Nigerian banking chaps from getting the addresses. And we did wonder of Flarq might be interested in the position of "impressively well-built doorman with oiled muscles" that we've kept open here at the Shoppe for him.

There is not much else to report, my dears, except that things have been very quiet around here since those very loud, rude travelers left. The next batch began arriving a couple of weeks back and they've been quite delightful.

The first to arrive were two American gentlemen from somewhere deep in that part of the country where subtitles are apparently required for their countrymen to understand them. Dead useful, those subtitles. I can't think how it's done but yellow letters float in midair, translating every word and obscure countrified idiom they utter. And they are such nice blokes, and very handy with tools and mechanical things. They keep the McFinsters busy, what with the brothers handing them spanners and all. Pity the McFinsters can't really read a scrap, but they communicate by pantomime. Quite amusing, really; I've taken to sitting on the back terrace of an afternoon with a hot toddy as the mimery is ever so entertaining.

The next to arrive were two rather spectacular looking blonde ladies. They turned out to be surprisingly down to earth and friendly. They keep to themselves and seem to be either pining for absent friends, or contemplating yet another (!) tatoo.

Most recently, two very attractive and smart gels arrived, speaking fluent Spanish. Actually, they got in very late indeed and I had all but given up their rooms, but they called from a transport cafe about 3 hours away and explained they had taken a wrong turning. They seem to be newly-minted vegetarians; they requested meatless entrees but strike me as "newbies" when it comes to eating Green.

The two American gentlemen seem to be very happy for the company but are rather sweet and shy; for all that they seem quite solid and good-hearted souls. I have heard no dire warnings about screaming, blue-haired gentlemen but there has been a lot of talk about one young man whose machinations seem to rival those of the clever revolutionaries that threw out all that perfectly good tea in his home city of Boston many years ago in the late, late, late, late war.

In any case we seem to have a happy company of fellow travelers. And soon enough we shall be adding to the collection of tomes in the Gentlemen's Club Room (which also functions as a Library) with dear Gus' opus.

A Former Guest Comes Out Against Whale-Killing

2005-03-01T00:28:00.000Z

My dears, I absolutely couldn't make this up if I used both hands, shut my eyes tightly, crouched down, and made a vigorous "pop-pop! pop-pop!" noise:

Avi: So when we got eliminated, the woman who took care of us - her name is Meredith Rabitzsky - or, actually, she has a new last name because she just got married, but she has a line production credit if you ever get to watch the credits as they flash by - but she took care of us. And I told her, 'There's one thing I want to do before I leave Iceland.' I said, 'I'd like to eat puffin.' And so the next day when we were basically lounging around, Joe and her went into town and they found a restaurant for me to eat puffin. And that gave birth to the sequester event, which is, Will Avi Eat It? And everywhere we went, there was something where the game was, Will Avi Eat It? And I still think the craziest stuff I ate was in Iceland. I did eat puffin, and although I am a true, true animal lover and a true, true environmentalist, I honestly thought there would never be another time I might be able to eat this, so I did try whale meat.

Interviewer: Oh, my.

Avi: And let me just say, and you can put it in print, they shouldn't be killing these creatures because they're sentient and they also really don't taste that good. Don't believe the hype.

Interviewer: [laughs]. It's not good on any level. Right?

Avi: No. It just goes to further show that there's just no reason to be killing these creatures. Really, I don't know what the Japanese are thinking.

There you have it: whale-killing is bad because they are sentient, thinking beings and also because they don't taste that good anyway.

The rest of this most delightful charming interview is on the site via the link thingy. I have a sneaking suspeeeecioun that the rugged New Zealander and his company will soon be sending some new guests our way. They may drop dark hints about "Sequesterville" or "Sequesteristan" but you may be sure that...

Oops. I should like to quote my favourite author (after Gus, of course):

"First thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers."

With the exception of the dear Bard and our other legal friends, of course.

In any case - whale will not be on the menu here at the Shoppe.

What Kind of Pyrate Be Ye?

2005-02-25T00:16:00.000Z

It's about ruddy time we got on board with yet another time-wasting Interweb thingy, the "psychological" poll.

In this case, it's spot-on as far as topic:

Yarr. Ye won't be taking no liberties with the female buccaneer. Truly a bastion of feminism, ye woman pirate will seize ye gold, cut off ye genitals and wear them as a necklace, all before her morning grog. Empowering. Yarrr.

You see, my dears? It even mentions grog. I couldn't be chuffier. Yarrr.

I liberated this excellent (and refreshingly short) poll off Rum and Monkey, but I originally read of it at the Cornjob Memorial Library, whilst wearing a clever disguise.

A most Nauticall Cove is Bilgemunky

2005-02-24T23:38:00.000Z

Drat.

I suppose I shall have to be grateful to that raffish Nelson person for putting us all on to the delights of the clever pyrate-prymate Bilgemunky.

Such cheek. However, needs must. Ahem.

Thank you, Nelson.

And now that shall simply have to come off.

Original "Flay Otters" Inn Bought by Bristol Pub Owners

2005-02-24T22:41:00.000Z

What wonderful news! Some lovely competitors of mine in the Bristol pub-owning wheeze have purchased the hotel in Torquay that was the inspiration for the postively brilliant
comedy "Fawlty Towers."

It's rather touchingly awful that there was a real-life equivalent of the reptilian and outrageously snobby Basil Fawlty. However, I'm quite terrified of the thought that the "nest of vipers" (his terrifying wife, Sybil) is or was running around on the loose. She was actually interviewed once, and defended her husband's memory vigorously. Reportedly, he was not "the neurotic eccentric that John Cleese made him out to be." It's really very amusing in its own right; one imagines a sharp-tongued Scottish tartar rising up and batting the interviewer with a tartan tea-cozy for his impertinence and correcting his pronunciation of "liqueur."

As per usual for legendary British comedies, there were a surprisingly small number of episodes - only 12. Each one of them opened with scenes of the hotel and the denizens, therein, ending with the sign in front of the property. For some reason, the letters on the sign were always askew, and always re-arranged in an anagram... as if some unlettered person had encountered them fallen in the grass and had stuck them back up on the sign in a tearing hurry. In at least one episode, a Horrible Childe of some sort is seen adjusting it, so it may have been meant to be a schoolboy prank aimed at a most incredibly easy and satisfying target.

Believe me, "Flay Otters" is one of the more inoffensive and least rude of the bunch. Just you consider the alternatives and you shall quickly come to the same conclusion.

In other news, as you may have noticed Mr. B and I have returned to dear old Bristol from our South Seas adventures. He has returned to his secret lair in the cellar and I am re-installed behind the bar, ready to serve patrons (and patronesses) their favorite tipple.

The mind boggles rather at the changes seen in the back garden - fortunately, the neighboring property is sadly neglected, but fortunately vacant and so there is plenty of room for expansion. I've just been down to the estate agents' to finalize matters.

My dear dim Merrikan friend has threatened to visit in future; must remember to book that month's holiday in Torremolinos as soon as I know the dates.

It's About Flippin' Time

2005-02-17T20:19:00.000Z

It's a hard life in Paradise, my dears - my dim but well-meaning Merrrikan friend is futzing around (really most annoying of her) preparing to make something called "Mac Pancakes." This has something to do with a gentleman named Macadam or somesuch, but what a maker of road building materials hs to do with cooking I don't know.

The previous evening's meal was even more dubious - the gentlemen in the party eventually produced all the necessary combustibles to produce fire (after some discussion and fingerpointing about just who was responsible for reemembering to tell the men that the grille thingy required charcoal bricks and not a "whoosh" of natural gas} ((yes, it was my dear dim friend who forgot to mention this important fact at the time we were all at the local chandler's shoppe)). After triumphantly producing fire, and drinking some wine, eventually some rather delicious onion burgers were created, but all the participants absolutely refused to wash dishes aferwards owing to the fact that they had suffered mightily in standing around on rough ground getting choked by smoke and cooking by flashlight. So my dim friend did penance - and the dishes.

We are currently in a small village that follows the old Hawaii ways, but with some new twists - for example, on our first night here, we went to one of two (2) eateries that were reliably supposed to be open for business - one of them being an extremely pricy and exclusive hotel, and one of them a simple take-away window attached to a not-very-good second restaurant that's only fully open 4 days a week. This take-away window offered our best option, if we didn't want to get all smarted up to go to the toff spot. So there was a certain amount of whipping-in done at about 6:30pm, as the proprietor of our inn had mentioned that the take-away window closed at 7pm sharp.

After some dithering, we all made our way to the take-away place at a few minutes to 7 o'clock. We placed orders, but there was some confusion about just what we were getting, so my dear Mr Blubridge got back in line after realizing that he had just ordered a very small bowl of soup (he was expecting something more like the locals eat, a "plate lunch" which includes extra scoops of exotic foods such as rice and macarone en salade (I find it most intriguing that many foods in the States, or at least in old Mowee, are served by the scoop).

Alas, poor Mr Blubridge was denied - he was second in line when the tutu (an august personage approximately like an auntie, but with more personal mana, closed up the shutters with a "slap-bang and away you go!" leaving several hungry people in line and several more just arriving with desperate hope in their eyes that they had made it to the take-away in time. Many were sent away unfed, very much NOT like the multitudes after the miracle of the loaves and fishes, as we heard in the lovely island service I attended last Sunday.

Fortunately, the rest of us had ordered a bit more food than we could eat, so there was plenty to share around. Unfortunately, the soup was vile, the chicken was a leathery little beast, the rice was quite, quite gummy, and the macarone en salade was chalky. The soup was much improved with the addition of a little hot water (really, I've tasted seawater - quite recently - that was less salty ).

It appears that my dim friend is actually about to start cooking brekkers (about flippin' time - pardon! A most apropos commentary on the tardiness of pancakery, however) so I shall sign off for now, my dears, and supervise the flippantry.

Hunting Treasure in Heaven

2005-02-16T19:57:00.000Z

It certainly appears to be heaven here. Our whale friends are not much in evidence today but we have found other pursuits; namely, the pursuit of buried treasure!

Treasure! Yes, we have found a few troves, following clews left by other treasure hunters. Sadly, our "find" rate is about 50%, but we were successful in finding one little hoard that contained a small traveling bear who wishes to be taken to new and exotic places. So far we've taken him out to dinner and photographed him in situ, as it were. At some point we shall find a suitable place to drop him off to continue his journeys.

Speaking of journeys, our traveling guests have all checked out of the Shoppe. I was not present for the denouement, but I'm reliably told that there were screams of horror and frustration right across the globe. With one glaring exception, all of the couples who arrived for a stay at the Grog Shoppe were lovely, lovely people, and even the exceptionals are getting professional counseling from a well-known ~~busybody~~ Agony Uncle who goes on telly to advise people that they're utter failures and don't they feel better about themselves now they know?

In any case, Mr. B and myself continue to be "on vaca" in Paradise for yet a few days more. We have not been successful in finding any more troves, but hope to find a few more today. We have taken the traveling bear to a few new locations but have not found any suitable treasure trove-places in which to leave him, as he is quite large and requires rather roomy accomodations, so we shall continue to look for a place for him. Our dim friends put us on to this hobby - lovely people, if a little slow to get moving in the mornings - so Mr. B and I shall probably embrace it enthusiastically on our return to Bristol.

It's ever so amusing to pretend one is a pyrate whilst hunting treasure - no wonder it's about to become so fashionable what with books coming out and movie sequels and games and whatnot.

The Whaling News

2005-02-12T20:57:00.000Z

Having left the keys to the Shoppe in Sir (courtesy title) snugg's capable hands, I have decided to go on a fact-finding mission to learn more about whales in general and blubbery B. whales (Reformed) in particular.

It is a long and arduous journey from the environs of jolly old Bristol to the former whaling capital of old Mowee, but someone has to do it.

Mr Blubridge (who has not previously come into these chronicles) and I have joined some dear but rather dim friends in the Islands. We have observed whales in their watery ocean home and although they are not the same species as our dear somewhat new friend the blubbery B. whale of Gus' acquaintance, they exhibit some of the same behaviours.

I have also had the opportunity to observe a sub-species of Homo sapiens that might be taxonomically known as Homo sapiens australopacificanthus or "Southern Pacific Dude" and also Homo sapiens digme-babeliciencsis or "Dig Me Beach Babe." Regrettably, we Blubridges and our dim friends belong to the subspecies Homo sapiens prandialis tourodon, or " 'Where shall we have lunch?' Man."

I shall have to catch up to that rascal Nelson's doings, but of more pressing moment: where to have lunch?

However, be assured that nearly every day we see our new whale friends, though sadly not at very close counters. However, they are out there to be found and if possible I shall attempt to show images of them doing such things as whales are wont to do in these waters.

Tomorrow we shall be in the old whaling town of Lahaina, where many scurvy dogs and faux-piratical types make their living attempting to sell activities and condominiums (condominia?) to unsuspecting Tourodons (however they rarely succeed as the Tourodons are always in search of things like lunch and sunscreen). It's my belief that Nelson once sailed out of these waters, so I shall be looking for evidence and interviewing such wharf-rats that may be found down by the harbor.

Laugh An' Be Thankfu'

2005-02-04T23:13:00.000Z

It seems as good a time as any to take the advice of an excellent drinking song:

LAUGH AN' BE THANKFU'.

COME sit down, my cronies, and gie us your crack,
Let the win' tak the care o' this worl' on its back;
The langer we sit here and drink, the merrier will we get-.
We've aye been provided for, an' sae will we yet.

Then bring us a tankard o' nappy guid ale,
To cheer up our hearts, and enliven our tale;
Till the house be rinnin' roun' about, its time enough to flit-
We've aye been provided for, and sae will we yet.

May the taxes come aff, that the drink may be cheap,
And the yill be as plentiful as 'gin it were a spate;
May the enemies o' liberty ere lang get a kick
They've aye gott'nt hitherto, and sae shall they yet.

Now, God bless the Queen, an' aye prosper her days,
For I'm sure that Her Majesty has baith meat an' claes;
And lang on the throne o' her faithers may she sit-
They've aye been provided for, and sae will they yet.

Then push round the jorum, an' tak aff your dram,
An' laugh an' be thankfu' as lang as ye can-
For seed-time and harvest ye ever shall get,
When ye fell ye aye got up again, and sae will ye yet.

Nelson's Blathering in his own BLARG

2005-02-02T21:12:00.000Z

MY DEARS!

I could not apologize more profusely than if I fell to the floor and commenced to perform the Wiggly Worm dance. As in:

I sir, am a wiggly worm, sir. A wiggly worm, sir, is the most utterly utterly lowest form of life, sir.

The dance is performed by wriggling about on the floor in an abased and ingratiating manner, with much helpless flailing about and waving of limbs in the air.

I have been remiss. So now I must again be reMrs., and offer such opinions as may occur to me from time to time on matters piratical (meaning Gus, the book wot he wrote, and now Nelson's blarg) and parenthetical (meaning absolutely everything else).

And now I really must ask dear Q. Sybill if she may give us a date for the bridal shower. I do hope she doesn't mind if a Jackoozie is substituted for the usual waterworks.

Battlestations

2005-01-19T05:30:00.000Z

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.

2005-01-18T05:10:00.000Z

There they are, the dears. I do wonder about that tennis-playing man with a colander on his head, howsomeever. And it appears that Bob's hospital bed of cheese-enhanced recuperation did not make the final cut.

2005-01-18T04:52:00.000Z

Ay, me, for the good old days...

No, no, I'll be all right. It's always a bit sad when things change, but on the other hand (BOTHERATION!) things are ever so different now for Gus.

And different is so close to difficult, is it not?

Replicant Rats (Note To Self: Check On Bob)

2005-01-17T16:51:00.000Z

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.

Botheration, Bugs, and Book Tours

2005-01-09T20:31:00.000Z

This can't be a happy situation. I do hope it's temporary.

If you're reading this message, it means Tripod has a bug, or a glitch, or a gremlin... or just an error of some kind. But all is not lost! Please use the Tripod Help form to let us know that we have a problem, and we'll fix it as fast as we can. Please try to be as specific as possible in your message, and please include your member name. Thanks in advance

— Tripod's Bug Zappers

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.

The Inauguration (Not THAT One)

2005-01-07T08:08:00.000Z

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?)

Hardcover: 320 pages
Publisher: Thomas Dunne Books (April 1, 2005)
ISBN: 0312334990
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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!

Guests Doing The Limbo

2005-01-06T06:57:00.000Z

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 a ~~connoseur~~ 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).

Sybil Comes Out Of Her S(h)ell

2005-01-05T16:31:00.000Z

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:

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'.

Marry Chris' Mass!

2004-12-29T07:49:00.000Z

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

2004-12-27T22:27:00.000Z

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!

2004-12-22T19:54:00.000Z

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"

2004-12-19T20:07:00.000Z

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

2004-12-17T16:06:00.000Z

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

2004-12-17T01:22:00.000Z

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

2004-12-13T14:10:00.000Z

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

2004-12-09T21:32:00.000Z

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

2004-12-08T04:15:00.000Z

“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

2004-12-05T19:25:00.000Z

“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.

The Mountain Comes To Moses

2004-11-30T16:06:00.000Z

It was like a building was about to fall onto us. The crew collectively gasped. Including Bob the rat, who peeked out from Duq’s sack of pain-inflicting kitchen implements, where he’d been stowed away after being bypassed in the crew selection.

All of a sudden, Dickhead swerved, bypassing us. Could the sixty-some ton whale have been spooked by a miniscule rodent?

Nope. The bastard had bigger, wickeder plans. “He means to wreck the Georgette, leaving us with just this,” Flarq said, tapping the flimsy gunwale of the whaleboat, “so we have no refuge and he can take his sweet time killing us.”

Indeed, leaving us in his wake, Dickhead directed his monstrous snoot at the starboard hull of the Georgette. Moses stood there looking over the rail, his mouth hung open like a mailbox.

“Think he notices the whale?” Nelson asked.

I very much doubt it, but the mountain of water and whale-flesh coming to Moses will likely overwhelm the Georgette unless Moses is capable of thinking of something fast.

My dears, what with the 'Merrikan holidays and all, I have been remiss. Things go on much as they always have here at the Shoppe. My dear snuggs insists on rescuing every desperate stray and puir mite that she sees; only the other morning she brought in a rather adventurous-looking, elegantly dishevelled New Zealander and asked me, face uplifted and hopeful, "might I keep 'im?"

However, the wedding band on his hand and the cordial but firm letter from his firm's lawyers enabled me to convince her that perhaps we should let him get on with his travels and not adopt him. He parted from us quite amicably.

There was a potentially profitable outcome to the negotiations; I have secured a lodging contract from the New Zealander's firm for the next few weeks to shelter travelers who will be in transit, or more likely a form of travel limbo. The first party of New Yorkers have been joined by a second party, females this time, who will spend their time touring the sights.

They have engaged a car and driver for the duration of their stay, so I bespoke an old friend whose cousin, Monty, is quite reliable as a guide and travel companion. They'll have Monty for half-a-day 3 days a week, which seems reasonable, as the full Monty is quite expensive, although promising much more in the way of rugged scenery. They seem quite chummy with the gentlemen New Yorkers, in that friendly-rivalry sort of badinage that manifests in good natured joshes about incomprehensible things like rounders teams and exotic foods. Speaking of which, I shall have to order a few more things from the deli, as one gentlemen has specific dietary requirements. It is no problem to find such items, as Bristol is becoming quite cosmopolitan in the matters of cuisine. I am only thankful that I did not have to learn how to make bagels (or is it "beagels?") from scratch.

I have been warned to watch out for a not-so-young man with blue hair. I can see I shall have to swot up my potential guests so that cordial people are grouped together, and not-so-cordial people are farmed out to lesser establishments in the Bristol public house pecking order.

On second thought in re mountain, perhaps it was Mohammad? Never mind, then.

Gus Has Had British Relations!

2004-11-23T18:55:00.000Z

Lord of the Rings author J.R.R. Tolkien's eight-bedroom house in Oxford, England, has been given protected status, Zap2it reported. The residence at 20 Northmoor Road, where Tolkien wrote the beloved fantasy books, has earned a Grade II listing, which means that any future alterations will have to respect the character of the building, and its preservation must be taken into account in any redevelopment, Britain's Heritage Minister, Andrew McIntosh, announced Nov. 23.

"Buildings are usually listed because of their fine architecture or unique design," McIntosh said in a statement. "But we can also give protection to buildings that have historical association with nationally important people or events. Professor Tolkien's house in Oxford is a fine example of this."

"Local architect Fred Openshaw built the house in 1924 for bookshop owner Basil Blackwell. Tolkien had initially lived at 22 Northmoor Road, but later moved his family to the now-protected abode next door in 1930, the site reported. The Tolkiens lived in the brick property, which was built for the county's leading academics at the time, until 1947." - Skiffy News

How very exiting, it appears that the house that the dear J.R.R. Tolkien lived in in Oxford was designed and built by someone who shares Gus' rather unusual surname.

And good heavens, Blackwell's is the finest bookshop in Oxford, so the house has a fine literary pedigree even without the Hobbitry.

Let The Propositioning Begin!

2004-11-23T06:24:00.000Z

I am most indebted to all of you who attended our little meeting of the minds, and grateful we have the opportunity to meet and plan strategery in the aid of Gus and Co. (not forgetting Bob). My dear and inestimable snuggs is recording secretary for the Ladies Embroidery Circle and Terrorist Society, and submitted the following report, with various proposals adopted:

MINUTES, Emergency Meeting of the LEC & TS
November 21, 2004, 5 pm
re: Aid for Gus and Crew, Who Are Up the Proverbial Creek, as We Blog
Chaired: Miz B., Honorary President, LEC & TS

After the serving of refreshments and two VERY well-received songs from the Tunettes (*Rescue Me* for purpose and *It's Raining Men* for inspiration), Miz B. called the emergency meeting of the LEC & TS to order. Reading of the October minutes of the General Meeting was carried out by Miz Myrtle, and accepted. Motion made by Miz Nikola that all discussions of Casino Night, demonstration of new embroidery technique and part 6 of The Lecture Series, *The French Pedicure: More than a Passing Ooh La La*, with guest lecturer Chad the Cabana Boy, be tabled until the next regular meeting. Motion seconded and carried.

Miz B. reported that the sale of valuable old artifacts last week netted approximately 300 pounds, and since the dollar is dropping like a rock, the equivalent amount in US funds is subject to change without notice, but the change is in Gus' favor. It has been deposited in an offshore bank account in Grand Cayman. Friends of hers in the pub-owning line in George Town have confirmed that the funds were received and will act as local agents for any needed supplies and ship's chandlery and what-not should Gus need them.

New Business: There followed a moving testimonial by all and sundry as to the plight of Gus and his crew, and of course little num-nums Bob. Some discussion of tactics followed and all and sundry were resolved to achieve the goal by whatever non-violent means are necessary. Miz. B. noted that she has several friends who keep hotel bars in Washington D.C., the Colonial capital, who have got some dirt ^H^H^H^H information on certain Congressional persons who have something to do with Naval affairs. At the very least it may be possible to cut off at least one-third of Congress, leaving them with no tipple. It was discussed and decided to table the idea of contacting the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, as they have a very big case on their hands related to the unfortunate War. However, a number of sharply worded letters were already written during the letter-writing portion of the meeting to various government entities, and await postage.

A joint motion was made by the McFinster brothers to call in the Scots Haggis Hunter Bikini Team, as the Swedish Bikini Team was currently unavailable. Motion seconded and carried. After a tense 15 minutes while an international phonecall was placed to Glasgow, we were given the disappointing news that The Team was in hot pursuit of a herd of haggis at Inverness Castle and could not currently be dispatched. The offer of assistance was made for next Saturday, should we still need them. We promised to let them know, and were given Sc. B. T. President McGillicuddy's cell and beeper number for future emergencies.

Founding member Kathy Niedtinka, who is a member of Bass Fisherman/Women of America suggested an ambush of BFA members on the Blubbery Bastid. She detailed her plan to arm 24 members with bait-casting stainless steel rods using 42" lures coated with tuna oil. Unfortunately, timely transportation of bass boats and BFA members to Bill's Triangle was unlikely, and the plan--while appreciated--was reluctantly dismissed.

Snuggs mentioned that the Kitty-Sweet Kat Fud Company ought to know that their former employee was in such trouble and wondered if they oughtn't be contacted. There was some discussion as to whether the Kitty-Sweet Kat Fud Company might also like to buy a lot of Grade W "tuna" - several hundred tonnes, it was estimated - for below wholesale in exchange for some kind of assistance or publicity consideration on Gus' behalf. Possible assistance in this endeavor was offered by Miz Kathy.

After some discussion of the idea, Miz Myrtle opined that fall nest-strengthening and winter foraging season will keep her busy, plus she can't get the time off from the hospital that fast.

The ladies of the Grog Shoppe were then polled to see if any of them had a nodding acquaintance with any erm, members of the members of the U.S. or Tortolan Navy who are currently in pursuit of Gus and crew and thereby instigating Whale-Gate. Horny Ken (lured by the promise of a night with a courageously volunteering Tunette) promised to put us in touch with the moles at the National Enquirer before press time. Unfortunately, the conversation completely disintegrated into rather hilarious comparisons of said members and their attendant abilities, and the comments are best not repeated here in these minutes.

Chad noted that Slebrity Cruise Lines (not to be confused with a competing and much more declasse' company) has got a number of steerage cabins available on their upcoming cruise to the edge of Bill's Triangle from Ft. Lauderdale (it's the popular Caymans-Tortola-Guava-Conch route) and wondered if it would be possible to hitch a ride and effect a rescue (he admits he reads the Shipping News want ads in hopes of taking a paying berth as a pedicurist in the off-season. Miz B. forgave him forthwith).

A Tunette put forward a suggestion that perhaps the ASPCA Rat Rescue people might be contacted in the matter of Bob's continued safety, as it appears he is of an extremely rare breed of Norwegian Whitecoated Pinkfoots. Snuggs agreed to this wholeheartedly. Another Tunette offered to write a "reggay" song to be played on Caribbean radio stations in support of Gus, and to start a pledge drive on said radio stations to raise money for a legal defense fund. She "knows a guy" in Tortola broadcasting, a personality called B-Cool Mon. Miz. B reports that her friends the pub owners in George Town probably know a lot of the local sailing gentry, so will ask them to ask their patrons and matrons tune in to Radio Tortola in the hopes of hearing the song and getting caught up in the pledge drive. Posters are being printed courtesy of the local T-shirt shoppe.

Miz Myrtle wondered if there is any evidence in the ruins of Gus' bayside bungalow that might have been missed or misinterpreted and offered to contact CSI: Mendocino. She also noted the Bard Sinister was not present but may be able to offer legal advice pro bono, and should probably be consulted. A phone call to Mark Geragos dashed our hopes of a timely appeal/filed injunction on Gus' behalf, as he is currently preoccupied with Another Appeal.

It was moved by Miz. B and seconded by Snuggs that Something Be Done. Volunteers were asked for and a list of those volunteers are so noted:

Miz B. will coordinate fundage to be deposited in the Cayman's account and set up an Internet Mail round-robin to advise all her pub-owning friends in the Caribbean about the song and the pledge drive and so forth. If time allows, she may try to take that sea cruise. She will also consult with the Bard Sinister regarding any suggestions of legal representation.

Chad will provide immoral support and definately plans to go on the cruise in an attempt to make contact, also drum up support with clients and crew.

Snuggs will contact the Kitty-Sweet Kat Fud Company in re: grade W "tuna" and also the Rat Rescue people. Miz Kathy will co-ordinate the BFA people.

The Tunettes will write the song, perform it at all their gigs, and use their powers of persuasion to ensure local airplay and start the pledge drive.

Miz Myrtle will provide free medical care if needed and try to switch her vacation around, because she's up for a sea cruise. She will also check on that evidence at the Mendocino Crime Lab via a friend from med school, Son of Quincey.

Respectfully submitted,

snuggs

Anyone wishing to volunteer for any of the above propositions is invited to submit their name, moniker, handle, or nom-de-Interweb thingy in the usual manner.

If there is enough interest in the cruise, we may be able to get a group rate (10 cabin minimum at $450 per person quad occupancy, $200 per person deposit due within 7 days, plus port fees and taxes. Insurance strongly recommended. Final payment due on departure, as date is TBA. Credit cards only. All rates in US fundage). If we do manage to scrape up enough people for a group rate, the travel agent tells me she shall donate half of her commission to the Openshaw Defense Fund. All meals included, plus selected events include free drinks. All other bevvys must be purchased on board.

*Cough* Of course, my carry-on luggage would be extremely heavy and fragile. I shall have to tip the porters accordingly if I decide to go.

In any case, if anyone not in attendance has any helpful suggestions, feel free to bung them in where we can see them.

The Naval Intelligence Game

2004-11-20T19:21:00.000Z

Music Cue: Spanish Flea

Hi, I'm Smarmy Host, and welcome to "The Naval Intelligence Game!" Our newest antagonist hails from Cleveland, Ohio. He's 51 years old and is in command of the swiftest ship in the U.S. Navy, HSV Millard Fillmore. He'd love to tell you about his favorite secrets, but then he'd have to kill you. Giving a whole to meaning to the phrase "naval intelligence," please give it up for Captain James. J. Knucz.

[APPLAUSE]

Thank you for joining us, Captain Knucz. For the record, did I say your name right? As in "Canucks?"

No, actually it's pronounced exactly like "canoes," Smarm.

Oh, sorry, welcome Captain -

It rhymes with "snooze."

Right, sorry, I'll start again - welcome, Captain Knucz. So tell us about this sexy new boat you command -

Ship. It's a ship. A boat can be on a ship, but if a ship's on a boat, call the Coast Guard. And if it's on Knucz, I'm up shit creek without a paddle. Call my doctor. Thank you.

Oh, that's Naval humor is it? Okay then, it's too big to be a boat, so it's a ship. Now in today's game-

See, it's funny because I'm a Navy man, and for me to call the Coast Guard... we just don't do that. That's like the Marines calling the Boy Scouts to ask for help invading Grenada.

Yes, I got that. Right - in today's game we'll ask you some questions about Naval Int-

Also, a boat would get crushed to smithereens by a ship, and that's always funny. When I do it, anyway. But the Board of Inquiry thought otherwise. And canoes - well, I get that all the time.

Ha! Very funny! And now on to today's game at last. You command something called an HSV. What's that? Can you tell us in just a few words?

Smarm, it's a High Speed Vessel. That means it's a very fast ship.

Right. And you use it to, what, fight terrorists? Chase pirates? Yo ho and all that?

We chase suspected drug dealers and perform interdictions, where basically we pull up and point our big guns at them and tell them "We don't want your filthy drugs! Go peddle them on the Internets or something, you dirty rotten stinkers!" Also, we've been liasing with an environmental group while we get the HSV program up to speed. That's more Naval humor, Smarm. Speed.

Wow! That's exciting! Tell me more about those mighty big guns, Captain.

Smarmy, we're packin' heat. We've got a MK 96 w 25mm/40mm stabilized gun; that means it's got stabilizers and things to keep it, uh, stable. When we fire it. Also we've got a MK 45 Snake Eyes machine gun, with an optional MK 19 grenade launcher attachment. It'll stop something the size of a bull elephant, or maybe 5 bull elephants, right in its tracks. If it had feet, and wasn't in the water, I guess. Over to you, Smarmy, I got nothing more about guns.

And how fast can this High Speed Vessel go, Captain?

Smarmy, our top speed is 45 knots. That's 53+ miles per hour, or 85+ kilometers per hour. Our normal operating speed is 30 knots, which is about 34+ miles per hours, or 55+ kilometers per hour.

And how much did this bad boy cost, Captain?

Only about $21 mil, Smarm. The Navy usually gets a bag of hammers and a bosun's whistle for that.

Huh. We'll come back to that later. Captain Knucz, can you tell us anything about your first big mission with the Millard Fillmore? Without stepping on my "I'd have to kill you" joke, that is.

Sure, Smarmy, it's kind of a public relations deal with this anti-whaling outfit called "Bluepeace." They're after some old wharf rat that pissed them off... sorry, can I say that on network? Ticked them off about killing some whales or something, but really we're in it so we can go in and clean out a notorious arms dealer who's active in the area. Don't tell them that part, though, or their lawyers will be on my can because of the non-disclosure... Oh, and, uh, we're performing joint maneuvers with the Tortolan Navy, and providing photographers and an old fashioned fusilade salute for some wing-ding VIP social event they're putting on. We also suspect them of being on the take for all the aforesaid arms dealing and drug running. You could say there's a lot on our plate. But really it's supposed to look like good old red-blooded American sabre-rattling...and public relations and getting the bad guys, of course. Bastards. Can I say that?

Ha! Ha! You salty old sea dog! Captain, this arms dealer - are you taking the men (and possibly women) of the Navy into harm's way? He's probably packing a little of the hot stuff himself, don't you think?

Nothing we can't handle, Smarmy. He's got a bunch of crazy weapons for an extremely specialized niche market - mostly sneaky assassination tools and stealth torpedoes modified to look like biologicals - that's sea life to you, Smarmy. And we suspect he really finances it all with drug-running, because he's got a fleet of Cigarette boats that he and his guys tool around the Caribbean in. They're going to be pretty easy to spot - they're loud and have really garish paint jobs. It'll be a pleasure blowing them out of the water, believe me. We're based in Florida, and those "thunder boats" guys are all alike. 6 o'clock in the morning, tuning up their damn boats sometimes.

Pardon me for saying this, Captain, but aren't Cigarette boats just a little faster than your... High Speed Vessel? I've got a snappy little number they call American Muscle - I'm Smarmy Host, you know, so I have to have a nice ride when I'm down in Boca on hiatus.

Oh, uh, sorry Smarmy, didn't mean to lump you in with a bunch of dirty rotten stinking drug runners with bad hair and garish paint jobs. On their boats, I mean. Sorry. No offense.

None taken, but I think you should know that my little boat goes about twice as fast as the "Millard Fillmore" at about a twentieth of the cost... and the arms dealer guy has probably modified his to be even sweeter on the water than mine is. And believe me, she's a sweet, sweet baby. She can outrun you and outmaneuver you. And that's just with stock engines, not the custom jobs your arms dealer guy's got.

Oh, really? I did not know that.

And that's another episode of "The Naval Intelligence Game!" With us today was U.S. Navy Captain James J. Knucz - ladies, that rhymes with "snooze!" Maybe next week we'll actually get around to playing our game, so until then here's a big "MMMMM-WA!" smooch to everyone out there in television land!

Marriage of Convenience

2004-11-19T21:52:00.000Z

Appearances can be deceiving, my pets. I am quite a foolish old besom but there is something profoundly untrustworthy and venal in Verman's face. I prefer to believe that Sybil is being abducted 'gainst her will and is not the fickle heartbreaker her recent email and engagement announcement would have us believe.

Verman could be using her to get to Gus and to give him a plausible pretext to head in his direction (I expect Interpol has had him under surveillance for some time, as rather a lot of international drug cartel contraband they attempt to trace goes mysteriously missing in his patch of the Caribbean). He simply oozes corruption and greed, and is almost certainly a Bad Hat.

On the other hand, Sybil could be playing a most dangerous game - seeming to go along with the preposterous wedding plans (really, who gets married on a rust-bucketty old frigate these days) in order to get to Gus. And coincidentally, she will be on quite a serviceable rust-bucketty old frigate, absolutey stuffed full of fuel, arms, and the sorts of toys that brighten the eyes of crusty old demolitions and ballistics experts the world over. And if the Toaster of Mass Destruction is up to the task, p'raps Gus may yet be able to defeat the effete Tortolans and take the frigate and go after the whale and of course Sybil would be there too...

*POP!*

Well, that was a lovely pipe dream, wasn't it? Yes, it seems quite hopeless. I shan't give on Sybil until it is absolutely proven that she's an adventuress of the worst sort, but I should hate to be disappointed in her, as I admire her so. It is all too easy for poor dear Gus to assume the worst, but I shall try to keep faith with the dream for a bit longer.

And besides which, Flarq and Thesaurus would never let him get away with simply blowing the whale out of the sea with the application of several tonnes of Tortolan Naval ordnance, so unless the frigate has a rack of antique harpoons below decks, they'll probably refuse to participate in the boarding party. Such charmingly stubborn traditionalits they are, to be sure. So that's another perfectly good outcome gone West.

Dangerous Toasters

2004-11-17T04:34:00.000Z

MADISON, Wis. - A fire alarm set off by smoke in the state Capitol caused an evacuation before firefighters located the source of the problem — a toaster and a singed muffin.

Gus had better be careful. This toaster is armed and dangerous (pardon, another inadvertent limb comment).

Gus Openshaw's Whale-Killing Journal

2004-11-15T22:04:00.000Z

Date: Wed, November 17, 2004

From: queensybilofconch@yahoo.com

To: gusopenshaw@yahoo.com

Subject: us

gus:

sorry, i have to end it with you. i'm no good at letters like this. in any case, the bottom line is: that's it (i realize that in this case that, technically, that was the top line, but whatever).

sybil

Do you Yahoo?
Check out the new Yahoo Front Page www.yahoo.com

The dear Bard thinks this is a coded message, because it's dated 2 days from now. I'm inclined to agree, because I'm sure she was taught better punctuation in princess school.

I Wonder If Dealer Dan Is Involved in this Cocaine Squid Bust...

2004-11-15T21:54:00.000Z

... because what if he kept a few giant squid "on ice" when Sybil ran off to foment revolution in her homeland? Its possible Sybil used them as models for her S-1 prototype, then left them in the freezer.

And if Sybil suspects her email has been wiretapped, she might well be sending coded messages to Gus, as the dear Bard Sinister suspected? This could well be the explanation for her odd responses.

LIMA, Peru (Reuters) - Peruvian police said on Monday they seized nearly 1,540 pounds (700 kg) of cocaine hidden in frozen giant squid bound for Mexico and the United States.

The drugs were covered in pepper to divert sniffer dogs and sealed in several layers of plastic and other wrappers. Police had been on the trail since August.

Seven people were arrested in the drug seizure. Police said the haul would have a street value of about $17.5 million.

Seven people... one of them possibly known in the Armaments World as "Dealer Dan?"

If Pyrates Rrruled the Worrrld, Mateys

2004-11-13T17:19:00.000Z

In some ways, we'd be better off, but there would be quite a lot more parrot droppings. In other ways, we'd be much worse off.

Flarq In a Funq

2004-11-12T16:24:00.000Z

The intrepid crew of the Georgette withdraw in some confusion - they harpooned the wrong whale, apparently, and are now deep into conspiracy theory mode. Meanwhile, they're out of fuel.

And Flarq is deeply contemplative, apparently wondering if his cetacean adversary may be intelligent enough to use feints, misdirection, and squid-marked doubles to draw them all into an ambush.

It's high time they had some R&R, too - but unless a boatload of doxies happens by with several extra barrels of fuel, a happy outcome is unlikely.

Kangaroo Court Justice

2004-11-11T20:44:00.000Z

A while back, dear Gus and I had a 'nexchange about when the kangaroos would start hoppin' around the Tortolan courtroom where his trial in absentia was being held. This was the sort of kangaroo court justice I had in the lumber room that is my mind - complete with judicial marsupial, gavel, robes and all. As you can see, my theory is bourne out - the legal wigs fall off wot with the incessant hoppin' about.

I thank you for your patience in this matter, it has taken some time to resolve this question.

OXO Spatulas: Flip Whales As Well As Pancakes

2004-11-10T18:39:00.000Z

Dear GOD. Now this latest dispatch from a small open boat in the midst of the Caribbean, chasing that BLOODY whale (I trust no pardons are necessary by this point):

Flarq meanwhile retrieved the spatula from the sack. Then he wound up and flung. A strong throw, but flopping end over end, and landing short, unfortunately, on the bastard’s head. But then it skipped forward and fell in the water right smack in front of his eyes. It caught the sun like a flashbulb going off.

Suddenly, it was as if Dickhead had yanked his emergency brake. Then he turned. Not back towards us as we’d hoped though. To his right.

“Even better,” said Thesaurus.

The reason: The bastard’s starboard side was exposed and well within harpoon range.

A long time ago I read a magazine article by this pro rugby player about the perfect pass. This guy not only spent every day of his life practicing so he could come close to throwing it, he spent his nights dreaming about. And he wrote his vision of it, for nine whole pages, how the spiral’d catch the light with each revolution like in a Rembrandt picture, etc., etc., as if he was describing a goddess descending.

I hadn’t thought about that article since, not till Thesaurus loosed the harpoon at the bastard today. It soared so straight and so swift you’d’ve believed one of those gods he’s always praying to had descended and invisibly guided it. The Manila line attached to it sizzled all around the whaleboat like lightning. Then the iron struck, ten or so feet forward of the fin—right where you want it—and lodged in good and firm.

As you’d expect, trying to loose it, the whale leapt up. At once it felt like my heart might do the same.

“Cut the line!” I shouted to Flarq. “We got the wrong whale!”

Will his trials and tribulations never cease? Why no, Socrates, apparently not. I should just like to point out that Stupid George made the sighting. He cried "whale," but he did say there was a B on his noggin. So it's very odd that this whale does not sport the Mark of the Beast What Et The Family And Arm Of Gus.

And now they are down to the brave little toaster as far as anti-whale munitions. I much misdoubt that no matter how well aimed and fired, a sharpened fork can do much against the Terror of Mendocino.

Still, it was a mighty throw of the harpoon. Well done, Thesaurus. And the spatula was well slung as well. Nicely played, Flarq.

Banner Flying, They Set Off Whaleward

2004-11-08T20:22:00.000Z

And so our intrepid crew are all in an open whaleboat, with one harpoon (and a toaster modified to function as a knife launcher) between them for whale-killing weaponry. In a high-tech world, they choose to go non-tech. There's something admirable and noble in the venture... and possibly foolhardy.

There's quite a snappy new banner at the top of Gus' journal that directs new shipmates to begin at the beginning and catch up to current events on and around the (what's the dratted name of the latest vessel? Ah!) Georgette. I fear, however, that new people are being directed to the beginning of a whale-killing yarn nearing its end, for how can they possibly survive this challenge (without hopelessly tangling the narrative threads of said yarn)?

Strangely enough, it seems after all these months we have come to the wickedly sharp point of the tale - hardened, resolute men in a small boat, going out to do battle to the death with Leviathan.

As for their motivations, it's been clear from the beginning that Gus wishes to wreak revenge on the bloodthirsty rogue cetacean what et his limb and kin. The reason why the others are so heavily invested in the enterprise is less obvious.

Flarq and Thesaurus, being old-school whalemen, have a skill-set that has almost become extinct. In fact, they may be some of the very last true harpooners on the globe, other than a few Inuit and Northwestern Pacific Coast indigenes. They simply wish to see the deed done proper and with honor. They are stalwarts in every sense of the word, giving Gus their full support. That is, when they are not believed to be dead and very nearly buried at sea (Flarq has managed to avoid this complication thus far).

Moses is a thrill junkie. For him, it's either this or work as a bouncer on the "Maury Povich" show - even with wretched living conditions, the likelihood of being hung by devout Cetaceanists, and being thrown into the vilest jails in the Caribbean, whaling still has better hours. Plus the tips are, as he says, "da kine."

Duq is handy to have around if you need a psychopath with a cleaver (oh, dear, that was inadvertent. Beg pardon). Bit of a loose cannon in that department (viz. the incident where he tried to cut off some MORE of Gus' arm - see line 1 above also), but in his way reliable. As in, you can always rely on him to go off screaming and waving dangerously sharp cookery implements at the drop of a scrimshaw, so best p'int him in the direction of your enemies before letting gravity get the scriven whale tooth.

Nelson - well, charming rogue though he may be, he is an opportunist. He occasionally seems to be caught up in the spirit of things, but his mind is constantly straying to the main chance, and improving his standing with "the ladies." And, of course, increasing the size of his ever-burgeoning collection of "pix!" I'm not certain, but I think he's only in it for the bragging rights, to lend a hand (just the one now), and possibly for revenge-motivated reasons of his own.

Amongst the human (or near-human) complement, this brings me to Bob. Ha, ha, I jest. This actually brings us to Stupid George. Some how he has managed to both survive and achieve Employee of the Week at least once (silly me, he always survives, it's EOW he's only achieved just once). He appears to fill the role of buffoon - every cruise has to have That Guy that ends up doing all the scutwork jobs. However, he has hopes and aspirations of his own, which is quite comforting in its completely rockheaded way.

And last of all, dear little Bob, whose post-battle convalescence in hospital on Conch enthralled the female shipmates, causing a fair amount of consternation and resentment amongst the human complement of Gus' crew, and tied up the Conchan post office with gifts of pillows and cheese for weeks. Yes, even dear little Bob (AKA "num-nums" according to my estimable barmaid-cum-pub manager snuggs) may yet have a role to play other than simply as a pet for "the ladies" to coo over (but you must admit his widdle pink earses and buttony-wutton nose am very sweet with 'iddums widdle whiskers...URK!)

Pardon. Fortunately, I had an insulin self-injector handy.

So for now they row versus waves that break over the bow of their little craft, fighting the tide, the current, the very movement of the oceans of the earth against them. Indomitable to the last, very stubborn, and fighting for their way of life (such as it is) they go on. So long as Gus can maintain some sort of Interweb thingy connexion, we wait with breath abated (no fish were harmed in the making of this jest).

A parallel Tale: The Life Aquatic

2004-11-04T14:10:00.000Z

How very rococo. There is something all too familiar about this revenger's tale of the shark that et his friend. And it appears that Nelson's doppelganger got some work of it, too. Very nice for him, but we still have to endure the strangely compelling image (now burned on my retinas, alas) of Mr. William Murray, Actor, in a skin-tight silver dive suit. Preening, as only Mr. Murray can do. It nearly made me spit Earl Grey (the tea, my dears, THE TEA) all over my screen. Still, the music is very lively.

Perhaps some Hollywood type has been following the saga of Gus and the whale that et his kid, wife, and arm. Gus could probably get a writer's or adaptation credit.

God Save The Queen

2004-11-02T05:50:00.000Z

I'm feeling rather chuffed about this. It's not often that Her Majesty speaks out, but the issue strikes rather close to matters dear to my heart.

There! 'Nuff said. Hanky, please.

Not Even George Is This Stupid

2004-10-29T01:03:00.000Z

SYRACUSE, N.Y. - A couple who bared themselves during a boat parade for charity last month have been charged with public lewdness.

Troopers used video footage shot by a spectator who attended the Christmas Parade of Boats on the Seneca River to identify Ricky E. Setzer, 34, and Cindy M. Cramer, 29.

Police claim the video shows Cramer topless and wearing a strand of Christmas lights as she spanks Setzer's bare butt.

I should just like to mention that the charity in question was the Special Olympics. What a doody-flop, very bad form.

There is a place and a time for naked spanking hijinks, generally after hours in the racier sorts of adult sporting clubs in Town. But not on a boat, on a crisp fall September evening. Pity she didn't fall in - now THAT would have been a show-stopper.

She's Got A Loverly Pair Of Coconuts

2004-10-27T01:33:00.000Z

She's got a loverly pair of coconuts, doesn't she? I expect chafing is a problem, however. Men never think of this when they picture a beautiful wahine clad only in ti leaves and a coconut bra. It's actually MUCH more comfortable - indeed, quite pleasant and fragrant - to wear dozens of fresh flower lei and omit the coconuts entirely. Ah, the Islands.

The image is from Gus' backup journal - the one where whales don't get killed, but puzzles are occasionally posted for the bedevilment of the whale-saga community.

For She's A Jolly Good Barmaid

2004-10-20T21:11:00.000Z

Taking a page from the playbook of Gus, I should like to announce the Grog Shoppe "Employee of the Quarter." Though it was a difficult decision, the very first honours go to my dear snuggs, for service above and beyond the call of duty (not to mention above the call of "time, gentlemen, please").

She leaps into action arranging, re-arranging, and organizing, and I simply could not do it without her. Not only that, but she runs interference with the McFinsters; I shan't go into much detail but what she as to deal with puts untold levels of meaning into the phrase "damage control."

She has been working extra hard as of late keeping things running smoothly and making sure hopelessly drunk patrons are ~~smartly dragged out to the street in the morning~~ escorted to the curb to await transportation. What with the extremely high number of major and minor debauches lately, it has been a rather exhausting few weeks, and snuggsie (if I may be so bold) has done much of the heavy lifting (that second McFinster is very solidly built).

snuggs is therefore awarded EOQ, along with a n'increase in pay AND paid time for educational, cultural, and spiritooal pursuits (otherwise known as "me time for snuggses"). Also unlimited free massages from Hankules and whatever other personal services Chad the cabana boy may offer (I maintain a strict "don't ask, don't tell" policy there).

In other words, I think the world of you, dear snuggs, but you mustn't be like those Japanese sararimen working themselves to death. You must think of yourself sometime instead of always taking care of everybody else's needs. Though you are certainly indispensible, we can muddle along now and then if you choose to take some yoga classes, visit health spas, and indulge in the pleasanter aspects of New-Agey what-nottery.

Joust: The Facts, Man

2004-10-20T16:40:00.000Z

For the first time I’d seen, Thesaurus was flustered. “This whale ain’t like no other on the Earth,” he said. I suspected he was thinking Bulbus was pulling the strings from on high.

The second boat pulled up alongside us. Flarq too was puzzled. “Whale-Killing 101 ain’t gonna cut it, Captain,” he said. “It don’t cover whales that do the things this one do.”

“Well then let’s have a crash course in 102,” I said, turning the wheel so that we were positioned for another go at Dickhead.

That was unnecessary though. The bastard had slammed on his whale brakes and was turning round for another run at us. I looked to Thesaurus for advice.

“Pray,” he said.

Gus is calling for a radical re-shaping of the Rule of Engagement (Whales, For The Killing Of). He and the others are going at it a bit old-school (traditionalists, all of them. Rather charming and very manly). He has taken care to describe how the harpoons are set up with a mile of hempen line and wrapped around the boat, so that it can be used as a drag but the line can be released easily if the beast dives.

However, the whale is quite the aggressor in this little conflict. It's time for Gus to turn into the fire and charge him, with harpoons lashed to the bow of one of his boats. In order to keep the more fundamentalist of his crew happy, they could perhaps beat time on the side of the boat while Gus hits the throttle and hollers "Ramming speed!"

And then perhaps they should all be ready to leap into the other boat and speed away after ramming the whale with 4 or 5 wickedly sharp harpoons, since the whale will certainly smash the first boat to splinters.

Perhaps the second boat could launch harpoons (ie., deploy conventional whale-killing weapons) before picking them up. Or...

Don't mind me, I'm just an armchair whale-killing jousting match quarterbackess.

Meanwhile, it appears we'd best be ready to host a bash of some sort. But whether it will be a celebration or a consolatory wake remains to be seen.

Mrs. B, Agony Auntie

2004-10-17T02:40:00.000Z

If you have an interesting and not necessarily real problem, please send me an electronic mail thingy and I shall endeavour to reply succinctly and with relative prompitude.

I shan't make any promises about actually giving good advice, mind you. It shall be rather tart and probably hopelessly outmoded, however.

Also it shall probably be rather deeply confused and scatty, but I can't help that.

You may reach me at mrsblubridge AT ruddyamericansonline dot com (otherwise known as AOL). I may also occasionally be reachable by their Instantaneous Messageing service under the same nom de blog.

A Very Palpable Hit

2004-10-17T01:22:00.000Z

Revised Wanted Poster: The Blubbery B. Whale Takes A Palpable Hit From Gus' Harpoon

Action! Harpoons! Actual whaling! Oh, this is so thrilling, I can't tell you, my dears. If this keeps up, the blubbery bass Tod will start to look like an old-school punk rocker from Soho, what with all the scars, piercings, and even tatoos he'll acquire in his long-drawn out battle with Gus.

You can see the harpoon flung so heroically by Gus, sticking out like an old lady's whisker on the far side of his ugly mug. My word, he's got a face like the back end of a London cab, that one. Not one of the new style ones with the ads plastered all over and painted bright un-British colours, I mean the old-school cabs with a big old boot and a rattler of an engine.

Anyway, good job Flarq is there to advise on the next step, meaning to lower away the boats and get the harpooners set and ready to fling. Very exciting, very manly, ripping good yarn and so on.

I think we gels will stay "in" tonight and have a darts competition with the picture of the B. whale, in fact. I believe it might be a kind of sympathetic magick.

Gus Finally Lets Fly

2004-10-15T14:54:00.000Z

The harpoon felt good rushing out of my hand though, and true, and as it arched toward the bastard, it shone in the sun as if destiny was smiling on it—and as you all would agree, if there is any sort of providential scorekeeping, I was due for a miracle strike. My only hope was Bulbus wouldn't have a say.

Huzzah!! Harpoons away at last!

If there is such a thing as a Hail Mary harpoon toss competition, Gus is ready to compete, kitted out in rather natty plaid shorts. His form is quite good in spite of the balance problem presented by the unfortunate loss of his arm (which as we've all been reminded, was et by the whale, along with his wife and kid).

If Gus were ever to lay aside the harpoons and his hatred of all things Cetacean, he might have a decent career as a Paralympian in javelin (Master's Circuit, that is).

And now, may cooler heads prevail, and the next few harpoons be strongly lashed to the brig.

I must say, these exciting "snapshaws" really add oomph to the tail of the whale, Gus, and his crew.

Corporate tax bill would aid Alaskan whaling captains

2004-10-14T20:12:00.000Z

"An obscure measure in the corporate tax bill that the House Ways and Means Committee marked up this week would allow Alaskan whaling captains to deduct up to $10,000 in expenses accrued from hunting."

Actually, my dears, it appears to have passed as of Monday.

However, I don't think Gus qualifies for it.

Duq Gets Underhanded

2004-10-12T16:02:00.000Z

If you look closely, you'll see that Duq is getting ready to bowl his harpoon in Stupid George's direction underhanded, rather like a cricketer.

Interesting technique. I'd have thought overhand (thumb pointing up, fingers curled over the harpoon from the other side) would be a more efficient throwing position.

But what do I know? I am a humble Publicanatrix (not Tory!).

Gus Openshaw�s Whale-Killing Journal

2004-10-11T13:40:00.000Z

Sunday, 10 October 2004 - 3:30 AM ADT

Name: Lifeboat- Little Solace...Somewhere

Captains Log: Weather temperature 70%.10 MPH Winds out of the southeast. Two foot seas...It has only been two days since Capt. Openshaw set me adrift. Seems like 400...I miss the beach of Conch, miss my Bananas,miss the Orangetans...No water,No cheese. My only comapanion is a wayward seagull.fortunately for me, the gull caught a striper and brought it back to the boat to eat. I shood it away, ate half of the fish and then threw it back to the deck, the seagull returned and finished it. I have a short-wave radio thet is barely picking up some radio station called Radio Free Cuba. and the only songs they play are the new Jimmy Buffett Album: License To Chill... Got to go now, They are playing my favorite song from the album- Coastal Confessions... On a personal note... Dear Diary,Fu@#ed again... By the way- Did YOU call me a rat?

Oh, dear little Bob! Since the sinkings were all a ruse, I assume this one is a ruse also.

Very arusing, Bob. Er, "amusing."

And now, time to start cleaning this place up. Fortunately, the foam machine is fully charged.

Wag The Tail Of The Dog

2004-10-11T01:45:00.000Z

Sorry for any unnecessarily expended hankies, shipmates, but the fake entries about our preparation and battle were a necessity. We didn't want Tortolan Admiral Verman, who was reading along with you, to know that we were really weighing anchor and escaping from the other side of Conch.

AUGH!! I mean, HURRAH!!!! In the sense of "Curses, skunked again, but actually I'm quite delighted about it."

If loose lips sink ships, then blabby blogs sink cogs. I should really, really have seen that coming, but when feeling runs high, the oddest rumours can take hold. Viz., any recent news story coming out of the Colonies during this very silly season.

And now, I really must go refill my ice bag, I've got a snorter of a headache after last night's revels. Howsomeever, that's nothing compared to dear smart Ken. I'm afraid he and Senor Gusano Rojo Caballero are not on speaking terms just at the moment.

Right, there's now a pool started, I've got a fiver on Duq.

He That Pays The Piper Calls The Tune

2004-10-10T01:58:00.000Z

Yes, yes, thank you all for coming to the Mother Of All Celebratory Wakes for Gus Openshaw, Presumed Dead, Whose Wife, Kid, and Arm were Et by a Whale. And also for his crew, and possibly also for a brave little rat named Bob, last seen floating around the Caribbean in a breadfruit crate, nibbling on cheese.

In honor of Senor Smart Ken and his nearly limitless supply of Gusano Rojo Caballero, a little dance tune. I shall hitch up me skirts so that you all may admire my fast and fancy footwork.

Gus has led us a merry dance,
with many a twist and surprising reverse;
We who remain must hope for the chance.
that he and the others all live, none the worse.

(The song is actually about a man who is Mexican to his mama, but is fated to be an American. Sorry, Ken, no Canadian-Mexican party music to be found, though I do know of a nice Filipino-Canadian young man that plays a mean accordion).

Ay, que dolor! Ayyyyyyyy!

Last Letter Home

2004-10-09T22:51:00.000Z

And now we'll have a tune from the Irish group. It's about the War Between the States, but it's got cannons in and a last letter home, so bung it in and let's hear it. It's in rather quick waltz time, so we'd best clear chairs out of the way for the dancers (those that aren't under the table already).

By the same group, Olaim Punch/The Pigtown Fling. Rather happier.

Let It Go

2004-10-09T22:38:00.000Z

I'm not sure if this player thingy will work for all, some of us do not do Windows, some do not eat of the Apple. But if you have some form of the Quicktime whatchmagoozle, and you wait for the download, it's time to let it go to the sounds of Bakra Bata.

That'll do to go on with.

Still No Word, We Had Best Prepare For The Worst

2004-10-09T16:24:00.000Z

For what it's worth, I solved the ruddy puzzle, what with all the waiting and worrying.

And the spy satellite shows nothing, either.

I don't expect the Tortolans to mount a very effective rescue operation - ruddy down-at-heel Naval imposters the lot of them - and I doubt the Conchan Shore Rescue have the manpower, since I suspect many of their most senior volunteers are busy drowning in the wreckage of the Anti-Bulbus Counter-Cetationist Task Force.

It's very quiet in the Grog Shoppe, my dears... TOO quiet. So I took the liberty of booking a very nice Celtic group to come in and play. I've asked them to start off with a few suitable laments and sad sea shanties. After a dinner break, they'll come back this evening and play reels and jigs, and we must all try to foot it featly and dance our sorrows into the floorboards.

Those Are Pearls That Were His Eyes

2004-10-08T02:51:00.000Z

No, it can't be... naow, it can't! I won't believe it...

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.

Them Bloomers Is Hot, Hot, Hot!

2004-10-07T03:53:00.000Z

"KINGS MOUNTAIN, N.C. - Two former Sara Lee employees have been charged with embezzling $128,000 worth of bras and panties from the company after merchandise showed up at flea markets, authorities said."

'Ere, wot? Could this mean that the Fleet is running under hot sail? Because surely there were other sources for their motley canvas than the Grog Shoppe's old clothes bin.

Gus had best inspect all the new weapons systems, I'm sure those "double-barrelled catapults for BB-DD shot" are based on cross-your-heart technology.

They'd Best Not Get Their Knickers In A Twist

2004-10-05T02:32:00.000Z

Fortunately, Sybil enacted a draft of all men who’d ever served in the Conch navy. She also commandeered all the island’s battle-worthy brigs. Conch last fought at sea nearly a century ago though. Her efforts netted us five sailors (none younger than eighty, only three of whom could see) plus three rotting schooners, one rotting barquentine, and one frigate where the rot is the strongest part of her hull. Their sails hung limply when at all. With no time to obtain proper canvas, we had to rig them with whatever was laying around: bed sheets, fat ladies’ dresses, whatever.

Egad! That shipment of old clothes and bedding we sent off for hurricane relief to the Islands! It included... *deep blush*

Never mind. Never let it be said that we don't lend every support to the cause... cross my heart and so on.

Truth be told, the old bedsheets went out in that lot: I don't feel so bad about me faded cabbage roses getting shot through and through in a thrilling sea battle. But I am rather at sixes and sevens over me old bloomers going boomers, and that's no mistake.

The Scrimshaw Connection

2004-09-28T17:52:00.000Z

This story makes me wonder how Flarq comes by the ivory he uses for his scrimshaw.

It's Just Like A Story By That Poe Chap

2004-09-28T03:27:00.000Z

People who are supposed to be dead keep popping up quite alive and a little irked that their funerals are are so ill-attended. Fortunately, UNlike a common theme in the collected works of Edgar Allen Poe's, no one was actually buried alive, or to be accurate, buried at sea alive. Even without Stupid George sewed to the deadcaul, it's a positive development.

In other words, it's time to loose the cats of joy again, for Thesaurus was only mostly dead. Huzzah!

Of course, the really interesting thing is that all of the crew (and a valiant and fully recovered Bob) are sitting on a rented schooner a few hundred yards offshore, ostensibly performing the traditional "sailor's last rites." But in actuality, they're gossiping about Sybil, theoretical Conchan virgins,* and whether the palace chef might meet with a convenient work-related fatal injury. So now Gus has the old whaler's problem to consider: follow the dangerous whale-road, or opt for the cushy berth ashore.

In Owyhee, in old Mowee to be exact, the old-time whalers used to raise hell and generally be rips and tearaways with the local girls. Eventually, each man (and indeed, each skipper) would have to decide whether to follow the whales back to the frozen, icy North to their feeding grounds each season, or stay in the warm, seductive tropical climes and eat coconuts and breadfruit all winter. In the local lingo, mauka means "toward the mountains" and makai means "toward the sea." To this day if you ask for directions in the charming dear Islands, instead of "turn right" or "go east" you might hear "At the junction go makai, then turn right and go mauka at the big church."
So we wait with bated breath (I'm not falling for that one again, dear Bard) to see which way he'll go. Mauka, or makai?

*Nelson - ever the eternal optimist - is obviously still in recruitment mode.

Statistics: Piracy and Armed Robbery at Sea, 1996-2002

2004-09-27T18:28:00.000Z

I expect there will be a very large uptick when the raw data from Gus' expedition are considered.