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  • #2402

    “What?” The Majorburgmester of Peasland almost laughed of surprise at the incongruity of Fwick con Troll’s idea. “You’re telling that this…”

    “Little spider, yes”
    “Contains a potent venom that could wipe the blubbits off the face of Peasland?”
    “Absolutely, dear Majorburgmester”
    “Are you out of your Fwicking mind, Fwick? What breading this nasty spider could possibly bring us any better than a plague of crop-eating blubbits in rut?”
    “I was actually talking of breeding them, sir” Fwick objected
    The Mayor continued unperturbed “Besides, we already have our fierce constable Stoll drill the mythic Eight Dimension for answers.”
    “That would be placing a lot of trust in that foolish venture, I’m afraid to say, Majorburgmester. To date, very few people have managed to return safely.”
    “Oh, who cares if they ever bloody come back Fwick! Come on! All we need to do is extort the answers from his spouse who’s kept all their heads in a safe place, I have no doubt of that.”
    “Well… I wouldn’t place my head on this bet if I were you…”

    “Ah, bugger off then with your stinking spider, and do your bloody experiments… As long as it doesn’t involve my name, and especially in case any misguided and sad assassination should occur, ahahaha. I’m joking of course.” The Mayor’s face (which was framed and hanged on the wall of the Majorburgmester Hall’s main office) suddenly shut any hint of humanity that could have been left on it.

    #2394

    The poor Peaslanders were utterly disoriented by the blatant lack of sense in the Eighth Dimension. It was such a blessing they had for most of them already lost their head, kept safe by a dear member of the family.

    Once in front of them, the glowing figure uttered ominously:

    “opened everyone eye ball,
    Worserversity nonsense portal deep
    sheila Elizabeth bird gone surprise
    come speak thread
    face cat Godfrey later create”

    And then the figure disappeared in a fit of oink oink’s.

    “I think it’s her shoes that make the strange sucking sounds in the mud” aptly remarked little Pickel.
    “How come you know it was a ‘her’, it could have been a cloud as far as I know…” retorted Autie Toot who never got a chance to get a good look, with her head upside down in her arms.

    “Silence!” ordered Pee Stoll more raucously than he had wished to “We need to concentrate! This riddle may be the clue to the plague of blubbits, can’t you see?!”
    “Well… It’s not that easy, you know” Auntie Looh objected sheepishly, while still struggling with her garments as well as with her head.

    “I think it’s fairly simple” ventured S’illy (whom nobody ever listened to, probably owing to her tender age as well as her melodious voice) “We got to find the Worseversity, they probably have worked on a cure; our contacts there will be a sheila called Elizabeth… and a Godfrey will provide a cat to eat the bird and put us back to our dimension…”

    “Darn riddle!” sweared Pee furiously who hadn’t paid any attention “It’s probably just another bunch of nonsense!”
    “I guess we’ll just go anywhere then!” merrily suggested the Aunts each going in opposite directions while the bird rolled its eyes.

    #2391

    “Well, bugger all that good sense my lads! Eighties, here we come!” Pee Stoll exclaimed (quite bravely we shall say, although a bit foolhardily) after the bird’s singing had opened the Old Portal in front of them.

    “Maybe we’ll soon learn how to cure Peasland of our blubbits misery!” sighed Auntie Looh —short for Dolores (de la Cabeza).
    “Well, good thinking you’ve got me to remember anything of the cure, if it exists at all!” snickered Auntie Toot —short for Patou (Mac Assar, née Patou Tsweet).

    Seeing his aunts started for another longwinded and pointless argument, Pickel took his S’illy sister by the hand, and jumped headfirst (in a manner of speaking) into the transparent liquid film which had appeared at the birds’ summoning.
    Pee seeing that he could not place it any politer, kicked the ladies’ way through the Buttal… err Pothole, aaah Portal! then followed with the bird which closed the gate again, leaving Bentworth Sadnick all panting at the unusual and exhausting amount of activity the day had brought to him.

    #2390

    Before Josephine passed away in a pharting spell for worlds better, she uttered a meaningful sentence which sadly went lost to cataleptic Almondus’ ears, but not to everyone.
    She indeed briefly uttered in a last rattle: “Soon it shall all make perfect sense,… soooon.”

    A mysterious sentence to which the unwitting eavesdropper, covered in blubbits pelts, couldn’t help but fancifully (and equally mysteriously) add “…sense my posterior”.

    #2384

    The pop-corn rain usually laid a crunchy crusty yellow blanket on the lands of Peasland, a mild contrast with the pea-green tint of the lands in the season of Spea’ing.
    In late Summer, New Peasland’s weather used to be the season of subs-tractors, big-wheeled vehicles which harvested the blown up corn of the fields, one of the rare alternatives to pea soup and marmite. Sadly, with all the blubbits around, hardly a few popcorns were left for the noble people of Peasland to eat, spread in muddied pools tainted of blubbits poohs.

    “This has to cease!” Pee Stoll muttered after another raucous gurgling of his belly. The great portal of Nibabuz was a few days walk, and they would need all their strength to get there. Blessed was his dear Penelope, who’s been gleaning the few edible popcorn from the last shower and was feeding their heads on the mantelpiece.

    #2383

    SOON IT WILL BE REVEALED!” thundered Pickel.

    The others, after recovering from their shock, looked at Pickel in surprise.

    “What are you on about boy?” asked Pee.

    Pickel was as confused as the others. “I don’t know,” he stammered. “It just came from .. no where…”

    “Well keep it down will you, you will scare the bird we are taking to the Keeper of the Portal, whose name eludes me but he has a long beard and is old and arthritic, in order to get the bird to sing 4 notes, no more and no less, in order to open the portal and get to ED and save New Peasland from the plague of the Blubbits.”

    Pee was feeling a need to clarify. Not for the first time he was wondering if volunteering for this dangerous mission had been wise. He fortified himself with the thought of Mungibbs.

    “What are Mungibbs, Daddy?” asked Silly.

    Pickel was quiet. He could feel the silver object burning a hole in his pocket.

    #2381

    Almost unperturbed by the sudden distraction coming from the remarkably head-in-the-clouds Doily, despite her seemingly headlessness-lessness, and applying instead his famous adage, Better stick to one’s own nonsense than follow another’s Mewrich thundered “Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll explain about the beard, so that we can all get back to our business, and you out to your quest (and off my home)”.

    “Yes! Will you finally tell us about the bird, the notes, and all that buggery to get to that Eighth dimension and vanquish the darn blubbits invasion!” Pee Stoll almost cried out.

    Carefully, Mewrich reached out for a tiny peacock in his aviary, a poor thing which was plucking its feathers after all that noise, that he may as well have chosen at random from the menagerie.
    “Take this bird, and make it sing four notes, I said FOUR! not one more, not one less! in front of the great portal of Nibabuz and you should be able to get past the old Keeper… JUST DON’T try to interrupt me, by the coils of the great Snakipooh, you rude tart!” “You have to get past the Keeper, but he’s old and a bit arthritic, so all you’ve got to do is have him walk on his beard, and get past him.”

    Dolores was about to add a little flourish, but all of them, the headless Stoll family, and Doily’s eccentric entourage where ushered out of the cave by the angered Saucerer. And every Peaslander knew you wouldn’t anger a Saucerer without having to deal with dreadful consequences. The green wig of Dolores being probably the remnant of one of these consequences.

    #2376

    “Now, steady on, folks! There’s no need to be rushing headlong into this, I think a little tete a tete is in order here before we all lose our heads completely.” Aunt Dolores de la Cabeza had arrived unexpectedly, and not a moment too soon. “Possibly a tad too late” she muttered, glancing around at the headless New Peaslanders and Saucerers. “This is a fine pickle, I must say.”

    Pickel beamed at his aunt. “Oh, I don’t mean you, you silly boy!” Dolores chucked him under the chin affectionately, except that he had no chin. “You’re a chinless wonder, m’lad”

    “I’m a girl, not a boy, Aunt Dolores” piped up Sis Lilly.

    “is that a fact, young lady? And since when do girls have blubbits in their knickers, hmmm?” replied Dolores tartly.

    Lilly started to cry. Well, Dolores assumed she was crying, although she wasn’t quite sure how she knew that. “A fine pickle indeed” she repeated, frowning.

    Pickel flushed with pride.

    :yahoo_blushing:

    #2363

    Fwick con Troll, one of the great Wartlocks of Mungibbs, was quite preoccupied with the situation. This sudden abundance of blubbits was no doubt an evil craft at work.

    Fwick wasn’t extraordinarily enthralled at the Majorburgmester’s idea to send someone through the Eight Portal, as for one, it was quite an antiquated piece of technology which had not been used since the Great Influence of Haitian Henwan, and second, people from the eighth dimension weren’t really easy people to follow.
    Shaped as a big eight, the portal also had some secondary effects of twisting one’s minds into loops of endless wonderment and bedazzlement. Surely no New Pealander in his own mind would dare succumb to these effects so alien to their culture.

    Nevertheless, he was a bit short of ideas, as most of his spells had failed miserably at evicting the thriving blubbits. He was lost in these thoughts when a frantic barking resounded at his door.

    #2360

    Gnarfle was dribbling all over at the thought of all these tasty blubbits.

    #2354

    There was trouble in New Peasland. A plague of hungry blubbits had wiped out the pea crops. Peas being the main staple in New Peasland, usually mixed with marmite and made into a tasty sauce, meant that the future looked grim for the increasingly hungry New Peaslanders.

    In desperation it was decided to send a volunteer through the portal to the Eigth dimension, where it was rumoured that the inhabitants were kind hearted but rather directionless and random, and would no doubt be happy to be given some pea producing purpose.

    #2347

    Ann realized she was late for her Flimsy Unravelled Continuity Knowledge class. A couple of months late, in point of fact, as Worserversity classes had resumed two months previously.

    “Where have you BEEN?” Lavender whispered as Ann slid as inconspicuously as possible into the seat beside her, while the professor at the front of the class was facing the blueboard.

    “Do I know you?” asked Ann, with a puzzled expression. The girl beside her did look vaguely familiar.

    “Oh how rude you are, Ann. Are you trying to be funny?”

    “Oh no, not at all!” Ann’s eyes filled with tears.

    Lavender frowned. It wasn’t like Ann to start blarting and blubbering in public. “What’s the matter?” she asked kindly.

    “I’ve lost my memory!” exclaimed Ann. “I can’t remember a thing!”

    “Oh, is that all,” replied Lavender dismissively. “I’d have thought you’d be used to that by now.”

    “No, no, you don’t understand! I can’t remember anything at all now, it’s all gone, poof! Gone!” Ann wept and started to wring her hands.

    “Well the first thing you need to do is stop that bloody snivelling and wipe your nose. Here” she said, handing Ann a tissue. “And the next thing you need to do is stop worrying about it, and just fake it until you get your memory back. Worrying about it won’t help, you must focus on the things you do remember.”

    “But it’s all jumbled up and muddled in my head, I remember bits, you know? But I can’t fit them all together. I CAN’T FIT THEM ALL TOGETHER!”

    SHHH!” snapped Lavender. “Try not to draw any attention to yourself! I’ll help you, don’t worry.”

    “You’re so kind” Ann smiled weakly. “What did you say your name was?”

    “Lavender. My name is Lavender, and I’m going to help you remember. Just remember this, for now: what you can’t remember, don’t worry about, the important thing is to carry on. Just CARRY ON REGARDLESS, ok?”

    “OK.” Ann sighed with releif. “What’s the Professor going on about?”

    “The next assignment. We’re to read that cryptic old classic book Circle of Eights and try to decipher it.”

    “Good greif! Nobody has ever managed to decipher that book!”

    “You see?” said Lavender. “You can remember that! Well done, girl!”

    #102
    ÉricÉric
    Keymaster

      This is a new game: choose from the current random comment, and its following comments, and only deleting some words, sentences, letters, bits here and there… let a different story be written. You have to incorporate at least a few words from each comment you’re passing through. Only one daily entry per writer (reusing another writer’s current random thread is allowed though taking turns is encouraged), so that it keeps weaving a new story. Of course, if you don’t like the rules, you can play in other threads instead. Don’t forget this is the Del’Eight thread, where DEL is key.

      #1664 Elizabeth was beginning to realize that there WAS no road.
      Whenever she found herself following another, she didn’t want it.
      Perhaps it was rough and coarse, plain and functional. Some were together somehow.

      It really was the most fabulously absorbing babbling,…

      “How long now?”

      Yann couldn’t help but laugh. She would choose… some of them are so slippery…

      SPLASH! warmly as Flove was.

      #2754
      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        Found out by Tracy after I sent her that article about a lost book by Carl G. Jung

        Random daily group story quote:

        “What is that?” she asks. “It doesn’t come from The Book, does it?”
        “Well, our best team of psychic archaeologists just got it retrieved from purported old discarded bits in the Crypt.”
        “of…? You mean… apocryphal part of The Book? Are you serious?”
        “Quite possible, you see. Do you know what’s the ancient meaning behind that word ‘apocryphal’?”
        “You tell me.”
        “‘those having been hidden away’… But the intricacy of this reality makes it possible for us, in the future of The Book, to re-insert it directly into the past.”
        “So they’re no longer ‘apocryphal’…”
        “You could look them up actually, and perhaps you’ll find even the part where they’re speaking about us finding it even…”

        Oct 19th 2008

        #2629

        In reply to: Strings of Nines

        “Oops, I got me directions wrong again” said Gloria, “I think we’re a trifle overdressed. I weren’t aiming fer the nudist beach, I was aiming fer the prehistoric cairns.”

        “Trust you to land us ‘ere, Glor!” Sharon replied, averting her eyes from the spectacle or milk bottle white flesh and unappetizing dangly bits. “Speaking of tea bags, I fancy a nice cuppa.”

        :yahoo_coffee:

        “No bloody tea bag icon” grumbled Gloria.

        #2245

        “One liked rabbits and the other liked fish
        And they all went rowing in a pink plastic dish.”

        How’s that?” suggested Heliotrope helpfully.

        #2610

        In reply to: Strings of Nines

        TracyTracy
        Participant

          “Oh bloody hell Tina, you daft tart” Becky said when she’d finished wiping pistachio green specks of sputum off her cheek. “You’re in the wrong place! Well, never mind, now you’re here, what rhymes with fish? Listen to this so far:

          Sputum & Pistachio, Editors At Large
          Lived on the river in an old blue barge
          One liked rabbits and the other liked fish….”

          #2243

          What would be a good last line? asked Harvey.

          What for? Lavender was distracted.

          I am going to try my hand at creative writing. Seeing as I can’t do my nose lifting any more. So listen:

          Sputum & Pistachio, Editors At Large
          Lived on the river in an old blue barge
          One liked rabbits and the other liked fish

          What do you reckon?

          doesn’t bloody matter they all make a tasty dish, suggested Lavender

          #2242
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            Sputum & Pistachio, Editors At Large
            Lived on the river in an old blue barge
            One liked rabbits and the other liked fish

            :yahoo_thinking:

            #2547

            In reply to: Strings of Nines

            TracyTracy
            Participant

              Ann wasn’t altogether sure what Godfrey meant when he referred to her new interest in continuity. Ann had always been interested in connecting links, yes, of that there was no doubt, but with so very many connecting links, and so many possible strings of connecting links, with so many possible divergences into yet more strings of connecting links, Ann really couldn’t fathom how anyone could possibly keep track of all those threads of continuity. Even a seemingly discontinuous assortment of unconnected links, once connected into a nonsense thread, became another continuity string. Furthermore, Ann continued ~ in a continuous fashion ~ to ponder, if everything is connected, then what, in actuality, was all the fuss about continuity? What exactly then WAS this concept of continuity? It seemed to Ann to be more like a string of barbed wire, or one of those flimsy but effective electric wire fences, boxing in the free flow of continuity, so that the objectively perceived continuity stayed rigidly within the confines of the preconceived tale. The inner landscape knew no such boundaries, although admittedly the inner landscape was far too vast to map.

              Ann smiled to herself as she imagined trying to push pins into various inner landscape locations, tying strings from one to another, in an effort to map and label the inner continuity connections. Of course she was imagining it in a visual manner, because it was hard to imagine all those connections and strings being invisible and not taking up any space, and before long Ann’s inner map of pins and strings quickly resembled a tangle of overcooked spaghetti, perilously speckled with sharp pointy pins.

              The image of the glutinous tangle dotted with sharp shiny pointers led Ann off on another tangent, but it was a tangent that soon became utter nonsense. Or was it, she mused. Perhaps it was those symbolically sharp pointy bits that in fact pointed out the immense variety of potential other continuity threads to choose from. Indeed, it could easily be said that having one of her characters dumped in Siberia in the previous story, painful though it was, was not unlike being pricked by a pin amidst the tangle of sticky pasta, a brilliantly effective pointer towards unlimited new directions.

              Whichever way she looked at it (and Ann was aware that she might have gone down a side string) she simply couldn’t comprehend how anyone on this side of the veil could possibly even begin to understand the ramifications of the concept of continuity at all. Or how there could ever conceivably be a lack of it.

              What was really intriguing Ann at this particular juncture of the experimental exploration of the story was the concept of the World View Library. This wasn’t unconnected to the continuity issue, far from it, it was all tied in (Ann sniggered at the unintentional pun) and connected. There were any infinite amount of potential continuity threads leading from, say, one persons desire or intent, to a particular world view in the library.

              AHA shouted Ann, who at that moment had an ‘aha’ moment. Pfft, it’s gone, she sighed moments later.

              Ann tried to catch the wisp of an idea that had flitted through her awareness. She had a visual impression of the library, endlessly vast and marvellously grand, with countless blindfolded characters dashing through, grabbing random pages or sentences, bumping into each other, snatching at phrases willy nilly, dropping notes along the way, and racing back out again into the ether. A stray thought here, a picture there, a name or a date, all on separate bits of crumbled paper clutched in the sweaty palms of the blindfolded characters as they rushed headlong back to their own realities to proudly share the new clues. Like magpies they were, snatching at anything that glittered brightly enough.

              :magpie: :magpie: :magpie: :magpie: :magpie: :magpie:

              “I thought you said they were blindfolded?” interrupted Franlise.

              Ann ignored the interruption, and continued ~ in a continuous fashion ~ to ponder the imagery of the library.

              What the undisciplined purloiners of random snatches didn’t notice on their pell-mell excursions into the library were the characters in the library who weren’t wearing blindfolds. They smiled down from the galleries, calmly watching from above the mayhem that the news of the unlimited library access had occasioned, chortling at the scenes of chaos below. They smiled indulgently, for they too had first visited the library blindfolded, snatching at this and that, and racing home again to inspect the booty; they too had fretted and pondered over the enigmas of the incomplete snippets. Eventually (or not, it was after all a choice), they had bravely removed the blindfolds, slowed the mad race into a sedate stroll through the library, opened their eyes and looked around, sure of the way back home now, and not in a desperate hurry to blast in, snatch anything, and run back home.

              After awhile, they began to realize that all the enchanting glittering jewels scattered around to catch their eye would still be there later, there was no urgency to grab them all at once ~ although, as Ann reminded herself, that too was a choice ~ some may well choose to be eternally snatching at glittering jewels.

              Ann frowned slightly and wondered if she’d lost the thread altogether, and then decided that it didn’t matter if she had.

              It was a choice, therefore, to remove ones blindfold, and stroll through the library ~ a choice to perhaps choose a book, sit down at a polished oak table and open it, a choice to stay and read the book, rather than ripping out a page and dashing back home. That would be one choice of continuity, a coming together of strings.

              Ann wondered whether that would then be called a cable, or a rope ~ well perhaps not a rope, she decided, that had other associations entirely ~ but a cable, yes, that had associations of reliable and regular communications. There were always strings of continuity, then, strings of connecting links, between anything and everything, but when one stopped dashing about clutching at the sparkley bits, one might form a cable.

              Or not, of course. Thin strings of continuity and connections were not ‘less than’ thick cables of reliable and regular communications. It has to be said though, Ann reluctantly admitted, that thick cables often made more sense.

              She decided to hit send before embarking on a pondering of the meaning of Sense.

            Viewing 20 results - 101 through 120 (of 155 total)