The men stepped off the machine almost delicate deliberation, he had a sharp canine face betrayed only by a weak chin which struggled to hold the tight leather strap of his pith helmet.
The men stepped off the machine almost delicate deliberation, he had a sharp canine face betrayed only by a weak chin which struggled to hold the tight leather strap of his pith helmet.
Last edited by tonywalt; 09-24-2012 at 09:33 PM.
He held a peculiar device in his hand, that anyone from the 17th century would have easily recognized, but was unknown by all those around.
Les Miserables,
Volume 1, Fifth Book, Chapter 3
Remember this, my friends: there are no such things as bad plants or bad men. There are only bad cultivators.
It was a smooth bore rifle which he inherited from his Great-Grandfather and had plans to hunt crocodiles lingering on the banks of the tobacco stained river which flowed like a well fed serpent towards the sea.
However, on his wrist was something that no one before the 21st century could ever identify.
Les Miserables,
Volume 1, Fifth Book, Chapter 3
Remember this, my friends: there are no such things as bad plants or bad men. There are only bad cultivators.
It was a small waterproof monitor as he planned to watch his aggressive "hearts and minds" television campaign shown nightly on the 5 state owned channels and funded by the advertisements of "Stopeen"(a bladder control tablet) and "Moo Thunder" beer - an irony that would fly effortlessly over the heads of the viewers.
The best way to describe the new governor's personality was that he looked like a person constantly posing for a photograph nobody is taking.
…and now we pause for station identification.
The Hollywood of Roy Rogers’ day was more squeamish about sexual promiscuity than it is today, and the FCC policed the airwaves with the evangelical zeal of a tent-revival preacher, so whenever the action started getting too steamy, they’d cut to commercial and show next week’s coming attractions (^perhaps of a Steam Punk production on the Sci-Fi Channel) and then they’d try to sell you something.
Shoes for instance:
or lounge wear:
or cooking utensils:
Then they'd fast forward to the next morning, when...
Crazy Delores and Royrogers were sitting out on the patio, enjoying a beautiful spring morning - birds chirping, sun shining, leaves gently rustling in the trees - she in her pink bunny slippers and silk kimono, and he in his Tony Lamas, Lone Star boxers, and Stetson.
Delores nibbled a croissant and sipped elderberry tea, "Roy, my darling, shall I pour you a cup of tea?"
Royrogers meanwhile was having his favorite breakfast: a pound of bacon, a dozen eggs, a loaf of toast, and a pot of coffee. The coffee he filtered the cowboy way - through his teeth. "Why no thank you, my little yellow rose, I'm all set." It seemed to Roy that Delores's eyes were diamonds that sparkled like the dew.
Neither of the two lovers could remember ever being so content. All was right with the world. They smiled warmly at each other and then gazed out on an idyllic little meadow where a small herd of goats grazed and playfully butted their heads together, but then something caught their attention, a movement in the tree line at the far end of the meadow…
(Dang it! I blew the deal again. It appears that El Sancho is a recidivist violator of the one-sentence rule. I'll try to do better in the future. I don’t want to be bad. I want to be good. Yes, good. I’ll try to be good next time…Ah-hem, but I may need to use a bunch of semicolons.)
Uhhhh...
(That's ok Sancho- forget about the one sentence room)
Governor Antoni's had the servants tuck his luggage into the hotel sized house and took the golf cart down to dinner with a group the Outstanding Citizens of South Bongo Award winners. There were seven other people at the Table, all living in Oingo, South Bongo, with the conspicuous exception of Paula Pratt from the Gold Coast. Besides Antonini, there are 3 women and 4 men. The men are completely silent except on the subjects of golf, business, capital gains tax, and the legalities of getting stuff through customs. The women carried the conversational ball.
The night was hot with the type of heat one feels when opening a mircrowave popcorn bag. The front veranda was fronted by six bodyguards (all LL Bean model types, who spent weeks every year hunting animals not quite on he endangered species list, but certainly next on the list). The Rebel movement was hanging on by a thread, but a certain menace hung in the air as if buoyed by the humidity of the place.
Last edited by tonywalt; 09-29-2012 at 12:52 PM.
(Well thanks, Tony. The one-sentence rule was leaning on me, like a debt collector of Sicilian descent. Also, I will point out that you and I appear to be telling totally different stories. Unless, of course, what we’re doing is a weave – where two seemingly unrelated story lines go back and forth until, shazam, it all comes together. Hmmm.)
Roy’s focus remained on the tree line at the other end of the pasture as he said to Delores, “Sweetie-pie, can you fetch me my buffalo gun? I think there’s a big-game safari over there, fixin’ to draw down on your goats.”
But he was too late. Crazy Delores had already chambered a .460 magnum cartridge into her Weatherby Mark V Elephant rifle and was in the process of dialing a wind correction into her scope. She raised the rifle to her shoulder, squinted into the scope, steadied her breathing, and said to Roy, “I’m aiming for that fat bastard in the pith helmet.” Delores had always considered herself a friend of the animal kingdom.
Roy said, “Aim high, Sugar Lips, maybe you can just scare ‘em.”
Delores sighed and then adjusted her aim point to a tree branch just above the fat bastard’s head. “Roy, you’re not going to believe this, but that gumbah’s wearing a Spiro’s-my-Hero button on his lapel.”
“Shoot to kill, Muffin.”
Uhhhh...
Well that's where this type of game goes awry. There are kids on here that weren't even born when Spiro Agnew was around, let alone Roy Rogers. They are more likely to identify with aliens, batman, vampires etc. rendering any continuity impossible.Originally Posted by Sancho
"L'art de la statistique est de tirer des conclusions erronèes a partir de chiffres exacts." Napoléon Bonaparte.
"Je crois que beaucoup de gens sont dans cet état d’esprit: au fond, ils ne sentent pas concernés par l’Histoire. Mais pourtant, de temps à autre, l’Histoire pose sa main sur eux." Michel Houellebecq.
Pardon me my friend, but I for one was not around when either of those two were, and I have no clue who they were. But there is this marvelous device called the internet that we have nowadays, which allows me to easily find out who they were and thus follow the story with only extremely minor delays.
Very good, Emil!
I was going to go with Mitt’s our Twit, but we’re supposed to steer clear of politics on this website, so I figured the ’68 election was far enough in the past to count as history, not politics. At any rate, I was only trying to get at the type of character that would shoot an endangered species (or in this case, shoot a goat, thinking it was an endangered species).
Uhhhh...
Antonini was Nixonian* in behaviour, although he starting out idealistically,
*Ironically Antonini's family had ties to Richard Nixon and had stayed at the Maryland home of Spiro Agnew on trips to Washington D.C. The family remained fiercely loyal to both Nixon and Agnew long after both resigned in disgrace.
The mole from page three poked out of a different hole and found himself in a box. He began to break down one of the walls (possibly the fourth one). 'I have no idea whats happening' he said to nobody in particular, as he continued hammering away at the wall.
I was not referring to you specifically as there are a number of young members on the forum but, Google notwithstanding, there is bound to be a difference in mindset when time specified subjects are incorporated into the text.
Yes it did occur to me that you were trying to avoid the 'no politics' rule but wasn't Roy Rogers a republican?Very good, Emil!
I was going to go with Mitt’s our Twit, but we’re supposed to steer clear of politics on this website, so I figured the ’68 election was far enough in the past to count as history, not politics. At any rate, I was only trying to get at the type of character that would shoot an endangered species (or in this case, shoot a goat, thinking it was an endangered species).
Last edited by Emil Miller; 09-30-2012 at 06:09 AM.
"L'art de la statistique est de tirer des conclusions erronèes a partir de chiffres exacts." Napoléon Bonaparte.
"Je crois que beaucoup de gens sont dans cet état d’esprit: au fond, ils ne sentent pas concernés par l’Histoire. Mais pourtant, de temps à autre, l’Histoire pose sa main sur eux." Michel Houellebecq.
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