Continue the story...

[martunia99]

I used to play this game is school when I was younger and I loved it. It's great fun. Basically everyone is writing a long group story. One person starts off with a sentance. The next person writes another sentance and continues the story and so on. I'll start:
Once upon a time in a land covered with forests lived a girl who was different then the rest of her people...

[Volya]

A meteor landed in the forest and killed her...




I kid xD

However just how she was different, nobody knew; nobody that is, except for her parents. The secret was closely guarded by the royal family...

[lilimarlene]

.....

[martunia99]

Her people cried terribly but then something crawled out of the meteor...

[Calidore]

Heh. Martunia, I don't think you read all the way down. Do you really want to go with that first line?

[tonywalt]

He rose slowly to his feet and slouched towards the crowd slowly, his eyes blazing.

[cacian]

The fisrt thought that came to his mind was 'holy day where am I'?

[Sancho]

The second thought that came to his mind was, ‘Holy crap! My gender keeps changing! I used to just be a girl in a forest with a secret.’

[tonywalt]

He squinted at the image of animated people bearing down all round him.

[cacian]

He decided he might be dreaming so he pinched himself.

[Volya]

'Ow that hurt' he said to himself.

(PS, it would appear nobody bothered to read further than my first sentence xD )

[tonywalt]

(We have tried this story line before and it just get's hi-jacked. Usually through "and then he/she woke up" type devices.

[Sancho]

He momentarily inspected the welt rising from his forearm in the exact place where he’d pinched himself and decided that he was indeed awake, and he further decided that he needed to do something pretty quickly because the mob was approaching – and they were not happy.

[Emil Miller]

"I say you fellows, what's making you look so unhappy?" He said sympathetically.

[Volya]

'Your meteor landed on our mayor!!!!' a large man in the crowd yelled angrily.

[Sancho]

A small statured woman, brandishing what appeared to be a spatula, stepped from behind the large man and confirmed his story, “Your meteor smashed our mayor, Marjorie, and now it’s payback time, you maggot!”

[Volya]

The mob approached menacingly, all of them brandishing some sort of kitchen utensil as a weapon.

[Emil Miller]

"Don't call me Marjorie," he replied, "and besides, it wasn't a meteor but a US drone."

[Sancho]

The woman momentarily wore the sort of perplexed expression that C-minus students are good at, but then her look hardened and she said, "No, you idiot, I meant our mayor's name was...oh never mind..." she then slapped her thigh with the spatula and pointed it at the man for emphasis, "and another thing, Buster, Marjorie was a lot of things, but she weren't no Al Qaeda."

[tonywalt]

Antoni's nervous chuckle was interrupted by the sight of Ann walking through the crowd with slow thighed confidence and his mind turned back 4 years ago before the war had begun.

[Sancho]

Antoni thought back to that time when unholy bands of wild men ran freely in the forest, robbing and raping, when women and children stayed hidden for fear of enslavement and good men died like dogs in the dirt, a time when people would dial 411 for information they could easily look up on their own; it was the time before Marjorie had come to power.

[Emil Miller]

Now Marjorie Marjoribanks had complete control and ordered the foremost members of the tribe to join a website devoted to literature where they could discuss memes and tropes and even talk about books.

[Sancho]

Her theory was: if the tribal leaders spent their days discussing literature and literary devices (but not politics), the wild men of the forest would likely mimic their behavior, which would leave them little time for robbing and raping - this was all working stupendously until the village picnic when a Predator Drone flew over and unleashed a couple of Hellfire Missiles, reducing Marjorie to a smoking hole.

[Volya]

It would appear that the man had been riding on one of the Hellfire Missiles as it came down, and had miraculously arrived unscathed, save for some singed eyebrows. The Fat Mayor Marjorie had cushioned most of his fall. Sadly she had sacrificed her life to save this stranger.

The crowd began to notice a vague mumbling noise coming from the crater. A mole popped his head up and began to talk....

[Sancho]

...his nose twitched a couple of times and then he addressed the mob, "Hey man, any of yous seen my Cheez Whiz?"

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

…and my cowboy hat? (in a voice that was the spitt’n image of Slim Pickens)
I was wav’n it around, hoot’n and hollerin as I straddled that Hellfire down to this frozen steppe.
My pologies for putt’n the veto on your Mayor, but we best git this bloody goo shoveled up ‘fore the wolves pick up the scent.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wcW_Ygs6hm0

[Calidore]

…and my cowboy hat? (in a voice that was the spitt’n image of Slim Pickens)

That's exactly what I was picturing. :cheers2:

[Sancho]

"Whoa!" Said the mole, and he rolled his eyes as best he could for an animal with beady little eyes. "Talk about a trope! Or is that a meme? I can't remember which is which."

[Emil Miller]

This fazed the tribe because if a mole couldn't distinguish between memes and tropes why bother with them at all ? The tribe, casting all pretension aside, began to run riot over the website; talking of Dan Brown, Harry Potter and Fifty Shades of Gray.

[Sancho]

And upon the realization of that eventuality, the ugly mood of the mob turned hideous, and the circle tightened around the mole and the cowboy.

[Emil Miller]

The mole disappeared down the hole and the cowboy drew a six-shooter and said, " Now see here, this town ain't big enough for all of us."

[Volya]

'Actually,' a helpful voice piped up, 'since you crushed Mayor Marjorie, there's a free room in the-' but he was cut off abruptly by a chef wielding a rolling pin.

[Sancho]

And then the woman with the spatula (shall we call her Delores?), resisting the Wild-West trope (or is it meme?), attacked the cowboy preemptively with a type of crazy-power that only small-statured women wielding burger-flipping tools possess. As she advanced, she swatted away 44 magnum rounds as though they were flies.

[Volya]

(damn sancho you're making me laugh so much xD )

Eventually, reaching the cowboy, Dolores gave one swipe and knocked the revolver from his hands.

[lilimarlene]

And then the woman with the spatula (shall we call her Delores?), resisting the Wild-West trope (or is it meme?), attacked the cowboy preemptively with a type of crazy-power that only small-statured women wielding burger-flipping tools possess. As she advanced, she swatted away 44 magnum rounds as though they were flies.

:rofl:you, are very amusing!

[Sancho]

What happened next was a blur: Delores grabbed a couple of rhinestone encrusted lapels, twisted in place, and hip threw the cowboy. Once off his feet, the cowboy's size and weight advantage was nullified and Delores delivered her signature, whip-crack, two-knuckle stun punch to the back of his skull, then she pinned his neck to ground with her knee. As he lay there twitching and drooling like a crack baby, Delores snatched the scarf from her head and looped it twice around the cowboy's ankles and twice around his wrists, then she cinched the whole contraption together with an overhand slip knot. She did all this faster than a world-class calf roper on the Pro Rodeo Circuit; except she did it in bizarro world where the cowboy rather than the cow is left bound and helpless on the arena floor.

Delores straightened up and addressed the man on the ground: "You got some 'splaining to do, Roy Rogers."


(Thanks, Volya & Lilimarlene. I've got a weakness for these story-line threads - they're just soooo much fun, and sometimes I go way over my one-sentence limit. I was hooked on this one with Volya's 1st post. It was the perfect entry for a shared story. Cheers!)

[Emil Miller]

What happened next was a blur: Delores grabbed a couple of rhinestone encrusted lapels, twisted in place, and hip threw the cowboy. Once off his feet, the cowboy's size and weight advantage was nullified and Delores delivered her signature, whip-crack, two-knuckle stun punch to the back of his skull, then she pinned his neck to ground with her knee. As he lay there twitching and drooling like a crack baby, Delores snatched the scarf from her head and looped it twice around the cowboy's ankles and twice around his wrists, then she cinched the whole contraption together with an overhand slip knot. She did all this faster than a world-class calf roper on the Pro Rodeo Circuit; except she did it in bizarro world where the cowboy rather than the cow is left bound and helpless on the arena floor.

Delores straightened up and addressed the man on the ground: "You got some 'splaining to do, Roy Rogers."


(Thanks, Volya & Lilimarlene. I've got a weakness for these story-line threads - they're just soooo much fun, and sometimes I go way over my one-sentence limit. I was hooked on this one with Volya's 1st post. It was the perfect entry for a shared story. Cheers!)

Roy Rogers ?

I can just see Volya reaching for the Google machine.

[Volya]

*reaches for the google machine*

[Sancho]

Roy is an American cultural icon:
His biggest mistake was riding a horse that was better looking than he was.
http://i971.photobucket.com/albums/ae197/mollyandbruno/RoyRogersandTrigger_zpse92fb7c4.jpg

But memes invite satire:
Yep, that’s a Gucci saddlebag on Cleavon Little’s horse in Mel Brooks’, Blazing Saddles.
http://i971.photobucket.com/albums/ae197/mollyandbruno/BlazingSaddles_zps2a57e40e.jpg

Slim Pickens was also in Blazing Saddles:
http://i971.photobucket.com/albums/ae197/mollyandbruno/blazing-saddles_zpsb663b6e4.jpg

Which was who GG was channeling when he got us over on this whole cowboy shtick:
http://i971.photobucket.com/albums/ae197/mollyandbruno/major-kong_zps14be55f1.jpg

Hmmm, so how should the cowboy respond to Crazy-Delores, Hmmm…

[Sancho]

So, the cowboy thrashed around on the ground for a while, jerking and wiggling, until he could see his tormentor. He said, "Well howdy there, little darling. I do like a feisty woman."

Delores swiftly planted one of her red, pointy-toed, sling-back pumps between the cowboy's ribs, "Can it, Royrogers."

The cowboy grimaced and then smiled broadly, "Mmm-Mmm-Mmm. Boy howdy."

[Emil Miller]

So, the cowboy thrashed around on the ground for a while, jerking and wiggling, until he could see his tormentor. He said, "Well howdy there, little darling. I do like a feisty woman."

Delores swiftly planted one of her red, pointy-toed, sling-back pumps between the cowboy's ribs, "Can it, Royrogers."

The cowboy grimaced and then smiled broadly, "Mmm-Mmm-Mmm. Boy howdy."

In reality she had taken a shine to the cowboy so that night Roy gave her a really good rogering.

[Sancho]

El Sancho refuses, on this website, to speculate on what went on between Crazy Delores and Royrogers later that night; and whether or not there was role playing; and if there was role playing, whether or not it involved the rodeo; and if it involved the rodeo, whether or not they went from the calf-roping event to the bronco-riding event; and if they went with the bronco-riding event, El Sancho absolutely refuses to speculate on what exactly the spatula was used for.

I’m a gentleman, you know.

[tonywalt]

Are we going to stay with a one sentence minimum, otherwise the result will be the same as the last two times we tried doing this - a deadend book with one or two people jockeying for position and plot.

I was definately one of the guilty ones last time, just trying to be good this time.

[lilimarlene]

El Sancho refuses, on this website, to speculate on what went on between Crazy Delores and Royrogers later that night; and whether or not there was role playing; and if there was role playing, whether or not it involved the rodeo; and if it involved the rodeo, whether or not they went from the calf-roping event to the bronco-riding event; and if they went with the bronco-riding event, El Sancho absolutely refuses to speculate on what exactly the spatula was used for.

I’m a gentleman, you know.

:biggrin5:

[BienvenuJDC]

Suddenly, out of nowhere a man in a time machine appears.

[tonywalt]

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.

[BienvenuJDC]

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.

[tonywalt]

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.

[BienvenuJDC]

However, on his wrist was something that no one before the 21st century could ever identify.

[tonywalt]

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.

[tonywalt]

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.

[Sancho]

…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:

http://i971.photobucket.com/albums/ae197/mollyandbruno/SlingbackPump.jpghttp://i971.photobucket.com/albums/ae197/mollyandbruno/blackboots.jpg

or lounge wear:

http://i971.photobucket.com/albums/ae197/mollyandbruno/BunnySlippers.jpghttp://i971.photobucket.com/albums/ae197/mollyandbruno/lonestarboxers.jpg

or cooking utensils:

http://i971.photobucket.com/albums/ae197/mollyandbruno/spatula.jpg

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.)

[tonywalt]

(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.

[Sancho]

(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.”

[Emil Miller]

(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.”

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.

[Volya]

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.

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.

[Sancho]

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).

http://i971.photobucket.com/albums/ae197/mollyandbruno/NixonAgnew.jpg http://i971.photobucket.com/albums/ae197/mollyandbruno/agnew.jpg

[tonywalt]

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.

[Volya]

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.

[Emil Miller]

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.

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.



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).

http://i971.photobucket.com/albums/ae197/mollyandbruno/NixonAgnew.jpg http://i971.photobucket.com/albums/ae197/mollyandbruno/agnew.jpg

Yes it did occur to me that you were trying to avoid the 'no politics' rule but wasn't Roy Rogers a republican?

[Sancho]

Yes it did occur to me that you were trying to avoid the 'no politics' rule but wasn't Roy Rogers a republican?

I'm not sure what Roy's politics were, but I'm willing to bet he was a Roosevelt Democrat. He was a singer of Dust Bowl Ballads and anybody chased out of the middle west to California during the 30s tended to be a Democrat for life. Besides, Republicans can't yodel, I'm pretty sure.

Okay, so, back to the story.


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.

After much toil and labor, the mole clawed through the wall and wiggled his way into what appeared to be a subterranean cavern - cold, dark, and cobwebby, it was an evil place. This must be what it was like in Nixon's mind, thought the mole. Then, displaying a narrative omniscience that rodents tend to have in certain fictional genres, the mole mused: Antonini, a friend of the Nixon White House, talk about serendipity!

All of a sudden, from his relative safety underground, the mole heard the report of a high-powered rifle and actually felt the ground shake a little bit. Holy crap, he thought, those idiots are really breaking out the heavy artillery up there.

[Emil Miller]

The sound of gunfire awoke the Reverend Featherstonehaugh-Worthington Browne from his slumbers, " Oh deary me, he said rubbing his eyes, " I've had the most extraordinary dream."
"What kind of a dream?" he heard his wife ask.
"I dreamed that I was in the United States with all kinds of people."
"Like who?"
"Roy Rogers, President Nixon and that man Agnew and they were involved in some kind of gunfight, it was most disturbing."
"Well I told you shouldn't have had that extra cup of cocoa," his wife replied, "but I expect you will have forgotten it by evensong."
"Deary me I do hope so. I've got to visit old Walter Gabriel in the village to see about the harvest festival and then there's a meeting in the village hall to protest about the location of a Kentucky Fried Chicken establishment in the high street."

[Volya]

Since it was omnipresent, the mole saw everything that was happening.

If Roy Rogers was the one causing the shooting in the first place, and the Reverend had been dreaming about Roy, then who was shooting the guns that had woken the Reverend in the first place? And was the mole part of the dream, or the reality? This had the mole more confused than that time he watched Inception while high on meth.

[Emil Miller]

Since it was omnipresent, the mole saw everything that was happening.

If Roy Rogers was the one causing the shooting in the first place, and the Reverend had been dreaming about Roy, then who was shooting the guns that had woken the Reverend in the first place? And was the mole part of the dream, or the reality? This had the mole more confused than that time he watched Inception while high on meth.

By the time the Reverend Featherstonehaugh-Worthington Browne had arranged for the harvest festival, he had completely forgotten about his dream and made his way to the village hall with a determination to keep the meeting peaceful. Feelings were running high in the village with most villagers against the KFC proposal. They had already defeated an attempt to implant a wine bar in the locality and were determined to preserve the rural nature of their surroundings.
Brigadier Bagshot-Cutforth Jenkins was foremost among the protesters and had torn down the poster of Colonel Sanders that the franchise had posted at the entrance to the village, with the comment; "If that man is a colonel, then I'm Genghis Kuhn."

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

Since it was omnipresent, the mole saw everything that was happening.
...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QEExYuRelbg

[Sancho]

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

Crazy Delores squeezed the trigger, causing a four foot flame to leap from the end of her gun barrel and launching 32 grams of molten lead in a low, flat arc across the meadow. Delores, being a small woman (also a woman of clear complexion), was propelled in the opposite direction of the bullet. Roy, with index fingers planted firmly in his ears, peered down range. Once Delores had picked herself up and dusted herself off, she asked, "What'd I get?"

[Emil Miller]

"Upon my soul, fragments of that dream have just come back to me. I really must get over it before evensong," said the reverend as he made his way through the village.
On arrival at the village hall, the Rev.Featherstonehaugh-Worthington Browne saw that Artemis Quagmire, who managed the village pub The Brewers Dray ( known by the natives as the Brewers Droop) was seated in the front row.
A heavily built man with a beard and bushy eyebrows, Artemis was the most virulently outspoken of all and had sworn that not a single chicken's leg would be sold by KFC as long as he breathed.

[Volya]

The mole, finally having broken out of his box, found himself in some sort of fleshy cavern filled with acidic juices. Spying an opening towards the top of the cavern, he began crawling upwards.

[Emil Miller]

Shaking off the image of a mole that had been part of the dream, and taking his place on the platform, the reverend opened the meeting with these words.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I know that there is anger in our community at the proposed planning permission applied for by KFC but I would ask you to give Councillor Pilbeam a chance to explain the position from the council's point of view."
Cllr. Percy Pilbeam was a particularly long-winded speaker and, despite the intensity of the situation, the reverend found himself drifting off to sleep.

[Sancho]

Roy couldn't believe his eyes. It was as though he was dreaming. At some point during the short flight of Delores's bullet, the fat-bastard in the pith helmet had morphed into a Kentucky Colonel. This all happened during the time it took the bullet, which reached a top speed of around 2600 fps, to travel a thousand meters. It happened in...uhh...oh hell, you do the math. (I'm the victim of a public school education.)

"Hmm, Pumpkin, I think you just plugged Harland Sanders."

"The fried chicken guy?"

"Yep. That big ole mellon of a head of his just exploded, like a 21-piece bucket of Extra Crispy in the backseat of a Honda minivan."

"Well, looks like those 11 special herbs and spices are going to stay a secret now, eh?"

"Looks like. Ya know, I betcha his main secret ingredient was salt."

"Yeah, that and a deep-fat fryer. Roy, have I ever told you that I've always considered myself a friend of the yard bird?"

"That you are, Lotus Blossom, that you are."

The omniscient/omnipresent mole could barely contain his glee at this turn of events.

[Emil Miller]

"Over my dead body!"
The words coincided with the Reverend's dream in which Colonel Sanders of fried chicken infamy was killed by gunfire, and he awoke to find Artemis Quagmire shouting at Mr Pilbeam who had just announced that a second application had been received by the County Council from a Mr. Patel and partners to open a business called the Taj Mahal Takeaway.
Mr Pilbeam riposted with:"The County Council is the correct authority to regulate planning permission and will judge each submission on its merits without resort to xenophobic or racist considerations."
This caused uproar in the hall and Artemis, who had often expressed his opinion that the wogs began at Calais, stood up and addressed the crowd: " Are we going to let a bunch of County Council prigs run roughshod over the village's obvious opposition?"
"NO!" Came the reply, shouted at the top of their voices.
The Reverend stood up and appealed for calm but it was to no avail as the villagers stamped their feet and shouted in unison NO! NO! NO!.

[Sancho]

A small woman with delicate features and golden-brown skin rose and walked towards the front of the assembly hall. As she made her way through the crowd, the "No-No-No" chanting began to die down. Heads began to turn. Silence began to fall. She was wearing a flowing sari with a colorful pattern of reds and greens and gold; she had rings on her fingers, bracelets on her wrists, and despite the cool rainy weather, she was wearing sandals. Her long black hair was pulled straight back, braided, then laid over her shoulder where it was swayed back and forth against her arm and her side in the rhythm of her walk.

By the time she reached the front of the congregation, nobody was talking. She grasped both of the reverend's hands and pulled him down to her, kissing him on both cheeks and whispering into his ear, "How have you been, Reverend?" She then repeated this greeting with Councilor Pilbeam, and finally she turned to address the crowd. Or was it a mob? She wasn't sure, but she was well aware of the volatile nature of mobs.

"My name is Vari. I am the wife of Sanjay Patel, the man who petitioned to open a restaurant on High Street. My full name is Varija Tatini Sushanti Patel. It means, Ray of sunshine falling on Lotus blossom floating on peaceful river on otherwise rainy day." This garnered a few chuckles from the crowd. "My family has lived in this village for three generations. We came here from a small village in northern India, a village not so different than this one, a village named Amritsar."

She then focused her attention fully on the large man in the front row. "Our restaurant will only serve healthful meals, at reasonable prices. And by the looks of some of the belt lines in this meeting house, some of you could stand to eat a good Indian meal from time to time."

The crowd seemed to be coming around. A voice from the back said, "She's got a point, don't she, Artemis?"

Then another voice from the crowd, this time from a man wearing, oddly, Tony Lamas, Wranglers, a pearl buttoned shirt, and a Stetson, "Hey, uhh, I'd kinda like to try the Chicken Biryani. I'm gettin' kinda tired of The Colonel's Chicken Nuggets anyway."

[Sancho]

The mole poked his head up through a hole in a floorboard of the meeting hall and looked around. The place was full of people, but was unnaturally quiet. Spotting a mouse in the corner chewing on a stale biscuit, the mole asked, “Who farted?”

The mouse looked at the mole and said, “Oh that was El Sancho. He just squeezed off a turd in the punchbowl with his reference to Amritsar.”

“Yep. That’ll do it, alright.”

[free]

The mole poked his head up through a hole in a floorboard of the meeting hall and looked around. The place was full of people, but was unnaturally quiet. Spotting a mouse in the corner chewing on a stale biscuit, the mole asked, “Who farted?”

The mouse looked at the mole and said, “Oh that was El Sancho. He just squeezed off a turd in the punchbowl with his reference to Amritsar.”

“Yep. That’ll do it, alright.”

"How rude!" Exclaimed the mole. "And what about these beautiful ladies around here? Are they supposed to notice it or not?"

The mouse shrugged in confusion. "As far as I am acquainted with beautiful ladies, they always jump up when I appear, so all I see of them is... you know what..."

The mole winked and off they both went out to breath some fresh air.

[Sancho]

And so the mole and the mouse exited the meeting house, escaping the stench of El Sancho’s big, meaty, metaphorical turd. Upon emerging into the fresh air they noticed two men standing just outside the entryway to the meeting house, both wearing black sharkskin suits and shiny black wingtips. Despite the overcast skies, they were both wearing dark sunglasses, and the mole noticed that each man had an electronic earpiece with a tiny coiled wire routed behind his ear and down to someplace beneath his collar. And if all of that wasn’t strange enough, both men were wearing lapel buttons that proclaimed – Don’t Blame Me, I Voted for Big Ed Muskie.

[Emil Miller]

The mole said to the mouse: "Hey! Those guys are like something out of a museum."
"What do you mean," said the mouse. "They are good guys, I voted for Muskie too."
"Well you should get with it kiddo. Times have changed, take look at this. I don't care who you voted for." And so saying he handed the mole an automatic photo frame with the words, "Go on I dare you to click on this!"

http://www.reuters.com/news/pictures/slideshow?articleId=USRTR2ZQ3N#a=1

[Sancho]

The mouse, being of a species easily baited, immediately clicked on the slide show.

He said, “Holy Crap! It kinda makes a fella want to fill his pants. Don’t it?”

“That it does, my friend. That it does.” The mole thought a moment and came up with a plan, “Well, old man, what say you and I leave this increasingly scatological place and go tilt a cold one at a little off-license pub I know ‘round the corner?”

And so the two moseyed their way down the street and around the corner to a cozy little pub known as - The Mouse and the Mole. The shingle out front depicted a mouse in Black Watch regalia, smoking a Sherlock pipe, and sitting across a chess board from a mole in Royal Stewart dress. The pub was warmed by a wood fire on the hearth, and pub patrons sat around heavy wooden tables, laughing and talking and imbibing huge tankards of ale brought to them by nubile young lasses, tightly corseted, with bosoms overflowing.

You know, come to think of it, they may have all just been teleported over to Bavaria.

[Emil Miller]

And indeed they had for a large bosomed young blonde came to their table and said: "Willkomen in München, womit kann ich Ihnen dienen?"
"Zwei Helles bitte," said the mole, "und bringen Sie ein Päckchen Schokoladenpuddingpulver."

[Sancho]

The bar maid repeated the order to ensure she’d understood the mole (he had a horrible accent). As she did this she leaned closer to him, dangling two of her finest assets over the table. “Sehr gut, dann, Zwei Helles, und ein Päckchen Schokoladenpuddingpulver, ist das richtig?

The mouse, being not only easily baited but also easily distracted, said, “Mein Gott! was für ein paar!” Then he regained his composure somewhat and said, “Nein, für mich ein Pils und eine Weißwurst. Und machen es bissig. Ich habe Durst.“

The young Fräulein smiled sweetly and said, “Bitteschön,” and then bounced her way back to the Küche.

The mole laughed at his friend’s faux pas and said, “Mouse, never in the history of this country have they poured a Pilsner in under 45 minutes.”

Not to be deterred, the mouse came back with, “Ach. Alles ist gut, meine kleinen pelzigen freund. Alles ist gut.”

[free]

The bar maid repeated the order to ensure she’d understood the mole (he had a horrible accent). As she did this she leaned closer to him, dangling two of her finest assets over the table. “Sehr gut, dann, Zwei Helles, und ein Päckchen Schokoladenpuddingpulver, ist das richtig?

The mouse, being not only easily baited but also easily distracted, said, “Mein Gott! was für ein paar!” Then he regained his composure somewhat and said, “Nein, für mich ein Pils und eine Weißwurst. Und machen es bissig. Ich habe Durst.“

The young Fräulein smiled sweetly and said, “Bitteschön,” and then bounced her way back to the Küche.

The mole laughed at his friend’s faux pas and said, “Mouse, never in the history of this country have they poured a Pilsner in under 45 minutes.”

Not to be deterred, the mouse came back with, “Ach. Alles ist gut, meine kleinen pelzigen freund. Alles ist gut.”

Though the bar resounded the beautiful sound of Eine Kleine NachtmusiK what made the barmaid to jump up on the bar stand and start dancing like a wild cat.

"Was ist das?" Exclaimed all the guests in the bar. "Was wollen Sie schöne Dame?"

"Ich liebe diese Musik. Erinnert mich an meine erste Liebe." She cried with extreeme excitement.

[Sancho]

And they danced the night away.

The sound of accordions and tubas filled the air; as did the not-so-sweet bouquet of sweat-soaked lederhosen. Plump würstl and spätzle were served on paper plates, and many strong beers were chug-a-lugged from huge glass mugs. Despite the buxom young Fräulein’s 'wildcat' dance, which was some cause for concern for the rodent-based life forms in the beer hall, the mole and the mouse boogied down. It was as though there was a grand festival going on, a celebration of something... Hmm, what shall we call it?

Later that evening, as the Bierleichen snoozed contentedly beneath the tables and the mole slow danced with the Fräulein, the mouse nibbled the corner of a brezel and continued to wait patiently for his Pilsner.

Okay, so, El Sancho is craving a Knödel now.

[Emil Miller]

The mouse was still nibbling the bretzel when a serving maid approached the table and placed several glass mugs before him , "Verschiedene Leute haben für alles schon bezahlt. Viel Vergnügen!"

http://imageshack.us/a/img253/5774/o226.jpg

[Sancho]

"Well - well, me oh my, this must be my lucky day," said the mouse. "Vielen Dank, Mien Liebling"

And so the sons and daughters of Charlemagne lurched and staggered their way back to their abodes, singing Volks tunes as they went, and boozily proclaiming their undying love for each other. The mouse finally quenched his thirst, and the mole held the fräulein tightly, hoping the night would never end. But he knew it must end, just as a sweet dream must end - perhaps with a loud noise or sudden gust of wind, startling him awake and leaving him lying there, staring at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep again, wanting to rejoin the dream he'd lost.

But why does it have to stop? Maybe the night will go on forever. Perhaps it'll never end. It's possible. Right?...No way, man. Never gonna happen. The mole's pidgin German was already breaking down, and Google Translate would only take him so far. Thirty years ago he'd learned a little German by listening to the DLI tapes he'd checked out of the Base Library, but that only got him to the point where he would get what he wanted in a restaurant about 1 out of 3 times. Ah well, que sera sera. He hugged the fräulein tighter and snuggled in on two of the Biggest, most Bodacious Bazongas in the state of Bavaria.

(Story note: I'm not sure why this keeps happening, but whenever El Sancho tries to tell a story, it always seems to wind up centered around boobs and beer. Weird, huh?)

[Emil Miller]

When he awoke, the mole began to feel rather homesick, especially as he originally came from the famous children's tale 'The Will in the Windows', as he drunkenly tried to tell the mouse. I wish I were back home he mused and, as if by magic, suddenly found himself in the book from which he had come. The mouse was also transported to between the pages but he wasn't ready to stay there and began nibbling away through the paper into an adjoining book in the bookcase. The mole followed him out of curiosity, and they realised that they had entered into A Tale of Two Cities, and emerging onto the Place de la Concorde they found a crowd awaiting the guillotining of a French aristocrat.

[Sancho]

The mole jerked wide awake, startled by the unholy sound of heavy carbon steel running against wood and then stopping suddenly with a resounding THWOCK.

"Son of a b*tch!" Stated the mole to nobody in particular. He then looked around and found that he was standing amidst a mob of peasants. They appeared to be unhinged, cheering and brandishing shovels, pitchforks, and other homemade implements of destruction. He was heartened to find that the mouse was still beside him, but his little friend was visibly shaking as he watched the drama play out on the platform: a henchman bent over and grabbed the bodyless head by the hair from the basket in front of the guillotine. He raised it and looked at it for a moment, face to face. Then he held the head high outwardly facing, where it continued to blink its eyes and appeared to be trying to mouth a few words. The mob roared its approval.

The mole noticed the mouse's legs were shaking uncontrollably and a small puddle of urine was pooling around the mouse's feet. He grabbed the mouse by the shoulders and said, "Get a hold of yourself, man. These reigns of terror can be a real bonanza for the rodent population of a city." A wistful smile crossed the mole's face and he added, "You know...a well-marbled aristocrat...mighty tasty."

[Emil Miller]

'Say, who's that lady sitting at the front and knitting ?' said the mouse.
'That's Madame Defarge, according to the book she's always here.'
'What do you think's she's knitting,' the mouse enquired.
'I don't know, but it might be a pair of socks for Robespierre,' said the mole, 'they do say that she knitted a waistcost for Saint Just during the last round of executions.'

[Sancho]

"Well," said the mouse, "She's giving me the creeps. I think she's a witch."

"Silly mouse, she's no witch; she's a metaphor."

"A what?"

"She's a meta... Oh never mind. Let's just say she ain't no Betsy Ross."

"Betsy who?"

"Uhh, okay, she's a witch."

"Ha! I knew it!" The mouse felt vindicated. "I'll tell you something else, mole, those other two guys you told me about. I heard of 'em, and I'm here to tell ya - they're bad juju. That Just gumbah, he ain't no saint. And as for Robespierre, - fuhgeddaboudit."

"Hey, a minute ago you were pissing on yourself, and now all of a sudden you're a wise guy from The Bronx?"

"Yeah."

"Alright then, Guido. Anyway, if she's starting to knit for Saint Just and Robespierre, the gig's about up here. C'mon, let's split.

"Lead the way, Boss. Hey, you gettin' hungry? Cos I'm gettin' hungry."

"Well, they're bound to be barbecuing Christians at the stake around here somewhere."

"Now yer talkin'. You want I should put dem Christians in a lasagna, Boss?"

"Splendid idea. I've found Christians to be a bit more stringy than aristocrats, but I've been cuttin' back on my saturated fat anyway. Bum ticker, you know."

"I know."

And so Guido and The Boss wandered off to environs unknown, in search of victuals, away from The Place de la Concorde, probably to the south.

[tonywalt]

The end.

Can we go back to the one sentence rule.

[tonywalt]

Emily groggily came to her senses, she was lying on her back in the freezing sands of the beach under a dark low sky.

[Sancho]

Can we go back to the one sentence rule.

Bueno, pues... está bien - good idea. Emil and I were just having a little fun with our adventures through time and space in Europe.


Emily groggily came to her senses, she was lying on her back in the freezing sands of the beach under a dark low sky.

I kinda feel like it’s my arse-hole-ish duty to point out that what you’ve got there, Tony, are two sentences, fused with a comma. I’m no grammar Nazi, but a comma splice or a run-on sentence would’ve earned Little Sancho a sharp rap on his noggin by his momma with a wooden ruler. (El Sancho’s mother was an elementary school teacher.)

Back to the story:

Not again, she thought.

[Emil Miller]

"I knew I shouldn't have chosen a beach holiday in England," she said.

[tonywalt]

Don't worry about being a s s holish, I ran the sentence on because I wanted a long sentence. It is a long multi clause sentence just like you would find in a David Foster Wallace or Thomas Pynchon book.

[tonywalt]

The steady throbbing in her head faded as she thought of the safe vault stuffed with cash.

[Sancho]

I could’ve stuffed that vault with anything, she thought - Dollars, Pounds, Yen, Pesos, Reals, Rupees - why, in God’s name, did I choose Euros?

[Emil Miller]

Another thought came to her, perhaps Frau Merkel and the Bundesbank would be able to prop the Euro up despite its threatened breakup.

[Sancho]

"Might work, but I ain't holding my breath, if you know what I mean," said the seemingly telepathic man on the sand next to Emily, a man who oddly enough was wearing a full set of Navy Frogman gear.

[Volya]

The end.

Can we go back to the one sentence rule.

Some people... :mad2:

[tonywalt]

"I'll go by fishing boat until I catch sight of the Jersey coastline and then scuba my way to Point de Vol - he had better be there this time!", as he stabbed the map with his index finger.

[Emil Miller]

At the word Jersey, Emily sat up quickly, recalling that the Euros were stashed in an offshore Jersey bank account to avoid paying UK tax rates.

[Sancho]

Emily snapped her fingers, "Move it, neoprene-man, we've gotta get our Euro stash safely to an island account, with our Confederate Dollars."

[Emil Miller]

Neoprene-man looked at Emily and said, " Jersey is already an island account , but I'm not sure about Confederate dollars, maybe I ought to phone a friend who is domiciled in the Cayman Islands where the money would be currently beyond the reach of the UK government.

[tonywalt]

Emily calmly stated "The Cayman Islands is a UK Overseas Territory and has tax treaties with both the UK and the US, as such all new business had to provide proof of tax compliance prior to establishing any kind of financial structure".

[Sancho]

While listening to Emily, Neoprene-man began removing his flippers and wiggling out of his frogman suit; then standing there naked on the beach, he checked the hour on his over-sized wristwatch, popped a Ricola lozenge, and began digging through his kit bag for his heavy wool sweater, leather knee britches, and hobnail boots, "Grab my alphorn, baby, we're going to Switzerland."

(Too much?)

[Jack of Hearts]

She frowned and turned away from him in displeasure, which caused him to cross his woolly arms and say, "Some days I don't know what's more difficult, being your first lover or your second cousin."

[Emil Miller]

On hearing this, Emily grabbed his alpenhorn, put it to her lips and did this:

http://youtu.be/qVBmWGLzSpM

[Sancho]

She finished the tune she was tooting (a real toe-tapper, by the way) and stood back and assessed the length and girth of her cousin's alpenhorn, "you should get a harmonica, cuz'."

[tonywalt]

Emily awoke as the dull yellow sun rose from the North Sea mist into the tired old sky of England, "Damn you snore alot Pierre, it's actually gotten worse since you left Equitorial Guinea".

[Jack of Hearts]

"Crotchety woman," he responded as he turned in his seat on the airplane, bound for Switzerland, and eyed the alpehnhorn as it stuck out from overhead storage "you're only here because you blow so good."

[Psycheinaboat]

Emily gave Pierre a sidelong glance while sliding her bubble wand into the sudsy blue bottle in her lap. Feeling a bit uncomfortable, she hoped drinks would be served shortly.

[Emil Miller]

On landing at Zurich airport, Emily discovered that the alpenhorn was missing.

[Sancho]

"Oh crap, not again," said Emily, " ah well, good thing I stored my hurdy-gurdy under the seat in front of me."

[Emil Miller]

The following day, Emily left her hotel and went to open an account at UBS with the intention of transferring and changing her Jersey based Euros into Swiss francs.

[Jack of Hearts]

She did this in such a way as to suggest perfect functional knowledge of Swiss financial operations as well as the French language before heading into the fiberglass jungle to search for either Döner kebab or tacos-- the real meaning of her journey; she would either kill Pierre with Turkish street food (with the alpenhorn missing she could no longer blow him to death as planned) or enjoy a lovely taco before submitting to marriage and becoming a passive aggressive housewife for the rest of her life.

[Emil Miller]

Emily reconsidered the situation and decided that, once the money was safely ensconced in a Swiss account, she could depart for the South of France and live the life of a pampered exile in a villa overlooking the Mediterranean and drive down the Promenade des Anglais or the Croisette or the Corniche on her way to the casino at Monte Carlo where she would perhaps add to her tax free gains.

[tonywalt]

Thinking further she thought thought that her best bet would be to go back to Barbados where it all began - one week later she was there living on the ragged East coast of the Island fringed by windswept Sea Grape foliage and rugged cliffs.

[Emil Miller]

Emily had been living there two months when the hurricane struck.

[tonywalt]

She rushed to the liquor store for hurricane supplies.

[Psycheinaboat]

Emily returned to her home finding her cat, Louie, being held and caressed by her neighbor. She recognized the young man as her neighbor though they had never formally been introduced. Shutting the door with one foot, laying brown bags upon the kitchen table, Emily looked askew at the uninvited guest molesting her fine feline. "I suppose we will not die during the storm, so may I offer you a drink?"

[Sancho]

"No thanks," he said, "just stopped by to help you batten down the hatches," then he looked over to the far corner of the room," hey, is that a hurdy-gurdy over there?"

[Paulclem]

He picked up the Hurdy Gurdy with a gleeful look in his eye. "This is just the thing to set up a resonance barrier to deflect the might of the oncoming storm." he said. He then rushed out onto the verandah.

[Jack of Hearts]

He stood ready in bull stance but high winds lifted a plank of wood smack dab into his crotch and, as he was doubled over, carried him off down the street, never to be seen or heard from again.

[Sancho]

Emily poured herself a tall cool one and followed the man out onto the verandah, where she commented to herself, "hmm, I reckon his resonance barrier didn't take."

[Emil Miller]

Hardly had the words escaped her when she was swept out to sea by a tsunami that crashed into the building but she was picked up two miles from the shore by a boat heading for Argentina.

[Paulclem]

The boat, named The Sprightly Jester, had somehow managed to avoid the storm surges and difficult tidal flows mainly despite the incompetence of the Captain Tarquin Pettifer. Emily, wrapped in a blanket and drinking a mug of hot cocoa, was soon inroduced to the dashing Tarquin Pettifer. The introduction didn't go well, and she soon found herself threatening to jump off the boat into a swirling, salty doom rather than suffer him to be in the same cabin. Captain Tarquin Pettifer, a man endowed in good measure with both ignorence and arrogance, declared that she would soon come knocking on his door just as an empty mug bounced off the back of his head.

[Emil Miller]

We're beginning to stray into multi sentence mode again. However:

The captain was so annoyed that he ordered Emily to be locked in her cabin until she had calmed down because, as he later remarked to the public enquiry, "I'm a literary man and that mug was my favourite drinking vessel that was presented to me by my father when I completed my thesis on Harry Potter while up at Cambridge."

[Sancho]

“Shiver me timbers,” said the mate, “I’ve a new respect for ye, Cap’n; I’d’nt know you was a man of letters, I’d taken ye fer a halfwit.”

[Emil Miller]

"Halfwit? How can that be when I have a complete set of all the Harry Potter books in my cabin and spend every spare moment watching the Potter films and also the DVDs of Batman?"

[Jack of Hearts]

The first mate stared at his captain blankly and then there came the scent of flatulence in the air, silent and deadly like the hungry heart, so, with neither man having sufficient evidence to accuse the other and each knowing full well the rules of implication regarding who should refer to the disturbance first, the captain hesitated before speaking cautiously,"Right, then. Dismissed."

[Emil Miller]

The boat continued on its way to Buenos Aires, and Emily wondered what she would do when it got it there because she had never been to South America before and in her febrile imagination it was just a large country full of cattle and gauchos.

[Jack of Hearts]

Then one day the captain burst into her cabin and screamed,"There's a bomb on board! If this ship goes below 10 knots she's gonna blow!!"

[Sancho]

Emily thought, yeah right, a bomb, it'd be doing the whole world a favor to blow this ship of fools out of the water.

[Emil Miller]

Emily looked at where the bomb was located and said:"That's not a bomb, it's my hurdy gurdy that I was clinging to when I was pulled from the sea and to prove it I'm going to play Turkey in the Straw."

[Paulclem]

She began to play, and the music calmed the savage hearts of the sailors, each adopting a relaxed pose, except for the captain, Tarquin Pettifer, who snorted in derison until he felt the hurdy gurdy bounce off the back of his head.

[Sancho]

As the captain picked himself up and turned towards Emily, a huge explosion rocked the ship, the sort of explosion that occurs with the confluence of two volatile ingredients, ingredients such as arrogance and ignorance, two inherently unstable entities intermingling and mixing until they reach their flashpoint, setting off a chain reaction that consumes nearly everything and everybody in its path - people on the docks of Puerto Madero saw only the blast and then confetti-like fragments of low-brow literature floating gently to into the Rio de la Plata, and some said they saw a woman furiously swimming towards the shore.

[Emil Miller]

Emily had survived the explosion and arrived at the shore covered in fragments of Harry Potter and Batman but if that wasn't enough, the hurdy gurdy was completely destroyed and would be as sorely missed as her alpenhorn.

[Paulclem]

Later, in a bar in Puerto Madero, Emily sipped a cool beer and regretted the loss of her hurdy gurdy and alpenhorn knowing that the affliction she had been plagued with since childhood, obscurus instrumentum syndrome, would flare up; she would need to find a salve to her condition.

[Emil Miller]

But it didn't take Emily long to find something unusual to play in South America when she took a trip to the Andes

http://youtu.be/BZkp1KtYhSI

[Sancho]

So in the evening shadow of Cerro Aconcagua, with her Obscurus Instrumentum Syndrome satiated, and a new resonance barrier of the pan-flute variety in place, Emily warmed herself at the camp fire and took a thoughtful look at each of her compañeros: a handsome Porteño, a weathered Goucho, dos Chilenas, a man who claimed to be the grandson of Butch Cassidy, and several members of a Uruguayan Ruby team - something didn't sit right with her about the ruggers, but she drifted off to sleep anyway.

[Emil Miller]

The withered gaucho's father had been Henrique Marks, so the son was known as Gaucho Marks, much to the amusement of the rugby players who were, in reality, white slavers who were planning to capture Emily for their evil trade.

[Sancho]

During the night, one of the Chilean women absconded with the man claiming to be the grandson of Butch Cassidy.

http://i971.photobucket.com/albums/ae197/mollyandbruno/molinacampos.jpg
(El Sancho digs an illustrated story. The picture is from Argentine artist, Florencio Molina Campos, 1891-1959)

[Emil Miller]

The same night, the Uruguayans kidnapped Emily and took her to a bordello in Montevideo where she was forced to stay by a guy who looked the image of Emilio Zapata and another just like Pancho Villa.

[Sancho]

The next morning the two men, looking as though they’d seen better days, staggered back out onto the streets of Montevideo, muttering to themselves something like, “Pronto, vamos a Mexico, pronto – pronto, muy pronto, la dama es loco en la cabeza, ¡Ay, caramba!”

[tonywalt]

Emily could not believe the turn of dizzying turn of events could spin further out of control (it was almost like a work of fiction for an online writing forum) until she was rescued by the Grandson of Che Guevara - the formidable Chow Guevara, formed from a union with Che and and an idealistic Chinese communist translator/freedom fighter/black market profiteer/Chinese restauranteer who had fled China on charges of fixing Ping Pong matches.

[Sancho]

The Formidable Chow Guevara, El Chow for short, said, “Em’, if we move quickly, we can catch the last hydrofoil of the day to B.A.; it’ll have us across the Rio de la Plata in no time, and I’ll have my driver take us to one of my restaurants in La Boca, a little stir-fry place I call Quick Lee’s, and, you know, the Juniors are playing tonight.”

[tonywalt]

"Sounds lovely", Emily relaxed as Chow's powerful hands held her petite, but shockingly sweaty hands. "Chow, can we just skip dinner and go to the hotel", she purred, battting her eyes - it had been days since she had male companionship and she was becoming restless.

[Sancho]

Just then the Pancho Villa-looking chap, with a crazy gleam in his eye, poked his head around the corner and addressed El Chow directly, “Careful, Ching-Chong, that one’s a diabla!” Then he made his hand like a cat’s claw and scratched the air in front of himself several times for effect before staggering down the street (presumably in search of Mexico), laughing hysterically and sloshing cerveza from his 2-liter bottle of Quilmes.

[Emil Miller]

Meanwhile, in Chipping Norton, Emily's parents, Lord and Lady Featherstonehaugh-Cholmondely were debating whether to send their eldest son Julian to Argentina, following a telegram from the British Chargé d'Affaires who said that Emily had been spotted with some very colourful characters of peculiar disposition.

[tonywalt]

Lord and Lady Featherstonehaugh-Cholmondely were white Kenyans with British passports, of course, and would only have their daughter marry someone with "good blood" and with this in mind Lord Chommondely hopped onto his Harrier and flew to Argentina.

[Emil Miller]

But when he realised that he couldn't get anywhere near Argentina with the Harrier's range, Julian turned back and bought a ticket to travel by British Airways to Buenos Aries.

[Paulclem]

Meanwhile, Chow Guevara had shown Emily his rare collection of Polynesian Nose Flutes which he kept in a large and interesting, nose shaped case he had had made by one Jose Williams, Bespoke case maker to the Financially Endowed, in Guadalajara.

[Sancho]

Sitting in the Speedbird, 38,000 feet above the Atlantic Ocean, smack in the middle of the Intertropical Convergence Zone, dining on a Steak and Kidney Pie*, Julian thought: it’s just as well I didn’t bring the Jump Jet - Argentines have been sensitive about British warplanes on their soil ever since our little soirée in The Malvinas back in the 80s - then another thought crossed his mind: hey, I wonder if they have nose flutes there.







*I nearly tossed my cookies just thinking about it.

[Paulclem]

He flicked through one of the magazines he'd brought along, Nose Flute World, and gazed lovingly at the ancient examples though he lingered most upon the Scarlet Nose Flute of Guadalajara which was said to have mystical powers.

[tonywalt]

Chow Guevara had little fear of Emily's parents and as he lay in bed he organized his ambitions:

- Organizing a takeover of Argentina with a trusty group of South African mercenaries
- Recapturing the Malvinas by all means necessary
- Marriage to Emily

[Sancho]

And so, in a gathering with his fellow revolutionaries, El Chow said, "First thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers."



[You guys have any problems with shameless plagiarism?]

[tonywalt]

"Secondly, we take back the Rhineland, it has to be done when we got the muscle - and we got the muscle!".

[Paulclem]

"Thirdly, we ..." but his voice was interrupted by the droning of a large aircraft -passing overhead to which El Greco, one of the band, shouted, "isn't that Speedbird a leetle low?!"

[Sancho]

Air Traffic Control Tower, Buenos Aires, Ezeiza International Airport - "Speedbird 245, Ezeiza Tower, Buenos Dias, one departure prior to your landing, cleared to land runway one-one, report the outer marker."

British Airways flight 245 - "Buenos Dias Ezeiza, Speedbird 245 cleared to land, marker inbound at this time, departing traffic in sight."

Ezeiza Tower - "Speedbird 245 check altitude."

BA Flight 245 - "Oh bloody hell..."

Ezeiza Tower - "All aircraft this is Ezeiza Tower on guard, Ezeiza Airport is closed, emergency aircraft on runway one-one, Ezeiza Tower on guard, out."


[I propose the following addendum to the one-sentence rule: radio transmissions don't count.]

[tonywalt]

Chow, Emily, Fidelista, Fidel, and Paris Peron enjoyed a cocktail on a cool light blue balcony in Buenos Aires interruped by the annoying chatter of Fidelista who peppered his dad Fidel with questions, "When will I get to be King of Cuba"? he squeaked, then "How long do we have to wear Military Green uniforms? - a simple pink t-shirt would make Such a revolutionary fashion statement!!", his statments becoming lispier as the drinks flowed.

[Emil Miller]

But Emily wasn't listening, because she was wondering why it's possible to play a nose flute but you can't get a sound out of an ear trumpet.

[Sancho]

"Oh thit," said Fidelista, "that thounded like a plane crath over at Ethaythia Internathional," then to Emily, "Em', what'th on your mind?"

[Paulclem]

Emily's musing on her related failure with wind instruments was cut short by the explosion and sirens that accompanied a plane crash.

[Sancho]

Tired from flying all night, suffering from an upset stomach (most likely brought on by the kidney pie), and squinting into the early morning sun, Captain Rupert A. Buckingsworthtonthorpe, had brought the Boeing 777 in for landing low and fast; First Officer Quentin P. Chudderstonbrookfordham had said, "I hesitate to mention it, but you may be flying ever so slightly low and just a smidgen fast, Captain Buckingswor...Holy Craaap!"

[tonywalt]

Meanwhile Paris Peron continued updating her facebook status and tweeting - "OMG - I'm like, in a like plane crash, it's like really bad, OMG - look at my hair!", this was going to get her back on page 1 of the The Daily Spun.

[Sancho]

Unharmed and still strapped into his seat, amidst the carnage and flotsam all around him - twisted metal, wrecked luggage, hair, teeth, and eyeballs rolling around on the runway, charred pages of his Nose Flute Aficionado magazine flapping in the breeze - the last thing Julian remembered was the tall pampas grass whizzing by his window.

[lilimarlene]

Unharmed and still strapped into his seat, amidst the carnage and flotsam all around him - twisted metal, wrecked luggage, hair, teeth, and eyeballs rolling around on the runway, charred pages of his Nose Flute Aficionado magazine flapping in the breeze - the last thing Julian remembered was the tall pampas grass whizzing by his window.

:lol:

[tonywalt]

Even behind his mirrored sun glasses, one could tell that Chow Guevera was severely upset to learn of Julian's survival and in a state of Nixonian paranoia he sketched in his mind how the assasination would go down: Chow would contrive the potent and forceful toilet in room 714 (Chow had a penchant for Sewage assasinations- hermetically evacuated waste left little evidence) by lubricating the seat and adjusting the flush suction so that Julian would be sucked down through the seat opening and hurled to a septic exile which such velocity that Chow thought of "the process" as almost existentialist or holistic in description.

[Sancho]

Sirens wailing and gravel flying, the Bomberos in their trucks approached the crash site from the north just as Julian on foot exited it to the south, making his way towards what appeared to be a paramilitary camp of some sort.

[Paulclem]

A little ragged of trouser and with an oily slick smeared across his face, Julian stumbled through the bushes away from the crash site towars the welcoming brands of a fire where, he could have sworn, a small group of people had previously been standing.

[Sancho]

Over the airport fence and through the tall grass Julian, for reasons he couldn't adequately explain, followed the trail of trampled foliage eventually breaking out into a clearing where he found, of all people, his sister, Emily, in the company of several very colorful characters of peculiar disposition, and then marking himself as a man who'd mastered the British knack for understatement, he cleared his throat and said, "Why hello, Emily."

[Paulclem]

Emily, unexpectedly grabbed a brand from the fire and would have thrust it into her brother's face had Chow not knocked if from her grasp and restrained her as she unsheathed a small but lethal knife she kept about her undergarments.

[tonywalt]

An embarrassed Julian sheepishly hobbled sideways like a crab on the beach - he was a short and very stout man with a face red and blotchy from drink, a map of
blue veins on his cheeks, and his features were sunk into his moonish fatness which expanded to his body, described by his ex-girlfriends (all sisters, one set of twins) as "a body with no elasticity", a statement that always brought the Girls night out Table to excitably piercing shrieks of laughter that you only hear on a table of well wined females - "Emily, what the #$@! was that for?!"

[Sancho]

Emily's eyes were wild when she looked at Julian, but she did not attack him further; instead, with a lightning-quick backhand, she planted her knife up to its hilt neatly between Chow's left and right frontal lobes, performing the type of operation that should only be attempted by a trained surgeon under controlled conditions on the most severely schizophrenic of patients, however it did seem to confirm the warning given to El Chow by the man on the street in Uruguay who resembled Pancho Villa.

[Sancho]

A stunned silence ensued.

[tonywalt]

Chow Guevera lay on the cool grass and watched as the evening spread against the sky and listened to the soft wind breathing through the weeping trees down the tobacco stained river to a place beyond the windbreak and then the earth became motionless.

[Sancho]

Emily bent over him and nudged him a couple of times in the ribs with the toe of her boot and said, "Yo, Chowsy-Wowsy, are you dead?"

[tonywalt]

Chow woke as soon as the plane door opened to the popcorn bag heat outside and even hogtied inside a medium sized doggy kennel (with half eaten treats and squeaky toy!?) he knew it was Juantacobell Bay where he was immediately conveyed to a section called "The Box" with a square headed Texan hovering over him spittle screaming in a Thick Southern Accent, "I WILL DETAIN YOU AS LONG AS YOU DO NOT RESPOND TO QUESTIONS, AND THEN, IF YOU RESPOND TO ANY QUESTION, ANY AT ALL, YOU WILL BE IMMEDIATELY SEDATED -DO YOU COMPRENDE?!"

[Sancho]

Uhhh...Hmm

[tonywalt]

Chow Guevera slouched towards his cell, which had written on the side 27-60llb dogs size range and hoped Emily would get is message.

[Sancho]

Something caught Chow’s eye as he peered through the grate of the kennel, something on the table behind the slow-talking, gun-toting, square-headed, Texan; something that made Chow think all white people must have obscurus instrumentum syndrome. He said, “Hey cowboy, forget the Glock – is that a Glockenspiel over there?”

[neilgee]

The cowboy looked round, he seemed non-plussed, when suddenly he felt the earth taken from beneath his feet as he was smacked with an enormous right hook to the jaw.

[Sancho]

The cowboy cartoonishly shook the stars out of head, spit out about forty of his teeth, turned to face his attacker, and then grinned a snaggletoothed grin.