Continue the story...

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Originally Posted by Emil Miller

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

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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.

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Originally Posted by 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.

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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.

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."

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.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by 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.

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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."

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Originally Posted by Volya

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

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

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?"

"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.

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.

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.

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.

"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!.

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."

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.”

Quote:

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Originally Posted by 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.”

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"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.

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.