View Full Version : "Revenge of The Large Furry German Woman in the Black Bikini"

05-05-2006, 12:56 PM
"Vere ist Bob?"

05-05-2006, 01:05 PM
But Bob was gone.

Gone, like the whiskey in the bottom of my glass; gone like the blonde dame who used to answer my phone at her desk outside the door. Gone, like the funds in my bank account, and with them, the hope to pay the stinkin' rent cheque.


As the goddamned saxophone music started to play somewhere, I turned up the collar of my trenchcoat and slowly wandered out into the evening rain, leaving the neon light blinking in the office window behind me.

"Nick Diamond ... Private Investigator."

05-05-2006, 01:22 PM
The large furry German Woman had spent most of her adult life married to an overbearing industrialist, who dictated how she should wear her hair (luxurious thick Teutonic blond), what she should wear, (usually black, sober, and boring), and ordered her food in restaurants without consulting her.

She had slipped away on one of her husbands container ships during an impromptu inspection while en route to a fancy dress corporate reception, and now found herself on a small island, the name of which she hadn't discovered yet, and found she needed all of her resourses to survive.

At night, she lived in a container at the docks, avoiding eviction by endless unfullfilled promises to the gun toting yokels that guarded the place.

Her clothes had suffered badly on the trip across the ocean, and she had been forced to recutr various bits of it to remain decent. Fortunately, decency was relative where she now found herself.

She thought about Bob, an appearently unattached man of obvious means she met on the beach....

Phillip Allen
05-05-2006, 01:29 PM
Bob had that look, that middle distant stare, that said he was somewhere else, someone else. Bob needed nothing else but Bob...a hard nut to crack...

05-05-2006, 01:34 PM
Bob had a mysterious, checkered past he kept well hidden , mysterious like finding an old sneaker abandoned on hot Arizona asphalt, he was the kind of guy who could confuse a passerby on the street with just one glance and sneak into a movie theater by walking backwards

Bob knew how to point in one direction and then turn and run off in the opposite direction , he was mysterious and crazy alright , crazy like peanut butter on raisin toast , crazy and mixed up like marble cheese and yesterdays spent coffee grains, he liked to live life on the edge , stopping only occasionally to drink a glass of tap water and go swimming at the beach

05-05-2006, 01:40 PM
My cigarette smoke blew in film noir swirls in the pockets of light cast by the street lamps, as I picked my way closer to the docks.

Bob. Vere ist Bob indeed? And why in hell had his past chequer games been so mysterious?

The German dame's words echoed in my brain, her husky voice reminding me of crazy stuff like peanut butter on raisin toast, and yesterday's spent coffee grains mixed with marble cheese.

I had to hear that voice again, calling to me from beneath that mane of blonde hair. Maybe her voice could drown out the sax music that haunted me.

05-05-2006, 02:35 PM
The puddle outside the container the Furry German Woman (FWG) called home was a mixture of rain, dashed hopes, and pina colada mix. I stepped over it, as I made my way in.

"Bob - You've got to tell me more about him. And I need a retainer, plus expenses, before I'll do anything."

"Bob is ... was ... oh I don't know. To pay you ... I haven't any money, but ..."

She tossed that blonde mane like the dame she was, and even in the tawdry container, her hair caught the light like ... hair catching the light. I caught my breath, and a hangnail.

"I met Bob on the Island - the Island of Broken Dreams ... or at least, broken f#bergl@$$ boats. Something called FEMA gave out these shards to build homes with. But Bob was different from all the rest. He ..."

05-05-2006, 08:55 PM
smelled of smoked meat. That made me hungry, and I wanted to bite him.

She shifted around on the stack of wood that took up a lot of space in the container, along with crates with mysterous markings.

She had fashioned some simple furniture from the contents, sort of neathanderthal mission would be the style, thought Nick, kinda appealing, really.

05-05-2006, 09:01 PM
LOL!............ Wo ist Bob? D

Peter Malcolm Jardine
05-05-2006, 09:17 PM
Something was just not adding up.... Bob's mysterious disappearance and the arrival of the case of horseradish at the corner pawnbroker's was not a coincidence. It couldn't be. Bob hoarded his prize horseradish like a miser hoards his gold. The plot was thickening. It was thicker than horseradish outside on a picnic table on a 90 degree afternoon. An afternoon with a lot of insects. and beer. and some more beer.

05-06-2006, 06:33 AM
And then it hit me. The strange markings on the crates, the stack of wood, the overpowering smell of smoked meat ... and the horseradish...

I eyed the German dame more closely.

"Wait a minute, that black bikini your're wearing ... the cut doesn't seem quite right. It's more a ..."

And then it hit me again. But this time, it knocked me knickers over ...

05-06-2006, 10:35 PM
The Large Furry German woman was thinking hard. harder than she liked when she had had too much to drink.
This man seemed to know more than he was letting on.

At that moment, a loud banging against the side of the container, distant yelling, and the unmistakable slap of bare feet in the broken glass of the compound interrupted their reverie.

She reached over and extinguished the kerosine lamp, leaving Nick in the dark. Now he knew less than he did when he came in.

05-07-2006, 06:09 AM
Which frankly wasn't much to begin with. He could tell that he no longer remembered taking calculus in college, and he couldn't recite Wordsworth from memory anymore.

John Gearing
05-07-2006, 09:13 AM
"Complete silence, if you want to live", the large furry German woman said in a breathy whisper. From outside, a woman's voice, rising and falling like the tide on one of Jupiter's moons, slid its way into the container, like a candiru fish into a eurethra.
"Oh yes," the voice said, "I'm sure your container is in here somewhere." For some reason, we couldn't hear the other speaker.
"Yes, I'm sorry, but the customs man is not in today. What? Well yes," she said too sticky-sweet, like a broken jar of honey on a hot beach, "I spoke to him 5 minutes ago. Yes, he said he'd be here." It was a creole she spoke, not a pidgin, but Nick was starting to think that there was a pigeon involved all right.
"No, the customs man is out today. He had a meeting. I don't know when he is back. Why don't you give me a call tomorrow?" Nick heard a heavy groan from somewhere outside. A car started somewhere, and drove off. It was quiet again. And then it hit him -- find where the second derivative equals zero an then check its sign to either side. If the sign changes then you've got yourself an inflection point, and that means a tipping point, and he needed one of those if he was ever going to break this thing. The large furry german interrupted his thoughts.
"Zat vas klose. Come vit me to der point."
"What? What point?"
"Ver peoples go und trink by the sea, on der bitch. Is called der Tippling Point." Suddenly it was all starting to make sense.
"There's a sax there, isn't there?"
"Sax on der beach? Sure, okay."
He thought to himself "it all fits. Music in my head that really comes from a beach on a desert island. The rain in the black night of an American city. An office empty except for a file cabinet full of broken dreams and empty whiskey bottles." He turned up the collar of his trench coat. "Let's get going," he said.

05-07-2006, 06:11 PM
It was a dark and stormy night. And he was thirsty. He hunched his shoulders, jamming his fists deep into the pockets of his trench coat, cutting himself on an old fashioned church key. He felt the few coins left over from the last time he wore this coat, Rubles, he remembered, and the fear returned, the familiar churning in his stomach reminded him that he was being followed by a woman who was capable of anything.

He turned.

She was ten steps behind, carrying a stainless steel shotgun and wearing her black bikini

05-08-2006, 06:55 AM
orange neon lights over the ramshackeled tavern flickered appropriately , --Shankeys - ood- imes- ar -- perhaps , thought Nick , inside this old rundown whiskey trough there would be four or five stools and a barrel full of peanuts , sawdust on the floor, a couple of wrinkled barflies , plus some more odd patrons scattered around , a piano , some snacks and an old haggered barkeep who spoke drivel in a thick Scottishishy-pirate accent holding a bottle of Glenfiddich and a dirty shot glass with his name on it . it was worth a try ..

05-08-2006, 08:09 AM
Nick went in. He tried to adjust his eyes to the murky gloom. But it was no use, it was too bright. The strobe lights and disco balls were disorienting.
It reminded him of the time in Morocco.

Suddenly, he felt the press of cold steel against the small of his back. He wished his back was bigger, but no matter. His life passed before his eyes, chapter by torturous chapter, at $.30 per word.

"OOOPS, Sorry". Nick turned. It was the Large Furry German Woman, dressed in a black worsted miniskirt so tight you could see where she had been innoculated as a child....

sv Lorelei
05-08-2006, 12:37 PM
The barkeep gave her the once over, and him a sidelong glance like a Koala bear sizing up a Eucalyptus tree. He coughed and spit part of an old tooth out on the sawdust floor. The frame of the old bar groaned like 10 dollar hooker on a hot summer's night.

"Hey you mug. What'll it be? Ya don't wanna keep the lady waitin'"

05-08-2006, 12:43 PM
..croaked the gruff burly Scottish barkeep Pinky Pooshankey , switching off the epileptic strobe lights and disco ball while polishing a shot glass in his kilt like a ten dollar hooker on a hot summers night..

sv Lorelei
05-08-2006, 12:53 PM
"Gimme two shots of your best whiskey.....and a beer for the lady. It ain't a fit night out for man nor beast" Nick grumbled.

A voice, as thin and menacing as the dish of ancient salsa on the bar next to the stale and crumbling natchos, piped up from the darkened corner of the bar.

"Sooooo, Mr. Diamond. Ze rumor has it zat your are looookink for someone......Someone named BOB."

Silence fell over the place like a body pushed out a 10th story window. Nick knew that voice....but it couldn't be

05-08-2006, 01:16 PM
Pinky cued Mac the piano player like a drunk conductor cueing a wipeout drum solo in the middle of Handals Messiah and then slipped Nick two shots of his finest rotgut , "down the hatch" came the thin voice , Nick's hands trembled as he double barrelled the hootch , "past the lips and over the gums" laughed the furry lady , Nick then hoisted the brew and chugged like a nervous blind gay cowboy in tight fitt'n jeans at a long haul truckers kegger and weiner roast

"Gimme two more snorters and another beer" Nick belched , slapping the glasses back down on the bar

Pinky obliged him again as Mac tinkled on the ivories like a hot summer hooker who just got ten dollars

05-08-2006, 02:25 PM
...the strobe lights were keeping time with the piano tunes...flashing...flashing...his mind felt fuzzy...his head was spinning...he knew he would soon pass out from the effects of the strobe...flicker vertigo....generated by the constant flickering of the strobe, like when the sun was behind you flashing off the backs of the propellor blades......his eyes rolled to the back of his head.....

sv Lorelei
05-08-2006, 04:10 PM
Coming to, he immediately relalized two things. One, his head felt like he'd been beaten over the head repeatedly with a food service sized jar of pimento olives....and B, he was tied up with 3/8 inch Spectra X.

He heard the thin menacing voice again, his foggy brain trying to place it..

"So," it said, "you've finally come to. Do you know why you're here Mr. Diamond? He he he."

"You must have slipped me a Mickey, you slimy pond scum." Nick spat back.

"Yes...I did, and a Minnie and about half a Pluto too. You can really hold your Likker Mr. Diamond".

"Let's leave my ex-wife out of this." Nick replied.

05-08-2006, 08:00 PM
Nick tried to turn his head, but his eyes each had a mind of their own. He heard a muffled sound coming from somewhere out of view.

"Who's that?...and....who are you?"

"So many questions, so little time. Call me Ishmael."

He had the stainless steel shotgun, trying to twirl it around his finger like some TV western....

The muffled sound again. louder.

"Who's that?"

"Some guy named Raymond. He came for a visit. We had to ....detain him."


05-09-2006, 12:40 PM
the follicled femme flinched and fumbled furiously "enough of zee frivolous folly" she barked , grabbed a big can of nair and feverishly foamed her pits

as the ensemble cast members bickered about lead and supporting roles, Nick recalled quietly how he always did eschew spectra rope , although safe in the knowledge it would break safely , he began eschewing it further

sv Lorelei
05-09-2006, 02:09 PM
"A good thing I took the surveillance case for that Swiss Army Dentist." Nick thought to himself as he carefully unfolded a fid from his bicuspid with his tongue. "Shame that his wife had been crossing one too many borders..."

05-09-2006, 06:11 PM
Ishmael prodded Nick in the ribs with the shotgun. "you ever read Nitchshe?"

Nick bit his lip. The smell of Nair was making him nauseous. Oh, great. he thought. A nihilist. A flamin' commie. A Jung facshist. A neo-liberal. A post re-constructionist illuminati. A welfare soccer mom.

Nick pretended not to answer. He heard the muffled voice again. His tormentor got up and walked out of his view, and he heard some mumbled Whitman poetry. The last spectra bond parted.

He decided to beat feet on the path not taken.....

05-09-2006, 06:20 PM
Most people don't take that path because it leads straight into a brick wall at the back of an outhouse.

sv Lorelei
05-09-2006, 06:22 PM
"Nitchshe said, 'What doesn't kill you makes you stronger', right?" sneered Nick.


"Well, he's dead isn't he? So you gotta take that one with a grain of salt" Nick quipped gleefully as he uncorked a haymaker to Ishmael's square germanic jaw.

After cleaning up all the hay, Nick slipped out the door and into something more comfortable.

"Ver did you get that stainless and bronze bustier" said the German Woman.

"That's another story." said Nick. "Ask Joe."

Phil Heffernan
05-09-2006, 10:00 PM
:d :d :d :d

05-09-2006, 10:07 PM
Nick went downhill fast, and found himself on a beach just as a scrofulous sun heaved itself over the horizon with a flatulous grunt.

He needed a drink. He needed to take a leak, too, but these details are seldom mentioned in these stories, and the participants must be in a lot of discomfort, at least until the page is turned.

There was a man in ragged green shorts sitting in the sand, leaning on a 30 gallon drum, and reading a newspaper that had most likely been used to wrap a barbecued goat.

Nick approached cautiously, clearing his throat theatrically, startling a pair of mating dingos, which ran off into the underbrush.

"I'm Nick Diamond, where can one discover what people do with a grape in these islands..?

The man slowly lowered his paper, and Nick could almost hear the bloodshot eyes grinding on sand as the man struggled to assess the meaning behind the voice.

"Do you want a drink?" The question came out as half a wheeze, half a gurgle, and half a belch. Nick noticed that the steel drum was perspiring with cold, or else it was very nervous. "Sure".

The man found a bottle buried in the sand, and dumped the contents out, an indeterminate liquid of several colors and textures, and filled it from a tap in the base of the drum.

Nick sniffed. ungh. he drank. A perfect vodka and tonic. Ambrosia, or something very like. "What's your name?"


05-09-2006, 10:12 PM
It turned out that Bob lived in a yellow shipping container, but was at the beach because his German houskeeper got sick of him being underfoot.

Wild Dingo
05-09-2006, 10:30 PM
LOL!............ Wo ist Bob? D

Who is Bob? Why none other than our nefarious legendary Sir Bob of Cleek of course!! Why man the poor sods been fair pinin since his beloved Martha Stewart was sent down and whats a poor old curmugion and dedicated grumpy old phart to do when his beloved is hidden away for years? Of course he turned to the next great lovelust of his life the large furry german woman in the black bikini no less!!!

Sir Bob and the LFGWITBB have since been seen frolicking on the sands of many a nudist beach from Naples Florida to Monaco and all points between... terrorising and frieghtening the pubes of the naked sunbathers as they jiggle wiggle sproggle and waddle their gloriously blissful ways around the globe... many a confirmed nudist beach has in fact dictated and decreed that due to the antics of Sir Bob and LFGWITBB that the beaches will no longer be nudist but that everyone MUST in fact wear clothing from neck to knee which is thrilling the brigade of limpwristed clothes designers but is causing no end of problems for Sir Bob and LFGWITBB since all they want to do in their glorious retirement is to have fun and frolic naked as to beached whales on heat... while the general masses of nudist beach goers around the world are now reduced to hiding out at hidden coves and such

Well its either Sir Bob and his latest lustbunny or its someone whos hiding behind a non de plume which is possible but Ive got it on good info from the hands of the reputable CIA (thats Crazy Idiots Authority based in Whashington USA who are often confused by even Presidents with the other CIA that being the Criminal Intelligence Authority) that it really is our own Sir Bob of Cleek

Three cheers for Sir Bob!!

Hip Hop Hurrah
Hip Hop Hurrah
Hip Hop Hurrah!!

Why Hip hop hurrah? Well may you ask!! :eek:

05-09-2006, 10:54 PM
Nick looked at his script surreptitiously, and realized someone had casually shoved some pages from another story in between the leaves of his manuscript. He shook them out, and they fluttered away down the beach, attracting the attention of the still mating creatures in the shrubbery.


Thanks for the drink, Bob. I've had an interesting night, and it's just what I needed.

"Want some more?"

"Sure. Nice beach."

"It a prison." Bob took a long hard pull from the drum.

05-10-2006, 06:57 AM
"what's in that other drum" ? asked Nick curiously eyeing an oaken barrel rolling to and fro in the surf like a beckoning siren from the deep

the wooden barrel rolled ashore looking very barrel-like and it lay there ominously staving off the midday heat like a beached whale about to explode its guts

"why, that's a barrel of Imported Extra Special Bitter" said Bob , "wanna hit"?

"i'll give her a try" said Nick holding out his camra emblazened tankard "dry hopped"?

"you betcha" said Bob, pulling a pint and forming a perfect domed head "and (sip-sip) it has a biscutty taste from the Vienna malts plus a delicate hop balance"

"say , good brews on this beach" said Nick sucking back the foamy amber nectar

"what are we talking about"? asked Bob

05-10-2006, 08:40 AM
"Not too shabby for a prison,..What are you in for?"

Bob's gritty eyeballs tracked haltingly to find the source of the question. The unevenly shaven face seemed a testament to the human jetsom that is left in the wrack of the high tide mark of futility.

I've....I've been here since Carter was President....I..uh....Miss George...

Nick acquired a glimmer of the meaning of this forsaken detritus, broken on the wheel of governmental malfeasance, a victim of American Democracy, of the liberal conspiracy to.....

"You miss George?"

05-10-2006, 09:38 AM
meanwhile our Bavarian buxom bushy babe busily stroped her straight razor and neeted her nether regions , wisked away wiley whiskers , perfectly pluckled her peachy pine needles until he was a she again ,

the smooth and fresh bionic amazonian , having scrubbed her barnacles, dropped Ish to the floor with one boot to the grommets , grabbed the double barrel stopped up toilet clearer and two shotshell belts , in one swift motion , flung herself out the saloon doors making a perfect three point landing in the daisies, rolled down the bank like a hairless susquatchette , sniffed out the bob scent , turned tail , pumped one into the chamber and charged , gauntlet , fiery , headlong for the pub-like strand and eatery

05-10-2006, 11:48 AM
Bob was about to answer Nick's question, when through the thickening fog of Vodka tonics, came a familiar figure silhouetted against the reluctantly risen sun. Three eyes watched the progress of the Large Furry German Woman®, who, seeing who it was leaning against the frosty drum had stashed the shotgun and bandoleers under a sleeping Australian mammal and developed a thirst...uh..for information.

sv Lorelei
05-10-2006, 11:51 AM
The waves crashed upon the beach like waves crashing on a beach....but moreso. The bright sun beat down on them like 10 dollar prizefighter who found a 10 dollar hooker on a hot summer night. Tension filled the air with all the palpable discomfort of a live striper in ones shorts.

It was one of those moments when the peripheral eye and intuition combine to save your life. Nick caught the movement just outside his field of vision, blurred though it was now by several cold and frosty delights.

05-11-2006, 08:21 AM
Nick , startled by the shiny , buffed, European lady , jumped to his feet , lost his balance and stumbled backwards over the now mostly unladen barrels of booze

Bob looked up to see an albino like , freshly tweezed, noxzema-ed gargantuan, steptic , alapecian venus figure approaching and failed to recognize her at first

Nick regaining his composure like a $12.95 hooker getting paid on fight night, crabbed his way back across the sand , it was then he noticed a rather oddly shaped treasure map tattoo to the right of Bob's otherwise hidden butt crack , but it looked like only the right cheek had an indication of an 'X' , .. where was the left half of the map ??

Nick had a hole lot of questions , but was about to be trumped by the large formerly furry ..

sv Lorelei
05-11-2006, 08:43 AM
Wombat that suddenly appeared on the end of a leash. Nick looked at the other end of the leash and saw a shawl wrapped Gypsy woman.

"Hi, I'm Nick...Nick Diamond" Nick said.

"I'm Svetty" she replied

"I'd be svetty too if I were wearing that heavy shawl in this heat" Nick quipped.

"No. Svetty is short for Svetlana" she corrected.

"Well I don't care what your short of. Can I buy you a drink?" Nick proposed.

05-11-2006, 11:23 AM
"zank you , don't mind if i do , mister Diamond , zit Schwippy" , said Svetty gently tugging on her shaved wombats chain

"how about a little champagne" asked Nick , as he hauled up a case of Dom Perignon lashed to a swimming bison , eyeing Svetties smooth wombat and ignoring for now any reference to waxed wombats, wallabee's, koala's and kangaroo's and other miscellaneous furry rodents found around rivers in Canada

"zat vould be lovely" said Svetty as she sat with her two newly acquianted bosom buddies perched in the sun sliding in closer to Bob's key assets , Bob sat there playing dumb and tried in vain to recall if he left the chicken out of the freezer

the game of deception was afoot , Nick hastened to outwit the schick lady in the gypsy facade while the epidermed lady coyed and bandied about with Nick hoping he would not see through her thin disguise , Nick hoisted his long rose stemmed glass , "look out belly , here it comes" giggled the lady of Eastern European dissent sluurrrping the bubbly like a 10 dollar trollop sitting on a beach with two weird guys , one of which had an elusive map inked onto his bum ..

sv Lorelei
05-11-2006, 02:11 PM
Or half a map anyway.

Nick couldn't help but notice as his dipilitated, wool clad, comrade swung her not inconsiderable hips and bent over to grab a fresh glass from a passing marmalute, for a brief instant something other than her shorn wombat was revealed beneath the moistened folds of her frock.

Nick almost swallowed his tongue in disbelief, but settled on another frosty mug of beer to wash down the champagne. There was no mistaking it. It was a perfectly hopped IPA. Goldings in the boil and Hallertau to finish. But that wasnt' all. Next to a small tattoo which intoned the universally helpful instructions "Fold Tab A Into Slot B" there was just visible another tattoo, which was unmisteakably....unmystakably....unmistakablie... well it just had to be the other half of the map. If he could only be certain. A plot started to develop in his besotted brain.

"Hey, let's get something to eat. I'm hungry. Aren't you hungry?" He said.

"Yah" said Svetty with gusto.

"Huh?" said Bob, his eyes sandily grinding their way along the beach toward the eatery, like a one legged 10 dollar hooker running a half off sale on fight night.

They made there way over to the maitre d's station. A small and somewhat familiar looking middle aged man looked haughtily down his nose at them. "Do you have reservations?" he asked.

"Of course, I always do when I haven't been to a place before, but I'm sure the food is okay here." Nick answered.

05-11-2006, 10:25 PM
Bob idly wondered why Deon, who was mopping up the bar in front of the ten dollar hooker with the bottom half of a black bikini, suddenly required reservations. He looked at himself in the bar mirror.. Jasus! I must have lost 15 pounds in the last 6 weeks. My shirt hangs off my shoulders like a bed sheet. My eyes are hollow, and I must have forgotten to shave this morning. I look like a freakin' heroin addict. And there's an echo somewhere.

He heard a sob behind him, and turned to see the Large Furry German Woman with her head in her hands.....

Sea Frog
05-12-2006, 03:30 AM
"Zuper blade, eh? Look vhat you've done now, Bob Gillette!" the foaming head said.

05-13-2006, 11:29 AM
Deon gave the head a drink, and watched as the ice cubes and fruit flooded over the floor like tarpaper shacks in the ninth ward.

"I'm gonna tell you sompin, white boy....It's carnival time, and you betta get off de island. Tell you what..I know my cousin has a boat you can use, cause you not gonna get on de plane for love nor money. You come wit me.

Hours later, after stumbling through half of the island's dirt roads, Bob found himself at last. Looking at a 1957 Buick, only slightly modified by a tree growing through the roof, onto which a boom and Auntie Polly's bedspread had been attached. The running rigging was formerly the generous, but as as yet uninformed Polly's clothsline.

You betta get going toot sweet, mon. cause Ol' Auntie gonna harsh yo mello when she finds what you done...

what I done?

Ya mon, you don't tink I gonna take da beatin'??

05-13-2006, 08:09 PM
No Bob, stay off of the boat. I am US ARMY Sgt Smith from the Raygun Battalion over on Granada. We have been sent to rescue you. Those men who treated you so bad were really Trini's. They are trying to confuse you. They want to hijack this, uh, boat and take you to Trinidad.

They know you are really Dr. Noise, and that you are the inventor of the ultra secret acoustic potato cannon. They feel that this is a new_clear program that they should be entitled. The Secretary of State has made it quite clear that the Trini's are not to have this technology!

You must come with us right NOW!

05-13-2006, 09:08 PM
Bob looked at SGT. Smith, who bore a striking resemblance to Nick Diamond with hoop earrings, and shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, "I gotta pee".

Bob turned around to relieve himself on the front of the "vessel", muttering "I christen thee Neptune's Hemorrhoid", and the magnificent chrome bumper corroded into slag. Sgt.Smith gasped, and shambled off to find his own tree.

Bob climbed into the "Hemorrhoid" to explore the possibilities, disturbing a few rodents, which went scurrying into the cavernous trunk, which was exposed for lack of a back seat.

There was a large blue button on the dash, obviously added as an afterthought by a long forgotten shade-tree mechanic. Idly, Bob poked it, and was startled to hear a noise as of escaping gas, then a crunch. Then nothing. As he reached over to investigate the glove box, the "vessel" gave a shuddering lurch, then heaved itself over the bank and started to roll and bounce down the hill, through the underbrush and across roads, emitting a cloud of noxious smoke as it careened through town and through a bait shack to finally reach a splashdown in the harbor. Bob was unconscious, having been hit in the head by a can of potted meat that was under the seat.

The "Neptune's Hemorrhoid" was launched anew, and drifting out with the tide....

05-14-2006, 09:09 PM
Bob's mind was awash. He vaguely remembered the sergeant from his days at Aracebo. The RayGun was really a reference to the deep space program and not the former president’s venture in the Carib. How did the Trini's know about sound packets and deep space acceleration? Why did they want this technology? Were they planning an attack on Tobago? Were his friends in danger?

And what was that potted meat? Oh, too many questions.

I just want to be Bob not Dr. Noise.

05-15-2006, 08:21 PM
It was dark when Bob regained consciousness. He felt like he'd been under a truck while it was doing a three point turn. Wallowing in the ocean like a dead sea turtle, not knowing the direction of drift, this could end rather badly.....

It couldn't be possible that an abandoned Buick had any life left in it, although he dimly remembered some perverse behavior from this rusty relic. He needed to get a survival plan, something that would float when this thing sank...It would sink, who ever heard of a seaworthy Buick anyway...?

Bob shifted his weight to look out the passenger window, and the car began a roll, surely a death roll. A surge of panic, and he threw himself across the seat, struggling with the door latch.. loose...the window, stuck in the halfway position..the car rolled back, and would have kept going over, when Bob felt a perceptible damping of the motion. The car regained a level position...and stayed there, tiny corrections accompanied with a barely heard hiss...

Bob sat in the dark, looking out through the dirty windscreen, thinking hard. He felt helpless, with too little information to process his situation. The Buick drifted on..

He awoke in the early dawn, God! he could use some hot coffee! Bob didn't even like coffee, but no matter. In the dim light, he began to comprehend the tree grown through the roof, and he craned his neck and saw the sail, and its sheet, and its halyard...they seemed to be led into the cavernous trunk.

05-16-2006, 07:13 AM
.. desperately he searched the trunk and in his haste knocked an epirb overboard , in his guant disarray he also managed to jetison over the side a honda generator , two 4 stroke outboards , a 5 gallon drum of fuel , a case of sardines , a fully stocked beer fridge , two frosted mugs , a stack of old playboys and a wifi laptop

"oh crap" said bob watching the expensive electronics , power generation and propulsion devices and cold beer and snacks and time passing appliances spiral downwards into the depths like a bunch of unlikely things to find in the trunk of a Buick lost overboard , looking up he saw a cable and a winch and a spun copper diving bell ..

05-16-2006, 09:14 PM
Bob was getting impatient with his unconventional vessel..."Where's Ian McColgin when you need him".. he thought...

Rummaging around in the blackness of trunk his hand fell on a warm naked ....foot. "WTF!!"

A startled groan, a heavy movement - Bob backed away into the front seat - The blond tousled head of The Large Furry German Woman in the Black..... She was wearing a thong fashioned from black polypropylene pot warp... emerged into the light of day.

Oh, it's you Bob! vould you mind rubbing this ointment..?....

martin schulz
05-17-2006, 07:42 AM
Oh, it's you Bob! vould you mind rubbing this ointment..?....

...on my..."Backen"...how do you say: bottocks? cheeks? Funny, in german both places have the same name"

To help Bob the Large Furry German Woman bent over to let him slap the thick ointment on her lower back. But Bob had problems concentrating, because the strange, alien ointment had a strong, stinging smell. Suddenly the smell brought unpleasant memories back to Bob's mind...

05-17-2006, 08:45 PM
gosh, what was the name of that rum??? He thought he would never forget it, but now in this haze...

05-18-2006, 07:16 AM
"Jack Iron"

05-19-2006, 08:01 AM
"Neptune's Hemorrhoid" wallowed on, full of..uh.. unfulfilled potential.

Bob was required to pause... the ointment having unintended consequences...he gazed slack jawed off into the middle distance.

The Large Furry German Woman, adjusted her thong and climbed into the front seat and contemplated her situation. Events had transpired in an asymmetrical fashion since she had climbed into that container back in Germany. Sea travel was not what she expected, at all, ...not at all.

She shifted about (Who invented these thong thingies anyway!!) and her knee brushed against something under the dash. There was a faint vibration somewhere behind her, and the lines controlling the sail tightened. the "Hemorrhoid" heeled slightly, and began to behave with new purpose.....

05-21-2006, 08:04 AM
She glanced down at her knee that had brushed something under the dash. And there, hanging on for dear life, was a teensy weensy little man dressed in a teensy weensy little sailor suit!
"Who are YOU!?" The Large Furry German woman bellowed.
Gasping for air, and still struggling to clamber to a safer locale, the teensy weensy little man wheezed out a pathetic; "My name, dear lady, is of little consequence to you. The fact that this vessel is underway illegally, however, May cause you greater concern! I demand that you heave to this very instant!"
Misunderstanding the command only slightly, the Large Furry German Woman proceeded to vomit spectacularly out the opened window.

05-21-2006, 09:03 PM
It wasn't very long after the chum hit the water that dorsal fins appeared.

Fins to the right, fins to the left.....

05-22-2006, 07:15 AM
"Hey Ty-D-Bol man! What do you suggest NOW?! There's friggin' LAWYERS all around your 'Vessel'!"
The teensy weensy little man in the teensy weensy little sailor suit looked like he just ate a lemon as he flipped open his teensy weensy little cell phone, and punched in 3 numbers. "Yes this is an emergency, and no I can't 'Hold'. Yes we need an ambulance in a hurry..... Address?..." He looked at his teensy weensy hand held GPS, and calculated a longitude/latitude about 200 yards away, and told the 911 operator. Within seconds the sharks all turned tail and headed toward the sound of sirens on the ambulance boat...

05-22-2006, 11:26 AM
Bob was returning to "reality".

However, he was distracted by a very annoying song in his head....

05-23-2006, 07:32 AM
"Who let the dogs out!? (Woof! Woof woof!) Who let the dogs out!? (Woof! woof woof!) Get out you mangy dog!...."
And it just wouldn't go away.... He tried to import something into his brain to dislodge the Baha Men's anthem, but even Warren Zevon's "Lawyers, Guns, and Money" couldn't chase it awayfor more than a few minutes.
"Who let the dogs out!? (Woof! woof woof!)

05-23-2006, 08:55 PM
Desperation was creeping up on Bob. So was hunger. A crazed look filled his eyes as he reached under the seat in the hope of finding something...anything to eat.

His hand closed on the dented can of potted meat. the detachable key had fallen off sometime in the dim past, and he tried gnawing at the lid to open it, only to listen as some of his teeth crumbled at the effort. A small hole was the meager reward. The smell of the contents reminded him of the song revolving in his head, and spurred a frenzied attack on the can, and a sudden success, and a voiding of the sloppy contents over his filthy shirt.

Bob barked. Loudly.

05-24-2006, 06:48 AM
The lyrics changed then. "Who let the dog food out!? (Woof! Woof woof!) Who let the dog food out!? (Woof! Woof woof!)...." Bob smiled dreamily as he scooped the foul smelling goo off of his chest and belly and stuffed it in his bloody maw.
"Zat eez DEZGUZTINK!" sneered the LFGW from the passenger seat. "Let me haz zum off dis!"

05-24-2006, 06:56 AM
bob passed the canned possum like the true squire he was as the german lady , large and furry, slurped up the tinned lips and assholes, she was muttering something barely audible something about getting her swindeled granddaddy's totem pole back , when bob suddenly recalled ..

05-24-2006, 09:09 PM
having discovered an electric device while rummaging in the dark void of the trunk, a revelation forgotten in the surprise of seeing The Large Furry German Woman emerge from the cave of mysteries that occupied the back of their "vessel", which had lately developed a pronounced heel as the wind freshened. There was a clatter of shifting objects from the trunk, which jogged his recollection....

Bob shifted to the back seat to continue his exploration, hoping for a radio, or maybe more food, or ....perhaps a diversion to keep his mind off the increasingly negative effects of his recent meal...a silent flatulence with formidable presence....He felt around in the gloomy cavity until his hand fell on a metal box and a jumble of wires, which he dragged into the light.

It was an ancient 8-track tape deck. protruding from the machine was a cassette, the label of which was illegible. He turned the knob, and a tiny green light light appeared on the front, along with a barely audible squeaking sound....

05-24-2006, 09:24 PM
" I gotta black magic woman....... I gotta black magic woman...... I gotta black magic woman, she got me so bling I can't see. Don't turn your back on me baby. No don't turn your back on me baby.....' HOLY CRAP! It's ABRAXSIS! The onliest 8 track tape I ever owned! Thought Bob. Is this?....... Could this be......? OH MY GOD! This is MY OLD CAR from 1979! How the hell did it end up down here!?

05-25-2006, 06:44 AM
the furry woman , large and German, had no idea what Bob was yammering on about , she was trying desperately to decipher his incomplete sentences , as a matter of fact , she nearly blacked out twice listening to Bob's inane rattlings and somber satire as she lay there recoiled in her seat, rubbing her stubble , she began contemplating the strange calamities surrounding their escapades , when suddenly , this time for sure , no doubt about it , she had a really great idea , an idea so vile and fraught with danger , it would topple the potted meat sequence and exact her evil revenge once and for all

05-26-2006, 06:51 AM
"oh Bo-ob...."she crooned in a sacharine husky voice. "You want I should put some sticks on my lips yes?"
Sticks on her lips? Bob thought. What the hell is she trying to say now?
"You sink dat a girl mit sticks on her lips is.....How do you say.....Zexy, yes?"
AH! "lip stick!"
"Yez, dat iz what I say!" The moment gone, the large furry German woman turned her attention back to the teensy weensy little man wearing the teensy weensy sailor suit. "You sink my lips look zexy mit sticks on dem, yes?"
The teensy weensy little man just looked ill and went back to his cell phone.

05-26-2006, 07:56 AM
Bob went back to his necessarily tactile exploration of the Neptune's Hemorrhoids trunk. there seemed to be an inordinate amount of miscellania shifting about, from the noise audible above the rising wind...

05-26-2006, 11:45 AM
Bob heard a clunking sound , he rooted through more miscellaneous junk and found a rusty brake shoe , not a brake pad , but a shoe , the kind that fits inside a brake drum and then he felt something else , he found a spark plug gauge and he noticed someone had left the 0.035" feeler out

Bob turned and looked back at the large furry woman, all German like, and wondered if he could recall a last name or perchance a first name , or a middle initial even , Frau ... Fraulein Olga Svetlana ... but no matter , it's not as if the Hemorrhoid would get swept onto a desserted island or ride a whales back to safety or be towed in by a raveneous white shark someone might hook into with a tuna rod , no , not in this miserable sad soggy saga

Bob rummaged somemore amongst a veritable plethera of used domestic car parts and new outboard motors

05-26-2006, 12:13 PM
Cold water slopped down Bob's neck from the window, as the sea and wind continued to build. Bob had to struggle to close them, at the cost of broken and stripped handles, and finally managed to seal the openings from the ravages of the coming storm.

A sudden lurch brought more stuff tumbling out of the trunk, and Bob caught the half opened box of cans as it slid by...potted meat! The Large Furry German Woman, who had been watching Bob's exertions, reached over his shoulder and fisted a bakers dozen or so.

For the next few minutes, the sound reminiscent of a sucking bilge pump filled the small space, as the cans were steadily opened and consumed.

The storm increased in strength, tossing the Neptune's Hemorrhoid in an awkward spiral heave and scend that was beginning to get on his nerves.

Then the potted meat began to declare itself. The Large Furry German Woman made an addition to the atmosphere that made Bob's eyes water.

Bob reached for the window handle. No joy. A look of panic crept into his eyes, and he felt a significant contribution of his own join the ever thickening air...

05-26-2006, 12:31 PM
poffa poffa poofaa flapped Olga as cans 6 ,7 ,and 8 repeated on her

"I've got to clear all the cylinders first"! yelled Olga

"For Gawd sake woman NOOoooo" cried Bob as Olga dropped the hammer on can number 9

Bob rithed and wiggled on the floor attempting to relax his sphincter muscle for one last counter volley , but his paultry schoolboy rectal weeze was to no avail , Olga was about to clear the supper table..

05-26-2006, 09:12 PM
"Olga? Is that your name? What's your last name, Olga?" said Bob from the floor in a weak voice.


"Olga Blemish?" Bob was fading fast, and trying to remember where he'd heard that name before. He knew it was important that he remember that name, but he was blacking out...Olga Blemish... he lost his grip on consciousness.

The "Neptune's Hemorrhoid" gave a lurch as one of the wheels touched bottom....

05-27-2006, 07:27 AM
Bob opened one crusty eyelid and when he finally was able to focus, sprang to his feet. "What the....?!" The large furry German woman was still squatting over where his legs had been. "Ees goot for the sting from de testicals" Bob took stock of his situation. His testicals weren't stinging, and he was on a fine pink sand beach. The Neptune's Hemmorrhoid up to it's axels in the wash. "What sting?! Why were you peeing on my legs!?" Olga stood and adjusted her thong. "Zee sting from zee testicals from zee gelatin fich yes?" Bob's other eye finally joined the first, and he noticed what looked like a hundred small ziplock baggies strewn across the beach. Bob took a closer look. A hundred small ziplock baggies filled with vaseline...

05-27-2006, 08:55 PM
It was a silly little island, about a hundred yards in a near perfect circle, and a single palm tree on a mound in the center. The horizon was empty, the sky grey and the sea boisterous. There was no shelter, no water, and no food.

Bob and Olga walked in opposite directions, and soon met back at the Buick.

Do you vant I pee on your legs again? Bob realized the island held another hazard...

Bob began to empty the Buick of anything useful, finding the body of the teensy weensy little man wearing the teensy weensy sailor suit, who had expired during the aftermath of the potted meat orgy, and buried him in the cardboard box the cans were packed in. It seemed only fitting.

Olga staggered up the beach with a stack of rough oak boards on her shoulder, and the barrel of frosted vodka tonics under her arm.

"Where'd you find that!!" Bob was gobsmacked.

"In der trunk, of course" says the Large Furry German Woman.

After a sample taste of the drum, the excavation of the Buick began in ernest. At the end of several hours of frenzied effort, the two unwilling residents of the only island on the face of the ocean were leaning against the palm tree with a cold vodka tonic, and most certainly not their first vodka tonic, in hand. A little distance away were tarpaulins covering neatly stacked and stickered lumber and boxes of tools, sandpaper, epoxy, and machinery. A boom box was playing Santana as the moon rose full upon the horizon.

Bob belched.

05-30-2006, 07:50 AM
A ghost crab scuttled across the sand by Bob's bare toes, kicking up little puffs of dust as it went.
Bob gently poured a little of his vodka & tonic down the crabs hole, and watched as it was absorbed by the surrounding beach. Another crab scurried up the beach and stopped in front of Bob, looking at him with those funny antena eyes. Bob felt like the crab was waiting for him to do something. He poured a little more vodka & tonic into a little sea shell by the crab's hole. The ghost crab lept onto the shell and drained the liquid in one long draught. "Hey! Look at this Olga! The freakin' crabs like vodka!" Bob poured some more vodka & tonic into a bigger shell as a dozen or so more ghost crabs came skittering towards them from all directions.

05-31-2006, 07:52 AM
Bob leaned back against a crate of licorice twists and gazed out over the brilliant orange water. The royal blue clouds dotting the emerald green sky...... "Bob? Bob? Bob, you are doink OK, yes? Bob, my head feels funny."

05-31-2006, 08:00 AM
Bob amused himself for a while buying drinks for the crabs, and joining them round for round. Soon there were two full moons swaying above the horizon.

He turned to Olga to discuss this, and was startled to find her gone. 'Probably had to pee', he thought. Which reminded him that he needed to do that very thing. He rolled to his feet...and the island tilted in an oddly insistent manner. He needed to grab on to the tree to keep it from moving.

Bob scanned his domain to find Olga, but without success. The two moons were gently jiggling in an oddly familiar, and pleasurable way, which reminded him that he was looking for Olga. But where was Olga?

The crabs were clicking their claws on their carapaces, asking for another round. That's when he noticed the drag marks in the sand, as if....

05-31-2006, 08:03 AM
Hmmmmmm...... Paralell universe......

05-31-2006, 08:03 AM
Bob reached back and garnered for himself another fistfull of red licorice twists and assorted butterscotch toffee candies with soft centers and wondered if a huge cache of miscellaneous boat building supplies and power tools with excellent warranties would make a big enough signal fire to get them rescued or if a raft could be constructed from bottle corks and glue and shoe laces

Bob's head felt funny

05-31-2006, 08:19 AM
Schism, he thought...

05-31-2006, 08:21 AM
.....Or maybe a worm hole in the crab nebula..... What ever it was, it's gone now thought Bob.

06-01-2006, 07:38 AM
What ever it was, it's gone now thought Bob.

06-01-2006, 11:39 AM
...and it seems to have taken Olga with it, thought Bob.

The two full moons swaying above the horizon among the royal blue clouds dotting the emerald green sky, and the drag marks leading.....Where were they leading??

Bob thought he should investigate this phenomenon..after he relieved himself...he let go of the tree to unzip, and the ground came up to meet him....

06-01-2006, 01:59 PM
as Bob lay unconcious in a dreamlike state ~ asleep even , Olga Schmenge crept silently to his side and slipped his fingers in her glass of vodka tonic

06-01-2006, 08:57 PM
Which had warmed to body temperature.

Bob began to dream about running in the rain.....

06-02-2006, 06:28 AM
.. the warm rain shower became a torrential downpour , Bob searched for his pith hat ..

06-02-2006, 07:23 AM
The ghost crabs had formed a conga line, and were conga-ing around the prostrate Bob to a Kid Creole and the Coconuts song. "Feelin' HOT HOT HOT!"
A bottle rolled slowly in the gentle wave lap at the edge of the beach. Olga scootched down the incline and examined it as it spun in the shallow, phosphorescent water. "BOB! Kommen zie here! Dere iz a bottle mit a letter inside it on der beach! Maybe zumeone has sent us a rescue note!"

06-03-2006, 09:08 PM
Bob vaguely heard Thë Lärgë Fürry Gërmän Wömän say something about a bottle, and remembering he'd left his lederman in his leatherhosen, realized he couldn't uncork the thing anyway. Bob had little inclination to get up from his place in the sand..it felt so comfortable...so comfortable yesssssss....

06-03-2006, 09:29 PM
"BOB! Get off of you face! It's a letter! It's from zee craps i sink!"

06-03-2006, 09:56 PM
Thë Lärgë Fürry Gërmän Wömän had smashed the bottle on her belly ring, and was waving a crumpled note at Bob:

Боб, меет ме ат тхе сушибар, анд бринг ёур лоинцлотх! Цартер.

Bob had an odd inkling that it meant something....he searched his memory for some unscrambled data, but all he got was a color image reading "tilt". Somehow he knew he'd not seen the last of this.....

06-04-2006, 07:45 AM
"Боб, меет ме ат тхе сушибар, анд бринг ёур лоинцлотх! Цартер." Bob looked at the note for a third time. "Vat dose it zay Bob? Iz it a letter from ze craps?" Bob took another swig of vodka & tonic and chewed on a 3 foot long licorice whip. He looked at the note again, this time with just his left eye. It still looked like Russian to him, and the last he knew, he didn't know any Russian. Clearly there was another "Bob" out there somewhere who could read Russian, and someone wanted to meet him someplace. Bob finished the licorice and reached for another. "Bob! Vat are you doink? Diz iz zumtink ve must be getting dressed for no? A party I sink yes? Vere izit at!?"
Bob's head was slowly coming into focus. "Shut up Olga, and let me sink! Errr, Think!"

06-04-2006, 08:19 PM
Bob staggered into the water, thinking to dunk his head to clear his brain...and banged his head hard on a solid object...another floating bottle.

He gave it to Olga to open. The note inside read:


To: All Staff

From: Director of Operations

Please be reminded that all food in the staff break-room must be eaten daily, as the incidence of unclaimed food has been on the rise. Given my condition of compulsive eating disorder, I have gained 37 pounds in the last 3 weeks.
I apologize if any you have been missing your lunch.

This is cruel, thought Bob, as he read it aloud to Thë Lärgë Fürry Gërmän Wömän.

Peter Malcolm Jardine
06-04-2006, 08:53 PM
but not quite as cruel as what he was about to say. The words rumbled through his head like an oncoming train.... but he was interrupted by a shout from down the beach, and turned to see a contingent of armed women making their way towards him. He gaped and then said to his furry companion....

06-04-2006, 10:11 PM
"grab The Twizzlers, And The Vodka!, Then Run Like Hell!!!!"

06-05-2006, 06:53 AM
in a flurry of fur and stubble , Olga lept to her feet and grabbed for the vodka and ran pell mell with Bob's twizzler and nibs down the beach

06-05-2006, 07:46 AM
Bob and Olga got into stride on the hard sand at the surf line, running hard.

Soon they had circumnavigated the small island, and had run up against the rear of the invading horde, who realized they were being chased by a pair of horrific looking perpetrators- A blood-red eyed twizzler twirling berserker in tattered shorts, and a Lärgë Fürry Gërmän Wömän wearing just a pot warp thong who began to ululate maniacally after she stepped into the broken glass of the ruined message bottles.

The contingent of armed women, who were tastefully dressed in neutral grey suits and Manolo Blahniks, and armed with daybooks, notepads, matching handbags, and designer totes containing their salads and Evian for their lunches, ran in a panicked herd along the beach, leaving small holes in the sand as they passed.

The carousel continued long after the lunch hour...

06-06-2006, 07:53 AM
Finally exhausted past the point of tears, the counter anti-femministas dropped to their knees in the damp sand and began sobbing into their cell phones in unison. "I just needed to call you, do you have a moment? OK. I know it's not my usual appointment time, and I'm really sorry to bother you. Are you sure you're not busy? OK. Well remember how I told you about Brad...? Yes the guy from the office... No, I'm on an island right now. What, The coverage here is pretty bad. Oh! Yes! No, Well, any way, Brad is MARRIED! YES! OH MY GOD! If I'd known that I NEVER would have gone to the hotel with him after lunch! Well yes... He WAS really fun, but..... OH I just needed to talk to someone! What? YES he paid for lunch! I don't KNOW why I'm on an island. It's like a bad dream or something. Well, yes he was really.....Why are you asking me this!? YOU'RE KIDDING! He hit on YOU TOO?!
Bob and Olga just stared in disbelief.

06-06-2006, 08:13 AM
a soft beigey light brown periscope pierced the waters surface , below it a medium rich brown suede submarine was lurking. it was very nice, very neutral and very natural, the shadows blended easily and the submarine was very easy to keep clean

inside, the submarine was spacious and on each of the sides except the one in front of the main hatch foyer there were plump, comfy couches in the same burgendy color as the rug and porthole curtains, except there is no pattern , instead they were adorned with throw pillows in sage greens, golds, and a more vibrant accent red

06-07-2006, 08:05 AM
At the helm, Martha Stewart scanned the various blipping beeping screens arrayed around her, with a bemused expression on her powdered face. She turned and beckoned to the man in the mirror. "Mistah Jackson!" She barked. "Tell me those are not gold lame chaps you are wearing!" Michael looked hurt. His mascarra was already getting smudged, and he'd just reapplied it an hour ago. "They are" He squeaked. "I thought they looked sexy with the faux Panamanian military jacket. Don't you?" Martha looked like she was about to hurl. "I'll change." Jackson said meekly, as he spun on one heel and moonwalked towards his cabin. Miss Stewart just sighed, rubbed her eyes with the tips of her impecably manicured fingers, and resumed scanning the beach through the digital periscope.

06-07-2006, 09:29 AM
As Martha peered at the events unfolding on the island, she suspected that her plan to create a training facility for designer terrorists was in danger of misfiring. She hadn't expected the presence of outsiders.....hmmmmm.....pot warp thongs....how "down east" ...... che chic, really.....

06-07-2006, 10:27 AM
"it's not a good thing" , grumbled Martha

she lowered the beigey periscope back into it's conveniently placed matching periscope holder and barked out orders for hard left rudder and increase to flank speed as the suede submarine sank into the murky depths

Bob and Olga stared in greater disbelief as tracer fire laced across the beach from the feminista terroristas metallic bronze leather Francesco Briasia hobo tote bags

the horizon bore the sound of an approaching Huey

Salty Sea Dog
06-07-2006, 10:47 AM
""Hey Huey, haven't seen you for ages! How did you get along at the VD clinic, clear yet?" asked Bob.

Olga looked uncomfortable and turning away scratched her crotch area.

06-08-2006, 07:37 AM
"I wanna new drug. One that won't make me sick. One that won't make me feel too small, and my head 3 feet thick. I wanna new drug... Hi guys!" Sure enough Huey Lewis was walking towards them through the frantic mass of double breasted suits in high heels. He had a soaking wet briefcase in one hand, and a single red rose in the other. He handed the briefcase to Bob and kissed Olga's hand as he slid the rose into her cleavage.

Salty Sea Dog
06-08-2006, 07:58 AM
Staring intently at Olga's impressive cleavage Huey said
"Hey Bob, in the brief case you'll find the sheet music for Fiddler on the Roof, an English half crown coin, two used tea bags, a set of false teeth, a dust cover for a zeppelin and a photograph of the actors from Jaws at a BBQ to celebrate the finishing of the movie. What I want you to do is............."

06-08-2006, 12:29 PM
write a skit for all these office floozies so we can distract ourselves on this shipwreck of an island. got anything to drink?

The rose fell out of Olga's cleavage, since there was nothing to prevent the justly natural motion of heavenly bodies...Huey picked it up and stuck it between his teeth.

Offshore, Martha was observing through her pryoscope (standard feature of Picnic Sub™ ) when a Barry Manilow ring tone interrupted her idyll.... her very personal assistant handed her a phone..... "It's a Mr. Cleek" ....

Martha went pale. She knew very well her recent activities were an anathema to the committee. This could only mean one thing. A very bad thing...

06-09-2006, 07:30 AM
Huey accepted a frosty glass from Bob and examined the contents with a raised eyebrow. "It's vodka & tonic with a strawberry twizzler stir stick." Huey smiled and sipped the drink tenatively. "It's good! Very good! Now, about that skit...."
"I haff no skit. It vas lost in a fire I sink" Olga wiggled her hips at Huey, who was clearly more interested in one of the feministas. The one with the red F/M pumps and black fishnet stockings. Just then his eyes bugged out and he began gasping for breath. He dropped the frosty glass and began clawing at his throat. Bob ran over to help, but it was way too late. A gold Cross fountain pen pierced the one time cultural icon's neck from the back, it's split tip just barely protruding from the adam's apple.

Salty Sea Dog
06-09-2006, 07:45 AM
"Oh crap" said Bob, "he might have waited till he'd signed my album sleeves".

"Vell, at least ve von't have to hear that awful 'have I got News for you' joke again" Olga gushed looking disappointed that she wouldn't score.

"Well Olga, that's the nearest you'll get to a stiffy" replied Bob, pointing to the corpse.

It was half an hour before Bob came round. He had lost several teeth and his one good eye was already closed. Olga really packs a punch when she is angry he realised.

Looking around he saw that he was alone except for the ginger tom cat that was looking up at him. He wiped the blood from his mouth, picked up the cat and walked along the beach towards the setting sun.

06-09-2006, 09:53 AM
After several hours of solitary existance and philosophic recovery on the sun swept island, Bob had come to contemplate the neatly covered pile of lumber and tools, without which none of this would have been necessary.

Before long, having built a workbench with a sun shade and a comfortable chair, Bob was busy studying a tattered set of plans for a Friendly ship Cat like boat schooner rigged trailerable Pungy Stickup pirogue which could be constructed in a weekend out of OSB, CPES, and 5200, carvel strip lap planked and caulked with white lead and lime jello.

It was possible the sheets of drawings had been shuffled.....

06-09-2006, 08:01 PM
But what has happened to the plans for the Tobagorondack Chair wondered Bob. Hmmmmmmmmm. Why would someone come here and steal only those plans.

06-10-2006, 08:53 AM
The "click click click" of Ghost crab claws brought him out of his reverie. Bob poured a tumbler of vodka & tonic and set it on the sand for the assembled group of crabs, which scuttled over and began to lap up the silvery liquid with gusto.
Even the cat was gone. He was completely alone on the island except for the dipsomaniacal Ghost crabs. The wind rustled the fronds in the palm trees and flipped the pages of assorted plans on the bench.
From her position a half mile away, and 20 feet under the surface of the ocean, Martha Stewart's mouth formed a crooked smile, as she leaned forward and clicked on the intercom. "Mistah Jackson! To the helm now.........Please!" She rolled her eyes. This ridiculous faux civility that she hadbeen trying to maintain since her release from Club Fed was really getting to her. She longed to backhand a gardener, or flatten a flock of baby chickens with her Hummer H-1. But all that could wait a little bit. Right now she had an island to invade, and only a half crazed beach bum and a totally twisted first mate stood in her way!

06-11-2006, 10:25 PM
Before long, Bob had disassembled the former "Neptune's Hemorrhoid" sufficiently to provide belt drive power to the planer, table saw, and band saw that emerged from the boxes stowed under the wondrous tarp.

There was just enough gas in the tank to operate the ancient engine, if he could only keep the pistons from changing holes....it did belch a prodigious amount of oily smoke, which tended to waft downwind in the precise direction of the lurking Picnic Sub™.

Bob began to build....

06-12-2006, 08:44 AM
And as he ran plank after plank over the jointer, and through the planer, two nagging questions kept tugging at his brain. "Where had everybody disappeared to?" And less importantly, but still a question... "Who had skewered Huey Lewis like a shrimp-ka-bab, and why? He nearly nipped off the end of his little finger on the tablesaw, and focused his attention on the job at hand. Building a regulation sized pool table, with fringe pockets, and Sterling silver dots. The dots he would get from melting down the five 1905 silver dollars he found in the glove box of the "Neptune's Hemmerhoid. The fringe for the pockets from the gold lame chaps that had recently washed up on the beach.

06-12-2006, 08:59 AM
Bob also knew he could fashion a perfect , flat , slate top for his regulation sized pool table but he would first need to find a quarry for the large rectrangular piece of slate he found in a cliff next to where the gold lame chaps washed up on the beach, further Bob knew from his first year chemistry class road trip and beerfest , billiard balls where once fashioned by tumbling ivory in a rotary mill and he knew there would be plenty of ivory to be harvested from the tusks of African elephant carcasses he also found on the other side of the slate cliff and down a path , close by to where the gold lame chaps washed up on the beach , but not all the way down the path , just further along than from where he earlier spotted the water buffalo leather chaps

Bob next turned his attention to locating a pool playing partner and beach bum , he carefully searched the trunk of ' Neptunes Hemmerhoid' for a life size inflatable woman he would call Velma

06-12-2006, 06:05 PM
Night fell on the island. Hard.

Bob was hungry; his diet of intoxicated crabs was wearing thin. The crabs were beginning to be wary of Bob, their little crab brains acquiring a glimmering of understanding of Bob’s campaign of crabocide.

Bob slept fitfully, the growling of his stomach and the stink of his feet were getting on his nerve, and the nagging sensation that something…. something unusual was going to occur in his thread.

The sun slipped into the sky like a wet bar of soap ejected from between the moist breasts of….

NO! No. He must concentrate, anticipate, cogitate, masticate…damn, but he was hungry! He gazed out over the horizon, thinking of his mother’s turnip chowder and salivating…. wait…what was that?

There was something.

No. An illusion, nothing more.

The memory of the suburbs, the road kill on the early morning streets wet with dew….Bob’s mind wandered back to the familial, the maternal, the carnal….Bob attention was arrested by an object on the horizon, a speck in the glare of the sun. He squinted. Then he winked. His eyes teared. Black dots appeared, and swam about. He closed his eyes, vowing to remember not to stare into the sun, like back in the ‘60’s

There was a figure in a boat, rowing…rowing like the first man rowed, back in the dim ages, patiently rowing. This went on for a while, as rowing seems to do….

The figure arrived at the beach with a grinding of sand under the rubber dinghy (what an abomination, thought Bob, no class…) The figure stood up, and staggered onto the beach, as if he had forgotten the use of his legs. He was wearing a trench coat, of a style not seen since the war, and it was unaccountably buttoned to the neck, in this heat. The man surveyed the tiny island, the single palm tree with its hammock, the tarp covering god knows what-all, the ruined Buick, the frosty jug of vodka tonics, the maze of belts stretching to shop tools tilting crazily in the sand, and finally at Bob, who stood transfixed, glued to the spot, motionless, even. The man approached. His eyes pierced out from under a bushy hedge of eyebrows like weasels from a burrow. He spoke; a voice like twenty years of hard labor, like shards of whisky bottles in the streetlamp, like…oh never mind.

“Cleek. Robert Cleek.” There was a cessation of sound, the sea stilled, the atmosphere paused in anticipation of the effect of that name…..

06-12-2006, 07:43 PM
"You look just like Martha Stewart" Bob stammered.
"Somehow I thought you'd look more...... Ummm.... Less..... Er.... Masculine..."
Martha was out of breath from rowing, then yelling, and she was looking a little peeked. Bob handed her a frosty vodka & tonic. "Thank you" she murmered as she tossed the chilled concoction down her parched throat.
"Why'd you yell at me?" Bob asked calmly.
"You need to floss Martha, there's something stuck in your teeth..."

06-13-2006, 07:26 AM
as the sun drooped over the flacid horizon , Bob gave Velma one final squeeze , pointed her upwind and bid her a bon voyage , Velma squeeked and sighed a somber flutter as she popped out into perverse and unexpected disproportions

Bob relaxed his amourous grip and with that , Velma drifted silently on the evening tide slowly regaining regulation size

Martha stared betwixt Bob and Velma's pincer ladened buttocks as Bob clutched his emergency vinyl patch kit and foot pump

"well" ? asked Martha

Bob fell to his knees , his sanguine comfort and happy happy joy joy became shriveled , Bob looked up at Martha and then looked down at Velma's clam shell case, Bob felt severe gas pain as he downed his last crab in vodka cream broule hors d'oeurve

"scallop and a pancake "? asked Bob attempting to distract Martha wiggling his faux Coque St Jacques

"you're drunk" ! yelled Martha

"lady , you're not as thunk as you drink i am" stammered Bob

"if you were my husband , i would poison your liquor" said Martha working herself into a big stink

" madam , if i were your wife , i would drieeNnkx it" belched Bob

06-13-2006, 09:19 PM
"Miss Stewart...... I'm ready for my close up."
"OH! Just SHUT UP YOU STUPID FREAK SHOW!" Martha yelled at the now totally dragged out Michael Jackson, dressed in a red satin evening gown with mid biceps white kidd gloves.
"You're just almost gross enough to make me want to leave you and this cretin here on this flyspeck all alone!"
"ALONE!" Both Bob and Michael in unison. "NOT IN A MILLION YEARS!"
"He's got stubble" shrieked Jackson.
"He's a freak show!" howled Bob.
""She's not really a woman you know...." Jackson whispered to Bob behind a half shielded gloved hand.

06-14-2006, 07:12 AM
Bob had been steadily handing out vodka tonics to his well fed guests, and imbibing a few himself...not a seasoned idea on an empty stomach...but the drink and the sun was beginning to have an effect on the invaders, making them drowsy. They certainly looked healthy...plump, even.

He was disappointed they hadn't brought any food with them. Hunger was driving all his thoughts, and perhaps the Carib legacy was somehow insinuating it's traditions in to his consciousness.....

Bob was considering barbecuing his guests. A desperate expediency...

He sharpened his wits, passed out another round of drinks, and pondered the possibilities. This course of action was not to be taken lightly, some ceremony would be necessary.

06-14-2006, 08:19 AM
"Aluetta, jeunte aluetta, aluetta jeunte plus maree!" Bob was quietly singing as he day dreamed about a giant iron cauldron bubbling on a driftwood fire. The savory aroma of stewed meat and vegetables wafting in the gentle breeze.
WHACK! "What are you smiling at?!" Martha was standing over Bob with a size 12 hard rubber sandal (Pink, with a plastic flower on the toe thong) in her right hand. Bob shook his head to clear the images, and rubbed the side of his head. "I dunno, something, but it's gone now...."
"What happened to all the lumber Bob? It was here when you started feeding us those horrid cocktails, and now I see that at least half of it has disappeared! Where did it go? and who took it!? WHO ELSE IS HERE BOB!? TELL ME NOW!"
Bob turned to look at the now significantly smaller pile of lumber.
"Now that's odd, isn't it?" Bob was as confused as Martha.
Michael was busy trying to teach the drunken Ghost crabs how to "Moonwalk" on the hard packed sand by the waters edge.

06-14-2006, 08:49 AM
as a pale moon squatted over the relieved horizon , Bob began wondering if a marinated Martha went well with tender bamboo shoots and cocktails after 4 , or if Jacko-on-a-stick could be frozen and later thawed for a quick snack , or maybe if he had two gigantic graham crackers he could make the world's biggest s'more

Bob then noticed a Paumanok 2000 Grand Vintage Chardonnay underpriced at 33 dollars a bottle nested in Martha's camel hair tote bag , next to a set of knuckledusters , a stub nose .38 and a Bosch rechargable cork screw and wine opener

"what else is in the bag , bag" ? asked Bob

"well , i do have some Cheese Whiz and crackers in there" smiled Martha

hmmm ..a fatal slip up , thought Bob , his years of training as a pool shark and sulky race announcer .. 'and it's Fox Valley Mylady over Gluepot by a nooose' ..was beginning to pay off

"say" , quizzed Bob , " is it ok to wear white slingbacks after Labor Day , and what if i put two bucks on the exactor in the 7th race , are the odds stacked for pari-mutuel wagering on a muddy track" ?

"uh , yes , er no , buy low sell high" Martha stumbled as she tried to flummox Bobby with some savvy Wall Street talk

06-14-2006, 08:19 PM
'Maybe Old Bay Seasoning' thought Bob, 'Nah, too much like the crabs'...'I don't have a big enough pot anyway..although come to think of it, I could cooper up a big firkin....But Damn, there aren't any rocks on this island to heat up....Well, I guess I could use the Buick's' engine block, heat that puppy up and drop it in the water, yessir, it'll boil.... Sounds like a lot of work, I'm too hungry for all that....AH! I got it! I'll just pack her in mud and put her in a hole with hot rocks, er, I mean big hot iron engine parts, just like a Chihuahua supper.

'Now how am I gonna get rid of that weird assistant? I just don't think I wanna go that way.....Gotta draw the line somewhere...'

Bob handed the assistant a drink. " Could you row this anvil over there by that big yellow moon for me?" "Of course I can do that, you think I can't row that little boat??" (Well that was easy, thought Bob..)

Now for the bucket brigade, grinned Bob, as he began to pour the drinks for his dinner guest....

06-15-2006, 07:49 AM
Cheese wiz on Ritz crackers with Chardonay (Chilled, of course), Fresh strawberries and cream, and the sweetest green grapes Bob had ever tasted. "Where'd you get these grapes?"
"My vineyard, of course, wher do you get your grapes?"
Bob thought for a moment before answering. "Grand Union, but they aren't like these...."
Bob ate another handful of the juicy gobs of sweetness, and washed them down with a mouthful of the crisp cool wine. "You make the wine yourself too?"
Martha curled her lip. "No. I buy the wine."
Bob was feeling warm and fuzzy. He realized that he hadn't had any real sleep in over a week.... If you didn't count the brief unconscious episodes brought on by flying fists, or vast quantities of alcohol. He briefly thought he heard a flute like laughter as he drifted off to sleep under the coconut palm.

06-15-2006, 12:45 PM
as the green sun threw-up over the gagging horizon Bob woke to a start , he looked down to notice two things , first of all , someone had slipped his fingers into a white , warm , crisp , peanut butter tumbler full of Chardonnay , and the other thing Bob noticed after his brief nap , where his briefs were missing

Bob suddenly turned his attention to a fiddler crab somewhere close to where it shouldn't be

"will this never end" , moaned Bob, as he drifted off to sleep in the clumped sand

06-16-2006, 08:09 AM
When he awoke, it was high noon.....("Heh, just like high school...") The island was deserted, the table with the drawings was still under the tree, pages idly riffling in the gentle breeze, and Bob's stomach was patiently grumbling, and his lack of shorts....well, maybe he could practice Polynesian navigation...

("whoa, what a strange set of dreams....")

It was the first bell of the first dog watch before Bob tore himself away from the design table, when he realized he'd been crunching on a crab from one hand, and drinking a frosty vodka & tonic from the other, that he felt satisfied that he could create a suitable vessel to escape this island.

("boatbuilder, heal thyself....") he thought..

06-18-2006, 07:57 AM
"Alone again........Naturally....." Bob sang quietly to himself, making up lyrics as he went. "When Ty-D-Bol man died, My brain got fried, Alone again, Naturally...."
The boat was really starting to look like a boat after only 5 days of occasional work. The rest of the time he spent trying to reorganize the plans into some recognisable order.
A box of party ballons had washed up on the beach 3 days ago, and Bob had inflated half of them, some 10,000, and tied them to a wooden crate. It kind of looked like it might serve as a life raft, maybe he should set off in this, and come back to finish the boat later... He sat under the palm tree with a bowl of guacamole and a bag of Doritos left behind by Martha Stewart. The vodka & tonic were still frosty cold, and in no danger of running out any time soon.

06-18-2006, 12:48 PM
Bob was relaxing in the shade of the palm tree, sipping a frosty vodka tonic, musing about making his fortune with the wondrous jug when he got back to the real world, and beginning to doze. He wondered if such a product might be a little like those 200 MPG carburetors he’d heard about, that never made it to market. The liquor industry would have him fitted for cement overshoes…. he closed his eyes, and …and suddenly sensing something, he came alert.

Squinting at the near shore, he saw a large fish break the surface. Watching for its reappearance, he studied the water.

Suddenly he jumped in a terrified panic at the heavy thud and splash from just behind and felt the cold water on his neck, spilling his vodka and tonic in his eyes. He tried to see, his eyes were burning, tearing…he ran from the panting slobbering thing…it seemed to be a monstrous fish, or a manatee, which had launched itself almost to the tree, and was humping itself towards him – he wished he had a sleeve to wipe his eyes on, or even shorts. He felt acutely exposed.

Bob stumbled away from the beast, trying to clear his eyes. When he glanced back, he saw…NO! It couldn’t be! It was…it was the Lärgë Fürry Gërmän Wömän, but she had traded the pot warp thong for a FISH TAIL!

It came after Bob, some viscous bubbles issuing from her mouth. She seemed to be saying something. The creature turned and began to nuzzle the frosty jug, finally grabbing it clumsily and pouring a prodigious quantity down her throat ACHHHT!

She hacked up a mucous plug.

“Bob….”, she said thickly. “Bob, help me”

06-19-2006, 08:08 AM
Bob stared at Olga for a good minute and a half. Finally he shook his head and said "How? By the way.... What ever happened to that black bikini you were wearing? You look like a Manatee....."
A ghost crab scuttled up the beach and gave the Olga fish thing a nip with it's right claw.

06-20-2006, 08:35 AM
"I look like a maitre D'? Vat kind uf rezdurant do you bizit Bob?" Bob couldn't stop laughing. Olga was flapping around on the sand like a giant Carp. "Stop mit ze laffink Bob! Help me viz dis stoopit sing!" Bob was doubled over on his knees trying to catch his breath, tears streaming down his face.
"I.....I......No! Stop it! you're so......I......Stop! You you you.....I Whew! Olga you.... What .....Where did you get.......Get that silly........AHHHHH! Stop moving!.....Who put this on you?!" Olga just glared at him..... "I didit Bob. I sink it looked very sexy.... Clearly you do not sink so yes?" Her tone as icy cold as the vodka tonics in the barrel.

06-20-2006, 10:34 AM
Bob felt a big clap when suddenly, ominous, dark, thunderous clouds gathered and parted the auburn sky

"Bob" , bellowed a voice from above , " i want you to build a vessel , Bob , 13 cubits by 7 cubits by 3 cubits , are you writing this down , Bob"?

Bob swirled his frosty VT glass and freshened it up a little with a jigger of Absolute

"Bob " boomed the huge voice , " i scorn the wicked and adorn the righteous, Bob , thee vessel must have a bowsprit 1.618 times the length of thine tiller , also six staterooms in the after cabin, and five staterooms adjoin the spacious pantry located in the forward cabin but two of these rooms shall have a ladies changing area with tasteful decor"

Bob added a dash of bitters and a zesty twist

"Bob, all of this must be done ... in 14 days days , and i am coming back here Tuesday to check up on you and if you are slacking , it won't be a good thing as i will smite thee"

Bob pulled open a new case of swizzle sticks

as the clouds rumbled and the earth shook , the brilliant zap of a purple thunder bolt felled a mighty oak that left spots on Bob's retina because he already had very dilated pupils

Bob looked toward the calm blue sky and swished his floaters while Olga waved her flipper

06-21-2006, 07:25 AM
"Now where did that giant Oak tree come from?" asked Bob to no one in particular.
"I sink it came from zee tiny acorn..." spat Olga.

06-22-2006, 07:47 AM
Bob ignored her and switched on the radio he'd pulled from the dashboard of "Neptune's Hemmorhoid". He fiddled with the tunning knob until a static filled station finally came in. "We are the Soca warriors! Win, or lose, or draw!.... We are the Soca....." "We interupt this broadcast to inform our listeners of an impending natural disaster... Stay tuned for details! " An advertisement for a used car dealership on Grenada swelled over the airwaves, then another ad for some night club offering free jello shots for "Hot ladies in white shirts!".... "We return now to inform our listeners of an impending natural disaster.... A huge tsunami wave has been detected in the eastern Caribbean. If you are able to hear this broadcast, seek high ground, and make sure that you have plenty of water and food. We repeat, a huge tsunami wave...." Bob looked at the pile of lumber sitting on the high point of the island.... A good 4 feet above the high water mark.
"Vat iz dis dey are sayink Bob? Vat iz dis Suzy name?"
Bob inspected the box with the party balloons tied to it, lifted the keg of premix vodka and tonics into it, and climbed in holding a half case of strawberry twizzlers. "Just sit tight Olga, We'll be fine."

sv Lorelei
06-22-2006, 09:10 AM
Bob surveyed the wood pile then the giant oak tree, then vainly tried to recall...um...13 cubits by 7 cubits by 3 cubits or was that 4 cubits...damn!, how big was a cubit anyways and what about the sheer line, the garboard rabbet? What about a planking schedule for chrissakes. Bob looked to the heavens, shaking his fist and shouted "You call this a set of plans? You haven't even specified a rig, you omnipotent old coot!". Bob surveyed the wood pile then returned to the vodka tonics and poured himself another cold one, letting the ensuing buzz blunt his disgust that of all the Deities in history, he had to get the Old Testament God.

A ghost crab scuttled up, nonchalantly dipped his claws into Bobs vodka tonic and sardonically wheezed "So, Bob. Now what are you going to do?"

06-23-2006, 08:01 AM
"A talking crab..... How very interesting...." Bob took another swallow of frosty goodness, and scanned the horizon for giant waves.
"Who are you talkings to Bob? Vy are you sittink in zat box mit zum bazooms tied to it?" Olga was squirrming on the sand, trying to pry the skin tight mermaid costume from her hips.
"Balloons" Said Bob absently.
"Eggzuseme?" Olga stopped fighting with the vulcanized costume and was searching the tool pile with her eyes for something sharp.
:They're called 'Balloons' not 'Bazooms', and a giant wave is headed this way sometime soon."
"A WAIF!?" Olga began frantically humping her way towards the tools, knocking over a box full of brass bi-fold door hinges as she searched for a knife, a chisel, a pair of scissors......ANYTHING!
The eastern horizon was noticably higher than it had been just a minute ago Bob noticed. "It's coming Olga. Look how the water is receeding from the shore? And look! The crabs are all climbing into the palm tree...."
"BOB! HELP ME! I vill DIET if you left me here!"
"Sorry Olga, there's only room for one in this ark...."

06-23-2006, 08:29 AM

06-23-2006, 08:41 PM
or ... _ _ _ ...

06-24-2006, 08:01 AM
Olga latched on to a Timber framers slick with a razor edge (Courtesy of Bob Smalser of course) and neatly sliced the spandex from her body without nicking a pimple.
"Bob! Let me on zee boat!"
"What boat?" Bob replied sardonically. "It's a freakin' box with balloons tied to it."
"Boats, box.... Vateffer! Let me on to it!"
"Ohhhhh........ OK Olga, but first grab that box of Cap'n Crunch, and Those raspberries. We might be on this thing for a while."
The wave was getting closer, and the tide was receeding further. About 100 yards off of what had been the shore, a small submarine rolled on it's side in the shallow bottom mud.
And then it crested. Just as Olga climbed aboard with 2 boxes of cereal and a tupperware container of brilliant red berries. The water crashed down on the mud and sand, and knocked the submarine ass over tea kettle like a coke can with a hard to pull flip top kicked by a bored 11 year old boy from East Lansing Michigan. The water rushed towards the unlikely pair, 28 feet high and frothing foam and detritus from the ages picked up and tossed like a salad.
The box lifted beautifully on it's raft of balloons and with a heart stopping WHOOSH! they were swept off the island to unknown shores...

06-26-2006, 07:47 AM
it became abundantly clear to the briny skipper and his bushy first mate , upon the second day at sea , the basswood packing crate had plimmed into an able vessel of stout construction and decent lines

Bob stretched his legs and Olga's bottom into a less heathen and a more puritan style seating arrangement as Olga tried to engage the shiny prize she recovered from the Cap'n Crunch cereal box , a brand new set of chrome toenail clippers

Bob's quite reflection on the gas permeabilty for inflated rubber balloons and identifing collapsed dorsil fins of wild orca'a were just barely offset by his concentration on fashioning a bermuda rig and a topping lift from pine needles , seaweed and a soiled monogramed hanky

06-27-2006, 07:18 AM
"Where's McGiver when you need him?" muttered Bob.
"Vat iz a McDriver?"
Bob looked up from his knitting to observe Olga trimming her nails absently. "You ought to get your ears checked out Olga."
Olga stopped clipping and glared at Bob. "And you, mister stuperioristy, ought to learn a second lankwige! All you stupid damericans sink zat everybodies will be spanking in Englitch. From now until on I vil spank only on Deutsche!" And with that she resumed clipping her toe nails.
Bob sighed, and scanned the horizon for land, or a boat, or a space ship.... He didn't really care. The Cap'n Crunch was getting stale. Thank god the vodka & tonic keg seemed to be bottomless.... He poured himself another icy glass full and gulped it down.

06-28-2006, 02:00 PM
on the fourth night the periless sea began to swell , the ships captain and barnacled first mate began to show signs of wear as the merciless waves tossed them arse over end

Bob began to list dangerously to port and Olga was so desperate for a swab and a shave she began to look like a wool mitten

unduanted the skipper and crew knew they had but one chance to save themselves , they hoisted the frosty VT keg and emptied it's entire contents overboard , Bob flicked his bic , and with that , an enormous blue vapor trail lit up the night sky while simultaneously heating their final can of green peas and also singed every bit of fur from heir Olga's body

the good captain and pink crew munched on peas and hummed the chorus from Handel's Messiah , their signal flame hailed a passing , Dutch .. ship ... flying .. thing ..

06-28-2006, 09:33 PM
Captain van der Decken ordered his brig to heave to. There was a strange object off the port bow, surrounded by a devils fire. He wasn’t afraid, after all he cursed the gods every day, and whipped them too. His crew, however, was haggard with the torture and stress of sailing with such a blasphemer, a maniac who had no limits. The Dutchman edged closer. Through the cracked lens of the telescope, he espied a voluptuous woman, and an emaciated man; both naked, adrift in packing crate stenciled “RYOBI” in black letters.

He yearned to be introduced to the wondrous siren, to have her for his own, but he had no use for the other castaway, unless as an addition to his depleted crew – he knew his bo’sun could get use from him.

But the woman, his eyes watered when he peered through the telescope at her, and his heart raced; she was a perfect answer to centuries of abstinence, and no half measure – finally the gods have relented in their curse! He shivered in anticipation.

He ordered the mate to lower the tattered boat, and rescue the strange craft and its crew, surrounded as it was by the flaming vodka, but none would obey his bidding, terrified they were of Beelzebub’s blaze. He waxed wroth, desire and frustration fueling his rage, and he struck out in frenzy, toppling Dutchmen right and wrong, scattering ships boys and ships cats from gutter to garboard, from futtock to foretop, from cathead to catharpin, from gob-stick to gripe.

The ship was a mess. The crew useless and terrified, a condition with which they were only too familiar. The vessel was slowly drifting toward the blue flame dancing merrily on the water, closer, the old wooden pitch and tar soaked ship, easing it’s way towards the floating packing crate with it’s hapless occupants, as if a specific gravity was in effect between these two perfidious objects…

06-29-2006, 07:09 AM
Translation: "We are looking for a young man named Joren VanDersloot. Have you seen him?"
Bob looked at the captain and read the subtitles that appeared in the air under his chin. "We haven't seen anyone except for Martha Stewart, Michael Jackson, A band of corporate fashionistas, and Huey Lewis. Huey Lewis is dead. Can you give us a lift to the nearest port? My companion needs a shower."

06-29-2006, 07:33 AM
with that , the oval shaped ghostly ship c/w awesome purple and crimson lighting effects and wind . , lotsa wind , plopped open her forward hatch , a crackling greenish bluish beam enveloped the good ship 'corky' and it's enamoured , drunk and hairless crew , the light could have been a powerful tractor beam , but nah , instead a rope dangled down ,

Bob and Olga climbed up , Olga first , Bob made it only half way up the rope and then his knees got weak , the second try met with success .. an embroidered rescue sling aided Bob in his stupored state

"Velcome abordz zee sheeps , Zorbon C Protecteur , ey em Commasder ... Maxi Von Harpoon" the high pitched voice came in and out , bleating, in a most irritating manner as Bob was slung aboard and lay horizontal and comatose on the cold metal deck plating

"And zee's are my sheep and ossifers" continued the prominent man strangely knitting a scarf and dressed in comfortable shoes and fleece pants and an unattractive flannel shirt as he offered Bob and Olga a piping hot cup of herbal tea and a large jar of Noxzema

06-29-2006, 05:53 PM
...and the ship drifted ever closer into the flaming sea

06-30-2006, 07:02 AM
Bob's dream was confusing him. A ship with sheep running the show. A flamboyantly gay skipper with a Judy Garland fetish. A first mate who looked like Raoul Julia, and smoked a short black cigar.
It was the smell of burning tobacco that jolted him out of his slumber. "Where the hell am I?" Bob muttered mostly to himself as he looked around the clean, white walled room. There were some machines in one corner, whirring and clicking in their own language. A large 5 bladed ceiling fan slowly sifted the cool dry air. Bob could vaguely hear the hum of human voices, but could make nothing out. There seemed to be a sense of calm and order that he hadn't experienced in many, many months. "Where the hell am I?" he wondered again.

06-30-2006, 07:26 AM
"i see you have found the continuity department" . , entered a man in green shorts , sandals and Bavaria lager T shirt , some stubble and more green shorts

"what the fufh.." stammered Bob

"the continuity department" , continued the man in green shorts and more green shorts , " this is where wayward lost characters in confusing stories end up , we usually sort them out by deleting whole scenes and re-editting the entire story , so it makes sense to the reader , otherwise poor somber persons attempting to follow along likely will end up on medication or worse trying to make sense out of the bizarre twists and turns and confusing flashback sequences and out of time-line tidbits hacked from God knows where , bottomless pits of Zane Grey novels, brought on by many unusual and prosey-writely challenged writers trying to stew it up with bits and pieces of sexual inuendo , drunken sailors courting and sampling the wares of hairy Amazonians with coconuts and ,, jeeeezus .. wooden boats"!

"oh" recoiled Bob

sv Lorelei
06-30-2006, 07:40 AM
"We have whole chapters that range from the simply confusing to bordering on alternate reality. Did you know that in the first version of Gone With The Wind, Rhett Butler did briefly give a damn? I thought not." the man continued working up to a full diatribe.

Bob noted that he probably didn't get many cogent visitors here. He also noted that he had a strange feeling he'd been here before, and a stranger feeling that he would end up here yet again before the final curtain was drawn. He pined away wistfully for the keg of endless V&Ts, as the convergence of sobriety with consciousness was beginning to annoy him.

"Where did the woman go?" he said aloud half to himself. The man in the green shorts stopped in mid rant...

06-30-2006, 07:47 AM
A nurse entered. She was immaculately dressed in a starched white uniform. Bob thought she looked familiar, as he caught a faint whiff of fish.

"It iz time for ze injection". She brandished a large hypodermic, in which a viscous yellowish syrup slowly slurped back and forth. The faint legend "West System" could be made out on the barrel of the syringe.

The man in green shorts bent over Bob and cinched the restraining straps tighter. The nurse took this opportunity to whisk the green shorts down and jab the needle into the man's ham. He quickly solidified.

The nurse turned to Bob....

06-30-2006, 07:52 AM
"i see " said the man nurse " it seems to me we have here a classic case of someone who is confusing their similes with their metaphors faster than a pancake in a bucket, and as for the woman , well lets just say she was give an appointment with Hugo , the really tall and thin lanky narrow overly verbage editor guy we found in Sweden trying to re-write all the AbbA lyrics into extended more repetitive longer sing-a-long versions"

06-30-2006, 07:53 AM
"You sink you can valk?" Bob gaped. "OLGA!" The large furry German woman in a starched white nurses uniform grinned. "You can zee me in ziss silly zoot yes?"

06-30-2006, 08:02 AM
"I zink..er, I mean think I'm seeing double".. said Bob..."or triple.."

"Zat izz medicaly impozzible!" snapped Olga

sv Lorelei
06-30-2006, 09:27 AM
Bob was beginning to suffer the ill-effects from the injection. "Epoxy Narcosis" was clearly starting to take over his higher functions (such as they were). He felt empowered....like he could glue anything together. Somewhere in the background; or perhaps in his mind he thought he heard AbbA singing a rocking rendition of La Marseillaise. The room was getting crowded. Didn't any of these medical hacks realize that he held all the cards? He did. Looking down at the cards he noted that they were stuck to his hands. Sweat poured out of his poor pores....only it wasn't sweat....it was epoxy and it was starting to harden into a semi-solid carapace. Bob stood there for one existential moment, waiting for the metamorphosis to complete...revelling in the feeling of imperviousness, he wheeled on the Olga nurse and with a maniacal laugh....

07-01-2006, 05:19 PM
which ended in a strangled croak. His body was entering the "green" stage, and his reaction time outpaced his movements. He fell to the floor with a crash, his unblinking eyes focused under the bed, where he made out the frosty jug of vodka and tonics. Bob wept.

07-01-2006, 05:48 PM
Then he awoke again on the island with a start....

07-02-2006, 07:50 AM
.... But it wasn't THE island. It was a much larger island, with rolling hills covered in lush green vegetation. Mango trees, Banana trees, Citrus trees of every variety, Dasheen leaves poking up from the long soft grasses in the shade of enormous Mahogany trees....
Bob could smell a cook-up, and hear not so distant island music. A blend of Calypso and Jazz, and laughing shouting friendly voices. He spit the crusted sand from his parched mouth. Bob stood up slowly and looked around some more. A small red car's roof crawled past, the rest of it hidden behind a hedge of Bougainvilla. He brushed the sand from his light blue shirt, felt his face for stubble (And dried spittle) and started walking towards the music. A nice plate of stewed goat, maybe some oxtail soup, or mannish water, and a cold beer....Yeah! THAT'S the ticket! Food, drink, and human company!

07-05-2006, 06:33 AM
Bob peered through the leaves at the playing field. There were dozens of teenagers playing a football/professional wrestling kind of game. It appeared that the main objective was to "Kill the guy with the ball". A large group of brightly dressed hefty women were standing around a cluster of folding tables heaped with steaming platters of deliscious smelling food, while the men gathered in small bunches drinking rum, or beer. Bob stepped from the brush and started walking across the field.

07-05-2006, 06:45 AM
He had forgotten he was still naked...

07-06-2006, 01:27 PM
.. were it not for Olga's pet weasil

07-08-2006, 07:45 AM
The kids saw him first. Play on the field came to an abrupt halt, which in turn alerted the women chatting by the food table to that something was afoot. The men paid no attention at all until one of the more generously edowed women screamed, pointed at Bob, and started laughing. Most of the other women started in laughing and pointing as well, which prompted the children to do likewise.
Bob stopped and turned around. He'd expected to see a giant clown, or a band of jugglers with flaming torches behind him, but there was nothing there. He turned back and realized that they were pointing and laughing at him. That's when he glanced down and found out that he was indeed under dressed for the occasion. Thinking quickly he spun and darted to the edge of the field where large Dasheen leaves bobbed in the fresh breeze. Bob picked two of the larger leaves and fashioned himself a crude breech cloth with them.
By now the men had finally figured out that something was going on and one by one they stood up to see what was happening.

07-11-2006, 07:43 AM
Bob strolled casually across the field, willing himself not to be selfconscious. By now most of the laughter had subsided to low level snickering, and shoulder shoving. The largest of the brightly colored women stepped forward to meet Bob, and held out both of her jumbo sized arms in greeting. "Hello strange man! We welcome you to our gathering. You look tired and hungry, would you like some food and drink?"
Bob just nodded as he sat on a smooth wooden bench by the table.
"Get the strange man some food Celeste! Boys! You stop that laughin' RIGHT now! My name is Rae, what are you called Mr. Strange man?"
Bob looked at the woman, then glanced at the crowd, which had formed a curious circle around him. "I am Bob..." The crowd gasped.
"THE BOB!?" Rae hollered. "THE Bob that the Large Furry German woman in the black bikini was talking about!?"
"Um....I guess so...Is Olga here too?" Bob was really hungry, and he wasn't very concerned about his companion of the last 3 weeks. All he wanted was a big plate of goat, with red beans and rice..... And an ice cold beer to wash it all down.
Celeste put a large platter of stewed vegetables in front of Bob, and a pitcher of iced water on the table next to the platter. "Sorry, we have no utensils at this point, but feel free to use your fingers..."

07-11-2006, 08:04 AM
"No red beans?" he asked as he picked through the stewed veggies with both hands.

07-11-2006, 08:27 AM
..occasionaly tossing Olga's minature pet weasel a morsel of fricasseed goat on a stick .. the furry rodent pounced to capture it's prey

"Welcome to the Fukaway Tribe family fun day and picnic, we are descendants of the Fukawey Tribe you know" , continued Celeste with a blank expression on her face

"F-k-ouchys" ! screamed Bob realizing his mistake

"No" said Celeste as if lost "It is pronouced fah-ka-we , we're the Fukawey".

"That's what I'd like to know" said Bob puzzling

07-13-2006, 07:58 AM
Bob shook his head to clear it. He was having flashbacks to the days when he used to eat chocolate pecan icecream with black licorice chips on top, drinking gallons of coca-cola while watching "F-Troop!". He looked at Celeste again and said "Excuse me? What did you just say?"
"I said, Welcome to our island. It looks like you came from far away." Celeste smiled and set a fresh cold coconut on the table for Bob.
"Ah.... Well, thank you very much for your hospitallity! I have no idea how far I've come. I have no idea where I AM! Where am I anyway?"
"Rae! Comon over here!Mr. Bob has a question for you!" Shouted one of the men.
"Mr. Bob, you are on the tiny independent island of St. Fuschia. We are located aproximately 45 nautical miles south south east of Barbados. Would you require a room of your own, or will you be staying with one of us during your stay here? OH! That reminds me! You need to clear customs directly after you finish your meal here!"
Bob looked up at the enormous brightly clothed woman. "Where is Olga?"
"Well now Mr. Bob.... She has taken a stroll with one of our young men.... The one who found the two of you on the beach..."
"In that case, I'd love to stay with one of you.....If that's Ok...?"

07-15-2006, 07:55 AM
"Passport please..."
The customs official looked as if he'd just been awakened from a long nap in a cool dark room. His uniform, while not exactly wrinkled, was decidedly not "pressed".

Bob looked uncertainly at the customs official. "I have no passport..."
"No PASSPORT?!" The customs official was suddenly very awake.
"Well, no. I was kidnapped by a crazy person in a Buick...Or maybe a Pontiac... And then we tied about 99 red balloons to a soap box and the wave brought us to the beach by the vegetarian picnic, and then..."
"HOLD IT! A BUICK?" The customs official was looking at a stack of official looking forms and folders. "I have never seen a Buick on St. Fuschia."
"No. You see the Buick was on another island, and then we went to a different island..."
"In a BUICK?!" The customs official was pulling a curious looking form from the pile... It said something that Bob couldn't quite make out....Something like "Sanitary...." Something...
"Well yes, it was a sailing Buick. The captain, or admiral, or whatever he was is dead now. He was very tiny, and I guess that the large furry German woman must have crushed him..."
"A SAILING Buick?" The customs official was filling out boxes on the form now.
Bob hesitated, suddenly feeling uneasy..."Well, it was somewhat modified from it's original form...."
"I see.... And you say that a man was crushed to death on this Sailing Buick?"
I think so. I don't know really.... But he WAS so tiny, and she is so.....well.....Let's just say she has....'Zaftig'"
The customs official looked at Bob with hooded eyes. "Wait right here. I will be back in a minute." Bob was feeling even more uneasy as the customs official went into a darkened room and closed the door behind him.
Bob was straining to hear what was going on in the other room. It sounded like a one sided conversation...."Telephone" Thought Bob...
He looked around. There were no windows, and only one other door. The one he had come through originally, which opened into a brightly lit vinyl lined hallway with water coolers every 10 feet or so. Should he make a run for it? Before he could decide the office door burst opened and the customs official, with a wide grin beckoned for Bob to join him in the office.
"Amazing as it seems, your story checks out sir! You may stay here for 60 days with out a passport, but I strongly suggest that you contact your goverment officials to have it replaced. Here are your papers. Do NOT lose these, as you will need them if you are questioned by any officials here for any reason. Have a nice stay, and enjoy the beauty, and bounty (Here the official gave Bob a lecherous wink) of our island! You are free to go now." With that he opened another door and with a flourish escorted Bob out into the bright sunshine.

07-17-2006, 08:53 AM
Just as he stepped out into the sunshine, bob caught a whiff of vodka and tonic, acompanied by the tinkle of ice, and a familiar purring chuckle.

He didn't have time to speculate on this sensation as he was blindsided by an emormous woman riding a childs tricycle, insanely burdened by packages, parcells, crates of live chickens, clanging tinware, recycled tires, and jugs of molasses, which were leaking a trail of sticky goo behind her.

Bob was thrown back, where he caught his bare foot against the step, and he stumbled and rolled into the road. The kinetic behemouth left him lying in bemused disarray as she made her ponderous way along the track.

Bob stood up, and realized he was covered with sticky gravel and candy wrappers from the street. His Dasheen leaves had suffered not a little, but the net effect was to endow him with an aspect of an human hermit crab, dressed as he was in found objects.

Then the flies found him.

07-18-2006, 07:22 AM
How completey absurd! Thought Bob. I have no pants on, yet I have a fly on my....
"Bob, you're thinking out loud." Bob turned and saw Celeste smiling at him from a bench under a Tambrind tree. "Why don't we get you cleaned up, and see if we can find some clothes to fit you?" Bob nodded in assent, and waited as Celeste gathered her things.
They started down the road towards a settlement of colorfull masonry structures, with casement windows, and galvanized tin roofs.
They went around the back of the third house the came to and Celeste indicated an outside shower stall to Bob. While Bob peeled the candy wrappers and Dasheen leaves from his sticky body, Celeste slid through the half opened door into the interior of the structure. She returned a few minutes later with a bar of flower scented soap, and a bottle of Pert shampoo. "I think you'll clean up a little better if you use these instead of plain water" She said handing the supplies to Bob.
Bob, feeling slightly embarassed by his nakedness infront of Celeste tried to take both the soap, and the shampoo with one hand, leaving the other to cover his manliness. Needless to say this proved awkward at first, and futile in the end. Celeste laughed as he juggled the cleaning supplies and finally gave up and revealed his semi-tumescent member.
"Please Bob, It's not like I never saw one before! I have 3 sons yanno!"
Bob blushed and turned around.

07-18-2006, 09:16 AM
Bob felt like he needed a stiff one or at least a drink

he thought how cruel the effects of a cold shower shrinkage on his twig , perhaps more soap could cover up the temporary misunderstanding

Celeste buckled over in laughter

07-19-2006, 08:36 AM
Freshly showered and wearing Celeste's late husband's silk trousers and a bright blue cotton shirt, Bob felt better than he had in a very, very long time.
He was sitting on a bench under a coconut palm with an ice cold Coke in his hand, cool breeze blowing in off the water. The sound of surf on the beach, and little yellow and black birds twittering in the bushes....... Bob drifted off into a wonderful relaxed, deep slumber, smiling from ear to ear.

07-19-2006, 09:04 AM
.. as Celeste slipped Bob's finger into his Coke

07-20-2006, 07:58 AM
Olga was smiling from ear to ear too, but she wasn't falling asleep. She was looking at the young man lying on his back next to her. His chest was rising and falling in rythm with the waves slapping the beach.
"What a day!" Olga whispered to no one. She had awakened when the balloon festooned crate/boat had crunched ashore on the far side of St. Fuschia, and after clearing the crusties from her eyes, she had stepped neatly from the box to a smooth, warm boulder the size of a Volkswagon. She looked back at the crate, with Bob still passed out (OK, he COULD have been asleep, she wasn't sure) and gave it a shove with her foot. She smiled briefly as it wobbled back out into the current. As she strolled lazilly up the beach, kicking flour soft white sand with her pink painted toes she saw a fisherman's shack on the edge of the jungle. There were half repaired nets hanging from the roof, and a bright yellow and blue pirogue with a 20 horsepower Honda 4 stroke outboard pulled up along side.
As she changed direction slightly to make the shack a destination, she realised that there was a young man inside working on a nearly completed fishing net.
He looked up, startled as she appeared in the shack's opening. "Hallo, My name iz Olga." she said simply, extending her hand.
The young man sprang to his feet, dropping the net to the ground. "I, I, I, I, I'm Duran!"
"Eez nice to meeting you Duran! Have you some waters for me please" Olga was scanning the young man's deep mahogany colored body, which looked like it had been carved from one solid piece of stone. Not an ounce of fat, and ropey muscles wound around every bone she could see.
Duran was clearly scoping out the Large furry German woman's physique too, as he handed her a bottle of "Clearly Natural" water somespilled onto her chest, and she smeared it into her skin and sighed deeply.
That had been 8 hours ago, and they had only left the shack twice. First to get a little food and fresh water from the picnic grounds just past the point, and once to take a refreshing dip in the silky sea.
"What a day!" Olga sighed again.

07-24-2006, 08:33 AM
Despite the comments made by several of her more jealous aquaintences, Olga wasn't really "Large". Yes, it's true that she stands just over 6'2" tall, and has shoulders that many high school linebackers would pay money for, but she'd never been what you'd call "fat". Her thighs, though large compared to the anorexic twigs supporting the heroin chic cover girls', are firm and toned. She did have a small soft spot on her belly when she first arrived in the Caribbean, but that had long ago been replaced by rock hard, flat abs. Her chest...... Well yes, even she has to admit that her chest is "large", but it is a "proud" large. No sagging "gravity sensors" here. The last time she bought a brassier the sales woman suggested a 38 DDD might fit a bit better than the 38 D that Olga typically purchased.
Olga looked at the snoring Duran one more time before slipping out of the fishing shack. It was past midnight now, and the moon was tripping over the tops of the swaying palms. Dressed in her signature black bikini, and leather sandals borrowed from Duran, she silently slid through the shadows to the main intersection. The domino table was deserted under the Tambrind tree at this hour. Down the hill past the customs house, turn the corner by the cricket field. The only sounds the occasional yip of a nervous dog, and way off in the distance the tinny, wavering notes of some late night bacchinal....

07-27-2006, 07:14 AM
Olga peered through the open window at the body breathing softly on the matress by the door. Wrong size...Too big. She moved on to the next window, and using her high school gymnastics training pulled herself up enough to look in through the high window. Bob was lying on his back on a Mahogany four poster bed, with the sheets bunched around his feet. Olga smiled. He really was kind of cute when he was sleeping. The large furry German woman moved effortlessly through the accumulated trash in the back dooryard, and in through the open kitchen door. A curious dog raised it's head briefly, to see who had interupted his sleep, and deciding that Olga was no threat, let his head fall back to the floor with a thump.
Bob awoke instantly when the hand clamped across his mouth. His eyes bugged wide open, trying to focus in the half light provided by the moon.
"Shhhhh..... Bob, iz me, Olga. Be quiet and follow me, we haff zumting zat ve muss do now! Be verrry quiet and I will tell you out of the side. Get dress first you zilly mans!"
Bob slipped into the silk pants and a fresh T-shirt, and followed Olga out past the sleeping dog through the kitchen, and into the back yard.
"Olga! What are you doing!?" Bob whispered.
"Bob, ze man ez here! I see him today at the pick my nick! I sink he recnosized me, but I'm not zure. We need to do zumting!"
Bob looked confused (Nothing new here). "What man, Olga?"

07-28-2006, 08:11 AM
"When I was a little girl, my father had a jop in Tanganika mit zee diamond mind. My father got into zum troubles there, and ask a man to send him zum monies. Ziss works fine for a mile, but eventually zee man he want his monies back. My father has no more, so he asks ziss man if there ez no osser thing he may do. Zee man looks at me. I am only having 12 years, so my father says 'No. She ez too young!' Zo, zee man agrees zat when I have 18 years he will take me for his wife! By the time I am 18 I have to go mit him to his house.... It is not so happy time. One day just before we are marries, I run away, mit zum helps from a friend I have in a shop for mens. Now I sink ziss man has track me down here! You must helps me Bob! PLEASE!"
Bob sat down on the hammock, and promptly flipped over and landed on his back starring up at the night sky.

08-01-2006, 07:38 AM
"This is no time for making laffs, Bob."
Lying there on his back, in the door yard of a small concrete house on a tiny Caribbean island, at sometime after 1:00AM listening to a story about......Bob wasn't even sure he KNEW what the story was about. He sighed, propped himself up on his elbows and looked up at Olga. "What are our plans? Do you want to keep running, or do you want to silence this man for good?"

08-02-2006, 07:56 PM
Meanwhile, on another island not so far away.......

08-03-2006, 08:14 AM
Meanwhile, on another island not so far away.......
The waves lapped listlessly on the packed gray sand, and slid greasilly back into themselves. A vague hot breeze ruffled the tips of the palm fronds, but refused to enter the windows of houses where sweating, women in outrageous Sunday dresses sat in over stuffed orange velvet armchairs, watching "Jerry Springer", or "Judge Judy".

08-06-2006, 07:54 AM
Olga put her hand under her chin and thought for a moment.
Bob noticed a slight movement on the steps by the kitchen door. The dog was stretching and wagging his tail, smiling that goofy dog face smile that some dogs do so well. He (the dog) trotted down the steps and over to the prostrate Bob.
"I sink we must silence this man. He will not stops looking for me unless he stops mit his breathings."
The dog gave Bob's face a big sloppy slurp of the tongue and sat down to scratch a flea.
"OK then......Do you know where he's staying?" Bob was sitting up now, wiping dog spit off of his cheek.
"I sink he must be staying at the inn. On the osser side of the island."
Bob was standing now, and looking at Olga with crossed eyes. "You've been here less than 24 hours, and you know all this stuff.....How?"
Olga smiled. "I keep my eyes and ears open Bob. There is more to life than eats and drinks, and osser pleasures of the fletch."
"OK then, off we go. You lead the way miss Bond. Do you have a gun?"
"A GUN?! No Bob, I do not haff a gun! What do you have needs a gun for?"
Bob stopped and looked back at the house. "Well if we're going to kill this guy we'll need a weapon of some sort...."
"Can you not just punch him to the nose, and he will stops with his breathings?" Olga continued walking as Bob and the dog looked at eachother and sighed.
"Typical woman." Bob said to the night. The dog wagged his tail harder in agreement.

08-06-2006, 10:41 PM
Bob walked along the road in silence, contemplating what Olga was having him do. What was this woman to him? She had been an accidental companion thrroughout this entire silly story, and now she was risking his life on some kind of hindu marriage scene gone wrong.

Bob couldn't work up any enthusiasm for this project. He missed his frosty jug of vodka tonics. He wondered what happened to his tools, his carefully stickered wood - his memory was a little fuzzy about a lot that had occured lately - he was....the dog stuck it's nose in his crotch, distracting him. He noticed a piece of shiney barbed wire in the ditch, and picked it up.

Bob was hungry again. He began to wrap the wire around his hand, carefully arranging the barbs...

08-07-2006, 12:32 AM
Just then Bob's parts got itchy and instinctively he reached down to scratch. It was a mistake, Bob would later conclude, to wrap the barb wire around his hand like that. But for a brief moment he forgot his hunger. Meanwhile, Olga smelled blood.

08-07-2006, 07:40 AM
Bob yelped in pain, and grabbed his crotch with his other hand, frantically shaking the wire off of his right hand. Olga spun on her toes and looked at Bob. "What is it Bob? Somesing hurt you?" Bob just nodded, his eyes squinched shut. The dog looked up at him smiling and wagging his tail "Stupid humans" he seemed to be saying.
"Let me take a look" Olga moved towards Bob.
"No!" Bob grunted.
Olga brushed Bob's hand aside and with one deft movement yanked his pants down around his knees. She knelt down and peered at Bob's damaged goods. "Not to worry Bob, it's just a little prick."
"It's always been big enough to do the job." Bob pouted, as he pulled his borrowed pants back up, and tightened the belt.

08-07-2006, 03:04 PM
The dog lay in the dusty road, tongue lolling from its mouth, looking like it wished to write all this down, like it could in its last life, when it was a poet.* Sigh *… it was a dogs life.

Bob sat in the road, holding his ‘boys’, wishing he had a drink. Life in the Islands was stressful. Not like it said in the brochures.

“I can’t go through with this, Olga,” he said. “You’re gonna have to find another hit man”.

Olga paced. Frowning. In the distance could be heard the lazy sounds on a tropical paradise, the screech of birds, the rasping of insects, the drums, the scream of women going about their daily despair, the liquid approach of the menacing jungle.

“I haf it!” Panted Olga. She was sweating. “I vil be a disguise!”

So it came to pass that the character formerly known as Olga Blemish, AKA ‘Thë Lärgë Fürry Gërmän Wömän’, was reborn as a retro punker, complete with studs, spiked collar, tight leather slit in unaccustomed ways, piercing in every inconceivable and uncomfortable place (In which Bob discovered just how ‘furry’ his companion was!), black mascara, and the once luxurious hair chopped and colored into a trainwreck.

Even the voice was unnerving. The dog began to tremble. This was too much. It slunk off to find a pencil and some paper, its tail between its legs in abject subjectivity.

08-15-2006, 08:38 AM
Bob sat gazing out the window of the Boeing 737 as it taxied out to the runway. His legs were already starting to complain about the cramped conditions in coach, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He should have sprung the extra money for upper class seats, considering what he'd been through in the last two months.
As soon as the jet reached it's cruising altitude and the captain had turned off the "fasten seatbelts" sign, he got up and stepped over the dozing body seated in the aisle seat. He did a couple of quick power squats and walked back towards the rest rooms. He peered into the galley area where the flight attendants were setting the catering carts up for the lunch run. "Excuse me, may I trouble you for a few bottles of vodka and a bottle of tonic water please?" A pretty middle aged woman turned and smiled at Bob. "Of course sir. How many glasses would you like?" Bob paused for a second before answering. "2 please, and lots of ice. My wife likes her v&t's cold. Frosty even..."

02-15-2009, 04:54 PM
Ïmmmm Bäckkk!!!

Vince Brennan
06-09-2011, 08:21 PM
Dïë Jünkërs nëëd to rëäd änd lëärn fröm thïs thrëäd!


06-10-2011, 07:43 AM
That as a good thread.... Maybe time to start a new one soon.....

CK 17
01-26-2016, 02:41 PM
And then, without any warning. . . .

Peerie Maa
01-26-2016, 03:06 PM
Dïë Jünkërs nëëd to rëäd änd lëärn fröm thïs thrëäd!


That's four eeees