Tag Archives: ribald tales

Revel in the Ribaldry 22

For R.i.t.R 22  we visit, once again, that great well of ribaldry – Fanfare For The Common Hamster. This is what the e-book looks like…

And this is what a tiny portion of the script looks like…

Joan was surprised to find Stubby Collett alone upon the path that led away from Far Kinell by the most circuitous route possible. Of the Abbot there was no sign, despite the fact that he’d promised to tend Stubby’s wounds in their absence.

The others – Darkwood, Rootley, and Brother Alfonso, weren’t though, and nodded sagely as Stubby explained that the Abbot’s nerves had become frayed to within one micron of total mental collapse, and that, in an effort to free the poor hamster from his inner religious turmoil, he had pretended that they were being stalked by a wild mutant weasel, and in an effort to dissuade the beast from consuming them Stubby had apparently transformed into a mythological homo sapien once again, and frightened the imaginary monster away.

Naturally the Abbot had sought, and found, solace in his beliefs, which ran counter to the sights that his eyes beheld, and so, in an almost catatonic state, the former Farley Dunnock had taken the only course left to him (other than madness) and had returned to the town – presumably to reassume the role that he believed he was born to do – that being The Abbot of The Wheel.

“I didn’t like him anyway.” Stubby concluded, “He smelt funny.”

Then his eyes alighted upon Felicity, and despite his grievous injury, his trousers flapped alarmingly. “Cripes,” his voice half-said/half-trilled, as he surveyed the dormouse’s non-curvaceous hips, “there’s a sight for sore eyes, and make no mistake.”

He then introduced himself to the two newcomers.

“I’ve always wanted to meet a brilliant illusionist.” Felicity informed him, “A really crappy one visited our school once, and appeared to turn into a bowl of pitted cherries. He looked delicious; but I saw right through his visual subterfuge: It was quite obviously a hologram.”

Stubby bristled, “It was no such thing!” He bellowed his best – which with his chest seeping blood all over the place was really quite impressive.

For some mysterious reason no one seemed to notice the incongruity of the small harvest mouse’s outburst – except Roosevelt. And he spoke in a manner that greatly impressed Rootley Farnham.

“Excuse me,” he said, “How the fluff would you know? Were you there?”

Now under normal circumstances it is certain that Stubby would have denied ever having been anywhere near a school for girl rodents, let alone within Joan, Felicity, and Roosevelt’s continuum: But these weren’t normal circumstances: He was grievously hurt, and he was also in the company of a psychic catalyst. So he said, “Yes. I’ll have you know that appearing to turn into a bowl of pitted cherries in front of several hundred young females taxed me enormously, and I had to have a lay down afterwards.” Then in a more aggrieved tone he added, “And to think that they believed that it was nothing more than smoke, mirrors, and advanced laser technology: Well it offends me greatly.”

“I’m sorry.” Felicity whispered as she reached out to comfort Stubby, “But why were you giving an exhibition of advanced illusionism to a bunch of girl hamsters and one dormouse?”

Stubby sighed. He then informed them that prior to becoming a psi-cop field agent; he was a talent scout for them. He’d hoped to promote an interest in psychic abilities amongst the young persons of several alternate realities.

“Sadly with scant reward.” He sighed again. “We met with little success. Except for Joan, of course.”  Then he coughed a bit, and everyone knew that the interview was over.

                                                                 ***

The timely arrival of the Abbot – Farley Dunnock – at The Rancid Maggot Inn might have saved Perfidity Gallowsmith from a lynching by outraged ‘Wheelists’, but The Law Master quickly realised that she must regain their trust and loathing by being seen to act as a Law Master should, and stop behaving like the drunken, exhibitionist, trollop that she was.

The primary reason for this sober summation of her current situation was that only moments after having made his grand entrance, the Abbot had strolled to the bar, downed a flagon of ale, touched up the barkeeper, and then slumped to the floor – where he began speaking gibberish, and attempting to unravel the coarse raffia mat that Mooney kept for soaking up his customer’s sweat and vomit. Clearly something had happened to the Abbot, Perfidity reasoned well enough: Now she must grasp the nettle: This was just the opportunity that she’d spent the last thirty seconds praying for…

“Right then,” she announced, whilst slipping into her best chainmail knickers, and strapping on Jock, her favourite dagger, “who’s feeling ready for a punch-up? I’m looking to form a posse.”

                                                                         ***

The small group of rodents had been prevaricating over a decision concerning Stubby’s immediate future for some time, and were no closer to a solution regarding his welfare, when Rootley gasped, and hissed, “A posse departs the Rancid Maggot Inn. We must act – in haste if possible.”

Stubby forced his trembling eyelids to flutter open. “You have a talent too, I see.” He then added, “Do you have more details concerning this posse?”

Rootley shook his furry little head, “ ‘Fraid not.” He said.

Stubby then shook a wavering finger in the approximate direction of Roosevelt. “Touch the puny hamster, young dormouse: He has need of your energy and ministrations.”

Everyone’s expressions asked the same question: What energy’s that then?

“He’s a psychic catalyst.” Stubby explained as quickly as his trembling lips would allow, “I sensed it the moment he arrived. He resonates with such power that my buttocks haven’t stopped clenching for more than ten seconds at a time.”

Feeling rather embarrassed by the attention, Roosevelt coloured beneath his fine mantle of fur. He then straightened his tie, and did as he was bid.

Immediately Rootley’s buttocks constricted so violently that he squeaked in alarm. But then his pinched expression was replaced by a look of serenity. “I can see them.” he breathed, “Not my spasmodic buttock muscles, you understand: The whole posse. They’re on their way to the Hoopla Hall. The Law Master leads them. She’s carrying her favourite dagger – Jock. And her knickers…they’re her best chainmail ones. Fluff it – the bastards’ll be passing straight through here in just a few moments!”

Then a nearby horn could be heard blaring into the night. It sounded like a cavy giving birth to a weasel inside a tin bath.

“Cripes.” Roosevelt squeaked as he jumped and released his grip upon Rootley.

Darkwood began to panic. “What are we going to do?” he said, casting his gaze first one way, then the other. “I can’t get caught hanging about outside a gent’s bog-hole again! Not so soon anyway.”

“Run, muy rápido.” Alfonso suggested.

“Bog-hole?” Stubby’s tremulous voice cut through the type of mass-apprehension that is so taught that it almost audibly twangs like the whiskers of a champion weightlifter, “We’re in close proximity to Far Kinell’s almost-famous public bog-hole? By The Saint of All Hamsters – salvation stands before us upon cast iron feet and rough wooden shingles: There’s an inter-dimensional cross-over portal inside it. I’ve used it several times before. Quickly now, despite the agony – get me inside.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2013

This magnificent example of hamster fiction is published by Lulu.com, and is also available at most e-book retailers, including the one that best suits your e-reader, tablet, or whatever

 

Cricetinae Fictionem – or Something Like That: 11

Long before those anthropomorphized earplugs appeared on the scene, my comedic desires were assuaged by stories about sentient hamsters that lived in a parallel universe to our own. Hence the Hamster-Sapiens series of e-books.

This excerpt originated in the least successful book in the series – The Abduction of Wetpatch Wilson

It quickly transpired that what Droop could see caused mass exclamations of surprise and puzzlement. At first sight they looked like precise co-ordinates. They did at second sight too. And when Desmond punched the figures into the ship’s computer, the resulting location made everyone snort in consternation. And the reason for this was because it was deep inside an underwater mountain.

“How fluff they get there?” Ho inquired eloquently.

“Aint that some obvious stuff?” Kevin called from the open doorway into the corridor, “They perhapped.”

“You said that they perhapped onto an ethereal plane of quasi-existence.” Amy argued with bitterness in her tone. “Now you’re saying that they perhapped into a solid mountain? If Professor Squealch hadn’t made you, I’d suspect that you’d been left behind just to confuse us.”

Although Kevin was a mere machine, Desmond had programmed it to comprehend emotion and feelings. Consequently it felt rather hurt at the semi-accusation.

“Hey,” it cried out plaintively, “I been given all that emotion, and feelings, and biological crap ya know. I’s hurt something like buggery by your semi-accusation. And who’s saying that the mountain’s solid anyway. Maybe it’s like a big hard balloon thing.”

And although everyone put aside a brief moment to contemplate Kevin’s appreciation of emotions, feelings, and biological crap – what really gained their attention was the theoretical scenario in which a mountain could be hollow.

“Is it possible, Desmond?” Sally asked hopefully of the wild-furred hamster.

“It would take an army of workers yonks and yonks and yonks to hollow out a mountain.” Desmond shook his head and smiled condescendingly, “I really feel that this time my creation’s idea is somewhat fanciful. Gag-makingly in fact.”

“Fanciful is good.” Wetpatch felt duty bound to remind the professor. “Hasn’t your whole career as a brilliant inventor been based upon fanciful ideas? I don’t remember any of them being gag-making – even that machine that turned people upside down and shook them around lots and lots in an effort to simulate birthing to those right-wing Argumentalists who doubted that vaginal tissue could really stretch that much; and that natural birth was just a government conspiracy to cover up the truth that we’re all products of spontaneous existence, or that we were brought here in flying saucers from the planet Gargh. Just because Kevin’s a machine – that doesn’t make his fanciful ideas any more unlikely than your own.”

“That’s right, Professor.” Roman unexpectedly railed against his hero. Or rather he didn’t. “Kevin is your brilliant invention: You obviously built in sub-routines especially designed to think up fanciful situations and scenarios. Ergo – Kevin’s intelligence is an extension of your own.”

Well this statement placed an entirely different complexion upon the argument. Fortunately Desmond didn’t actually say those words. Instead he made do with, “Oh yeah; you’re right. Brilliant idea, Kevin. I don’t suppose you have any idea how they ‘perhapped’?”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2013

Taken out of the context of the main story, that might (possibly) have made little sense. But if you’d read the preceding text first, quickly followed by the words that appeared after this excerpt, it might have hung together rather well. Of course, the only way to discover the truth is to purchase the (surprisingly inexpensive) e-book – at almost any e-book stockist, which includes all the majors. Check out the book covers – to the right – for direct access to Lulu, Apple, B&N, and Amazon.