The Rip in the Fabric of the Universe ...

"wait, there's more"

He was just about to expand on what this more was when suddenly the skipper, one Silver, LJ stared to shouted from the poop.

"Belay that ye scurvy dogs. The reason I've taken over this rotten scow, you sons of whores, is beacuse I mean to find Flint's treasure. I'll stand no more of you're nancy boy dancing and skiing! By god, you'll wear this ship a'right or you'll feel me lash"

"No, no, I'm sorry that just won't do" piped up Frontbottom. "I mean, you ruffian, just who do you think you are talking like that to one of Her Majesty's marines?"

Well, on the deck of the Very Little Gravitas Indeed, you could have heard a pin drop. Unless of course you were Groans in which case your response would be .......

... to re-load your arquebus with some of the muesli that Staines had spilt when executing his fortuitous half-gainer with pike and jettisoned Irish smartarse.

Groans shouldered his ancient firearm once more. Deaf to the controversy on the poop between the Royal Marine and the pirate, he was looking once more for a target when Sponcracker - in a moment of thoughtless exuberance - spun him around and said:

"I'll bet you heard that!"

The wide-open barrel of the arquebus described a hyperbolic parabola as Groans swung round. As the barrel reached approximately 42 degrees in the declining arc, Groans' fidgety forefinger clenched.

"BOOOM!" Followed almost immediately by "SPLATT!'

The muesli, a tasty admixture of wholesome grains and specially selected dried fruit, made a helluva mess of Long John. He looked like a badly pebble-dashed semi-detached, double-fronted buccaneer. His frockcoat was torn to shreds, his pantaloons were blown over the side (where they succeeded in finishing off poor old Moichael, who had just surfaced) and his head was a bloody and crusty disaster.

"To hell with it!" he said. "I'll ...

...give you ruffian me lad, now ye scurvy knaves, hoist the mainsail, scrub this muesli off me deck and face and get me some new clothes, something in chartreuse...I think. Yes, and a nice glass of chardonnay, Mr Staines please accompany me to my cabin.
The speechless crew suddenly found voice and said...

... in a development that was as peculiar as it was unexpected:

"We'd like to hear Sally's opinion on this!"

As the startled members of the vessel's wardroom were goggling at this unusual version of mutiny, Sponcracker switched on a phalanx of his droids which he had left standing alongside the port rail in a "Ready" state. They advanced in that impersonal and menacing way they have and surrounded the group on the poop.

Sponcracker explained:

"The crew are very concerned, Cap'n," he said. "They fear that copping a blast of muesli - however tasty and nutritious it may be - has upset your equilibrium. It seems to them - us - that your concern about the colour of your clothes, your sudden penchant for chardonnay and your distinctly suspicious request for Staines' company are all very unbuccaneer-like. The fact that you are also clearly in need of major emergency medical care means that they - we - feel that Sally's objective advice might be a good idea. Er, by the way, my droids will exterminate you without mercy if you don't agree to this."

Long John coughed, looked at the droids, the crew, the set of the main t'gallants (and in doing so, copped an eyeful of seagull guano in his good eye. His hook twitched and was instantly stilled by a compulsive gesture of his good hand). He said:-

"Unbuccaneer like!"
"Why you scurvy dog, I'll...

Sponcracker's droids exterminated him, as advertised, without mercy.

Three of them hoisted him onto a plank, tossed a Jolly Roger flag over his recumbent, muesli-encrusted form and slid him over the taffrail.

From sea-level there came a slightly watery cry of:-

"Hello up there! 'Tis meself! Moichael O'Flatu..."

Moichael, against all odds, had not succumbed to being assailed with Long John's muesli-blasted pantaloons and had surfaced again. Only, unfortunately for him, to be instantly impelled back below the surface when Long John's lifeless cadaver dropped plumb upon his expectant visage.

"ERRRKKK!" came the despairing cry of the thrice-disappointed terpsichorean as he once more was swallowed by the wake of the Very Little Gravitas Indeed.

--oOo--

"Well, children," said Sally. "Wasn't that sad? I wonder ....."

................'who will be the first crewmember to milk the cow that will be appearing soon?'
with that...........

"err...miss?" interrupted Billy, "I think the cow to which you refer is in fact a character of Douglas Adams' book 'The Restaurant at the end of the Universe' and therefore is protected by current copyright laws, apart from which it was a male and therefore unlikely to be milked by Billy Connolly or any other Irishman."
"By gad, you're right." exclaimed Sally "We can't possibly have any more reference to the intellectual property of Mr Adams. So children, who is now the ranking officer on board?"
"Why, miss, that'd be Roger."
Sally began reading
So Roger(vc and bar) gave his first order after reassuming command, albeit reluctantly. He was tempted to order a chardonnay, but under the circumstances, reconsidered. Instead, he said...

.....sometimes I wish people would read books right it was a very vocal pig '
with that Roger picked up his fork and picked up a peice of ham from the platter of.....

Tarquin was stung into action. He leapt to his feet.

"I've been stung into action!" he said. "Stung into action!" (He was an aspiring Labor politician and he had read somewhere that people are impressed if you frequently repeat yourself - this is crap advice but since when did a politician, aspiring or otherwise, have any clue about what real people think? ).

"Can we please move on from this fruitless debate over animals and find out what happens next? I think it's important - important - to press on with the narrative!"

He grasped the lapels of his school jacket, leaned back on his heels and was apparently about to continue with his harangue when, without warning, Daphne, the captain of the school hockey team, hit him in the face with a custard pie! She had meringued his harangue!

The hockey girls formed an impromptu chorus line and burst into song:-

"When he started his harangue, he was hit with a meringue!
"When he would have filibustered, he’s been busted with a custard!"
"When he ..."

Sally interrupted them. She was mortified. However, Sally was probably the most self-controlled person in this entire saga so she didn't mention her mortification. Instead, she stood and addressed the whole class:

"Sit down! All of you! Daphne - go and stand outside the principal's office! Tarquin - wipe that custard from your face and try to resist the temptation to make speeches. Now - once you have all settled down, I'll continue."

She opened the book.

Chapter 10

The Very Little Gravitas Indeed seemed to be travelling at warp speed across an unfamiliar galaxy ...

when suddenly Roger (vc & bar) said 'theres klingons on the starboard bow starboard bow starbord bow theres klingons on the starboard bow ,Wipe em off Jim"
jim who was at the helm at the time said in a surprised tone..............

'theres klingons on the starboard bow? starboard bow ? starboard bow ? theres klingons on the starboard bow ? .........

"They don't look like Klingons. They look like ... No! ... It can't be ... No! ..Not that!.... Anything but that...!"

The wheel spun idly as Jim, stricken to his knees by whatever appalling vision he had seen, grasped his head in both hands and sobbed uncontrollably.

Le Clair was Officer of the Watch. He called down the companionway:-

"Monsieur le Capitaine! Commandeur-Lieutenant Rogerr (VeeCee and Barre) - Ah theenk yew should com to zer breedge, M'sieu! Zere ess somseeng off zer starboard bow zat 'as caused Jeem to deespair!"

Roger emerged. He took in the scene with a sweeping glance. Chocolate was organising Groans to man the helm, Sponcracker and Slartbast were tinkering with a droid's innards and Jim was rolling about the quarter-deck in apparent shock and awe.

Off the starboard bow something was manifestly occurring. Roger reached for his telescope and aimed it at the apparition. He blinked, shook his head, looked again and said, in a low and horrified whisper:-

"Oh no! Not that! They're not Klingons! They're ... they're (gulp!) ... they're Girl Guides! It's the Fete Worse Than Death!"

The full horror of their commander's revelation hit the crew as a palpable blow. They ...

suddenly had the sickening realisation that they were stuck in The Fete Worse Than Death's tractor beam and were being drawn inexorably into it's foul embrace.

"Alright everyone" said Roger (vc &c) "I shall only say this once"

"Everyone to Panic Stations!"

The crew looked at Roger appalled. All that is except Groans who ......

... was gazing at an apparition that had materialised just aft of the foc'sle.

It was a group of attractive young women wearing trench coats, black berets and ankle socks, led by an even more attractive young woman dressed in similar fashion.

Yes! It was Michelle of the Resistance and her group of hand-picked lovelies.

"Did someone say: "I shall say this only once"?" she asked.

"Well, yes. I think I did," said Roger.

"So what is the nature of your emergency?" asked Michelle.

"Emergency?" Roger was struggling a bit.

"Yes. You spoke the emergency code and summoned us through the Rip!" Michelle looked at Roger narrowly. "You do realise, don't you, that saying "I shall say this only" once is the emergency code. And you also realise that if you say it and you don't have an emergency, you will suffer terrible consequences? You do realise that, don't you?'

"But we do have an emergency! There it is!" he pointed to the Fete Worse Than Death. "We're stuck in its tractor beam!"

"Ah yes," said Michelle. "Girl Guides. That is an emergency. Right. Do you have some form of protective headgear? You'll need it when you come within range of those awful rock cakes and scones."

Roger looked askance.

"Stop looking askance," said Michelle. "And..."

had obviously missed the cause of Roger's askance looking. For there, just out of her field of vision was our old friends the clog dancing collective, who had appeared when someone had mentioned protective headgear. They were the resident experts on that topic, for they, collectively wore the most potent everything repellent known to any life form: the knickers of the mother farquar.
Roger quivered as Michelle said...

"Listen vary carefoolly! I shall say zees only wence! Stand by to repel boarders!"

And so it was. The tractor beam sucked the Very Little Gravitas Indeed hard up against the Fete Worse Than Death and a shock troop of ferocious Girl Guides swarmed over the starboard rail. Waving their raffle ticket books mercilessly and releasing a devastating fusillade of triple case-hardened rock cakes and scones, they drove the gallant crew back, foot-by-foot across the maindeck.

All seemed lost when Michelle turned to Roger (VC and Bar), shook her raven's wing tresses free of her beret and said:-

"Listen vary carefooly! I shall say zees only wence! I 'ave a plan. Will you leave it to me to reed you of zeese offal Girl Guides?"

Roger (VC and Bar) gripped her arm, shook himself to overcome a momentary lustful impulse and said:

"Michelle, get rid of these horrible teenage harridans and I shall be forever in your debt!"

Michelle stepped forward and raised her arm in an imperious gesture.

"Stop!" she said, in a high, clear voice. "Stop! We need to talk!"

Everyone paused. Even Groans heard the call. He stopped loading his arquebus with biscuit crumbs (he'd run out of muesli).

Michelle gave a signal to the other Resistance girls. They took off their berets, trenchcoats and ankle socks to reveal that, under their rather dull outer garments, they were dressed in the sort of stylish clothes that young French girls customarily wear.

Michelle walked up to the leader of the Girl Guides, a big lass with cheeks nearly as red as her knees.

"How brave you are," said Michelle.

"Glad you think so, dear," said the GG. "We pride ourselves on our courage."

"Yes," said Michelle. "Eet takes a remarkable level of courage to wear zat parteecular shade of blue with your complexion!"

There was a shocked silence. It lasted for no more than a couple of heartbeats. Then one of the Resistance girls - a lissom and lovely blonde with big blue eyes - stifled a giggle.

That did it. The Girl Guides' leader looked at the assembled ranks of elegant French girls, looked down at her crumpled uniform and wrinkled socks, burst into tears, stamped her foot, threw her raffle tickets onto the deck, turned and fled.

The rest of the Guides, embarrassed beyond tolerance, fled in her wake.

The rout was complete.

Roger (VC and Bar) ...

knew that he was not out of the woods yet, for he had sold his soul to Michelle. Yet, considering what he'd endured in the earlier part of his career as cabin boy, he thought he could handle anything. So he girded up his loins, turned and faced Michelle and asked her what he could do to repay the debt.
"What can I do to repay the debt?" he asked (as everyone was wont to do in this story).
Michelle knew this was her moment of triumph and she was certainly dressed for the occasion. She said...

"Why don't you show me your sextant?"

She took hold of Roger's tie and led him off down the companionway towards his cabin. The companions moved rapidly out of their way. Roger looked like he couldn't believe his luck. The hamsters removed themselves tactfully from their customary position on the taffrail above the captain's sleeping quarters.

We will draw a discreet veil across the scene below decks while Roger got lucky.

Back on the poop ...

deck where Groans said to Staines 'hey where did he go?' to which Staines replied 'to his cabin to indulge in a bit of................

"ahem" said Sally, "we decided to draw a discreet veil over that."

"Miss" piped up Tarquin. "What's a sextant and why was Michelle so interested in Roger's?"

Sally was non-plussed. "Why Tarquin" she said "I'm quite non-plussed"

"I think you'll have to wait for Mr Flogswell to explain that to you in your next science lesson"

Meanwhile, back on the poop, Frontbottom was deep in conversation with Farty.

"So there you have it old boy" he said "it's time we took matters into our own hands and......

.... nick Sally's book so we won't have snotty nose brats looking at everything we do.
So you go and .......

distract Miss Sally while I get the book.'
alas as he saffled the book he was caught by the head girl of the hockey team who ...................

Was an expert in the ancient art of the "squirell grip"

Poor Fontbottom.

Hermione (head of the hockey team) had his cluster in a vice like grip.

In fact, she was such an exquisite torturer that she was actually delighting in rubbing one nad against the other as Alegernon whimpered and pleaded with her to show him some mercy.

"Mercy?" asked Hermione "I'll show you mercy when ......

... wasn't, unfortunately for Slartbast, quite as alluring as Michelle. Furthermore, she had a more direct approach.

Batting her eyelids at Slartbast, she said:

"Hello, big boy! My name's Daphne. Where are you off to with that book?"

She twiddled casually with her hockey stick as she spoke.

"Ah, yes," said Farty. "The book.... do you mean this book?"

"MISS! THERE'S A STRANGE-LOOKING LITTLE MAN HERE AND HE'S STEALING YOUR BOOK!"

She hooked her hockey stick around Farty's neck and started to pull him towards the staff room. Sally's head appeared around the staff room door as something odd happened. Farty took a remote control device from his pocket and pressed a button on it. Daphne froze. Farty placed the book carefully on the floor and took a step backwards through the Rip, re-activating Daphne as he did so.

Sally said: "How odd! That odd-looking little man seemed to turn you off just then Daphne!"

"Well he certainly didn't ....."

On the other side of the Rip, Slartbast materialised on the poop.

Roger was back on watch, looking very pleased with himself. Michelle and the Resistance girls had, it seemed, returned to Nouvion.

Frontbottom looked at Slartbast - who was obviously empty-handed.

"Where's the book?" he said.

"Well...."

well,well." said Sally as she did the inconceivable and stepped through the rip and into the story she had been reading to her class.
"Err, hello," said Sally to the motley crew she'd grown to know and lov.., well endure.
Their surprise was evident as...

... they had absolutely no idea who she was.

"Don't stand there, luv," said Groans. "The deckhands'll be swabbing down soon and you'll get your feet wet. You'd be better off up on the poop. That's where visitors usually go."

"Hello, Mr Groans," said Sally. "I'm Sally." She held out her hand.

Groans reached forward as if to take Sally's offered handshake then swiftly cupped his own hand behind his ear. Smiling he said:

"What'd you say?"

Sally smiled at him and picked her way across to the poop deck. She was about to introduce herself to Roger (VC and Bar) when the purser shot past her. He saluted Roger (VC and Bar) and held out a large ledger book.

"Excuse me Captain," he said. "We have a problem with the stores!"

"Hello, I'm Sally," said Sally.

Roger (VC and Bar) glanced at her quickly and said "Hello Sally" in a perfunctory manner and then replied to the purser with: "What problem? What stores?"

("I say!" said Frontbottom to Sponcracker and Slartbast. "That was damned perfunctory! I mean to say! Damned perfunctory!" He was rather outraged by Roger's behaviour. "I'm rather outraged," he said. "By Roger's behaviour, I mean").

Meanwhile, the purser had opened up his ledger.

"It's the Max Factor Knacker Lacquer," he explained to the commander as a muffled chorus of "Adds A Lustre To Your Cluster" sounded from the main deck. "As you know, we always ship a fair quantity for every voyage."

"Yes indeed," said Roger (VC and Bar). "Good for morale to let the crew keep their tackle in lustrous and healthful nick."

"Yessir," said the purser, anxious to press on. "But we seem to have suddenly increased our consumption to very high levels."

"Excuse me," said Sally. "I said: I'm Sally!" She looked expectantly at Roger.

"Yes, I said hello," said Roger (VC and Bar). "Very high levels, eh? What do you think is going on?"

"Something strange," said the purser. "I reckon..."

Sally interrupted him: "I'm Sally!" she said. "Sally! The teacher who reads to the class! Don't you .....!"

...read?"
"Read?" replied Roger.
"Why no, mam. I can read maps, Groans reads the occasional braille document that makes its way through the rip in the space time continuum, Staines lusts over playboy magazines that do likewise, but other than that we don't have time to sit around and read for pleasure."
"Well do you know who I am ?" asked Sally
Roger wondered who this strange young woman was who was (he suddenly noticed) very well acquainted with the workings of his ship. He also noticed that she wasn't all that bad to look at either.
"I say," he said "aren't you...

The purser interrupted him:-

"About the Max Factor Knacker Lacquer! (muffled chorus from maindeck: "Adds A Lustre ... etc") If we don't do something about it, Captain, we'll have none left by Sunday!"

"WHAT!! NO MAX FACTOR KNACKER LACQUER!" Roger (VC and Bar) was aghast. "I'm aghast!"

"SHHH!" Keep your voice down!" urged the purser. "If the crew find out, we'll have a mutiny!"

"Excuse me!" said Sally. "I do think ..."

there is a gentleman in Perth who knows about this product. I suggest you click your heels together and close your eyes and say
"There's no place like...

...tomorrow. Which is what happens when you have a discontinuity in the space-time continuum. Alternatively, you can set your watch back a hundred years, which will land you in ..."

Tasmania, where the girls are relatively attractive.

...Mmmmm? ..... (yawn) ...... (stretch) ....... (fart!) .... "Wha...?"

"What day is it? ..... Monday? ... Strewth! Must have fallen asleep."

The Very Little Gravitas Indeed had sailed on, regardless of the fact that for five full days, her crew had been totally inactive, slumbering in their usual comatose manner, all over her various decks and companionways.

Now, however, they were fully awake. Much activity of a distinctly maritime nature was on the go. Decks were being swabbed, sails were being furled, sextants were being aimed at the sun, companions were being either avoided or trodden upon as people swarmed up and down the companionways. ("Sod this!" said a companion. "I'm sick of being trodden underfoot! I'm going to apply for a position as a deckhand." He did and was successful. Someone trod on his hand).

From the poop came a familiar voice:-

"D'ye hear there! This is the captain! All hands to the maindeck! Mr Bo'sun, sound general quarters!"

"Aye aye, sir!" cried the bo'sun, Chief Petty Officer Bastard. (His brother was the ship's cook, the origin of that old line: Question: "Who said the cook was a Bastard?" Answer: "Who said the bastard was a cook?")

Just as the crew were being chivied and harried into their serried ranks (Jeez! Chivied, harried and serried? This could lead to a mutiny!) there was a tremendous ripping noise.

Yes! It was the good old RITFOTU. Through it appeared a surging mob of emoticons. They were led by :D and :eek: and followed by ....

...the tall, balding (but oh so handsome) resident of the shore of the Silent Sea. He had stolen the mongrel's axe and was trying to eradicate as many of the emoticons as Silently possible.
As he plied his weapon he was heard to say...

:mad: :( :eek: :o :confused: :D ;) :p :cool: :rolleyes: :) He could only speak in emoticons because he was silent, see.

Such a welter of emoticons could only come from someone with a multiple personality disorder, which had been diagnosed by the ships cook, barrel-scrubber and trick cyclist during a late-night session on the....

computer that all self respecting 17th century man-o -war type vessels have on board. (baud?).
The disability they self diagnosed whilst surfing the net that fateful night was...

... probably the worst case of hackers that any of them had yet come across.

(Hackers, Dear Reader, is an appalling affliction - first diagnosed by that leading medical researcher, Professor Al Ozwinner of the Faculty of Clinical Crap Retailing, University of Stockport County and all points North. Its symptoms are far too ghastly to describe herein. Suffice it to say that if you're hackered, you're knackered!)

They were dreadfully shocked.

"We're dreadfully shocked!" they said. In unison.

They had fled to unison, a small lower-case town well away from any hackers-inflicted poor sods and ....

where upon they came across a wizened old man who listend to thier tale of unfortunate laquery nackery hackery. He responded by saying "There is a remedy for this ailment". The crew, Oohed! and Aahed! and listed to the words of the old sage. "Nacker and De-Laquer, then Re-Nacker and Laquer, Three coats no more no less and your hackered, laquered nackers will be of the finest set of laquered clackers in the land". And so the proceedure was started and was progressing just fine until...........

savage(Eric):eek: .

the bottom fell out of the used knacker market forcing the number one retailer of such products to call it a day and return to an honest trade.
Meanwhile, on board the good ship Very Little Gravitas Indeed...

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Caliban

Meanwhile, in board the good ship Very Little Gravitas Indeed...

---

the ships mad scientist was developing Synthetic, Laquerless, Anti-hackable Knackers, and he called them S.L.A.K.er's......

savage(Eric)