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"Land Ho!" cried Cook-Bastard from the Crow's nest.
"Where away?" shouted Fellatio as he hurried up the companionway to the poop.
"Five points off the starboard bow" returned Cook-Bastard.
Rushing to the starboard rail, Fellatio was horrified to see that not only was land most definitely ho but the Very Little Gravitas Indeed was in fact
bearing directly toward a rather large pile of extremely sharp and nasty looking rocks.
Not only that but as the sea boiled and churned and crashed over the rocks on sailed the VLGI under full canvas reducing the distance between her and destruction by the second!
"Master Bates!" bellowed Fellatio as he sprang toward the wheel "you fool, you'll kill us all!"
"Hmppf, wha, whasat?" went Bates, waking from the rather disturbing dream he'd been having involving the Mother Farquar, a goat and a barrel of lard.
Roughly shoving Bates out of the way, Fellatio grabbed the wheel and swung it hard a port. Slowly the VLGI's bow began to swing away from the rocks but alas it was already too late.
With an almighty crash the ship hit the rocks! Timbers splintered, spars twisted and sheets shattered.
Frontbottom was thrown forward violently, collecting poor old Groans amidships. "Umph, argh, splat" went Groans as he hit the deck face first.
Seaman Staines .....
-
awoke and found it was only a dream and that he had tipped the contents of MF's chamberpot overhimself 'Bugger now what will we do for morning tea " he thought as he picked
-
splinters of oak from his backside and chunks of oakum from his ears.
"I wonder where this came from?" he thought to himself
"Staines" bellowed Hornblower "stop picking your bum and get your useless carcase to the quarterdeck. Can't you see we're on the rocks?"
"B-but that was just a dream" stammered Staines. "It was no dream you scurvy dog!" replied Fellatio. "We're in real danger of going down."
Upon hearing these fateful words from the Captain, Roger the Cabin Boy....
-
... started to twitch nervously. Just as he thought things were getting worse, a ripping noise was heard (which meant, although no-one knew it yet, that Roger was right - things were getting worse).
As ever, the ripping noise preceded something strange. A very odd figure materialised on the poop deck.
It was a tall, shambolic person, strangely attired. On his head he wore a cap that seemed to be made from fox fur (one wonders why?). His upper torso was clad in a rusty chainmail waistcoat over a startlingly clean white tee shirt. He wore no trousers - instead a long, tatty tartan kilt was slung about his waist. In front of this unappetising garment hung what was undoubtedly a lady's PVC handbag in place of a sporran. He had a long pole in his right hand and a scruffy, stuffed dead magpie was sewn loosely onto his left shoulder.
"G'day shipmates!" quoth this odd fellow. "Dogsbreath Mechanical Engineer at your service. Perhaps I can help."
He waved his pole aloft.
The ship, about to crash onto the rocks, halted its plummeting progress and veered away to safety.
Well ....
-
...that's some pole you've got there" said an old slapper around the back of the pub, I'll only charge you 2 bucks for a quick slide.....
-
DZZZZT-dzzzt - DZZZT - WAH-wah- DDDDZZZZZZZZttttt!
From all the atmospherics, it was apparent that there was a major disturbance in the Rip. Even to those on the poop deck - accustomed as they were to strangeness in all its infinite forms - hearing the disembodied voice of some aging person of ill-repute emanating apparently from licensed premises was a surprise.
Hornblower shook his head, concentrated hard on the bloke in the kilt and the chain-mail weskit and said:
"Thank you. Pulling us clear of those rocks was a remarkable feat. I don't know how you managed it but: Thank you."
"No worries, mate." replied Dogsbreath.
"Er ...." Hornblower was clearly reluctant to give voice to what was on his mind.
"Spit her out, cobber!" said Dogsbreath. "If you keep it to yerself, yer'll wind up constipated!"
"Well," said Fellatio. "I was wondering. Are you, by any chance, Australian? And also, you seem to be wearing a hat made from fox fur. Why is that?"
"Well, mate. To answer the first part of your question, I'll quote a bit of verse from me old mate Bazza McKenzie:
I'll tell yer straight
I'm Australian, mate
And I feel like getting plastered.
But this beer's crook
And the girls all look
Like you, Yer Pommy bastard!
As for me hat, it's like this. I told all me mates I was leavin' and they asked where I was goin'. To Invercockieleekie, I said. And they all said the same thing: 'Wear the fox hat'. That's what they all said. Fair dinkum. So I did."
Well...
-
..the crew upon the poop deck did pass their shifty eyes betwixt one t'other, and with a wink to the good Captain, the Bosun yelled forth "Roll out the barrel, me lads!! It might'n be Sundy, but let's drink to the health o' this Dogsbreath and his wise mate McKenzie!"
With that hearty call, the crew moved...
-
... down the various companionways (trampling the various companions as they passed, of course) and spliced (sploce?) the mainbrace.
This left an interesting group on the poop (The Poop Group, one might say - if one was so inclined, of course. Otherwise, one might skip lightly past this rather obvious piece of contrived phonics and get bloody on with it).
The group consisted of - reading from taffrail to binnacle:-
Several hamsters (looking, for no obvious reason, festive)
Seaman Staines (looking at Roger)
Roger the Cabin Boy (looking distinctly wary)
Leading Artificer Groans (looking for fresh muesli for his arquebus)
Nursing Sister Bo'sun Bastard (see - you'd forgotten that the Bo'sun had been transmogrified, hadn't you?)
Lieutenant-Colonel Frontbottom (RM) (looking self-satisfied)
Captain Fellatio Hornblower (looking at the compass heading)
Dogsbreath Mechanical Engineer (looking very pleased with himself - one wonders why?)
Anyone missing? Eh? ....Well, actually.....yes.
The crew is all below, on what Crabtree would undoubtedly call the pooss, the group on the poop are - collectively and individually - all looking at something or other. Even the hamsters are apparently frittering away their time.
So ..... who's steering the bloody ship? Eh? Eh?
(Answers on the back of an envelope, mailed to: TGS Very Little Gravitas Indeed, by no later than next Pancake Tuesday. No correspondence will be entered into).
-
It was Elvis! Yes Elvis, who had grown tired of appearing at 7/11 stores and gas stations, had decided now was the time to run away to sea. There he stood, resplendent in his sequined bell bottoms, hair magnificently blowing in the breeze, gripping the wheel as though it was a be-ponytailed bobby-soxer and gyrating as only The King can.
"Well, thank you very much," he said to no-one in particular.
-
So .... THAT'S why the hamsters were looking festive. It was Elvis at the helm!
Montmorency Hamster turned to his brother Marmaduke:
"D'you think he'll do requests, if we ask him nicely?"
"You could try," said Marmaduke. "I've always thought that Jailhouse Rock was one of his best."
With that...
-
Elvis turned to Sponcracker and said, in that well known Southern drawl "Well I'll be buggered, a talking hamster!"
"Yes and that's not all" replied Sponcracker. "Wait till you see this" And grabbing his remote control thingie that he used to control his 'droids, Sponcracker rapidly punched its' buttons.
This caused several odf the 'droids to form up in a line and produce various brass musical instruments from about their 'droid bodies.
The rest of the crew stood around open mouthed as the 'droids, sounding exactly like the Mussel Shoals Horns, launched into the opening bars of Suspicious Minds.
The King of course, sang: "We're caught in a trap.....
-
don't look back
because it's all rubbish baaaaby
this thread is crap
but don't you dare say that
because driver and craig will get upseeeeet:eek: :eek: :D :D :D
HH.
-
The King of course, sang: "We're caught in a trap.....
where upon all the hampsters cheered because each of them could recall at least 1 relative that was stuck in a wheel of furtune or worse a wheel of......
-
....perpetual self indulgence.....
HH.
-
Whereupon there was great rending in the sky, and solemn bearded face appeared through the clouds and all aboard the good ship did drop to their unworthy knees. An earsplitting shrill blasted from a gilded whistle in his holy lips. And the great moderator in the sky spake thus: "Get thee gone HH, and leave alone this tiny vessel and those that sail under the banner of light-hearted fun, lest you be given a red card! Surely one of so great an intellect as yourself have better tasks at hand. You have been warned!!" And with this dire message, grand curtains of crushed velvet in a nice paisley pattern drew closed with a final deafening clack of thunder, and a small fart...
