The Adventures of Glenn Byres the Man Eating Vegie Part 2
Created | Updated Jun 21, 2003
THE ADVENTURES OF GLENN BYRES THE MAN EATING VEGIE PART II
[This is a series]
Welcome back.
It would seem that our hero is in the poo, what? Well you would be too if you had eaten three dwarves and generally wreaked havoc- not that I'm suggesting you are wont to do such things, my dear reader. What can he do now? Read on and be flabbergasted.
GBTMEV sat banging his head against the wall of his high-rise, low-rise, split-level drainpipe. Feeling hungry again and somewhat sorry for himself, he said:
“I’m hungry again and somewhat sorry for myself I must away and show everyone that I am a reformed Vegie so that I can spend the rest of my life with Keeda and her large portions of cunjevoi-on-toast”
So he did and they all lived happily ever after.
But wait! What of the points in between. You don't get away that easily.
By an extremely fortuitous coincidence, his dear yellow haired old mum had made sure he kept a packet of ‘Shmicko!™’, the wonder american franchise remover, in his laundry cupboard for just such a contingency. Setting the powerful granulated formula to work he fashioned himself an anti-MEV gun shield from an Irish percussion instrument. When the ‘Shmicko!™’ had done its work he sprang forth with a banshee yell into a completely empty street.
“They all went down the pub to celebrate mister.” A small, black, round object covered in long spines addressed him from across the road “Reckoned you was a goner”
The Vegie searched up and down before turning to the street urchin. [Marvellous joke that; now stop laughing, this is a series]
“Was there a woman here of such beauty, warmth and wisdom that her glow spread to those around her?” He asked in desperation.
“There was one such as you describe. She was being comforted by a policewoman but when she heard the inspector say you were as good as dead she ran away crying”
“Damn them! I will show them no one can suppress GBTMEV! No one, but no one hurts my Keeda! I've a good mind to devastate the world again!”
So he did and the world was devastated.
“Excuse me mister” The urchin effectively waylaid The Vegie’s world devastating,
“What!?”
“Can I have your Bodhran?” Pointing to the anti-MEV gun shield.
“Oh alright! Can I get on with it please?”
“Certainly”
“Thankyou” And with that he sped away.
Engulfed in the red mist, it didn't occur to him that he didn’t actually know where he was speeding toy hunger and the knowledge that Keeda was unhappy drove him into a frenzy. It was just unfortunate that he found himself in a crowded square.
It was the scene of the annual Boobwoose Zingleploogying tourney and chingoit appreciation meet so everyone had turned out in their favourite team’s colours to enjoy weeklong festivities. A game was in progress as the Vegie appeared; motorised skateboards whizzed hither and yon controlled by the diminutive boobwooses resplendent in the distinctive netball skirts and flack-jackets in club colours, the green of Moore Passion and the burnt magenta of Banos Pyrotechnic. Ten or so fought for possession of the packet of Coco-Pops midfield whilst the rest attempted to erect the Gaelic footy type goals in their team’s half from a pile of materials containing only enough for one set.
The crowd and combatants were so engrossed in the game that they didn’t notice the arrival of a rampant MEV or, for that matter, the gang of gangling Woosebangers hefting huge rubber mallets with intricately carved handles. They pushed and shoved their way onto the pitch and began to bonk the amiable Boobwooses on the noggins. There was an indignant uproar, none so uproarious as that that came from GBTMEV! He couldn’t stand to be ignored, but anyone disrupting a Zingleploogie deserved to be eaten.
“Upstage me would you!?” The Vegie cried as he reached the moat full of ravenous chingoit that defined the sidelines, “Prepare to meet the fangs of retribution”. He dived in.
Luckily chingoit are rather tiny and feed exclusively on detritus so the Vegie suffered no ill effects. He set upon the Woosebangers tooth and nail blowing water from his exhaust. Amidst fleeing and caterwauling he fanged the spindly ones till none were left to sully the sacred turf in fact no one was left. All had fled the vision of vehement V8 vegetation.
This gave the Vegie cause to pause, . . . His hunger and anger had abated somewhat and all that was left was sadness.
“Oh woe! Oh woe! What have I become? Less than my sod bound ancestors? Oh Woe!” He lamented.
“Are you serious?”
“No, there is only one of me.” The Vegie turned to find the Keeper of the chingoit tending to his ploogie*.
“You are searching for the one they name Keeda.” He said in a wise old man-ish way.
The Vegie visibly perked [No he didn't vomit] “Tell me O Keeper and reader of the oracular chingoit, where can she be found? Only she can stop the rot that grips my being.”
“She has gone forth unto her parent's milkbar, ‘Big Ois’. You must go to her, for with her you will achieve greatness” The keeper spoke but the Vegie was already away. With a sage nod he turned to tend his charges.
The Vegie was some time finding ‘Big Ois’ thanks to the general consensus that he was something to run screaming blindly from rather than give directions to. Thankfully he came across a blind football referee who was only concerned with the Vegie's personal hygiene. So it was that GBTMEV and his suspect under-vine area pushed thru the double doors.
He rolled up to the counter and eyed the old couple who stood behind it.
“You can’t drive in here, young sentient being I Park outside like everyone else.” The man admonished as his wife tut-tutted. The Vegie retaliated with a duly signed permit exempting him from motor-vehicle parking and travel laws. This seemed to appease them somewhat.
“We are somewhat appeased.” They chorused.
Impatiently the vegie asked, “Are you the parents of the most fair Keeda?”
“Yes we are, . . .” Mr Manticullis started,
“. . But she's not here. Care for a Poo Smoothie?” Mrs Manticullis offered.
The Vegie considered a moment “’Tis tempting” But his fear for Keeda surmounted his desire for blended beverages “You must tell me where she is.”
Mr Manticullis scratched his chin “Well, she said she was going to the docks to finish it. I don't know what ‘it’ is exactly, but it involves cement and a wash tub.”
“It could be a concrete yacht.” His wife suggested.
“Nah, seems a big job to finish in one afternoon. What do you think young vegie? . . . Where did he go?” GBTMEV left only skid marks and exhaust.
“Don't worry, he often does that.” The Keeper entered in his wake. “How about a Date Roll?”
“Never mind that, what about this mess.”
GBTMEV sped thru the streets scattering, . . . Well let's just say that he was indiscriminate in his scattering, all races, creeds, denominations and species were duly scattered. I think it's safe to say that a true scatter devotee would be well pleased with the high quality of the Vegie’s scattering.
He gained the docks in time to witness a foul atrocity.
“Put that away, you filthy little toad.” The disgusted Vegie admonished the smirking Mackintoshed amphibian who, job done, slinked off.
The docks were a big place and the Vegie was impatient. He forced himself to slow down and think; finally halting altogether and listening. Slowly he began to make out voices and a soft keening. Could this be a Keeda keen? The Vegie sped off in the direction of keen.
Around a comer he found himself on a wharf with large shipping containers across the centre; it was from behind these that the sounds emanated. As he drew near, he noticed two bicycles leaning against the warehouse doors. Suddenly a cry split the mumbling:
“No!”
It was Keeda! She was on her knees at the far end encircled by six besuited figures with conservative haircuts.
“Just do this survey and we can ascertain the factors that led you to attempt your own life” The Scientologist (Judging by her pseudo-military rank insignia) thrust a clipboard in Keeda's down turned face.
“Ma’am, our lord Jesus said unto Denzil Montana after his first seminar in the New World, . . .”
“Listen not to these poor misguided fools, my child.” A cassocked gentleman interrupted the Mormon who turned to his partner and tapped his clipboard in exasperation. “St Luke, chapter one, . . .” The cleric continued.
“It's you that’s misguided, old man.” Said a Jehovah's Witness- distinguished from the Mormons by the lack of nameplate.
“If you god-botherers are quite finished,” The army recruiting officer suggested, “I think we should face the problem of this rampaging, fuel-injected Venus fly-trap bearing down upon us.”
Her advice came too late as GBTMEV crashed thru the huddle. Clipboards and leaflets flew to the night as he devoured each in tum. The Jehovah’s Witnesses tried to assail the Vegie’s back but their pamphlets were poor answer to razor sharp teeth. Only Keeda’s sobbing held back the engulfing silence.
“Keeda?” He softly said as he wrapped a vine around her waist to raise her to her feet.
“Glenn, . . .? Glenn? But they said, . . , and the fast food, . . .” She fell into his foliage and embraced him.
“Softly. It's finished.” Comforting her.
She started. “They’ll come for you and this time they will kill you! You must hide!”
“On the contrary, miss.”
They turned to find the crack troops from last episode fresh from the pub and blocking the entry to the wharf at their head stood The High Person, Lord Orf and The Keeper grinning like knuckleheads.
“GBTMEV, by your actions you are exemplified. For ridding our streets of this scourge I can but say, we are indebted. However, eating people is somewhat anti-social and cannot go unpunished.” The High Person looked to The Keeper, “What would be a suitable punishment?”
“My Lord, the Vegie ate all his victims whole.” He addressed the Vegie, “Correct me if I am wrong, but your species is renowned for it’s particularly slow metabolism and selective regurgitation, am I right.”
“That is correct, O seer of things.”
“Then all you need do is return your victims to the outside world where the breachers of the peace can be made answerable, as is the custom.” The Keeper eloquently suggested.
“A famous idea, as ever. Vomit on, my good vegetable.” The High Person and his train moved back as GBTMEV wound up for the technicolour yawn.
And forth they gushed: indoctrinators turned inelegant cartwheels followed by racial oppressors bemoaning their fate; an ineffectual lover and two dwarven types finally joined the bile coated pile. The troops moved forward and, resisting the urge to dry retch, picked out the offenders who they removed for questioning.
The others were duly sponged down by a crack cleaning squad and presented to The High Person, The Keeper and the Vegie and Keeda. They looked quite well except for Thorin who was still minus an arm.
“Sorry about the arm,” the Vegie offered.
“No worries, it stops me picking my bum.”
“This creates a problem of honour, sir.” Rolf addressed the Vegie. “You have stolen my mate and honour must be satisfied.”
“Oh shut up you patronising git! I don't know what possessed me to ever go with such an intellectual midget- no offence Thorin, Boltar.” Keeda was ropable. “I suggest you bugger off”
“Fair enough, I only went with you for the free Poo-Smoothies.”
“Gentlemen, I can only say I am truly sorry for fanging hell out of you.” Said a repentant Vegie. “If you ever need any extra oxygen, I’ll be happy to convert your carbon-dioxide.”
“Aw, don’t mention it,” Boltar waved away his apologies, “could have happened to anyone.”
“Well this would seem to come to an amicable end. What say we retire to the Zingleploogying fields, where I believe Moore Passion is about to score an upset win.” The High Person ushered them towards his stretch Ute. “Celebrations should be in order.”
He spoked to the Vegie as they entered the vehicle, “Have you considered a career in Indoctrinator Rehabilitation?”
And so GBTMEV was hailed as a hero and started on his new career in world saving as opposed to world devastating. He had Keeda, a job, season tickets in the raising above pleb box and his team had wrested the guidon from Banos Pyrotechnic, life was damn fine.
Far above the revellers celebrating their wins or consoling their losses, a flash momentarily engulfs the star pricked night and is gone.
What could the Vegie’s first duties as hero and world saver?
Could it be anything to with that mysterious flash?
Why would I bother asking when the answer is obvious?
Who knows; who cares. Just be prepared to have your flabber further gasted in the next instalment of THE ADVENTURES OF GLENN BYRES THE MAN EATING VEGIE.
NOT THE END
*Collective noun of chingoit, hence zingleploogie: surrounded by chingoit.
[This is a series]
Welcome back.
It would seem that our hero is in the poo, what? Well you would be too if you had eaten three dwarves and generally wreaked havoc- not that I'm suggesting you are wont to do such things, my dear reader. What can he do now? Read on and be flabbergasted.
GBTMEV sat banging his head against the wall of his high-rise, low-rise, split-level drainpipe. Feeling hungry again and somewhat sorry for himself, he said:
“I’m hungry again and somewhat sorry for myself I must away and show everyone that I am a reformed Vegie so that I can spend the rest of my life with Keeda and her large portions of cunjevoi-on-toast”
So he did and they all lived happily ever after.
But wait! What of the points in between. You don't get away that easily.
By an extremely fortuitous coincidence, his dear yellow haired old mum had made sure he kept a packet of ‘Shmicko!™’, the wonder american franchise remover, in his laundry cupboard for just such a contingency. Setting the powerful granulated formula to work he fashioned himself an anti-MEV gun shield from an Irish percussion instrument. When the ‘Shmicko!™’ had done its work he sprang forth with a banshee yell into a completely empty street.
“They all went down the pub to celebrate mister.” A small, black, round object covered in long spines addressed him from across the road “Reckoned you was a goner”
The Vegie searched up and down before turning to the street urchin. [Marvellous joke that; now stop laughing, this is a series]
“Was there a woman here of such beauty, warmth and wisdom that her glow spread to those around her?” He asked in desperation.
“There was one such as you describe. She was being comforted by a policewoman but when she heard the inspector say you were as good as dead she ran away crying”
“Damn them! I will show them no one can suppress GBTMEV! No one, but no one hurts my Keeda! I've a good mind to devastate the world again!”
So he did and the world was devastated.
“Excuse me mister” The urchin effectively waylaid The Vegie’s world devastating,
“What!?”
“Can I have your Bodhran?” Pointing to the anti-MEV gun shield.
“Oh alright! Can I get on with it please?”
“Certainly”
“Thankyou” And with that he sped away.
Engulfed in the red mist, it didn't occur to him that he didn’t actually know where he was speeding toy hunger and the knowledge that Keeda was unhappy drove him into a frenzy. It was just unfortunate that he found himself in a crowded square.
It was the scene of the annual Boobwoose Zingleploogying tourney and chingoit appreciation meet so everyone had turned out in their favourite team’s colours to enjoy weeklong festivities. A game was in progress as the Vegie appeared; motorised skateboards whizzed hither and yon controlled by the diminutive boobwooses resplendent in the distinctive netball skirts and flack-jackets in club colours, the green of Moore Passion and the burnt magenta of Banos Pyrotechnic. Ten or so fought for possession of the packet of Coco-Pops midfield whilst the rest attempted to erect the Gaelic footy type goals in their team’s half from a pile of materials containing only enough for one set.
The crowd and combatants were so engrossed in the game that they didn’t notice the arrival of a rampant MEV or, for that matter, the gang of gangling Woosebangers hefting huge rubber mallets with intricately carved handles. They pushed and shoved their way onto the pitch and began to bonk the amiable Boobwooses on the noggins. There was an indignant uproar, none so uproarious as that that came from GBTMEV! He couldn’t stand to be ignored, but anyone disrupting a Zingleploogie deserved to be eaten.
“Upstage me would you!?” The Vegie cried as he reached the moat full of ravenous chingoit that defined the sidelines, “Prepare to meet the fangs of retribution”. He dived in.
Luckily chingoit are rather tiny and feed exclusively on detritus so the Vegie suffered no ill effects. He set upon the Woosebangers tooth and nail blowing water from his exhaust. Amidst fleeing and caterwauling he fanged the spindly ones till none were left to sully the sacred turf in fact no one was left. All had fled the vision of vehement V8 vegetation.
This gave the Vegie cause to pause, . . . His hunger and anger had abated somewhat and all that was left was sadness.
“Oh woe! Oh woe! What have I become? Less than my sod bound ancestors? Oh Woe!” He lamented.
“Are you serious?”
“No, there is only one of me.” The Vegie turned to find the Keeper of the chingoit tending to his ploogie*.
“You are searching for the one they name Keeda.” He said in a wise old man-ish way.
The Vegie visibly perked [No he didn't vomit] “Tell me O Keeper and reader of the oracular chingoit, where can she be found? Only she can stop the rot that grips my being.”
“She has gone forth unto her parent's milkbar, ‘Big Ois’. You must go to her, for with her you will achieve greatness” The keeper spoke but the Vegie was already away. With a sage nod he turned to tend his charges.
The Vegie was some time finding ‘Big Ois’ thanks to the general consensus that he was something to run screaming blindly from rather than give directions to. Thankfully he came across a blind football referee who was only concerned with the Vegie's personal hygiene. So it was that GBTMEV and his suspect under-vine area pushed thru the double doors.
He rolled up to the counter and eyed the old couple who stood behind it.
“You can’t drive in here, young sentient being I Park outside like everyone else.” The man admonished as his wife tut-tutted. The Vegie retaliated with a duly signed permit exempting him from motor-vehicle parking and travel laws. This seemed to appease them somewhat.
“We are somewhat appeased.” They chorused.
Impatiently the vegie asked, “Are you the parents of the most fair Keeda?”
“Yes we are, . . .” Mr Manticullis started,
“. . But she's not here. Care for a Poo Smoothie?” Mrs Manticullis offered.
The Vegie considered a moment “’Tis tempting” But his fear for Keeda surmounted his desire for blended beverages “You must tell me where she is.”
Mr Manticullis scratched his chin “Well, she said she was going to the docks to finish it. I don't know what ‘it’ is exactly, but it involves cement and a wash tub.”
“It could be a concrete yacht.” His wife suggested.
“Nah, seems a big job to finish in one afternoon. What do you think young vegie? . . . Where did he go?” GBTMEV left only skid marks and exhaust.
“Don't worry, he often does that.” The Keeper entered in his wake. “How about a Date Roll?”
“Never mind that, what about this mess.”
GBTMEV sped thru the streets scattering, . . . Well let's just say that he was indiscriminate in his scattering, all races, creeds, denominations and species were duly scattered. I think it's safe to say that a true scatter devotee would be well pleased with the high quality of the Vegie’s scattering.
He gained the docks in time to witness a foul atrocity.
“Put that away, you filthy little toad.” The disgusted Vegie admonished the smirking Mackintoshed amphibian who, job done, slinked off.
The docks were a big place and the Vegie was impatient. He forced himself to slow down and think; finally halting altogether and listening. Slowly he began to make out voices and a soft keening. Could this be a Keeda keen? The Vegie sped off in the direction of keen.
Around a comer he found himself on a wharf with large shipping containers across the centre; it was from behind these that the sounds emanated. As he drew near, he noticed two bicycles leaning against the warehouse doors. Suddenly a cry split the mumbling:
“No!”
It was Keeda! She was on her knees at the far end encircled by six besuited figures with conservative haircuts.
“Just do this survey and we can ascertain the factors that led you to attempt your own life” The Scientologist (Judging by her pseudo-military rank insignia) thrust a clipboard in Keeda's down turned face.
“Ma’am, our lord Jesus said unto Denzil Montana after his first seminar in the New World, . . .”
“Listen not to these poor misguided fools, my child.” A cassocked gentleman interrupted the Mormon who turned to his partner and tapped his clipboard in exasperation. “St Luke, chapter one, . . .” The cleric continued.
“It's you that’s misguided, old man.” Said a Jehovah's Witness- distinguished from the Mormons by the lack of nameplate.
“If you god-botherers are quite finished,” The army recruiting officer suggested, “I think we should face the problem of this rampaging, fuel-injected Venus fly-trap bearing down upon us.”
Her advice came too late as GBTMEV crashed thru the huddle. Clipboards and leaflets flew to the night as he devoured each in tum. The Jehovah’s Witnesses tried to assail the Vegie’s back but their pamphlets were poor answer to razor sharp teeth. Only Keeda’s sobbing held back the engulfing silence.
“Keeda?” He softly said as he wrapped a vine around her waist to raise her to her feet.
“Glenn, . . .? Glenn? But they said, . . , and the fast food, . . .” She fell into his foliage and embraced him.
“Softly. It's finished.” Comforting her.
She started. “They’ll come for you and this time they will kill you! You must hide!”
“On the contrary, miss.”
They turned to find the crack troops from last episode fresh from the pub and blocking the entry to the wharf at their head stood The High Person, Lord Orf and The Keeper grinning like knuckleheads.
“GBTMEV, by your actions you are exemplified. For ridding our streets of this scourge I can but say, we are indebted. However, eating people is somewhat anti-social and cannot go unpunished.” The High Person looked to The Keeper, “What would be a suitable punishment?”
“My Lord, the Vegie ate all his victims whole.” He addressed the Vegie, “Correct me if I am wrong, but your species is renowned for it’s particularly slow metabolism and selective regurgitation, am I right.”
“That is correct, O seer of things.”
“Then all you need do is return your victims to the outside world where the breachers of the peace can be made answerable, as is the custom.” The Keeper eloquently suggested.
“A famous idea, as ever. Vomit on, my good vegetable.” The High Person and his train moved back as GBTMEV wound up for the technicolour yawn.
And forth they gushed: indoctrinators turned inelegant cartwheels followed by racial oppressors bemoaning their fate; an ineffectual lover and two dwarven types finally joined the bile coated pile. The troops moved forward and, resisting the urge to dry retch, picked out the offenders who they removed for questioning.
The others were duly sponged down by a crack cleaning squad and presented to The High Person, The Keeper and the Vegie and Keeda. They looked quite well except for Thorin who was still minus an arm.
“Sorry about the arm,” the Vegie offered.
“No worries, it stops me picking my bum.”
“This creates a problem of honour, sir.” Rolf addressed the Vegie. “You have stolen my mate and honour must be satisfied.”
“Oh shut up you patronising git! I don't know what possessed me to ever go with such an intellectual midget- no offence Thorin, Boltar.” Keeda was ropable. “I suggest you bugger off”
“Fair enough, I only went with you for the free Poo-Smoothies.”
“Gentlemen, I can only say I am truly sorry for fanging hell out of you.” Said a repentant Vegie. “If you ever need any extra oxygen, I’ll be happy to convert your carbon-dioxide.”
“Aw, don’t mention it,” Boltar waved away his apologies, “could have happened to anyone.”
“Well this would seem to come to an amicable end. What say we retire to the Zingleploogying fields, where I believe Moore Passion is about to score an upset win.” The High Person ushered them towards his stretch Ute. “Celebrations should be in order.”
He spoked to the Vegie as they entered the vehicle, “Have you considered a career in Indoctrinator Rehabilitation?”
And so GBTMEV was hailed as a hero and started on his new career in world saving as opposed to world devastating. He had Keeda, a job, season tickets in the raising above pleb box and his team had wrested the guidon from Banos Pyrotechnic, life was damn fine.
Far above the revellers celebrating their wins or consoling their losses, a flash momentarily engulfs the star pricked night and is gone.
What could the Vegie’s first duties as hero and world saver?
Could it be anything to with that mysterious flash?
Why would I bother asking when the answer is obvious?
Who knows; who cares. Just be prepared to have your flabber further gasted in the next instalment of THE ADVENTURES OF GLENN BYRES THE MAN EATING VEGIE.
NOT THE END
*Collective noun of chingoit, hence zingleploogie: surrounded by chingoit.
