h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Perhaps you'd think the Sage would stop -
Don't underrate obsession -
And to his mate, Saint Appo Staight
He made this curt confession.

"I'm going to get that gold, if it's
The last thing that I do.
And then we'll see if wealth or charm
Has more the wit to woo."
(No, they weren't up in the belfrey
But then as a rhyme twill do!)

"To hell with psycho-potholes and
The trans-neuronal Scout,
I'm going on another trip
Or my name's not Kneezer Prout."

Saint Appo said, "Now look here, Kneez,
Perhaps a little rest
Before you go back warping which
Could leave you over-stressed."

"Let's face it, mate," the Sage replied,
"My fate's not Father William's.
I don't have his great fiftitude
Still less his great resilience.

I'm old, I'm old, I'm far too old
And this might be my chance.
So what if the grim Weppen-wheel*
Should spin me in a dance.

( By this* he meant the Buddhist truth
That whether it heals or hurts,
In love or strife, throughout your life
You make your just desserts.)

Now if the Sage had listened to
What Appo had suggested,
He might have heard that little hint,
And been more interested.

A Sage like him, though far from dim,
Should heed his intuition,
Its not for nothing gods pop in
Such gems of pre-cognition.

And so he'll soon be off again
Upon his lurid quest.
For now we'll leave him so his tea
Has time for to digest.

The Staight of things, so far, as seen by St.Appo,
Kneezer Prowt's Emmy Nongs Greeze.

"Now Dandy and his Eagle are
Far out, to sea, they say.
The Sage is quite determined he
Will trip another day.
The Flergel feels neglected
By most everyone but Blay.

In Grimley Aunt Wurpeegle is
More witchy than she shows -
Just what is her connection to
Her nephew Dandy's nose?

And Bridged waits, so anxiously
TO see if her removal
To unknown parts will soothe her heart's
Trings, meet with her approval.

And sundried Ventral Snaiths await
The call of destiny,
While Lamputloofs perch on the roofs
To watch the Reeren Tree.

The Robin, ( though not Colin ) still
Appears from time to time,
With words of peevish choler
Where they fit into the rhyme.

So all in all this Porgle Pye
Is mixed as mixed can be -
So that's correct as we expect
From Kwan Tum Poertree.

So don't complain if our quattrain
Should skip about in jumps,
It's quite like something Froydeeyan
That also comes in lumps."

oooooOOOooooo

<>

In some far corner of this
Madly twisted labyrinth,
The Flergal Flea attempts to hook
A hippy off its plinth,
But Gangly Blay, I'm glad to say,
Was dreaming hyacinth.

His mind's eye's seeing colours of
A swirling golden pink.
Which might have just a bit to do
With what he'd had to drink.

The Flergal Flea, in pain, as he
Still bleeds from blarblied hips
Just needs to chew some Veedee Yew
And then the Fate's coin flips.

Though huge in size, with umpteen eyes
And all those spikey legs,
He will expire beside Blay's fire
As sure as fleas lays eggs,
Unless of course he has recourse
To Yew-tree leaves. He begs:

"Come here to meee and you will ssseee
The ssort of ssightss you're sseeeking,"
( Remember it's a buzz-saw mouth
From which there's suckers peeking.)

A flea looks like a comma but
When lying on its side,
This one is just a mess of legs
In a puce and golden hide.
"Come here to meee, I wouldn't hurt
A flea," the Flergel lied.

Now Blay through tinted glasses looked
And they were tinted rose,
As several cups of mushroom tea
Had changed them, we suppose.

He tuned his lyre an octave higher
And reedily he sang
The sort of song the Flergal fears,
It felt some worried pangs,
And struggled yet again to get
Some Yew-leaves in its fangs.

But Blay was off his head again
Could hardly see the Flea.
He strummed his lyre, and heard a choir
Of Snaithley minstrelsy.

This soon gave way, it's strange to say
To notes that came out pink.
The music tasted choclatey
Blay had another drink.

"Oh man, like, wow, like far out now,
It's heavy Kyuwar Tea..."
Thereafter few coherent words
Were heard by Flergel Flea.

Some power entered Blay by force,
And took his vacant brain,
And speaking to the Flergal sang
This very odd refrain.

"Beware, beware the Toe-nib Layer
For it will steal your gold,
Before the Shubs close up their pubs
Your secrets will be told,
And in strange hands from far-off lands
Your corpse will lie, dead cold."

The Flea was not a bit amused
At what Blay seemed to sing,
"Come here you lout," the Fergal's shout
Tried Blay back down to bring.

Though stoned, the Gangly youth obeyed
And sat down near the Flea,
He smiles and smiles ( this really riles )
"Were you, like, calling me?

You've got to try this mush-tea, man,
It's really is good Kyuwar."
The Flea just wondered if he could
Get Blay's flesh on a skewer,
And, strengthened, get a Yew-leaf yet
That would provide the cure.

"Come closer, lad, I need a hand
A little help, that's all.
Just bring to me from that Yew-tree
A leaf.""Like, did you call?"

"Wake up, you wretched, brain-dead creep,"
The Flea was getting cross,
"Bring me a leaf right now, you hear?"
Blay couldn't give a toss,
He was in quite some other space
And knew it was no loss.

He smiled and mumbled vaguely as
He vainly twanged his lyre
The Flergal Flea just wished he'd drop
The damned thing in the fire.

And there we see both Blay and Flea
Beside the dwindling flames.
Blay falls asleep, while from the deep,
The Flea drags charming names.

Meanwhile.......

A knock on Aunt Wurpeegles door
Reminded one and all
That the ballad was proceeding as
They stood there in the hall

Wurpeegle peered around the door
A voice said "Air Hair Lair"
She flurbled with enwrimplement
And patted at her hair

For there stood Thomas Terry
He'd come looking for a room
This one time friend and confidante
Of Alidander Frume

"Good heavens Madam, do you know
What's happening on your roof?
I couldn't help but notice
You've a flock of Lamputloof!"

"And may I say how well you look
This fine and frimbly day"
Twas then he spotted Bridged and
Said swarthily "I say!"

Within a half a minute he'd
Resolved to ask her out
For pints and pickled wigglets eggs
Down at the Tickled Trout

Now those of you who are well versed
In ancient Grimley lore
May realise you've come across
This Terry chap before

While taking part in Grimleys
Never ending cricket match
He disappeared one morning
As he ran to make a catch

Some thought he'd fallen down a hole
Some thought him lost in time
While others thought it more to do
With a life of petty crime

In truth it had much more to do
With how fast he could run
When confronted with a baby,
Its' granddad and his gun

The baby now was seventeen
The granddad was long gone
And Terry had returned,
His former life to carry on

Well to cut a rather long aside
Down to a verse or four
He gave Wurpeegle sixpence for
A room on t' second floor

A lamputloof came down and settled
On the window sill
And Thomas Terry would not be
Alive if looks could kill

"I know you're after Bridged"
Said the scrawnilicious bird
T.T. replied "and you sir
Are a vermillicious twerd"

A twiddle of the moustache,
A bucketful of smarm
And Thomas T and Bridgéd
Are walking arm in arm

Across the village green and then
Along the Barking Beck
She'd said at first she wouldn't go
But then thought 'What the heck'

They end up in The Tickled Trout
And drink a lot of ale
A tactic Thomas Terry didn't
Think would ever fail

Then later on when Bridgéd went
To powder her green nose
In walks Bridget Twiddlewitch
In identical clothes

A lamputloof appears behind the bar
And wags a claw
"I said that this would happen,
I seen it all before"

Well anyone who ever saw
An Ealing comedy
Can picture the commotion
And confusion there would be

When Thomas Terry turned and met
The Bridget with a T
And if he understands it he's
A better man than me

She's gone from being mildly drunk
And pleasant company
To stone cold sober, not impressed
By smarmy Tommy T

"What's wrong my dear" he asked her
Like he wanted to be told
"My love has gone across the sea
To fetch me Flergal Gold"

"Gold you say?" said Thomas,
His instincts kicking in
And he sidled up beside her as
She took a swig of gin

"Flergal Gold at that you say,
Oh my, oh my, oh my!"
He put his arm around her,
She punched him in the eye

He woke up minutes later and he
Felt a little queer
Perhaps from lying on the floor,
Perhaps from wearing beer

Bridget by now had vanished,
But Bridgéd had returned
Comically unaware of the
Advances she just spurned

Somewhere far away in the Western seas, a two-masted
topsail schooner sails ever Westwards towards the
Western Isles in general, and Blaggerty in particular.

oooooOOOOoooo

You'd think that mutual suffering
Would bind a crew together,
A ship needs every man to man
The ship in stormy weather.

You'd think that mutual misery
Would bind a ship's crew tight,
And with a flogging Captain you
Would think such thoughts were right.

But on this ship, the Patrix Spants
The crew were skulking, broody,
And toiled away like worker ants
For fear of Captain Groody.

Not one of them but felt the lash
When tied up to the grate,
Laid on by Blog the Bosun while
The count was kept by Mate.

As surly and morose a bunch
As any of the sort,
Except for warrant officers
They'd been shanghaied in port.

Three were Bleegit Islanders
Tattooed from head to toe,
Two Blaggerts, two Gloweegeeyans
Whose tails were white as snow,

And a pair of deep blue Slunkies
With six eyes all in a heap,
Not to mention poor old Dandy
And the dross of Shipling Greep.

So all in all the ship was not
Exactly overmanned,
But such the ways in sailing days
As profits would demand.

Her hold was full of "Flergal gold"
For such some called the cargo,
A stinking pit of old birdshit,
Guano from Dillargo.

She also carried opium
When in the China seas,
And, rarely, stateroom passengers
For quite outrageous fees.

Whatever could be made to pay
Was what the owners shipped,
And any corners they could cut
Were well and truly clipped.

So Captain Groody drove his men
And drove the ship as hard,
And if a sailor crossed him he'd
Be hanging from the yard.

The word soon spread,"That Dandy's dead,
He'll dance the Bosun's dance,
He won't survive a flogging, sure
He hasn't got a chance."

The dawn came rough and windy but
The Bosun was intent
That Dandy would explain just what
His secret bird-talk meant.

He came below the forepeak and
He told the Galley Cook,
"Just keep an eye on Dandy, whiles
I tie him to this hook."

Meanwhile back aft, Miss Joicelyne
Had woken bright and early,
She wasn't in the best of moods
Indeed she was quite surly.

She hammered on her stateroom door
Until the Captain said,
"For gods' sake let that woman out
Her noise will split my head."

The Purser then unlocked her door,
"Oh look, it's fixed," said he,
"The Carpenter's just done the job,
Now would you like some tea?"

Miss Joicelyne cheered up at once
"That would be nice," she said,
"I've not been feeling awfully well,
I'd like some buttered bread,
And something for poor Buggirduck,
It's ages since he fed."

"We'll have some fun this morning ma'am,"
The Purser's grin was slick,
"A crewman's crossed the Cap'n and
He's going to get the stick."

"What do you mean?" said Joicelyne.
"I mean he will be whipped,
He's brought illicit livestock on,
They warned him when he shipped,
At least I think that's what he done
Unless my mem'ry slipped."

"Well, discipline you have to have,
It's like a horse to me,
You must insist on order and
I'm sure that's true at sea."
"You're right indeed,"the Purser said,
"The Captain would agree."

At eight bells sharp the Captain stood
Beside the poop-deck rail
While Dandy was dragged aftwards -
How he felt his courage fail.

Just then Miss Joicelyne emerged
And at her heel the beagle,
And what a time, as eight bells chime,
Out from his nest popped Eagle.

"That's im, that's im, that's what I seen"
The Cook was so excited,
"Good Lord, where have you been, dear boys?"
Joice also sounds delighted.

"What's that on board?" the Captain roared
"We're s'posed to have a floggin."
The Bosun said,"That bird is dead
Or else my name ain't Bloggin."
Then Buggirduck embraced his leg,
"Who let that bleedin dog in?"

The Eagle meanwhile flew aloft
And said, "Make no mistake
There's been a little mixup here,
But now that I'm awake,
I do suggest we stop and talk,
We all can profit make."

"But why's my young friend Frume tied up?"
Joice asked the Captain then.
"Well one, he owes a hundred quid,
And two, he's jinxed my men,
And three, he's brought that bird on board
It should be in a pen.
Now kindly take your dog below
Don't bring him up again."

"You listen here to me, my man,
My cousin owns this ship.
I won't be spoken to like that
So frankly, watch your lip."

The Captain quailed, it was the voice
It touched some hidden button.
He blenched and looked at Joice in dread,
No spring lamb she, but mutton.

There's one thing that the crew enjoys
More than another's floggin,
It's seeing Bully Groody topped,
It even tickled Bloggin.

"Untie my friend, young Frume at once,
I'm sure that debt's a fraud,
As for his friend the Eagle, well
He flies, that's not on board.

And all this talk of jinxes
Really is a load of rot.
Now send the tea, for my friends and me,
And please make sure it's hot."

"Ahoy, ahead, the spout, we're dead,"
The lookout from aloft
Yelled out, "About, quick put about!"
"You see," the Bosun scoffed.

"Quick, chuck the Jonah overboard,"
It was the Cook that cried,
"What nonsense," Joicelyne remarked,
"Oh yes?" the Mate replied.

"All hands, wear ship," the Captain roared,
"Now madam, go below."
He felt secure, now he was sure
A storm was going to blow.

"Untie that man at once, " he said,
"We need all hands to haul,"
The bows were turning slowly round
When racing came the squall,
A screaming wind with rain and hail
And water like a wall.

The dreaded spout came tearing down
A whirling spire of water,
A mountain on the move, it seemed,
It hit the ship and caught her.

The ship was spun and whirled, the sky
Was nowhere to be seen,
And under the mountain sailed the ship
Into a world of green.

The mighty wave breaks over her,
And on her beam she lies,
And somewhere way down wind
A rather battered Eagle flies.

The waterspout flew on, blew out
And soon the ship had passed,
The sails all hung in tatters from
The broken splintered mast.

But still the hull was floating and
The storm gave way to calm,
The Captain looked about him in
A state of mild alarm.

Too few, too few, where was the crew?
The wave had swept her clean,
But Dandy, who was not untied
Remained where he had been.
Had Joicelyne been safe below?
She's nowhere to be seen.

But then the Captain hears the voice,
The voice so sharp and shrill,
"I really shouldn't drink so much
In think it makes me ill,
Come Buggirduck, let's see what's up,
That was a nasty spill."

And after her the Purser came,
Looking past his best,
And in a while, blown back a mile,
The Eagle came to nest.

In which our Bedraggled Heroes finally
catch sight of the Hummock Heaps, and
The Island of Blaggerty...........

The Captain wasn't given much
To superstitious stuff -
"You makes your own good fortune, or
You don't, that's it," he's tough.
But as he looked around him ,he
Felt Jonah'd right enough.

For he, the Purser, Dandy and
The Eagle were the crew
(Apart from Joicelyne ) so what
On earth was he to do?

The ship was slowly sinking, for
The spout had split her bottom,
And guano mixed with water made
A stench far worse than rotten.

He swore and cursed the lousey luck
That had him rrightly skewered.
The stink of birdshit-slurry gave
New meaning to in-sewered!

Joice looked around the wreckage and
She said,"That's quite a mess,
It looks as though we're sinking now."
The Captain muttered, "Yes."

But, happily the longboat was
Still fixed onto the deck,
Undamaged by the broken mast -
The rest was all a wreck.

"Untie that man," the Captain sighed,
Remembering that he
Now only had the Puser left
To cut young Dandy free,
To help him right the longboat
And then get it in the sea.
"Don't worry, " Joice said cheerily,
"Just leave all that to me."

"Well, what we're going to need of course
Is food and water too.
So run along now, Purser dear,
Just see what you can do."

The Captain looked at Joiccelyne
And felt a spark of hope,
"There isn't anything with which
That woman couldn't cope."
And she meanwhile saw Dandy smile
As she untied the rope.

"Now what a bore, and no mistake,
How do you feel, my dear?
No broken bones I hope, now help
Me get you out of here."

The Antwerp Eagle meanwhile was
High up above the sea,
"There's land on the horizon, and
It's not so far," said he.
The Captain said,"The Hummock Heaps -
The big one's Blaggerty.

So you're the talking bird that caused
The problem with the Cook!"
But Joice remarked, "Enough of that,
We've not much time. Now look -

This Eagle could air-lift us all,
Of course, just one by one.
The rest wait in the longboat,
Well? I'm sure it could be done.

We'd better get that longboat launched,
So hurry, that's the thing."
The Eagle said," There's just one catch,
I think I've sprained my wing."

"Well then, we'll have to row there,
I'm quite handy in a boat.
Look lively Captain, Dandy, let's
Just get the launch afloat."

The sun was shining on the sea
The storm had blown away,
The ship just slowly gurgled as
It slipped out of the day.

The Purser and Miss Joicelyne
The Captain, Dandy too
Were rowing. Eagle kept the watch,
The beagle watched the view.
And then they heard from far beneath
A mournful sort of "Mblmoooooo."

( You see, it came in bubbles.)
"It's a Meercow," Captain said,
"Pull hard, if it capsizes us
We might as well be dead."

Another bubbly "moo" arose
And then another four,
And thick and fast they came at last
And more and more and more.
Don't tell me, but you've heard these words
Writ somewhere else before.

And then a huge and hairy head
With whiskers gleaming green
Emerged beside them as they rowed,
Across the soupy scene.

It gloopled at them blearily
From large and soulful eyes,
And whiffled through moustaches
Of a truly splendrous size.

"We need a whisker," Dandy said,
"Quick, grab one while you can."
"Well, thanks a lot," the Meercow said,
"Just watch yourself, young man.

"You think I've nothing better on
Than spend me life at sea,
Just so some paltry pirate can
Take souvenirs off me?

You want a Meercow whisker?
Well you'll have to pay the fee,
I've got three kids at home to raise
That doesn't happen free."

"That's typical," Miss Joice remarked,
"Like everything these days,
There really are no standards left,
It's all about what pays.

When I was young a person was
Just pleased to be of use,
But now it's all political,
There's always some excuse,
Or else pay compensation to
Some wretch that you refuse."

"I'm sorry, miss," the Meercow said,
"It's solidarity,
You start by giving bits away,
There'd be no end, you see,
And then where would I find meself,
What would be left of me?"

The Captain said,"What's this about?
Who said that we should cease?
What do you want a whisker for?
Just leave the cow in peace."

"That's Meercow, thank you all the same,"
The whilgey beast intoned,
And blurbled at them slurpily
While looking slightly stoned.

The Eagle meanwhile circled round
Behind the monstrous head,
The landed right on top of it,
"Now listen up," he said,

"We only want one whisker and
I'm sure you have a spare few."
"Get off me head, those claws are sharp.
You're messing up me hairdo."

"Why don't we trade," the Eagle said,
"So it's a deal, I'd say,
One whisker - I won't gouge your eyes
And eat them now, okay?'

"You've got a nerve, what you deserve's
A damn good thrashing too,
Get off me head, right now, you're dead,
Hold on and I'll drown you."

The Eagle swooped and snipped a hair
And flew away at speed,
The Meercow, who was not so bright
Followed the Eagle's lead.

"Just wait until my husband hears,"
The Meercow plunged and burbled,
"You'll pay , you'll see, you'll cop it, creep,
You wait till you've been Meerbulled."

Now if our games with words and names
Should chance to bore you rigid
You're welcome (most!) to skip this post
About the name of Bridget

Her sorry fate she contemplates
Its contravention sternest
"What's in a name? They're all the same
I might as well be Earnest!"

Now Brigid was a deity
Before St Patrick came
And sold the modern verity
That all gods are the same
And only three - the Trinity -
Deserving of the name

He had no place for godesses
So she became a saint
The Gaels were so magnanimous
That they made no complaint
Her day's the first of February
When Spring begins to paint

Most water was polluted then -
They gave their rivers hell -
Pure wells that Patrick didn't claim
Are called "St Brigid's well"

In Gaelic she is Brighid
Contracted now to Bríd
And Breda, Bride (for breeding)
Breege, and Budge, and Butch indeed
(She may to Brenda yet extend,
A case I will not plead)

What's in a name? They're all the same
In mankind and divinity
They stuff a can of gods, a Pan-
Theon, into a Trinity

And even there they try to pare
It down; I think it rather
Uncommon, rare, unheard of: where's
A Church of God the Father?

So Brigid took demotion
Saintliness is now her station
And even more she yields the floor
To Mary in her nation

But after the invasions
Of the Danes and then the Norse
The Normans and the Saxons, still
Survives St Brigid's Cross

And every February the first
In Ireland, East to West
Her star of woven rushes
Still adorns the chimney breast

So there you have her analysed
Down to the smallest digit
And if mayhap I've left a gap
You're welcome (most!) to bridge it

this is one of the most brilliant and funny things I have ever read
Thank you
after a bad day this is wonderful to come home to

<>

Brilliant stuff, Recumbent Sage.

<>

<>

Think kindly of your daughters and
Before you call them Brigid,
Remember cruel people like
To rhyme the name with frigid.

And some who spell the other way
And close the name as Bridget
Have even written songs that star
The poor girl as a midget,*

Which might not be so bad except
That midges do get squidged.
Or irritated parents might
Give out and call her "fidget."

*( Bridget, the midget, the Queen of the Bloos.)

<>

Now Bridgéd and herself Bridget
Are both one and the same
Desynchronised chronology
Must be in part to blame

A misplaced fluctuation in
A transdimension flux
Flipped neatly on its axis
Turned around and said 'time sucks'

And things which once flowed smoothly
Now were sucked into a stew
Of almost but not quite exactly
What they're meant to do

Not far away on Blaggerty
A million miles from here
A solitary pair of three
Heard things they could not hear

A terrifying gentle rage
Of distance drawing near
Fell up through the horizon into
Murkiness quite clear

Torrential floods of almost nothing
Dripping up the side
Of things so short yet far too tall
So narrow, yet so wide

The long and short of all of this
Is Bridget's gone to bed
And Bridgéd's on her way back home
Pi$$ed out of her head

While Thomas Terry too is feeling
Slightly worse for drink
Though neither quite as drunk
As they both let the other think

He wants to know some more about
This talk of Flergal Gold
While she would like to know how he
Knows things she hasn't told

Once back at Aunt Wurpeegles house
She goes up to her room
And hears her own voice calling out
To Alidander Frume

Thomas, hearing shouting coming
Through his bedroom wall
Comes out to find Miss Twiddlewitch
Still standing in the hall

"Whatever's this commotion
That raised me from my bunk?"
"Perhaps I may have drink a lottle
Mere than I had thunk"

How she'd locked herself out from
Within needs understanding
But she fell asleep in a drunken heap
Right there upon the landing

When she woke next morning
She just could not recall
The voice from in her bedroom
Or sleeping in the hall

But Thomas Terry lay and scratched
The chin within his room
And muttered once more to himself
"Alidander Frume!"

oooooOOOooooo

Somewhere beneath the Sea, an irate Meercow
is telling her Meerbull all about it.

Unlike his whiskered missus, the
Meerbull is smooth of face,
A fact that missus meercows use
To keep their men in place.

It's useful when you've lost your keys
And need a bull to blame,
As Missus Meercow likes to say,
"You bulls are all the same.

You're lazy, you're forgetful and
I wonder if you're blind.
It's obvious to me you've only
One thing on your mind.

It's eat and eat, then eat some more,
And then you go on eating.
You never take the time to tune
Our Gulf Stream central heating.

It's wander here, and wander there,
Whatever way it pulls,
No wonder I'm demented coz
You're just a load of bulls.

And then when we are finished
Having meercalves, and we're wrecks,
That's when you roll up in the night
And say you're on for sex.

By which time we're all skinny, worn
Away to bones, no blubber,
And you're off after something young
And plump, and try to rubber."

So this is what our Meercow felt,
She went back to her bull,
And said, "Wot you been doin',
Last I saw, that bin was full.

Have you just gone and eaten all
My favourite green slime???
You're just the blubby limit, you
Just do it every time!

Now get up off your bony bum
And do a job for me -
There's a bunch of proper tossers
In a boat right here at sea.

One of them's a feathery git,
GLUBBY, are you LISTENING?
He nicked one of me whiskers just
When they was nice and glistening.

You 'aven't heard a word I've said.
Wot did I say? You looser.
You sit there all the time just like
Some vegetable woozer.

Now go and sort that lot, you hear,
And don't come back for tea
Until you've drowned the lot of them,
Or you'll get hell from me.

Poor Glubby ( well his name was all
In bubbles, but that's near )
Reluctantly, it must be said,
Got off his bony rear,
And just for luck the nearest calf
Got clipped around the ear.

"So, where's this boat then, Mlubbles, and
Then what am I to do?"
"I told you, blobhead, drown the lot,
The captain and the crew."

"But what if they've got weapons? They
Just might have a harpoon..."
"O blubby hells, I'll go myself
You sorry old blubboon.

You're so pathetic, aren't you, eh?
Coz all you do is eat.
A wonder you ain't eaten both
The flippers off your feet."

Alright, alright, I'm going now,
Just give a bull a break."
He wobbled slowly westwards with
Her bubbles in his wake.

"Now don't forget, you drown the lot
And.."..."Don't stop off for slimes...
Blah blah, I've heard the silly cow
Say that a thousand times.

Well blubber it, a whisker? Is
She mad or is she mad?
She's lost one blubbing whisker, now
Just what makes that so bad?

Oh blob the boat, I'll catch them up,
And then I'll sort them proper.
So let's just have a little slime,
A blue-green algae plopper.

Allo there, Wublub, you all right?
You coming down for slime?"
"Yeah, Glub, 'ere, 'ow's it goin mate?
So how is things in grime?"

"Oh, can't complain, the cow's insane,
But aren't they all? Wot's new?
She wants me to sort out some scum.
You fancy coming too?"

"Why not? Alright, let's have some slime,
A quick one, then we goes.
'Ere, 'ave you seen that plump new calf
Who's serving down at Blo's?

I fancy givin her a rub,
She needs a proper bull,
Your missus int'rested at all?"
"Naah, sez she's past her pull."

"Well, 'ere we are, allo my blub.
We'll not stay long, OK?"
So by the time they'd finished there.....
Our lads had rowed away.

TT could see how things could be
Aligned to his own ends
For Alidander Frume and he
Had once been quite good friends

But first he must see Bridgéd as
Some things need sorting out
That little indiscretion of his
Down at the Tickled Trout

Bridgéd was not at breakfast
She wasn't in the hall
It seemed that Bridgéd was no longer
Anywhere at all

In fact she's out on Grimley Green
Studying her map
And still a little puzzled by
That Thomas Terry chap

Meanwhile the early riser
Bridget's riding on the Moer
She's been out on her horse (called Sage)
Since shortly after four

She'd hardly slept a wink all night
And stumbled out the door
Just after tripping over herself
Sleeping on the floor

"Ahoy there Bridget!" called a
Lamputloof from in a tree
"What's the craic? Girl watch your back
Beware of Thomas T"

The lamputloof then raised a hoof
And with it scratched his knees
And Bridget heard "fnar fnerd"
She spoke no Lamputeese

Meanwhile on Grimley Green Bridgéd
Has figured out the map
It's just like any normal map but
Normal maps are crap

Compared to this one anyway,
It tells you what you need
Not only that, this magic map
Is easier to read

It says along the bottom that
'This map will show the way
To what it is you're looking for'
What more need any map say?

And in the very centre of the map,
Next to the fold,
A vision of the Dandy and beneath him
Flergal of Gold!

Somewhere in the depths of, well, somewhere, maybe the crypt of St.Appo's Kirk, Grimley Green, Grimley Moer, Grimley under Grime.

The Sage ( who's not a horse ) is
Still determined he will find
The Flergal's gold ( that isn't dung )
He hasn't changed his mind.

He's very highly focussed, and
So very high in fact,
He hasn't noticed Bridged-et's
A quantum double-act.

That shouldn't be a problem as
The physics tells us that
A bi-located particle's
As normal as your hat.

Our tale is philosophical
In many special ways
And gives a clearer picture of
The "real" than most these days -

Not that the real is found "in reel"
Since Newsreels went outdated,
And reel to reel is quite unreal
It is so antiquated.

The science here is cutting-edge,
Be careful of your fingers,
And as we've seen, in Grimley Green
Fate waits for one who lingers.

The science, yes, it's cutting-edge,
We sail the multiverse
Enlacing the Oretickkal
With strings of the perverse.

When space is both your unny-yun
(Albeit, finely sliced )
And it's your sage as well, you know
The stuffing's underpriced.

Throw in some time, and stir it well,
The plot begins to thicken.
(Are you confused? Well, so am I
And I am no stuffed chicken.)

Back to the Sage ( who's not a nerb,
The aged Kneezer Prowt )
He's had his tea and almond buns
He knows what he's about.

Once more upon his doughty steed
The Sage ( who's not a norse )
Prepares to venture into space
Time-warping there, off course.

He's learnt his lesson from the Scout
( Of the Recumbent bike )
He's set his mind on charity
Which Scouts will have to like.

A tricky thinker is the Sage,
He thinks he's got it sussed,
Now finally he'll go for gold,
He'll go by gold or bussed.

Once more he throws a wary leg
Across the chrono-bike
And risks his all if he should fall
Into the Stygian dyke.

His mind's still on the Flergal, well
He has to have a point
Where time gives way to space or else
He tumbles out of joint.

But now he settles slowly and
He sets his thoughts to "kind,"
And hopes this time the labyrinth
Will save him from his mind,
But its got to travel with him,
And "it's got to travel blind."

The air within the Kirkly crypt
Ripples and twists and groans,
For time is very hard indeed
On Grimley's ancient bones,
And many a bone is buried here
Within these ancient stones.

("Get on with it," St.Appo says,
Addressing his prayers in hope,
That somewhere there is somebody
Who hasn't lost his rope.)

The Sage has disappeared again
Within his chronobule,
When suddenly the truth arrives
In shades of deadly cool.

The truth, of course, is that his heart
Is pulsing still with greed,
Forgetting intuition that
We said he ought to heed.

What is this place devoid of grace
Wherein he finds himself?
It is the prison he has made
In lust for Flergal pelf.

But strange to say, he's not alone
There's others of his kind,
For warping out of time and space
Goes on "time out of mind."

A dreadful thirst, by the far the worst
He's known is what first hits him,
And hunger then to the power of ten
Comes in and tightly fits him.

He looks around, a charnel ground
As far as mind can think,
Slaughter, slaughter everywhere,
His eyes too dry to blink.

His head is filled with dreadful groans
Some his, some not his own,
And everywhere his hunger leads
To earth as dry as bone,
And everywhere his thirst impells
To drink a draught of stone.

He looks around, what source of sound
Reveals the noise of pain,
The other hungry ghosts, like him,
Are sucking stones in vain.

With bodies huge as houses and
With necks as fine as thread,
They wish intensely, oh they wish
That they could just be dead.

The only food or drink they find,
The rarest type of toke,
Is when a prayer is said for them
And sent with incense smoke.

The Sage looks down and tries to frown
But finds he is too weak,
He tries to call, his throat's too small
He finds he cannot speak.

And every breath, a firey death,
Scalds as he sucks it in,
He wishes each would be his last,
And fears each must begin.

And though this place seems empty space
It's packed with teeming souls.
Each ghost feels its own craving most
Like blazing icey coals.
They drift within their dismal din
Like deep-sea spider-shoals.

Then in that space a thread of grace
A line of golden light,
Tis holy smoke ( and that's no joke )
So sweet, but yet so bright.
Each hungry ghost now tries to feed
And soothe its ache so tight.

The Sage's eyes, to his surprise
Begin to blink once more,
To his delight the golden light
Seems somehow to restore
His memory, and mind returns
Back to the space-time shore.

The thread is golden as his dream
But now his dream is freed,
The gold he sought is just a thought
Which follows the light-line's lead.

Beneath the realm of Hungry Ghosts
There lies the Toe-nib Layer,
Where nothing is quite as it seems,
Although it seems so fair.

It promises the earth but then
Its deals are less than square,
And here the liars close-packed lie
While Toenibs through them tear.

The Sage held to the golden thread
And now was moving fast,
Relieved to find he wasn't dead
Despite the hells he'd passed.

The chrono-bike was humming too
The crystals brightly glowed,
It felt as though it seemed to know
Its way along this road.

Another sound was heard around
The bike's melodious thrum,
A reedy voice that pierced the void
"Aum Manee Pemmay Hummmmmmmm."

The golden thread was now so wide
It seemed more like a highway
And down its tube the biker flew
( But didn't do it my way!)

"Aum Manee Pemmay Hummm" again
The reedy voice intoned.
You've guessed, it was the Gangly Bard
And he was really stoned.

"You see," he told the Flergal Flea,
"You've got to have compassion,
Like, all these needy wars and greed,
Are really out of fashion."

"Aum Manee Pemmay Hummm," he sang,
"The mantra of Chenrayzee,
You've got to sing it all the time,"
It drives the Flergel crazy,
As does the pall of sweetish smoke
That makes the evening hazey.

"Aum Manee Pemmay Humm," once more
"I'm chanting it for you,
It's sending healing vibes, you know,
They're really good, it's true.

It's sending vibes to every realm
Where beings incarnate,
From gods, who pride, to ghosts who hide
Where angry demons hate."

"Aum Manee Pemmay Humm, go on,
It's good for humans too,
It's good for animals as well
And Flergel Fleas like you."

And suddenly the Gangly Bard
Brings space-time to a point,
And into this uplifting scene
Sage tumbles out of joint.

loverly

On yer bike!

In Which the Sage has visions of Flergal Gold

If you think Blay was bothered by
The Sage's odd emergence
(From a plume of smoke, by chrono-moke
In temporal regurgence )
Then I must say, you don't know Blay,
Whose brain cells were no vergence.

If something could be smoked or sniffed
Or swallowed, then Blay took it,
And though he's nearly sixty now
He doesn't really look it.

He's very thin, with waxy skin
His hair is long but grey,
A damsel with a dulcimer
Is not our Gangly Blay.

Twas no surprise that fore his eyes
The chrono-bike, plus sage
Had rippled from his megaspliff
Onto his psycho-stage.

In truth he hardle noticed them
Amongst the other visions,
The Mushroom Tea still meant that he
Faced different indecisions.

He sort of knew that chanting through
This time of night was good,
He sort of felt the fire might soon
Be needing some more wood,
He sort of thought the Flergal ought
To not be given food.

So when the Sage appeared to him
He merely wondered how
This vision seemed a bit less
Dream-like, so he warbled, "Wow."

The Sage was made of sterner stuff
And though he was surprised
To find at last he had arrived
He had at least apprised

Himself he was alive, although
He wondered was he cursed,
An eon spent among the ghosts
Before from hell he burst,
But ever since he left their realm
He had a raging thirst.

A pot of tea was simmering
Beside a glowing fire,
What more could any traveller need
Or a thirsty throat require.

He took the cup and filled it up
He drank the warming brew,
And then he poured a couple more
But felt it was too few.

"Aum Manee Pemmay Humm," sang Blay
Still gazing at the Flea.
He hadn't really seen the Sage
Had joined their company.

It takes a while, but soon the smile
That comes with Mushroom Tea
Spread right across the Sage's face -
And then he saw the Flea.

Now Kyuwar Tea is potent stuff
The Sage has drunk a lot,
Three cups full to be quite precise,
He'd drained the entire pot.

He hadn't eaten in an age
At least that's how it feels,
The brew suffused his brain like glue
And round the fire he reels.

You'd think with all the years he'd spent
In matters psycho-mental
That he could cope, not lose his rope
When things went transcendental.

He saw the Flea - by now the tea
Was really taking hold,
He saw the Flea - a mystery -
A vision all in gold.

Around him Flea, the fire, the trees
And Blay were shimmering, bright,
And up his spine, there flowed like wine
A wave of fierce delight.

He wept, he moaned, he sighed, he groaned.
"Aum Manee Pemmay Humm,"
Blay chanted on. The Sage was gone,
Or psychikly, had come.

The scene around him rippled gold
With sparkling brilliant points
Of jewelled light, it filled his sight
And jellified his joints.

He sank in silence to the ground
Lost in a golden world.
Within his mind he now reclined
In bliss serenely furled.

Wave after wave, a happy slave,
He surfed the Ekkstar Sea,
Completely lost, but no storm tossed
His cup of Kyuwar Tea.

Wherever it flowed, the gold still glowed
A heavenly transporter,
His fingers seemed to feel like silk
His body felt like water.

His mind poured out and round about
The forest seemed to sing,
Until no Sage remained on stage
Just bliss in everything,
Each living form was deva-borne
Within a dancing ring.

How long he stayed within this glade
Of heaven, he couldn't tell.
An eyeblink? Ages? Now the Sage is
Noticing a smell.

At first it seems part of his dreams
Of golden paradise,
But then a slightly jarring note,
A noise like buzzing flies.

A hissing voice cuts through his joys
It says, "Come here to meee,"
At last the Sage has reached his goal,
The golden Flergal Flea.

"Come here to meeee," the Flergal Flea
Was running out of breath,
His blood still oozed, but he refused
To go and greet his death.

"Come here to meeee, you see that tree
It's calle a Veedee Yew,
One little leaf brings such relief,
I only need a few."

But to the Sage it takes an age
To summon thought, or move.
As Blay might say, "He's far away
In his celestial groove."

To him the Flea a vision seems,
A swirling golden nest,
Of shining lines, all intertwined,
Perhaps a place to rest,
Whatever, it's connected with
The warmth within his chest.

"Keep well away from him," now Blay's
Voice echoes through his head,
"That Flea's so heavy, into meat,
Go near him, you'll be dead.
A bummer, isn't it? You know,
Like, heavy, man," Blay said.

"I've told him, like, that meat is bad
For health, and karma too.
Ten days brown rice would clear his lice,
It's what he needs to do.
I think he said that broccoli
Was something he could chew."

The Sage just smiles, and miles away
The stars are smiling back,
Within a gleaming silken sky
That glows a golden black.

"He's really spaced," Blay grinned and faced
The ever-dwindling fire.
He watched the Flea, and sung, off-key
"I'm going to take you higher."

So there we have three bodies all
Spread out upon the ground,
The night was deep, and from their sleep
Soon came a snoring sound.

Except for the Flea, whose misery
Was grim beyond belief,
Then a gentle breeze blew from the trees,
A single Yew-tree leaf.

It may interest you to know, Snock, Ekk and Rec, ( cut and pasted and printed out ) the story so far is now running at something over 140 pages, single column, A4, 12pt Times Roman. I have inserted oooOOOooo's between the different sections.

Snock, if you can make it work, I could email the file to you, and you could add it on to the sited version you have set up.

Hasta la opera...not literally, of course.



wallah aka o

If you fancy typing at the end of every line

Might be easier to let me know where you want the oooOOOooos to go and I'll put them in.
I must have used a smaller font (or less oooOOOooo's) as my version is on page number 101, somewhere in the region of 1000 - 1200 verses!
Unless you've been VERY busy overnight.

Then again, you could try http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/TEST1070786
take a copy of the whole thing and make any changes you want, then either add it as an entry or I can copy it back to the original....