The Jimmy

Chapter the First

An Unexpected Proposition (but not what you're thinking, laddies and ladies!)

In a grubby brick terrace in a coal town in Scotshobbitland there lived a Scotshobbit. It was a dark and dusty house full of buckie farts and the crowded Scotshobbits who farted them...

What is a Scotshobbit? You mean you don't know? How long have you been in Forumshire did you say?

Oh well, I guess I need to explain as Scotshobbits are rarer than they once were, ever since the Highland Clearances in fact, and while not a shy and retiring race those who know them still dream of a time when they become so.

Now, the mother of our Scotshobbit was Maw McCracken, who was by Scotshobbit standards well-to-do, and the Scotshobbit himself was Jimmy McCracken. He was of the Pettyfoot Clan, an old and disrespectable clan of Scotshobbits as one could ever dread of knowing. There was well circulated rumour that an earlier forbear married a blind Irish woman with permanent nasal congestion; which is true of course, her name being Penny O'Fartin, who fell in love with one Petty McCracken the Old and Dissolute; and for three generations the family called themselve's the O'Fartin McCrackens, but in time the family decided that McCracken was easier to remember, them not being the brainiest of Scotshobbit Clans: for them remembering long names was an utterly discombabulating chore.

Anyway, enough of that.

One day at the arse end of the world - that is, the Scottish Hebrides - young Jimmy McCracken thought to ask, "Maw, I have noticed that other children in the village appear to have a father, whereas I have none at all - or perhaps several, depending on what day of the week it is. You must tell me now who my real father is."

"If I knew that," answered Maw McCracken, "I would be a wiser woman now than I was when I was a girl."

Jimmy did not immediately (nor ever come to) understand what his mother meant, but he did feel somehow that there was a bit of ancestral Irishess about it. In a deep belt of sudden utterliness he pined, "Then I suspect it to be true that I am a boy bastard just as all of Scottshibbitland has been saying for as long as I can remember!"

Maw answered kindly, "Well, son, as you are fourty four years old, you can hardly be called a boy anymore."

And Jimmy held his head in his hands and cried and cried and weeped, and Maw turned her head and whistled embarrrasedly, for they were in a very crowded Scottish Supermart at the time, Perry's Oldtripe brand haggis being on sale....  

Later, when Jimmy was back at the Clan terrace in bed with his cousin Jerry, his sister Mary, and several nieces and nephews (as was the family custom), he thought and thought and thought and came to a sudden decision.

"I will go far far away to the Far Ends of the Earth and make my fortune by slaying Puff'n'Stuff the Homeopathic who is said to lie upon a bed of treasure it's said! What say you my brethren? Should I do this great deed?"

"I'd be content," said Mary wearily, "if you'd just stop farting on my back."



to be continued....

Boowah!

It's been so long since we've had an Odo yarn.

yeah!

Yikes. I'll be back here for when Petty returns...

{{{Glad to see you posting fics again, Anon!}}}

Is Figg the dragon?

Chapter the First (continued)

"What I need I think is an intrepid asistant to go with me," Jimmy said to himself as he polished his sporrin the very next morning on the front stoop of his terrace. "I'll need someone with brains, someone with brawn, and someone to cuddle up to if I become naked and have to spend a chilly night in a snowy forest as is known to be a real possibility in this kind of tale."  

Just then Julia Figg - a lady of the Midenglishlands on holiday discovering how the savage half lived - glided up the muddy track that was Main Street. Now Julia was said to have had an Elvish father and a Mother from the low-to-middle-ground Anglo aristocracy, and was just the kind of beautiful, bright and brawny woman an adventurous Scotshobbit would be looking for to join in a difficult quest involving much danger and the killing of a rather effeminate and testy dragon at the weary end. Jimmy could tell all this just by looking at her; or at least, he thought her bustle rather comely - either way, he thought he'd like to go sauntering off with just such a genteel lady of the south.

"Hey!" she exclaimed as he rushed up. "Please don't approach so closely, puppy dog - at least, take care to bathe first and perhaps then I might condescend to give your furry tummy a rub if you were kind enough as to roll over for me. I iterate: only after bathing first - I suggest a harsh use of taught fibred scrubbing brushes as part of the process."

"I am no puppy, I am a Scotshobbit of the Pettyfoot Clan. My name is Jimmy McCracken.. err.. the Brave." And Jimmy gave her his most lordly grin.

"Please don't grimace like that, Sir! It makes your puppy eyes look like those of the ill-famed bandersnatch... Now, as you have approached me, may I ask what you wish to ask of me? Is it the usual penny, or are you slightly more uppercrust and require two? It's hard to tell with you Scotshobbits just by looking at you."  

"No, bemuscled beautiful lady, I only wish to ask you to accompany me on a dangerous adventure in which I plan to slay a fearsome dragon and steal his treasure."

"Just so," Julia Figg said calculatingly. "Well, I must admit I've never been the recipient of such a proposition before..." She then mused further a moment, making a quick decision. "I will, of course, need a few things if I am to be enlisted: hair rollers for a start, and something comfy to sit my dainty bustle upon if chances present that see me having to actually walk and not carried all the way in a sumptous rickshaw - and many other obvious necessities, of course, few of which are inexpensive... "


And that's how the quest began.



to be continued...  

''brawny'' ''bemuscled''

Oi!!!

This is coming from Odo isnt it? He's your source Old Anon, I know it! Only he could produce this level of distorted slander on the Tyrant family history!!

Odo is always the source of Scotshobbit tales, apparently. You'll have noticed that the lovely and finely marbled Mrs Figg is almost always the heroine. A fact I might add, Mrs Figg, you'd ever so slightly disapprove of every time, Scotshobbits being the prime aversion, methinks.

{{{The first part of the tale was dicatated to me btw. I was under duress at the time -- or was that under dressed? My memory betrays me at the mo.... }}}

Chapter the Second
The Road to Believe Hill (skirting the Ancient Forest)


As Julia Figg was drawn along the East Road in her gold embossed rickshaw and draperies, she had a leisurely conversation with Jimmy McCracken.

"I of course prefer to have a good rollicking straight forward adventure, not one of your Tolkien type adventures where major events are only told about after the event, which is just not kosher in my opinion, especially if this is to be a movie some day."

"Well, seeing as you will be there if something exciting occurs," Jimmy puffed as he lugged on the rickshaw handles and trotted at a reasonable but not too jerky pace so as not to unsettle her bustle, "you won't have to hear about it later, will you."

"I could be hit on the head by an ill-targeted stone like Bilbo."

"I wouldn't think so."

"And why is that?"

"Because this is my adventure and I'll have no tropes, stereotypes or ridiculous inuendos in it."

"Were there ridiculous inuendos in The Hobbit?"

"No, and I won't have them in this adventure either," Jimmy said firmly.

"What about sex?

"No thank you."

"No. What about sex?  Is this an adult or children's adventure do you think? Would sex fit into your kind of adventure? You've not told me if it's an adult tale or what."

"No, I prefer an old fashioned adult adventure but with no sex in it. Nor any innuendos either. I don't like sexual inuendos, make you late for dinner."

"How so?"

"I don't know. It's not like I'm writing this adventure."

"So you are against sex then?"

"Talk about beating one's bush!"

"I want to know."  

"Well, if you must know, only in this adventure. Not in real life I assure you."

"What if you married a certain beautiful woman - part elvish - and wanted to spawn queer man-elf-Scotshobbit hybrids?"

"You mean, during this adventure?"

"After a fashion - maybe..."

"Well, I'll have to think on it. I mean, this rickshaw is heavy and I'm not sure I could keep my pecker up after a long days tugging, not long enough to go a'spawning I'd imagine, no matter how bumptious the maiden."

"Bumptious?"

"The best kind... Hey! What's that up ahead in the trees - on that hill? It's a campfire I think."

"Proabbly ogres. Best avoid it."

"I wonder... PJ ogres or Tolkien ones?"

"Why risk it?"

"True."

So they avoided it.





to be continued....

( )

Chapter the Second continued

The first few days were spent in days of pleasant and relaxed banter (Julia) and hard exertion lugging a heavy rickshaw (Jimmy), and it seemed like no time before Jimmy was able to erect Julia's sleeping pavillion within the hour each evening (Jimmy slept outside on the ground under a tarpaulin - the best kind of detachable party tarpaulin).

On the seventh day, they skirted a rather venerable looking forest.

"Is that the Old Forest of so many floral and romantic songs, Jimmy?"

"Yes," Jimmy puffed as he pulled the well appointed rickshaw up a steady rise of a grassy mound in the breezy sunshine. "Though in this adventure it's called the Ancient Forest."

"Sing to me, Jimmy."

"What?"

"Sing me a song of the Ancient Forest - not too floral though - even I have my limits."

"Give me a moment to think then."

"Do you mean while Ol' Anon quickly makes something up?"

"It is the way of things as you must know by now. Let me see: oh yes... Would the Lay of Bob Thrombabill and Coastmary suit?"

"The Lay of Bob Thrombabill and Coastmary?"

"Aye."

Julia giggled.

"What are you giggling about?"

"Sounds rude..."

""Don't be ridiculous! Now...

'Bob Thrombabill was bobbling on,
The green hill of Gildedarses,
His legs grew tired bobbling,
On deeply greenéd grasses...'"

"That's pretty ordinary poetry," Julia complained.

"You do better on the spontaneity Julia, Ol' Anon's doing his best."

"Curious phrase that: 'on the sponaneity'. Just made that up too?"

"Aye. Now where was I?

'A fair young maid came bustleling,
Her eyes the greeny-grey of sea,
Silvery wavéd was her hair,
Her name was Coast Mary.

Oh ancient fairy of the woods,
Saith she to old and nobbly Bobby,
How do you keep your looks so young?
Do you have a healthy hobby?

Indeed I do, saith he quite proud,
I gallop up and down the hills,
Of this Ancient Forest, You see
My philisophy has no frills.

Oh how brawny are your legs so fine,
How suntanned your gnarly brow,
Saith Coast Mary with eyes so wide,
Oh your eyes are as a gentle cow's.

Come lay with me then, gentle maid,
Who has arrived from a distant sea,
With your salty skin and cockle shell
Bracelet, and dress of kelpy weed.

Oh I should surely like to lay,
In your arboreal embrace, sweet Bob,
But I am a nice young girl,
Who's maidenhead shall not be robbed.

What if I were to give you things,
The gold of daisies bright?
And lovely leaves of Mallorn trees,
And sweet peas pungent and white?

Oh how sweetly you speak, Old Bob,
But let's marry first, I pray,
And so they came to wed, it's said,
And only then did they lay.

That's how they came to lay, they say,
On a sward of brightly green,
And still they lay oft upon the hills,
Under leaves of shimmery sheen.'"

Julia clapped. "That wasn't too bad off the cuff, Jimmy."

"Ol' Anon thinks so anyway. Hey! What's that up ahead?"

"It's another hill with a campfire!"

"Trolls again?" Jimmy frowned. "Looks like we're not getting out of it."

"No, we should have known better," Julia groaned.



to be continued...

They're walking in circles?

Walk in circles - talk in circles - ain't it always the way with our Hero and Heroine?

Did Wisey help ole anon on this one? Brilliant poem

Orwell wrote:Walk in circles - talk in circles - ain't it always the way with our Hero and Heroine?  

You could almost think they were enjoying it or something.

Im enjoying it

Chapter the Second continued


"Some as say Wisey Banks is the best and most original Bard of Needlehole and that his mantle has not ever really been stolen by anyone," Jimmy was whispering idly as the two intrepid adventurers snuck through the trees toward the mysterious campfire as evening began to set in.

"Of course, that could just be another trumped up and pompous Banksian tall story," was Julia's whispery opinion, and she had quite a lot of opinions, actually, it's said, appparently... {{{ }}}

"We near a clearing," Jimmy then whispered. "Do you hear voices, Julia?"

"Not as I'd prefer to admit."

Jimmy grimaced, "If I didn't know better, they're troll voices."

"Have you heard them before?"

"Not as I recall, but I have a vivid imagination and in my imagination they'd have voices just like that. The accents! Can you hear them? Eeek! I only hope they have just one head."

"Why's that?"

"I don't know yet. But now as I think it, I hope they've got more than one, any less heads would be disappointing now I've raised the possibility I guess."

"The reader is rarely disappointed in the area of disappointment when it comes to these tales," Julia smiled; and a knowing grimacy smile at that. ({{ }}}

They came to the edge of a clearing and hid behnd the boles of pungent barked trees and observed the following incredible scene.

Imagine three rather foolish looking people, sitting around a roaring campfire, chewing the fat.

This was the conversation going on.  

"The jury is still out if Tolkien meant meant silver-grey or blue-grey to begin wth," said one - clearly a troll, judging by his hash and precise urban American accent. "Anyone analytically minded knows that, Davo.."

"Depends on what you mean by analytical, Eldo," the one called Davo replied with a bucolic countrified American burr. "What do you think, Halfo?"

"No one cares what I think," the one addressed moaned with an academic Physics Professor American inflection, perhaps blurred a bit by his hair, which he had a lot of. "But seeing as you're asking, where I come from grey and blue are just varied hues of the same colour depending on the light levels."

"What about latitude?" Eldo put in thoughtfully.

"You mean the angle of light at ceratin latitudes?" Halfo said with a decidely marked increase in interest, juding from how his white teeth showed provocatively, like they could be grinning, but just as likely just being bared threateningly.

"The slant of latitude does affect how my Nelson Reds grow," Davo agreed, his eyes lighting up. He was clearly fond of Nelson Reds. "Cerise-red could easily seem crimson - or even pinkish, depending on latitude - and atmospheric conditions too as I come think on it. Storms in the dust belt can turn carrots all sorts of hues too... the dust colour itself, depending on the soil type and its origin and chemical associations and even the soil horizon it arises from after weathering - or profile, if you like...."

("What are they gabbling on about?" Julia asked whisperingly.

"I would never know," was the cynical whispery reply. "We Scotshobbits prefer questions of height and shortness - all this colour stuff is beyond our ken - and a waste of time, I might add, as are all things we don't comprehend. Size is always much more important than hue - at least to Scotshobbits anyway.")

"Can you hear voices?" Eldo asked alertedly.

"I'm not sure we'd like to say.." Halfo and Davo replied quietly.

"No, no, they were voices, coming from the shadows under the trees there."

"I can see eyes shining in the moonlight!" Halfo gasped.

"How many?" Davo asked.

"Four."

"Then they might be two dwarves," Eldo said judiciously.

"Or hobbits," Halfo suggested as an alternative.

"Or Scotshobbits," Davo grumbled (possibly being the Dark Lord's Advocate). "Gawd I hate the sight of Scotshobbits... Uncooked, that is."

The three trolls then giggled. It was an old joke, but a goody.

As they giggled, the evening and subsequent night progressed, and quite swiftly as you'll find.

"What if it's four cyclops?" Eldo put in, delving deep in the wellspring of clear thinking.

"Or two cyclops and a Scotshobbit?" Halfo suggested from the same spring.

"Or two cyclops and a remarkably beautiful redhead?" Davo said hopefully, which came from the wellspring of deep manly yearning.

("I wish they'd stop all that gabbling," Jimmy opinned quietly.
 
"Oh I don't know," said Julia, who was thinking Davo quite the county gentleman just now).

"Hey! There are those voices again!" Eldo exclaimed suspiciously.

"Two voices!" Halfo exclaimed as well.

"And they're coming each from beneath two sets of eyes," Davo exclaimed as well {{{which made three former claims if you care to count and think on it, dear reader }}. "It must be two interlopers, not two, three or four!"

"It might of course be two cyclops to a tree," Eldo added in the further interests of clear thhinking.

As they were talking, the moon was hurrying across the sky beneath the stars toward morning. Not that the three trolls were paying attention to this important fact.

"Shouldn't we grab our sacks and throw them in it?" Eldo asked, his large silly face grimaced in an attempt at more practical thought.

"We could just grab them and throw them roughly on the ground," Davo put in malevolently, his dumb-expressioned face looking a bit dumb.

"Or we could throw them wuffly on the ground," Halfo grinned studiply having wached The Life of Brian the previous night.

"That was so anachronistic as to make me puke," Eldo complained (and well he might, it just about makes me puke just to write it down).  

"Does the night seem to be getting lighter to you?" Halfo asked suddenly.

"It was barely evening three minutes ago," Davo said in wonder. "Night does seem to have gone more swiftly than usual."  

"Daylight come and turn you to bumpkins!" Jimmy yelled suddenly as skirts a'swirling he leaped triumphantly from the trees the dawnlight on his thighs.

"Bumpkins?" Eldo exclaimed. "Surely not!"

"Sorry - that was 'pumpkins.'"

Aghast, Eldo and Halfo jumped high in fright, and when they landed they were largre green vegetables - yes, pumpkins in fact.

Davo remained seated - if a pumpkin can ever be said to be seated . But he looked very happy, as pumpkins go, having always harboured a Plan B wish that one day he would grow up to be a pumpkin, and a big green one at that with a bright yellowy-orange centre - that was if he couldn't get his Plan A wish to become a mighty Nelson Red.

 


to be continued...






















   














,

Never did like trolls

Especially American trolls - though one mustn't be controversial, what.