WHOLESOME TALES

You know I'm sure I remember in crabbit history at Tyrant school that the main means of Fjordlandian procreation was by means of long boat and stealing Scotsdale hobbit girls!
Having said that I've sent repeated requests and they still haven't taken Pretty away.

THE SAWGUH OF PERTY McTYRANT AND BELLAMIRA McBANKS

Once upon a time, a long time before Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, there were two girls living in Scotshobbiton, and lovely girls at that. They were good friends, because in those days the McTyrants hadn't stolen the McBankses coal scuttle yet.

"We should run away together to Skattykatzenfjord," Perty said one day in Seniors Alegebra Class. "We should run away to a place where two girls can be the best of friends, with no nodding and no winking and say no more."

"Shush!" whispered Bellamira. "Mrs Corpuscle might hear you!"

"Never mind Mrs Corpuscle, the crusty old thing. Who ever thought of hiring a Harpy for our Senior Alegebra Teacher should have his head read - half the class are turned to stones as it is, and this our first day back at school."

"Shush! If she hears us, she'll turn us to stone too."

"I don't care," whispers Perty, though she did lower her voice two semi-tones and half an octave, "We MUST be together, Bella dear, and forever."

"I surely don't know what you mean," Bellamira whispered, going a soft red, because she did.

"I've been selling imported Chocolate Teapots down the market," Perty said archly, "and I've already bought the tickets. Come on, the Looneytunes awaits - a three master."

"Hey! Whosa talkin'?" cries Mrs Corpuscle.

"We're in for it now," squealed Bellamira.

Quickly, Perty grabbed her hand, and off they ran, as quick as their hairy feet could take them, down to the docks at Portoscottshobbiton. There they met up with, Orwell McOdo the Handsome, who was the captain of the ship, some say the most handsome hobbit ever seen or heard of, his gammy leg notwithstanding.

"Hello young lasses," says old Orwell (who looked much younger than he was), "What brings ye to my fine old three master this bonny Scotshobbiton morning?"

"I have tickets," says Perty proudly.

"Oh I see," said Orwell (who could), "But we don't leave 'til Thursday."

"You must hide us until then," Perty said in a hushed voice. "We're fleeing to Skattykatzenfjord you see."

"But our sailing's two days away," Orwell cries out, as if in pain. "What if the Authorities find out I'm hiding two buxom lasses in me cabin?"

"You don't have to hide us in your cabin," Perty answers.

"That may or may not well be, by willikens," Orwell says thoughtfully. And then: "I'll do it!"

So for two days the girls hid in Orwell's cabin (which in those days was quite a respectable thing to do).

The Looneytunes set sail on Thursday morning. Many things happened on that dangerous sea passage, but Orwell made sure the girls were kept safe and fairly secure in his cabin, and if the crew ever asked what were the noises they often heard at night, he told them to, "Never ye mind about that, me hearties."

One chill but clear skied morning, the Looneytunes sailed into Skattykatzenfjord, with the wind in it's sails and the sun upon it's prow; though a small cloud of smoke from the nearest herringry cast a small shadow on the quarter deck.

Ringo Herring (the Third or Fourth, the records are unclear), greeted Captain Orwell McOdo at the quay.

"Have you got anything for me, this time, Captain?" asks Ringo.

"I do," answers Orwell with a wink. "Two for the Danes, I got."

"And no lads for we Fjordianlandians - again?" says Ringo sadly.

"Not a one, " Orwell says. "But you can sell on these two lasses for a good profit to those girl crazy Danes."

"Okay then. Do they come unbesmirched?"

"After a fashion," blushes Captain Orwell.

And so the transaction was made and Perty McTyrant and Bellamira McBanks were sent off (for a tidy profit) to join the harem of Blunderbuster the Golden, the Under-King of Daneland. And the girls lived happily ever after, being ever so glad to be free of Captain Orwell McOdo's cabin.

A cautionary tale-I think!
Although yet again clearly preposterous. I mean what would two young buxom healthy Scotshobbit lasses find to do together for all that time on a sea voyage? Theres only so many times you can make meals and clean your poop deck.

You know little of this Captain Orwell McOdo then, Petty. Sad to say, I recognise him as a (very distant) ancestor - renowned for his capacity to "poop" especially after a night of buckie and Indian curry. The girls would have had plenty of respectable cleaning-up duties to attend to. I can understand why Blusterbuster seemed a better option though. Those girls would surely have had their own lasses to do the lower tasks while they were attending to the Under-Kings... err... higher needs...

THE SAWGUH OF THE COMIC BOOK FREAK

Once upon a time, in Skattykatzenfjord, there lived a young hobbit who was known as a Comic Book Freak. His family had emigrated from Stockyrockyloch in the Scottish Hebrides, the home of all comic books of a dark and violent nature, or so it's said. Now you may very well be asking just now, where the hell do you find a sawguh about a Comic Book Freak living in Skattykatzenfjord, and I can tell you, it was nigh on impossible, until I enlisted the aid of Wisey Banks.

Anyhow, it goes like this:


Oncen uponin a tymin
the boyo
Pogo McTyrant
head cleaved in book,
bum upmost in the air,
under the covers by torchlight,
when his Pappy thought him sleepin',
did fallen through the gloamin' page
into splashed colourful, Comictopia,
that silly Comic Book Freak.

"Oh ock the nell, where isn I?
Is that dread I feel, or Dredd I see?
Oh alack! that such a puny Nelly as me,
has plunge-ed into a world
of the pureset imagination, verily!"
And verily he had indeed,
that foolish Comic Book Freak.

And was that a woman (or two),
he saw with perfect rotundations,
and curved smoothies,
and long legs shimmering pink
in torn shorts or shirt-skirts?
it was!
he realised after a time,
that slow witted Comic Book Freak.

"Ock!" saith he,
"Women are treated roughly here,
it's just like my Pappy treats me Mammy!
Who'd ever athort that artful depravity,
would mirror a Hebridean Life!"
So avowed the Comic Book Freak.

"And hark! the men's tight torsos!
Muscled like the Hills of Wyoming,
faces scavaged from rocky cliffs
worn and wrecked by time...
And yet!
Oh how handsome - Nock the knee! -
but in no way homosexual ----
Oh their violence would be ghastly,
if it weren't so splashed in colour."
Yes, this saideth the Comic Book Freak,
Forgetting for a moment
that some of the best comics
are black and white.

"Ooh wocky-woo, is that Batman here?
And Robin with his poodle?
Their costumes are so tight
I'm sure they're painted on
(oooh - that's noo poodle!)
And, no, ock-oo, if that's not Wonder Woman,
with curves like as to roil all the world's
lonely seamen in their pants!"
That's what the Comic Book Freak a-goo-gooed.

But when the monsters appproached,
all fire and blood and toothy,
the Comic Book Freak quailed
and clambered up a handy skeletal ladder
(drawn in hues of bone and fawn)
and fled he from Comictopia,
for those monsters were scary,
"Fair nock-the-noodle creepo,"
was the Comic Book Freak's actual utterance.

Now this is clearly a cautionary sawguh,
Take heed, you young, you old,
don't be a fool like Pogo McTyrant,
or else you might end up having a nightmare,
and that wouldn't be good,
resile against that urge you have,
to become yet another Comic Book Freak,
"Woooooo-ooooooh!"
(that's a ghostie wail, purely for good measure).


From: "The sawguh of the Skattykatzenfjord Scotshobbit who was also a Comic Book Freak," by Jasmine McTyrant-Bracegirdle-Thompson the Third as laid out in her: "The Love of Sexed Up Comics in Urban Legend - a Treatise in Seven Chapters."

Published by the Archet Bugle,
Sponsored by Odo R. Banks, esquire - with special thanks to Wisey Banks.

"Oh ock the nell" - no idea what this means or where you get it from, but it cracks me up every single time Great sawguh

THE OZHOBBIT JIGGALIGGED IN SKATTYKATZENFJORD

Once upon a boomerang
did Soggy Banks go swirling,
Up above the whirliwigs
with all the stars a'twirling.

This Ozhobbit was no average Ozhobbit, no,
he was a cut above all the rest,
especially after 10.00am,
when he was at his best.

His Mummy was an Ozzy gal
and his Daddy was a Bankses,
But as to all his damn good looks,
to Mummy must go the thankses.

She was a bonny wee miss,
with hair the red of persimmon,
Her bonnet was of haggis fur,
her mittens, bright vermillion.

Anyhow, this Ozhobbit lad,
was want to roam the dusty tracks,
wearin' a black akubra hat, rabbit furred,
while Jackarooing emus outback,

He Jackarooed in Kalgoorlie,
and in Wollongong at Brian's Boil,
his hair forever a'flyin' in sunburnt air,
his dingo boots softened with emu oil.

Where was I? - don't rightly know -
oh well, best to just proceed,
to that day in late Winter, early Spring,
when Soggy found a boomerang -
a magic one, indeed.

"What if I was to stand on this,
And say, 'Boomerang take me high,
I want to surge above this mortal coil,
Up in the bright blue sky'?"

And so saying the boomerang went 'boing'
and into the shimmering heat it rose,
"I'm a'flyin'" says Soggy in joy,
"It's up and further up I goes!"

But a curious breeze blew up on him,
As he entered the stratosphere,
And he knew not what was happening,
His humble heart filled up with fear.

A'way a'way he flew on out,
over boily seas and mountains,
Across a world of browns and green,
over big blue lakes with fountains.

At last he landed in a chilly place,
A pristine scape of ice and stones,
Where lived a lilly skinned race of men,
Where herring's swam in salty foam.

"Oh crikey! Crikey! I yell!"
Yelled Soggy when he alighted,
"What's with all these blond hairded guys,
I truly be a'frighted!"

One handsome fellow stepped forth then,
"I'm Ringo Herring the Eighth, my friend,
I'm pleased to see you here,
up where the fjords doth curl and bend.

But if you wish to stay here, lad,
You'll have to please us all,
Err --- and don't bother with the boomerang,
We've seen that trick before!"

Feeling a sudden sense of doom,
Soggy cried out, anguished, frantic,
"I know what I can do for you,
I'll show you a most a'pleasing antic."

And thenceforth Soggy did a dance,
Upon a herring bench of purple glass,
And all the Fjordianlandians minced along,
And thought the dance a blast.

"What do you call that most fine dance?"
They asked all fit to swoon,
"It's the Ozhobbit Jiggaligg, my friends,
Which we dance 'neath sun and moon."

And if you ever visit the town,
(Skattykatzenfjord, to be sure),
You'll often see Soggy a'dancin' still,
Outside Helga Herring's store.


Archet Poetic Publications
Channelled by Wisey Banks

Helga Herring - a female! Maybe there's hope for the Herring clan after all.

There is always hope, Ringdrotten, always! Why am I so positive? Well, I've been listening to Jeff Vader. My kind of chap I think.

OH HOW HAPPY TO BE A SKATTYKATZIAN TRANVESTITE

Oh how happy to be a Skattykatzian tranvestite,
The only place in Middle Earth where you belong,
Where menfolk all treat you like a proper woman,
And the catcalls of the tradesmen go on and on.

Oh how lovely to mince the streets of Swarthdwarfyton,
To stay a night or two at the Last Homely Herrring House,
How soothing the caress of a Fjordianlandian,
As he slips up behind you, quiet as a mouse.

Oh how lovely to be loved by a Fjordianlandian,
Whether or not he's in the herring trade,
And when at night the lights go down a'turnin',
How sweet to be gently caressed, even laid.

Oh joyous is the life of a transvestite,
Every Helga will tell you the same truth,
Yes, any Helga made up with bouncy bosoms,
Will tell you, 'Fjordian men are gorgeous (if uncouth).'

Oh how wonderful to walk the gaily coloured streets,
Dressed in your favorite dress and high heal shoes,
You must never fear you'll be frowned upon at all ,
For doesn't every Fjordianlandian love a gal just like you?
(Yes, they do!)

From: "Oh The Homeland is Calling" by Ringo Herring the Eleventh, Poet.

Wisey Banks

I should probably be offended, but it's hard to stay mad when you're laughing

Can't beat a bit of channeling to come home to after a nightshift and work the ticklums back into action! Thank you Wisey!

"Oh how joyous to be a Channeler,
When I'm praised but not to blame!
For all I do is suck up honey dew,
I should really be ashamed.

But happily I do draw on up,
The marvelous wares of Poets,
And, I guess, I might be applauded
for having the nerve to show it.

Thank you friends,
For your laughter and your laurels,
But, mind, Odo's always asking me,
"Why do they laugh and miss the Morals?"

Channelled from the poetry I might write, if I could ever write poetry.

Wise Odo

THE TAMING OF CAPTAIN ORWELL McODO

Captain Orwell McOdo was a swashbuckler,
A man of handsome face and chiselled legs,
And his arms were as strong as a Strong Man’s,
Though one hand had no fingers, just five pegs.

Captain Orwell McOdo sailed the seven seas,
And several frothy oceans for good measure,
He did not seek for gold or fancy trinkets,
He searched the seas for quite another treasure.

Captain Orwell McOdo sought for girlies,
To sell on to those crazy Danes of old,
And when dark skinned girls were made illegal,
He collected white girls through a loophole.

Captain Orwell McOdo preferred hobbit Hebrideans,
Only pretty ones, with the softest skin to touch,
The old and leathery he left to their families,
Which is why the Hebrideans hated him so much.

Until one day this pirate met a lady,
And he knew that it was much more than a hunch....
Eegad! How queer!
No, no, and no!
Where was I?
Oh yes....

Orwell McOdo sailed one day to Skattykatzenfjord,
With a cargo from the south of France,
In the hold he had three hundred lovelies,
Many of whom could sing (some could dance).

(Captain Orwell McOdo had not meant to,
Fjordianlandia was not a good market for his goods,
But rough seas had pushed him westward,
Somewhat north-of-west, in fact, it's understood).

Captain Orwell McOdo was met at the quay,
By Ringo Herring the Great and Thirty First,
“Have you got any lads for performance duties?
No? I see you haven’t!” (And Ringo cursed).

Captain Orwell McOdo then smiled softly,
“Despair not, we'll put all the girls in pants,
And put on jerkins, cravats, cut their hair short,
They are, after all, from the south of France.

And then Captain Orwell McOdo began a'laughin',
And Ringo laughed along, he knew not why,
He asked, “Capt'n, what's with all the laughin'?”
The Captain said, “I just don’t know, I cannot lie.”

Now this is the danger when you’re channelling,
Anything can happen, and that’s the crunch ----
Then ol' Brady jumped forth, “Capt’n, marry me!”
And that’s how they all became the Brady Bunch...
The Brady Bunch,
the Brady Bunch,
That’s the way they all became the Brady Bunch...

It is not always easy, this channelling caper...

Wisey Banks

I'm going to need alot more Buckie before reading all of this...

Tinuviel wrote: I'm going to need alot more Buckie before reading all of this...

I'm not sure buckie will make it any more palatable, Tin... Queer stuff, queer stuff, indeed.

They sound like a lovely couple. I don't mind that kind of thing, so long as they're monoggamouse with each other.

Sounds scurrilous somehow, the more I think about it...

Priceless

A good laugh, providing the underlying morals are understood, is in no way reprehensible, Ringdrotten, even if I don't personally see what's so funny - perhaps you laugh from the sheer joy of "respectability" obliquely revealed, perhaps? A psychological release? You know, a good Wholesome sawguh or songe is just the ticket, young Ringdrotten. I don't mind young people reading things that have a moral to relate, no matter how subtle, esoteric or hidden they might seem. I don't always see the moral myself, mind, but trust one is always buried in them, however deep. The knowledge always brings me solace and hope every time.

Young Ringo Herring went to sea
in a splendid Danebuilt boat,
His hair was combed, some say he looked
gorgeous in his bright blue coat.

At last he came - with two hundred lads -
to a splendid fjord, though rocky,
The coast was steep, but Ringo laughed -
A brazen boy, and cocky! -

"Let's not walk, and let's not trudge
up that perilous steep incline,"
He cried it out for all to hear,
"Let's leave all our fear behind."

So all those gay Fjordianlandian lads,
Sucked up every ounce of courage,
Jumped off their splendid Danebuilt boat,
And ran up with all their luggage.

Not one died, though three fell over,
And grazed a knee or two,
But in the end they reached the top,
(It wasn't really that steep, 'tis true).

They came to a huge long building,
An old herringry turned to training,
And the boys were glad to arrive,
Because it had started raining.

The Drill Sergeant met them there,
His moustache waxed and prickly,
"Hey, you lads, you need to know,
The bedsheets here are tickly.

You must be strong, you must be brave,
And if in the night you get wriggly,
Grit your teeth and hold your tongue,
For no one likes a boy whose giggly."

'Well, that's sound advice,' thought Ringo,
"Advice I'll take, I will!
It'd be so ridiculous to teach
a giggly boy to kill."

"Now rest you now and have a bath,
The Drill Sergeant barked out loud,
"Then we'll get down to business,
It's Men from boys I'll meld."

And from then on those boys did learn,
How to fight, to love, compete,
But for what overarching purpose?
I cannot say,
It's a big Fjordianlandian secret.

"Fjordianlandian Boy's Training Manual" by the Ministry of Boy's Affairs (Copenhagen).

Wisey Banks

"The True Sawguh of How the Bankses Defied Morgoth, and received a Worthless Coal Scuttle in Exchange."


"Oh Grandaddy tell us the tale true,
Of our Great great great Poppy, Agnew,
Agnew McBanks - the one who knew,
The ghastly McTyrants of fourteen 'o' two."

"Well," says Grandaddy McBankses, scratching his chin,
"It's the truest of tales you'll no doubt be wantin',
But where can I start, where to begin?"
"Why not at the start?" those kids were sighin'.

"Of course, it's pure sense, me little cry ants,
To begin the begin, I soon will be tryant,
But first for a cuppa - and then I'll be pliant,
And tell ye the tale of the Bankses and Tyrants!"

"It all began," began Agnew, after his tea,
"In fourteen 'o' two, when Morgoth ran free,
The Bankses defiant; Tyrants shook at the knee,
"Nock the nee and Nellie!" was heard from all three ---

That was Momma and Poppa and little Bo Tyrant,
Who lived in the Hebrides on Boney M Island,
The rest had all fled to Erin and Cape de la Lyant,
To Skattykatzenfjord, and to Endland, I'm findin' ---

'Oot the rumbly oodle! Nock willy wock me timbers,
Morgoth'll soon have our poor house all in cinders,
Who will save us? Do the job usually a king dez?'
(And more of that thing, those pathetic whingers! )

The Banks jumped up, all hobbits to a man,
(And a woman or two, and second cousin Jan)
They girded their loins at the call of the Clan,
And off to the Place of Shadow all of 'em ran.

Meanwhile the McTyrants, cowered in their hut,
With fear in their faces, butterflies in their gut,
'Ock, let's start drinkin', we'll at least be half cut,
When Morgoth kills the Bankses, those reckless hard nuts!

Morgoth heard the thud of Banksian feet,
As they came marching to their drum beat,
Doom! Doom! Doom! was heard, the sound of defeat,
(Sauron said, 'My orcs one day will play drums like that. Gee it sounds neat!')

Morgoth came out and cried, 'Please let me alone,
Oh please go ye all back to your sweet little homes,
I've heard of the Bankses, you're all hard as stone,
And even tougher in person than you sound on the phone.'

"Agnew, he frowned" Grandad says with pride,
"He looked Morgoth in the eye (I surely can't lie!)
'Don't you ever come to the Hebrides, and I'll tell you why,
If you come to the Hebrides, I swear you will die!'

Now Morgoth was no fool, he promised to behave himself,
'I'll be as respectable as a Banks is, as pleasant as an Elf,
I'll stay here in my Throne Room, and do nothing else
But play tiddlywinks with Sauron, and this visitor, Gandalf.'

'Make sure that you do,' Agnew cried out with a scowl,
'We're off back to Boney M Island, beyond sea and cloud,
We're back to hearth and home, to McTyrants foul,
No doubt in their hut they still creep and they cowl.'

And when the Bankses returned, the Tyrants ran out,
Drunk as ten men, or seven English on stout,
'What happened?" they begged, "What did you do to the lout?'
'Well,' Agnew cried, "You'll not see that Dark Lord about,

We put him in fear, he's too scared to trouble our shores,
He's now playing tiddlywinks, with Gandalf what's more,
So scull on your buckie, you puny puscules of doubt,
Just wriggle in your pig sludge, you scared little trouts!'

Of course the McTyrants were gleeful, happy and prim,
'Oh we'll worship the Bankses, and of their deeds sing,
For ever and ever, we'll be loyal, and treat you as Kings,
And we'll give you our scuttle, our most precious thing!'

"So that's how it happened, all those years ago,"
Continues Grabdad to the kids as they sat aglow
"Now," adds Grandad as he gets up to go,
"Don't ever believe what a Tyrant says -
they're all liars, you know!"

Now it comes at last to the end of the tale,
And any who doubt it have brains that are stale,
Have brains that are muddy, have the brains of a snail,
Have brains full of Buckie - or Yorkshire Ale!


Honoroably channelled - from the Well of Banksian Conciousness - by Wisey Banks.




v

Fantastically funny Wisey but as accurate as a holy book as a histroy. Dear oh dear.
"Oh we'll worship the Bankses, and of their deeds sing,
For ever and ever, we'll be loyal, and treat you as Kings,
And we'll give you our scuttle, our most precious thing!"

This verse betrays the Banks led propoganda. As if any Tyrant would have worshipped a Banks. As all Tyrants know the Bankses did not go to see Morgoth to drive him out it was to complain about the noise and they left with a right good ear full from Morgoth because he said he was only being so loud because of all the fun party sounds coming from the Tyrants next door to him!
Not my fault your ancestors were boring, quiet whingers. Actually not a lot has changed there...

Pettytyrant101 wrote:Fantastically funny Wisey but as accurate as a holy book as a histroy. Dear oh dear.
"Oh we'll worship the Bankses, and of their deeds sing,
For ever and ever, we'll be loyal, and treat you as Kings,
And we'll give you our scuttle, our most precious thing!"

This verse betrays the Banks led propoganda. As if any Tyrant would have worshipped a Banks. As all Tyrants know the Bankses did not go to see Morgoth to drive him out it was to complain about the noise and they left with a right good ear full from Morgoth because he said he was only being so loud because of all the fun party sounds coming from the Tyrants next door to him!
Not my fault your ancestors were boring, quiet whingers. Actually not a lot has changed there...

Woud it be wise to dispute "channelling" though, Petty? Mind, that "Banksian Conciousness"thingee --- is that "Banksian Memory" or "Banksian Knowledge"? Could be "Banksian Opinion". The phrase appears open to discussion. I don't doubt the channelling, per se, but from what source?

"Banksian Bull" more like!