WHOLESOME TALES

Lovely to see you again Beren, how nice you've brought Huan with you too. Could you just maybe get him away from the tree a bit and if he could stop growling and slabbering that'd be nice too. Good mutt!
You can assure Tin that all is in order here Beren, more or less with the emphasis on less, really you don't need to waste your time here when you could be, um, banging your head against a wall or whatever it is you normally do to pass the time.

{{{Your Majesty I really must protest about having Beren and Huan here all the time, not for my sake of course as I don't mind the company of your delightful and intellectually stimulating husband and his not smelly at all dog, but for the sake of your buckie. When he's around it it all turns into Rasberry juice, that can't be good for a barrel of buckie, not all the time! So please, in the interests of preserving the quality and tonicness of the buckie call Beren off. Your humble buckie keeper, Petty}}}

{{{{{{{{{{{{{{ You see, Petty, I need to know that I can trust you with MY Buckie before I call Beren off. And if I send Beren away, Huan can still stick around, he knows it's Buckie, and he doesnt' care! (He likes me better than Beren) AND if you call Beren stupid again, I'll make sure he never leaves! I 'm enforcing the rules now Mister, because last time I resorted to trickery and I impaired your health. Sorry, but no one's becoming sober on my watch, so I need the Buckie to not have been drunk!}}}}}}}}}}}}}

Beren, sweetie, why don't you and Huan stay for a couple of days and then head back to Valinor. I'm sure your excellence will rub off on him by then

You can trust me your Maj, almost as far as you can throw me! And leaving Huan- that mutt doesn't like me! I can't tend the buckie from up a tree. I can't even get near enough for a tatse! (I mean as officila taster just to make sure its all safe for your good self of course). PLease reconsider and leave me alone with the buckie, beautiful, tasty buckie.....

From the sublime to the ridiculous...

I'll call Huan off temporarily, but he'll be watching you at all times!!! And I'm not sure what you were getting at, but I could probably throw you pretty far

THE SAWGUH OF THE TWO SKATTYKATZENFJORDIAN GIRLS

Once upon a time, around 1247 or thereabouts, there lived two quite attractive girls (back when there were some left) living in Skattykatzenfjord. Their names were Nork and Norg. Nork's father was an Anglehobbit by name Robert who got very drunk one Erutide and bonked her Fjordianlandian mother, Helga. Norg's father was a Ozhobbitstani hobbit by name Bruce who got drunk one Erutide and bonked her Fjordianlandian mother, Melba. It may have happened in Soho in Angleshire, where that kind of thing often happened and still does. Anyway, this explains why the girls had pretty much the same name. Actually, come to think more on it, it doesn't explain anything of the kind, but never mind.

Their mothers, on returning home to Skattykatzenfjord, had their little girls at Herrringry Hospital on the same day, and they became fast friends, and their daughters thereafter. Often the girls would be seen bouncing around the narrow streets of Skattykatzenfjord, hand in hand, breasts a'beating in sheer happiness. They were constant companions and no one in the town could imagine them being apart, so closely did they keep company both day and night, in rain and shine and bathtub.

One day, when the girls had turned sixteen, they chanced to be down at Herring Port and saw that a huge ship - a three master - was docked at South Quay. It was a fine ship, painted in shiny paint, with polished timber decks, and a great red poopdeck. There was a great wheel somewhere too, to steer the ship, which was black and shiny. Indeed, it was just the kind of big, sleak shiny vessel that would attract the eye of naive young girls.

Nork said: "Ooh do you think we might go aboard that ship and see close up it's shiny parts?"

Norg said: "Yes. Why not? Oh my... will you look at all the girls going up the gangplank."

"Is that the famous Captain Odo McOrwell up at the top sending back the uglier girls?"

"No, it's the Sweet Louise of Saint Trapeze, Nork. That handsome hobbit must be Orwell McOdo."

"Oh! Silly me. I always get those two mixed up."

Norg giggled, "Doesn't everyone?"

And the girls hurried up the gangplank.

"Hello, lasses," Orwell McOdo greeted them. "What lovely bouncy lasses you are. Like twins... Do you wish to cleave aboard?"

"Oh yes, oh yes. Are you about to go a'day cruising..."

"Yes, indeed... Yes, a'day cruising...."

The girls ran off gaily together, like two huge peas in a pod, staying close together, and in their excitement sometimes bumping pleasantly together.

Captain Orwell jumped to action. "We have a full cargo, lads," he cried, and the First Mate yelled for the anchors to to raised. And the Sweet Louise of Saint Trapeze sailed immediately, with all the prettiest girls of Skattykatzenfjord.

To their surprise, Norg and Nork soon discovered they were sailing to Japan, which Orwell said had nice weather that time of year, and, indeed, was a perfect place for them to get a nice tan.

The Archet Bugle wrote: "What lovely bouncy lasses you are. Like twins... Do you wish to cleave aboard?"

ka faen?

Odo humour is a genre on its own, the more you are exposed to it the more you'll come to like it

well, it takes time to get used to xD it is so weird it's funny. A bit like Monty Python, only Monty Python is much better
is this story about .. me? it is disturbing i must say >.<

Wait till you come across all the stories supposedly about me (the ones about Ringo Herring). I'm still not sure what to think of them

Norc wrote:ka faen?

Ooben dooben, me Lassie... {{{ Ooh... hang on.... ... where is it?... oh here it is... Goodness gracious me! My Norwayan is nowhere as good as I thought it was --- Did I just call Norc a "noob"? }}}

Norc wrote:A bit like Monty Python, only Monty Python is much better

Rubbish.

THE GAY SAWGUH OF THE NORWAYAN BOY WHO MET A NORWAYAN GIRL (UNEXPECTEDLY)

Once upon a time, not long after all the pretty girls had been removed to Japan, there lived a pretty Norwayan girl, named Bork. Now, when I said 'after' all the pretty girls had gone, I meant, all the pretty girls who weren't kept safely under lock and key by their avaricious Fathers waiting for the Pretty Girl Trade Price to go up.

Bork was a happy child, living in her cellar under her Father's house. She had plenty to eat and drink. And often she was taken (in a sack) up to Little Bo Peak above Skattykatzenford to sunbathe, but out of sight of all the male hobbits of Fjordianlandia, who were slowly turning homosexual.

One day, the famous privateer, Orwelll McOdo sailed into port with a cargo of shapely teenage boys from Thailand. As it happened, the very same day - call it fate if you like - Bork's dear Father left her cellar door unlocked, and being a girl who had some idea about opening doors, she opened it and walked out into the world.

"I think, " said she as she walked through the door, "my Father has left the door unlocked, and so wishes me to go sauntering about without him. It is not his usual policy, but clearly he has altered said policy without thinking to inform me. And I must say, you can see a lot more out here when you're not in a sack."

Off she walked in excitement. First down Down Street. Then around to Round Street. Before going along a lane to Alongalane Street. When she came out into Alongalane Street, she saw one Ringo Herring (the Twelth) sauntering down the way.

"Dear Gentlehobbit," Bork addressed that well dressed young hobbit. "Is the town usually this quiet?"

"Certainly not," said Ringo Herring, surprised to see a pretty female in those environs. "It's just that the Sweet Louise of Saint Terapeze is docking and everyone has barrelled down there in hope of finding the perfect young husband at a reasonable price... But tell me, are you a girl?"

"I am indeed," Bork giggled, and blushed prettily. "What do you think I am?"

"Well, you're not like the ugly young hags that usually one sees in Skattykatzenfjord. What's your name, sweet lassie?"

"I am Bork," Bork answered demurely. "And what, pray tell, is your name?"

"Ringo Herring's my name, and herring-ging is my game," Ringo said in all good humour.

Luckilly Bork was too naive to know a good joke from a poor one, and she said, "Oh how droll, sir. How very droll."

A shadow then befell Ringo's brow. "I should not tarry, having slept in, unexpectedly, but might I ask, are you a Real girl?"

"Yes, of course I am, silly," Bork answered and batted her eyelids, which was what young girls did in those days (in Skattykatzenfjord) to prove they were girls - though so did Drag Queens, which could sometimes cause embarrassment come bedtime.

"Oh my goodness!" Ringo exclaimed. "I must ask, and I know it's quick, but desperation impells me, I hope you understand. Will you marry me, dear Bork, and thus save me from a life of homosexuality?"

"I don't know," Bork worried aloud, suddenly all flustered. "This all so very sudden, for all that it's Skattykatzenfjord... Oh dear... You see, my father said he was keeping me safe until the prices went up. I don't know what that means, but Father does, I presume."

"Who, then, is your Father? I must go see him post haste!"

And so Bork took the dapper Ringo to her Father.

Bork's Father said, "I can't sell my daughter, Mr Herring. What kind of a Father do you think I am? You won't have anywhere near enough cash to appease me."

"But I own several heringries, and desperately prefer your daughter to any Thai teenager, no matter how bronzed and shapely and accommodating he may be!"

So they haggled for awhile, and at last Bork's Father agreed on a conscientious Bride Price. And Ringo was married to Bork about ten minutes later. Admittedly, Ringo was now an impoverished hobbit, but the newlyweds did not mind, for the love of a good Lady hobbit was all Ringo needed, and Bork thought anything was better than living in a cellar.

And they lived happily ever after.

I dont think Monty Python was EVER as weird as that. Even the naked organ player was tame in comparison.

THE SAWGUH OF THE NAKED ORGAN GRINDER

Once upon a time, in the Scottish Hebridean town of Nockzanoonow, near enough to Scotshobbiton, there was a naked organ grinder, by name Petty McTyrant (the Third). It's said that, as a young hobbit, Petty threw off his mini-kilt and cried out in a loud plaintive voice, "Motha, that aen noo kiltee, it bee a mini-dress worn by the ladies."

"You mean, 'the laddies" doen you, my Son?"

"Naw, Mutha, I sed, tha 'layyydeees!' Und I won't be havin' it!"

"Ock!" saith his Motha, "To be thinkin zat a Sonomyne would say sooch a thung!"

But there was nothing to be done - for young Petty was as stuborn as a ... as a... well, as a SCotshobbit actually. Anyhoo... the boy grew up to be a big sunbronzed hobbit in all parts and he would traipse in the heather and thorns on Mount Rockthornyheather Scarp all the lifelong day. He was a wild boy, not a tame boy at all. Often he would catch haggises in his bare teeth, and rend them in twain, eating half, and taking the other half back to his dear old Motha come tea time.

One day, Petty was passing by MacTurdees Music Emporium in Moore Parade and he sees a fine Organ in the window.

"I must hae that fine organ," saith he. "But I hoo no money!"

A passing gentlehobbit by name Aloysis Banks - as fine a respectable hobbit as one could ever meet, and from Ozhobbitstan it's said - stopped in the street right behind him, even as Petty was thinking aloud.

"I am looking for a naked organ grinder, young mun," says that soft hearted Ozhobbit . "Would you like me to take you to my garret and be a'teachin you a chord or two. You might also earn a few pennies for your organ."

"Indeed!" Petty grinned in all innocence. "Oh glory be to Ol' Providence."

"Indeed," Aloysis grinned.

And so, after being given many many lessons in Aloysis' garret - not just confined to organ grinding, though that too - Petty became perhaps the greatest naked organ grinder in all of Scotshobbitland, perhaps the world.

I think the Bugle must be confusing me with Pretty. That defintely sounds more her sort of stunt. As all know well I will not be parted from my kilt, not even to wash it. Which is why its so stiff.

Are you trying to scare off all of our cousins from Bree-land, or do you just want to remind me why I try to read this thread in small doses?

Strange commentary, Eldo... "or do you just want to remind me why I try to read this thread in small doses?" What does the dose size have to do with it? (Queer fellow! )

My brain can only spin around in circles for so long before I start to feel queasy and faint. But up until that point I'm laughing uproariously.

THE LAY OF THE HOBBIT WHO PRONOUNCED SOME "R's" LIKE "W's".


Once upon a Merry Time,
A little Fellow, Tony,
Was born in Scotshobbiton,
Quite lithe and thin, not bony.

The very moment he could talk,
His Father noticed something
very very peculiar about him,
which he found a bit discomfing.

Tony upped and said, "Oh Father dear,
will you weed a storwy,
One that is full of action
but please, don't make it gawy."

"Sweet Eru," cried his Daddy dear,
"He's changing his R's to W's,
What will his Mother dearest say?
What will be the village view?"

So he hid that boy away,
He kept him in a steeple bell,
Where he died at age of eight,
Which I guess was just as well.

For in those days impediments
of the tongue or limb,
Were great cause for embarrassment
Indeed, it was a Sin.

Times have changed nowadays.
We're nice to folk who limp,
To folk who stutter, the deaf, the blind,
To every poof or wimp.

What ever happened to Eru's world?
Why can't we beat the meek?
Why can't we laugh at the unfortunate?
Or give big noses a tweak?

Oh well, we should be nice,
'Toleration' is now our code,
And soon will be nice to Fjordians -
But then where will our lives bode?"


from Robert Frost: "Reflections I had on Toleration that Not Even I Knew I'd Had."

Wisey Banks
Sponsored by Odo R. Banks, esquire

Oooh... that's bound to scare off any of the meeker Fjordianlandians, Eldo....

I'm not even sure why I come on this thread, I never read the articles, becuase when I do, I find a horrible urge to chug down every last barrel of Buckie I posess!

So, your Majesty, are you saying Wholesome Tales performs some kind of Community Service? ... Mr Tyrant does tell me, mind, that buckie sales are going through the roof...