WHOLESOME TALES [2]

THE FANTABULOUS FIVE INVESTIGATE

Episode 9: The Mysterious Case of the Hobbit Hero and his Four Kick-ass Ladies and Julia --- also known as 'Orwell's Angels' ... continued.

"Whoa! Whoa!" Norc was yelling as she sat in Third Class (the tuckus end of the duck). "This duck is going too fast!"

"Orwell obviously wants his chic sophisticated Ladies and Julia on his Island as soon as possible," Ally said on the left wing connection (Business Class).

"But why the haste?" Tin asked from the other wing.

"It's messing up my hair something chronic," Julia complained as she clinged desperately to the duck's head (Second Class). "I thought he was sending an eagle for us!"

"Well, times are tight at the moment," Amarie said reasonably, because she was sitting astride the duck's broad feathery back (First Class) and was the most comfortable of the Ladies and Julia.

"If I didn't know better, old Orwell is up to something positively crude and vulgar!" Ally snuffed, flicking icicles from her nostrils.

"I've heard he's quite the devil with the Ladies," Tin mentioned and blushed.

"And not just the Ladies," Amarie said knowingly, giving Julia a sly side glance.

"I wish we'd just get back to the original Quest," Julia complained. "I'm quite tired of all the 'four Ladies and Julia' business, and trouble will come of it, I'm sure. Is it freezing or am I just imagining my breath is turning into ice-slivers?"

"No, it's freezing," Norc said with a smile. "That's the best part."

"Oh yes, we Fjordianlandians like it cold," Amarie said proudly with all the bearing of a (former) Ice Maiden.

"That's what I've heard," Julia said, giving Amarie a sly side glance. "Frigid, in fact!"

The two fairies glowered at each other, and the other fairies imagined there might be a cat fight any moment. Or, at least, they thought things might build up to it by the time they were on Orwell's Island. At least, they hoped so. No, actually, not them, just some of our male readers (apparently). Not that cat fights ever really up in a big pash session, but you just never know.

The duck came into land at Skattykatzenfjord Airport and the four Ladies and...

"Shut it!" cried Julia. "Just shut it!"

... and they took the Moosebus over Orkneykryinmount via the Crackenflacken Pass and down to Wooverdumplebumstan, where they caught a flamingo out to Orwell's Island in the Great Green Sea.

Orwell was on the flamingopad when it came into land. He was dressed in a fancy dressing gown like Hugh Hefner, except he had a headache, and four burly Orcs on standby in case of trouble.

As they disembarked, the Fantabulous Five didn't know if they were relieved or annoyed.

"Quickly now," Orwell proclaimed. "There is no time to waste." And he hurried off toward his bower.

"He's not handsome at all," Norc opined.

"And he's ever so old," Ally commented with pursed lips.

"And I suppose he's just all talk afterall," Amarie said, not at all surprised.

"I am more than talk, you'll find!" Orwell squeaked back in a bad temper. "And you'd soon find that out - except for this damned head cold.... ... .... and this headache too!"


to be continued....

"And not just the Ladies," Amarie said knowingly, giving Julia a sly side glance'

''The two fairies glowered at each other, and the other fairies imagined there might be a cat fight any moment. Or, at least, they thought things might build up to it by the time they were on Orwell's Island. At least, they hoped so. No, actually, not them, just some of our male readers (apparently). Not that cat fights ever really up in a big pash session, but you just never know''



(((( ))))

I don't know if I like this turn of events.. I am not sure I am aware what an avalange I have set off with my drawing :S

THE FANTABULOUS FIVE INVESTIGATEEpisode 9:

The Mysterious Case of the Hobbit Hero and his Four Kick-ass Ladies and Julia --- also known as 'Orwell's Angels' ... continued.

"Now Ladies....err.... now that all all four.... err.... five of you are settled," Orwell began when the Fabtabulous Five were seated on the other side of the womanproof glass in his Control Bower. "I will tell you why you've been summonsed to my Fantabulous Island."

"Get on with it then," Julia glared through the protective glass at him.

"It better be good," Norc said warningly. "As I'm pretty tired of nothing particularly interesting happening all the time. I kinda hoped this would be an interesting tangent we were on, but even Odo's Quest is starting to seem quite fun by comparison."

"In other words, what is the world shattering something-or-other we've been brought here for?" Ally wanted to know, her long curls all a'swirl (for no apparent reason).

"Thunderbirds"," Orwell proclaimed suddenly.

"Wot? We're called 'Thunderbirds" now?" Julia wanted to know.

"Yes and no," Orwell said. "I need you to pilot my Thunderbirds."

"You mean the ones from the series that began in 1966?" Amarie asked.

"Yes, seeing that the original actors are all dead now..."

"The original actors were puppets from memory," Amarie averred.

"You can be so pedantic at times," Orwell opined. "What I propose is we start up International Rescue again - but chicly renamed Forumshire Rescue Now Norc you can pilot Thunderbird One... Let me check the Wikimanual... Thunderbird One – Hypersonic variable-sweep wing rocket plane used for fast response, rescue zone reconnaissance, and as a mobile control base.

"What?" Norc asked.

Orwell ignored her. "Now Amarie, you can pilot Thunderbird Two. Let me see. Oh yes... Thunderbird 2 – Heavy supersonic VTOL carrier lifting body aircraft used for the transport of major rescue equipment and vehicles, including Thunderbird 4. After all, you do seem to like to being prepared, being married with kids and all..."

"What?"

"Shush! Your Master is speaking... Ally... Thunderbird 3 – Re-usable, vertically-launched SSTO (Single-Stage-To-Orbit) spacecraft used for space rescue and maintenance of Thunderbird 5. You do seem to spend a lot of time in orbit afeter all-- you're personal orbit... Ho ho ho.... Stop laughing ladies. It's not that funny!"

"We know," they all said.

"I see... I really do... {{{Bitches!}}} Julia.... Thunderbird 4 – Small utility submersible for underwater rescue. Just the vehicle for someone who loves a bit of wet work."

"As if you'd have any idea," Julia grumbled.

"And last - but not least - Tin.... Thunderbird 5 – Space station in geostationary Earth orbit monitoring broadcasts around the globe for transmissions calling for help; also manages communications within International (Forumshire, that is) Rescue. Excellent. This is going to be so exciting."

"Is it? Ally asked suspiciously.

Orwell, as he often did when confronted by Ally in any way, looked suddenly uncomfortable. "I hope so," he said. "The trouble is, I have absolutely no idea where Anon is going to take this."

"I sometimes wonder if Anon ever knows where he's going with anything," Norc pondered aloud.

She was right, of course, but it was rather tactless of her to say it nonetheless.

"Well, maybe he can come up with our first mission," Amarie said, becoming interested in spite of herself.

Orwell looked blank. "Err... I'm not sure yet..."

And that's where we'll leave things just for now I think.


to be continued...

THE SEARCH FOR THE FARKENSTONE (or something like that).

Chapter Twenty Something

How it all ended and certain Worthy Fairies (as Hobbits-transformed) found the Promised Land' ... continued.

It is absolutely amazing what adventures the Fantabulous Five had as Thunderbirds, but as they don't come into this tale, I will return to the core tale.

Bleary eyed, Julia woke up under the leafy limbs of Murkygreywood. "Oh were all those amazing dreams we had just dreams afterall?"

"You mean about our lives as Thunderbirds?" Amarie asked.

"The same!"

"I think they were," Ally (who has often been called Aleek - and Aleeek in the earliest parts) said.

"I know they were," Norc (who has been called both Neek and Neeek in this tale) said in her pouty "I know everything' tone.

Odo hurried into their camp. He looked vibrant and happy. "My dear friends. Well, you people at least! I was creeping around in the trees looking for dancing elves, but what do I find instead?"

"I have no idea," Lance said sourly.

"The Promised Land!" Odo proclaimed proclaimactorily.

"The Promised Land?" Julia asked irritably. "Is this tale going in another direction --- again!?"

"It's the end, I think," Orwell offered, as sometimes he seemed to know where Ol' Anon was going, but not always.

"Quickly now!" Odo said excitedly. "Follow me!"

And the Questers followed Odo through the trees until they found a place of shimmery green and yellow wall-thingee eerines.

"I'm not going through that shimmery green and yellow wall-thingee eerines," Julia protested.

"Well, I am," Orwell cried. "I've always wanted to go to the Promised Land -- except I never believed it existed until now."

And off Orwell trudged. Of course, Julia followed close behind him in spite of her misgivings, her being so in awe of Orwell and wanting to continue to boss him around like all true lovers do.

And of course Odo ran through at speed, as he always expected to be one of the first to proceed to the Promised Land.

But the other Questers hesitated, and that's why Eru set it down that they can only ever be Visitors to the Promised Land --- which is Little Forumshire, of course!


THE END ... or Beginning!




WHOLESOME TALES HAVE NOW MOVED TO LITTLE FORUMSHIRE

A SHORTER THAN AVERAGE TALE OF CAPTAIN ORWELL JACKABOOTS McODO (the 11th of the line) AND THE GIRL-CRAZY DANES

Once upon a time - Forumshiran Time, that is - there was a handsome and dashing Captain of the McOdo line who some say was the most handsome and dashing of the lot, if that's at all possible, though he never, himself, doubted it.

"It is time, Son ," said his illustrious Father one sunny Orkneyan morning, "for you to follow the McOdo tradition which means you must go to Fjordianlandia home of the Gay Norwayans and see if you can rustle up some of those busty Heidi types - not the tranvestites, mind! - and deliver them up to the girl-crazy Danes."

"But Father, I hear that the Norawayans have died out due to the rampant homosexuality of the male hobbits there. Not that I would wish to spread horrid rumours, but only account for the truth."

"That will make it a more interesting adventure, Son. There must be some girls left, hidden away by their hetereosexual Fathers along with their hetereosexual Sons."

"I have not heard that rumour!"

"It is hidden deep that secret, concealed by many secret codes and hieroglyphs, in case the average Norwayan hobbit lad or mature burghermeister or Priest finds out, though 'tis said the Chief of the Ringo Herring Clan knoweth a ringa-dinga-dinga (or two) about it."

"I shall take up the challenge, Father. But how shall I know if I've found girls or Transvestites?"

"I shall dress up ... wait a moment... see... do I now appear as a beautiful Norwayan lass, Son?"

"No, you don't. You look like a hairy legged man in a suspender belt with very big hair!"

"And that's how you will tell, my son, that's how."

So armed with a bit of wisdom that he and not before then owned, young Orwell Jackaboots McOdo set off on his three master, The Good Times of Orkney, and he sailed through flaccid seas to the Port of Skattykatzenfjord.

At the wharfs, Ringo Herring (the 23rd) met him, having returned not long before from Military Dragoon School.

"My goodness," cried Orwell as he came down his gangplank. "You are a Tranvestite, Sir!"

"And you expected a beautifil Norwayan girl, Captain McOdo"?"

"How did you know my name, good Sir?"

"I see the family resemblance, even though you are surely the handsomest of the line. Handsome... mmm.... But let's not tarry. Could I offer you my bed for the night."

"Your bed?"

"There is plenty of room, never fear."

"I must - not all that gratefully - decline, good Sir. You see, I prefer real Norwayan girls to hairy legged hobbit lads, however illustrious your reputation be in the town."

"Ha! You are like your Father and Grandfather, Sir, though not at all like your Great Great Grand Uncle, Percy McOdo."

"Of Old Percy, we usually prefer not to talk, while yet recognizing his linguistic abilities and his gift for the kazoon."

"Ah! His kazoon is famous in these parts."

"Just so."

"Then I gather you are here to find some girls for the Girl Market Trade. They're rare, but for a good exchange, I'm sure a deal might be made."

"I have brought a shipload of Scotshobbit lads for your consideration in a potential transaction. Not keen admittedly, but they're feisty, and quite safe if manacled correctly according to the manual."

"Oooh!" Ringo squealed in delight. "That was not mentioned in the earlier part of this tale."

"I only just thought of it, actually."

"Just so."

And so in a trice - or thereabouts - the deal was done, and Captain Orwell Jackaboots McOdo (the 11th) was soon sailing for Denmark with a shipload of gorgeous Norwayan girls - leaving only the noxious, gross, unattractive Norc types behind, for you see they were Politically Incorrect times back then and no mistake.

The girls were glad to be gone, truth be known, though Orwell suspected that some of the girls were actually hetereosexual boys dressed in drag so as to escape a life of Gay abandon, but anyway that was something for the burghers of Denmark to sort out. Orwell only cared about profit, for he was a handsome dashing and devilishly roguish privateer, all said and done. It's said he kept three of the prettiest (real) girls for himself, but that's what you would expect of a dashing man hobbit of the McOdo clan - saving his Great Great Grand Uncle, Percy, of course.

THE END