The Firefox

 

Eldorion wrote:Blue is the hero Needlehole deserves, but not the one it needs right now.

  You're probably right. I wouldn't want to get in the way and spoil all the fun.

"is blue respectable?!... well.. ok... i'll just wait and see ..."

"Ooh, that would be a plot twist.  I was already feeling I had a lot to live up to. Though if I turn out unrespectable then what hope would there be for. Needlehole?"

"if u're smart now, u just shut up and see where this is going  anything at this point can be used against u.."

"Oh, I'm perfectly aware of that... How do you think I turned out to be the puritanical hope of Needlehole..."


I bumped into Ol' Anon at the Duck and Muck. He's rather crestfallen. Said he was a bit worried about people - even the simpler kind of Fjordianlandian - seeming to see through him like he's a pane of glass. (I suggested pain of glass - he didn't think it funny!) He seems to think people are aware of his modus operandi or something. I didn't have a clue what he was getting at, as it was all Latin to me...    


_________________

13


"Oh sad! Sad the day now presents," Captain Dave waxed poetic as he stood outside Nora's padded cell with Halfy. "She's gone mad - totally bonkers!"

"Shush!" Halfy said - respectfully - "I want to hear what she's singing. She may inadvertently give us a clue as to the identity of the Master Baiter..."

"Oh I learned of love the fucking way,
The fucking way,
The fucking way,
I learnt of love the fucking way,
Oh the doo dah dandy!

Yes, I learned of love the fucking way,
The fucking way,
The fucking way,
I learnt of love the fucking way,
The doo-dah Man was randy..."

"Randy?" Halfy frowned in concentration as he wrote everything down. "Is there a Randy in the town?"

"Heaps of them," said Lance Blokeybloke, the Head Nurse said. "Randy Newman, Randy Oldman , Randy Andy... a few others that are not quite on the tip of my tongue.....

"We'll have to find out who they are and where they live," Dave nodded. "Good thinking, Halfy."  

"Oh I remember another one," Lance cried. "Randy McOdo."

"You mean Orwell McOdo," Rodney Reconditioned, the Undernurse, laughed suddenly. "Remember that little show that silly old Orwell used to put on for us, Lance? You know, back when we were at our Lady's Junior School. Orwell McOdo played Randy McOdo behind the shelter sheds - spoofing Principal Pugnose and his penchant for smacking boys with a ruler, the cruel bugger. I'm sure Orwell had every reason to hate him as he was always getting his trousers pulled down and his buttocks whacked by the old bugger. It was like he deliberately go into trouble, that Orwell, just so he could get whacked."  

"I wonder where he got the 'Randy' from?" Lance said laughing. 'I often wonder that.... But he was the imaginative one, weren't he! While you and I were out on our electroharleys, he was kept back after school getting whacked on the buttocks. He did seem to enjoy it in a way. Must have! Strange really, now as I come to think on it."

"Orwell McOdo, did you say?" Dave asked, his seasoned ears sharp for clues. "He called himself Randy, did he?"

"It sounds a bit ill advised - almost sexual - now as I think of it," Rodney said hastilly. "But back then we knew nothing of anything that was bad....seeming... or like..." He fell silent.

Halfy cast a surreptious glance at Dave. "Liked getting his bare buttocks whacked with a ruler, did he?" he said softly.

"He did, it seems," Dave opined with a sharpened perspective in his eye. "Come on. I think we need pay Mister Orwell McOdo a visit."

"I learned of love the fucking way,
The fucking way...."

"Quickly now, Corporal. I've heard enough I think." And Dave frowned sadly and walked for the door.

"It is quite repetitive, I agree," Halfy said as he followed the Captain out.  


to be continued....

14

Julia wondered if she was dreaming. And if she was, then it was a good dream. Was someone gently massaging her breasts with a glutinous substance? Was someone talking in a manly but chaste voice with an evocative Fjordianlandian accent?

"I've been sitting reading Fjordianlandian criminal law all day," Eric was saying, "which puts you in a rather contemplative mood."

"It may be very different in Fjordianlandia; the Laws are stricter here, I think," someone answered. "It's not a question of whether you're contemplative or not, it's a question of how the Laws work here in practice I would have thought."

Julia opened her eyes to see Eric standing over her.

"Oh you're awake," he said soothingly. "I hope this scented honey is relaxing?"

Julia smiled up at him. "Men-hobbits don't ever rub women's breasts in Forumshire, Eric, not legally. Is it one of your Fjordianlamdian customs?"

"When a woman has a sexospirito breakdown, we Fjordianlandian Legal Spiritual Therapeuticians - of the Ghandi School - find the gentle application of bees honey with the wax mixed in the perfect cure. How do you feel just now?"

"Very good thank you."

"And your troubling thoughts on illegal activities?"

"It's like they never troubled me."

"You see, Dick," Eric said to the other person in the room, a rather tall hobbit. "The Needleholians would use thumb screws and water torture for this kind of Missionary work, but our Fjordianlandian methods are generally more effective."

"Though the jury is out about whether you are curing her of her sexuality or merely making her comfortable with it. Are you feeling - and you must excuse the word, Julia - are you feeling 'sexy' at the moment?"

Julia looked across at the other male in the room who was addressing her. She saw it was Richard Cucumberback, a rather good local actor from the local Needlehole Pantomimers Revue.

She said, afer some hesitation, "No... no... not at all..." Her voice then drifted away. She closed her eyes again, a seraphic smile on her lips. Perhaps she was dreaming.

"She said 'no', Dick! See! I'm right!"

"Eric, whatever the outcome of your methods is, it's still illegal in this country to massage a woman's naked breasts with bees honey... Indeed, with any glutinous substance."

"Is bees honey actually glutinous, though?"

"You miss my point. If the Authorities ever found out your 'Fjordianlandian Sex Cure" involved rubbing naked women all over with sweet scented natural products, you'd get locked up!"

"Ha! But you don't take into account Fjordian Law. The exact point I made before Julia woke up to my therapeutic touch - and which wasn't written down in this tale as it preceded this chapter, both by word and by comma - was that I am a visitor here - not yet having posted five thousand times and thus obtained my metaphorical citizenship - and so I still have Diplomatic Immunity (apparently), even though I am not a Consular Official."

"But can you break the Laws here and expect to ever gain that Citizenship that the whole population of Fjordianlandia covets (apparently), to judge by how many of you are living here at the moment?"

"You tell me, Sherlock."

"Touché, Eric. You know full well I was just play acting!"

"Aren't we all, Dick! Aren't we all!"

And they laughed gaily in the traditional sense - though not even the Narrator knows what was going on just then.

Julia lay with her eyes closed thinking that perhaps she wasn't fully cured yet and if Eric might not yet cure her whole body with his healing hands. 'Though, I should not become impatient or crabbit about it,'she thought. 'I guess, as I should be thankful that at least my breasts have been cured of Sin (apparently) by the application of Eric's sweet honey.'

(Immediately, Eric slid his hands down across her belly, for it was like his healing hands knew her every desire -- for curing).

Richard (Dick, to his friends, in case you haven't worked that out yet), moved on in the conversation. "What think you of all this Master Baiter business?"

"His actions are clearly illegal in any country. I do, however, think the so-called victims should be held accountable under the Law to some degree for what happens to them. It does seem consensual to me. I mean, if the mere mentioning of Saint Augustine's name weakens the sexual resolve of any said victim, then I suspect that said victim has already been having illegal thoughts already."

"What do you mean, exactly?" Dick prodded.

"I know it's more a philosophic point than a legal one - but surely one doesn't suddenly become of 'sexual mind' - according to a strict reading of the Laws both here and in Fjordianlandia - just because of the mere mentioning of Saint Augustine who was a saint of pure purity through and through. One must learn to be sexually troubled in the Modern world - be lead there, so to speak - not be enchanterated by the mere use of a name, however talismatic."

"Enchanterated?"

"It's one of Mrs Figg's words, I seem to remember. I've always wanted to borrow it."

"How do you know that? You've only been in Forumshire a nary short while!"

"Call it 'intuition.' Anyway, what I mean - to get back to the point - is there's no smoke without fire!"

"Is that the clear headed logic of a legal clinician?"

"It's as close as it gets in Forumshire."

"Touché... But whether some folk here are the harbourers of sexual thoughts or not -  and even if I doubt there will be many - if the Master Baiter wasn't preying on their weaknesses, they would still be clonal virgins. So you see, in my learnéd opinion, they must already have been acquainted - at least, to some degree - with sexualized thinking -- at least, once in awhile --- even if it's only in the privacy of their bowers. Otherwise they would not fall prey to his potent sexual advances in the first places!"    

"True," Dick answered thoughtfully. "That's so true... I warn you though, talk like yours can get you arrested in Forumshire. Hanged even!"

"Killed?"

"Yes. And with or without Diplomatic Immunity!"

"I trust you won't tell anyone of this conversation," Eric said, uneasily.

"Of course not. I know you're a Fjordianlandian Lawyer Eruvian Priest former Privateer and I've made allowances for your peculiar thought processes - as I do with all foreigners, in fact -- except the French!"

Lying quietly, breathing languously under the touch of Eric's smooth honey-smudged Nordic hands - and for reasons only known - or unknown - to her sub-concious mind - Julia wondered where the Master Baiter was just now - and if some poor woman (or man) was even now being illegalized. She sighed, a little jealous at the thought.

'Oh dear!' she said suddenly, opening up her eyes and looking deeply into those perfect blue orbs of Eric. "Clearly I'm not fully cured yet, for at least one vital part is tainted still with very Sin!"

"Ha! My hands already know it!" Eric smiled chastely and he immediately applied gentle honeyed force to her offending part.

Julia's eyes rolled back in her head.

"I'm cured," she responded in a slightly high pitched pleasantly startled voice. "I'm cured! Oh Gawd! I'm cured!"


to be continued....

Well, this Eric guy must feel scandalized.

I wonder if he's in need of a lawyer.

15

Petty was mooching around the town lonely as a cloud. His whole world had been turned upside down - just as, a short time ago , he himself had been turned upside down. He wept as he walked - and not in a manly way, but in a girlie weepy nancy way, as was his wont when he was upset.

"Eye soupoze eye weel needs kull meesulf!" Which just goes to show you how bad he was feeling. Which also goes  to show Scotshobbits do have feelings - not that they would ever admit it, preferring folk to think them tough and haggard and rude and vulgar and decrepid and insolent and drunk --- which was true too, of course. "Ock! Wot appened to thart bonnie laddie wi noo bud thorts hoo iz fool ov 'em noo? Hoo deed eye let it appen? Hoo?"

And so went the colour of his shallow thoughts all the day long day.

About three twenty pm (by the Forumshire Reckoning) that irascible Scotshobbit was passing down one of the better lanes of the town when he chanced to pass the hole of Orwell McOdo. And a fine hole it was - of the Regency Period - even if it was a little ragged and begrimed as Orwell wasn't want to scrub it too often.  

"Wotz zee thart oold booger singun?" Petty asked and stopped in the lane.

"But ah! It goes against our hearts,
To lose our cheesecake and our tarts."

Petty stood there in slowly dawning shock. "Thart bee an old nawty song az were bunned a sowzen year agoo! Weye bee hee bee singin thart!" And that rather thick skulled Scotshobbit was thinking quickly in his slow witted way. He thought again of that recent event whch had both scandalized him and woken part of him up that had (apparently) been sleeping his whole cloned life. The Master Baiter had brought him both pain and utter joy --- some of the pain, in fact, had been utter joy. Oh the ambiguity of it all!

"Thart voice! It soonds sooo lik... wot deed he go sayin... 'Gut yee hed doon laddie, thart's it. Sook it -- U noo ya wanta. Sook eet gude!' ... ... ... Ock the noo!" that bereft Scotshobbit cried. "Thart bee tha ferry sam vooye az tood mee too doo tha ferry fings az my Cloner tood mee nefer too doo!"

Petty's brow darkened. "Eye see!" said he darkly. "Eye see!"

"Oh I remember their melons,
Georgina Jo's and Helen's,
Oh how I sucked them day and night,
Kissed their cabbages so tight!"  

And hearing that, Petty knew he was right. And he wanted to run straight into Orwell's hole right then, but a more patient voice said. "Noo! I weel coom uz thar Doodley Haargis teeneet un cootch heem az hee slinkies oot hees hool! Thee Fyarfoox weell woont ta bee uh pard ov thees urrest! Un eet weel bee huh ferry vyoolunt, undeed!"


to be continued...

 I didnt understand a word of that!  

There's genuine Old Scotshobbitish and then there's your colourless Modern Scotshobbitish... That's what I heard... (from Odo, in fact)...

16


It was quite a surprise for him, as well you might imagine, when Orwell McOdo closed the gate of his commodious hole only to be beset out of the dark by a host of hobbits who didn't approve of sex.

Julia was there; and Captain Dave and Coroporal Halmet; and Ordovacar who had heard about Dave's plan on the rumour mill (Halfy probably leaked it, as he had trouble keeping secrets)(apparently); and the Deadly Haggis was there too, standing about looking rather pathetic in his third-hand crash helmet and wondering why the Firefox hadn't turned up; and of course, there were hundreds of young women and women of indeterminate age, chanting out their love for him - though they were in love with his infamy and notoriety, not him himself, very few of them having had actually been touched by him, except metaphysically through the Press.

"Oh dear!" Orwell cried, as his enemies descended on him all fists and elbows and boots and cudgels. They beat him to a pulp while his Fangirls and Fanintermediategirls cheered on, enjoying the hearty thrashing of a man - any man - as Ladies - deep down - always have.

Oh yes, Eldo Peevishboy and Amarie Cougarlicious were there too and joined in with much vim and vigour - Eldo utilising a book on Aristotle Mathematical Theory and Amarie with a horsewhip and spurs - which, if you know what I know, was rather hypocritical of them in my opinion.

Then the Shiriff's dragged Orwell off to the lockholes without trial, because it was well known by now that Orwell was the Master Baiter - the rumours being so pervasive - and there was no need for jurisprudence in his case.

"Thank goodness it's all over," I'm sure the reader wil be saying, but I do feel obliged to let you know a little about the aftermath.

Nora - along with many other sexually insane girls and women of indeterminate age (and a granny or two)(and a few boys and men) - was kept indefinitely at Her Majesties Pleasure at the "Home for Sexually Awakened Mad Hobbits." There was not much the Authorities could do about their 'infection', and so they were fed and housed and left pretty much to their own devices, and they seemed happy enough.

Julia was never perfectly cured of her rampant sexuality - a bit but not a lot like Frodo after he had born the One Ring - and she suffered from 'infection' relapses and had to go to Eric Blue for a de-tensioning whenever the Dark Mood was upon her - which was about three times a week. (She never kitted up as the Firefox again, though, except sometimes as part of Eric's Therapy).

Dave and Halfy got promotions and a pay rise, which included extra vegetables at the Erumas Festival that year.

Odovacar died soon after pounding Orwell fiercely with an umbrella during the arrest - he was 95 after all. He died in his bed - like all good respectable hobbits deserve to. Its's said he died praying for forgiveness for his myriad crimes against propriety that no one ever knew he had been guilty of. Folk assumed it was due to a peculiar strain of  imaginative senility he was suffering at the end.

Interestingly, Odovacar's niece, Primmy, burnt all of his photographs soon after coming into her inheritance, as she said Odovacar's compendious collection of photographs brought up too many memories - too many to bear. She also inherited all his worldly goods and soon became known for her good work as a Missionary with strong male natives in the South Sea Islands - some say inspired by her Uncle's photos - but who can say really.

So dear reader, we have come to the end, and I sincerely hope you have been made better hobbits by lessons learned in this odious tale of gross sexuality and debauchery. I hope you now see what a negative impact rampant sexuality can have on a society. (Yes, I know the ultimate moral of this Wholesome Tale is more implied than overt, but I trust you do all recognise it, you being such intelligent hobbits and all)(apparently).  


THE END

At least Eldo Peevishboy and Amarie Cougarlicious got a happy ending.  Although, did Eldo Peevishboy adopt Amarie's last name at some point since his last appearance?

All fixed, you astute Admin you, and thank you very much for pointing out the typo...  



{{{Jumped up upstart  -- who does he think her's fooling? Bet he's played one of his fantasy games again -- yesss that would it explain it!  }}}