Thread: The Rip in the Fabric of the Universe ...

set a heading for the Port of Deprivation WA.

Unfortunately while rounding the gulf of Mexico on their way to WA a storm blew up and stormed so fiercely they could see nothing, not even the hamsters clinging to their faces in fear, or perhaps it was because of the hamsters clinging to their faces in fear that they could not see, but no worries, after three days the hamsters dropped of exhaustion and their vision cleared. They did not much like what they saw though, which mainly consisted of a large sign proclaiming, “Welcome to the Port of Catoosa, America’s furthest inland port”, and under the sign sat a surly looking cowboy with a colt peacemaker strapped on either hip, slowly and tediously carving a belaying pin out of Bois d'arc with an Arkansas toothpick.

No one said anything several minutes, nothing was heard but the tick tock of the cabin clock. Finally Roger the cabin boy piped up, “Ehh, wots that awful smell?”.

Thunk went the cowboy’s half finished belaying pin as it hit the ground.

Is that all you can say he snarled? “Ehh, wots that awful smell?” I’ve been sitting here for two days waiting for those stupid hamsters to remove themselves from your faces, two days I’ve been hacking at this blasted Bois d’arc, I’ve blisters on my thumb, a blunted toothpick, a sunburn, and all you can do is comment on the lovely aroma of cattle manure? Why I even took time to herd the cattle up close so you’d have extra fresh country scented air. Why I’ve a mind to, he paused, hands fingering the Colts on his hips as he apprised the sorry lot huddled on the deck clutching their respective hamsters to their chests like children do with their worn teddy bears.

His eyes flicked left to a large lever on which was written, “flush”. His eyes flicked back to the group on the deck. Hmm said the Cowboy as he thought through his options...

just as his hand wasabout to pull the lever Dogsbreath awoke with a start.....
'bloody tooheys old always give me nightmares and this one even smell of bulldung.....' As he opened his eyes he was amazed to see a koala gazing at him from the lower branches of the gumtree. While coming to grips with this the koala spake thus ....

"Bloody Toohey's Old will always give you nightmares, mate. You had orter stay right away from it. Oh, and by-the-by, Cap'n Nemo's been asking for you. He's up on the bridge with Seaman Staines and a pernicious pair of precocious hamsters."

"Right-ho," said Dogsbreath, and began to leg it for the bridge. But pausing in mid-leg, so to speak, he turned sharply to the koala and cried:

"Blow me up, er . .. down, what's a gum tree doing on the ship? And for that, where did yer come from my furry friend? Does this look like bloody Noah's Ark to yer?"

At this, the koala bared his fangs and snarled, revealing his true identity.

"Well hang me for a pirate," exclaimed Dogsbreath, "if yer not a Drop Bear after all!" With this awful knowledge came a heightened sense of self-preservation, and Dogsbreath proceeded to put up a new record for putting distance between a mangy old salt and a sea-going Drop Bear.

Appearing on the bridge, he confronted Nemo and shouted:

"You'll never believe what I just saw on the afterdeck. It was a . . . .

"... gum tree with a Drop Bear in its lower branches! Fair dinkum! It gave me a helluva fright! There's only one reliable Drop Bear repellent, yer know, it's..."

Nemo held up an authorative seagoing commander's hand, stopping Dogsbreath's flow.

"A number of points occur to me," he mused. "They are, in no particular order:

"One: it's not good discipline to confront a vessel's captain on his own bridge;
"Two: it's worse discipline to shout at him in such circumstances;
"Three: I've been to Australia several times and I'm not taken in by the old Drop Bear story, designed, as it is, to frighten unsuspecting tourists;
"Four: leading directly on from Three, you will be unable to persuade me that soaking my head in fresh urine will serve as an effective repellent against Drop .... OmiGawd! What the hell is that!!!!"

The Drop Bear, trailing a tangle of eucalyptus leaves in his wake, had stormed up a nearby companionway (leaving, incidentally, a pack of traumatised companions sobbing their socks off) and emerged onto the bridge. The DB bared his horrible fangs and made a beeline for Staines. All would have been up for the salty old seadog but for the timely intervention of Leading Artificer Groans who raised his trusty arquebus, sighted down the length of its barrel and ....

...with a sly wink to the drop-bear, announced to all and sundry, "Leave this arboreal bungee-jumper to me, chaps. I'll see him off the premises for the moment. And just in case he has any plans to come back, I'll let yers in on an old bushman's secret that I learnt from me old grandaddy. It's a well known secret among old bushmen that you can prevent nocturnal attack by drop-bears by leaving a bottle of Old Ned's Rough Red Rum at the foot of your hammock." And so saying, he marched the drop-bear at the sharp end of his rusty trusty arquebus off the bridge and back up the gum tree.

Mightily impressed by this show of initiative from Groans, the assembled crew raised three hearty cheers, and spliced the main brace in Groans' honour.

Later that night, as Groans and the drop bear sat on the poop deck admiring the stars, intoxicated beyond belief, and surrounded by empty bottles of Old Ned's Rough Red Rum, the drop-bear said to Groans....

"Good drop - that Ned's Rum Old Rough Red!"

"No mate," said Groans. "It's called Rough Old Ned's Red Rum...er....I think."

"Surely not," said the Drop Bear. "You told me it was called Red Ned's Rough Old Rum!"

"I bloody didn't!" Said Groans, becoming quite heated. "I said it was Red Rum's Rough Old Ned, ya nong!"

"Don't call me a nong, ya dill! You said it was Rough Red's Dead Old Rum!"

"Who're you callin' a dill, ya bastard!" cried Groans. "It's Bloody Dead Red's Rum Old Rough!"

The Drop Bear grasped Groans about his grizzled old gizzard (Editorial note: Can you have a grizzled gizzard?) and shook him.

Groans' eyes rolled about in an alarming way and ...

...due to the alarming list that the GSVLGI had, started kerplunking down the companionway. Fortunately, one of the companions stopped them; unfortunately, by stamping on them.

"Bloody hell", shouted Groans, "I've drunk a lot of Old Ned's Rough Red Rum in my life, but I've never been this blind before."

Meanwhile, the companion who had stamped on Groans' eyeballs....

. . . spoke right up and said: "I believe that my foot in your eyes may be a contributing factor to your perceived blindness, although Old Ned's Rough Red Rum has certainly been known to induce a temporary, or one might say almost semi-permanent, loss of vision. Further . . . "

"Put a sock in it!" roared Groans. "Less drivel and more foot removal is what the troops want! Get it off my face ya wanker." But Groans discovered he was still pinned to the companionway.

"I would remove my foot straight away, I assure you," pronounced the Companion in somewhat haughty tones, "but I fancy that my foot is also constraining the Drop Bear that has a grisly grip on your grizzled gizzard and I am loathe to allow it to roam free, with all the ramifications that might entail for the ship's crew. Further . . .

"Less of it laddie, much less of it!" Groans shouted. "I think I grasp the situation now. One--Drop Bear, two--grizzled gizzard, three--yer foot in my eyes, four--murder and mayhem. That sound about right?"

"I would say you put the matter very succinctly, Mr. Groans," replied the Companion. "Further . . ."

"As you were, lad, as you were," said Groans. "Now hear this, me bucko. Yer see that bottle of Old Ned's Rough Red Rum sticking out of me pocket? Righto, good lad. Grasp the bottle and withdraw it. Good. Now, offer it to the Drop Bear as a token of peace, so to speak."

This the Companion did and the DB immediately let go of Groan's gizzard and sucked at the bottle greedily. The DB being thus distracted, Groans sprang to his feet and confronted the startled Companion.

"Ye'd best run fer yer life, me boyo or you're for it. There's only a wee drop left in that bottle and the Bear will soon look elsewhere for entertainment. Meanwhile, I'm off to the bowels of the ship. If anyone asks for me, tell them I'm making an inspection tour and you don't know when I'll return. Hop lively now!" And with that, Groans was gone.

Noticing that the DB had finished the Old Ned's RRR and was eyeing him hungrily, the terrified Companion took to his heels. The other Companions shouted after him "You may as well stay, mate. You can't outrun a Drop Bear." To which the Companion replied, "I don't have to outrun the DB you idiots, I only have to outrun you lot!" So, dropping the punch line to that old wheezer, he legged it for the open deck and was last seen as a small blur rounding the aft smokestack.

The Drop Bear, meanwhile, paused and gazed longingly at the bot of ONRRR. "Say mates," he spoke to no one in particular, "you don't suppose . . ."

" . . . there's another of these lifesavers about, eh? I think I'll find the ship's steward and see if we can come to some mutually beneficial arrangement." And with that, the Drop Bear toddled for'ard toward the ship's mess.

Meanwhile, back on the bridge, Captain Nemo faced problems of a different sort. A storm had come up (or was it down? One can never be quite sure with a storm.) and the seas were turning rough.

"Hold her bow into the waves!" ordered Nemo, "or we'll capsize!" With a snappy "aye-aye, sir" Seaman Staines grasped Mother Farcquar by the nethers and held her over the rail, being careful to turn her head-on into the pounding waves.

"What are ye about, Staines?" roared Nemo. "Quit playin' with Mother's nethers and let's bring the ship about, she's yawing something terrible. Right rudder you boofhead!"

As Staines wrestled the wheel, Mother Farcquar shook herself mightily and let out a gurgle (well, it sounded a bit like a gurgle) and was preparing to tick the Captain off in no uncertain terms when suddenly the ship lurched and she was thrown across the deck and down the companionway, much to the dismay of the Companions, who gave voice as one, crying "The dammed Drop Bear's back!" Soon realizing that it wasn't the dreaded DB but the only slightly-less-dreaded Mother Farcquar, they lapsed into silence and turned their thoughts inward.

On the bridge, the ship was at last coming into the waves but great geysers of water were breaking over the bow and it looked like being a long day (or night, as the case may be).

"Best lash yerself to the wheel, Staines," barked the Captain, "or yer'll be swept over."

"I can't lash meself, sar, too much fight in the wheel fer me to let loose. Can yer get someone to do it fer me?"

Pausing but an instant, the Captain turned to Hereward and Heironymous, who at that moment were considering the merits of a technicolour yawn over the rail, and shouted, "You there, hamsters, quit actin' like a couple of sooky la-la's and grab a rope, I need for you to . . . "

Hereward held hup ha hadmonitory hand (sorry about the supernumerary 'h's' - they were introduced for the sake of alliteration - or possibly halliteration).

"If I may be so bold, Captain?" quoth Hereward. "You seem to be on the point of requesting that my offsider here - Hieronymous - and I should engage in the task of lashing yon ancient mariner: one Staines - to the helm. Should that be your wish, allow me to relieve you of the embarrassment of having to deal with a refusal.

"There exists no compulsion in this universe nor any parallel manifestations thereof that would be sufficiently powerful to compel me or any of my chubby-cheeked chums to lay hands, paws, feet or other corporeal elements upon that old pervert. I hope I have made myself sufficiently clear?"

Nemo was taken aback.

"I'm taken aback," said he. "This ..."

" . . . is dangerously close to mutiny!," he cried, "and I won't have it. Sponcracker!"

"Aye, sir," gasped Sponcracker, as he fought his way to the bridge through the raging gale.

"Clap these insolent hamsters in irons immediately," ordered Nemo, "and then have one of your droids lash Staines to the wheel."

"With all due respect, sir," Sponcracker stammered, "I'll be happy to accomodate these furry felons in the brig, but my droids wouldn't touch Staines with a barge pole, sir, and come to that, nor would I."

"Well, upon my puff!," Nemo shouted, "I am taken aback even further than before. Do you tell me that Seaman Staines is so repulsive that no-one will lash him to the wheel?"

Sponcracker made a moue of distaste and said, "Aye, sir, I believe that to be the truth of it. Wait! I think I've an answer to this dilemma. Why don't we just . . . "

But before he could finish, a gigantic wave crashed over the bow and washed the Seaman Staines away.

As Nemo grasped the spinning wheel, Heironymous and Hereward, who had wisely scampered up a halyard before the wave struck, clapped their paws with glee, and Hereward shouted: "That's the best method for removing Staines that I've ever seen!" Heironymous responded, "better than Fisher and Paykel I do believe. A dollop of Dynamo, a good rinse and a spin dry will do him a world of good."

As though on cue, its mission accomplished, the storm began to abate.

"The storm's beginning to abate," said Nemo. "I think we've seen the worst of it."

"Aye sir," said Sponcracker, "and none too soon, for I fear another storm is brewing on the horizon. Methinks I spy Mother Farcquar headed this way under full sail and if I'm any judge, she's a thundercloud ready to burst."

"It occurs to me," pronounced Nemo, "that I've been neglecting my inspection rounds. Here, Sponcracker, take the wheel and tell the old bag I've been unexpectedly called away."

With that, Nemo started to move quickly toward the companionway, but not quickly enough.

"Avast, ye cockroach. I'll have a word wi' yer." roared Mother F.

"Madam," said Nemo stiffly, "whatever makes you think I'm from New South Wales?"

"Never you mind that," said M Farcquar, "you just wait 'til I tell yer . . . "

However, before the Mother Farcquar could advise the Captain further, she was interrupted.

With a 'Hey!' and a 'Ho!' and a 'Hey Nonny No!', a group of very odd looking characters materialised in the middle of the poop deck. They were dressed in a garishly-coloured mix of costumes, with little silver bells attached to knees, elbows and various other anatomical extremities,

Waving silk hankies, they leapt about the poop, uttering strange, nonsensical cries of the 'Hey Nonny No!' variety.

Nemo was astonished. He didn't fail to share this with others.

"I'm astonished!" he cried. "What in the blue bloody blazes is this?!? Why is my poop deck suddenly full of dickheads, leaping about and swatting each other with nosewipes? How much more can an honest master mariner be expected to take? Eh? Answer me that!"

He gazed about him, beseechingly.

"Perhaps I can assist," said Frontbottom. "These people are Morris Dancers, Captain. Morris Dancing is an ancient English tradition - much venerated in country districts where ...."

"Who bloody cares!!!" cried Nemo. "Why are these leaping, prancing buffoons leaping and prancing about on my poop deck?"

"We-e-ell," said Frontbottom. "As to why they're here, one can only speculate." He took a thoughtful pull on his pipe. "It seems they have arrived via the Rip. That much is apparent ...."

"FRONTBOTTOM!" said Nemo, through clenched teeth. "If you are about to indulge in one of your well-known rambling explanations, I advise you to stow it! SPONCRACKER! Where are your droids? Get those metallic buggers to round up this pack of prancing pillocks and toss them over the taffrail! HAMSTERS! Prepare yourselves for a resounding Ole!"

However, before Nemo's orders could be carried out ....