Saturday, February 25, 2012
Miss Prunella Vulgaris, The Duchess of Hammer-on-Dulcimer, esteemed member of the Peonage
Juan, The Earl of Valdez, less esteemed member of the Peonage
Lemmy, noted baritone bassist & collector of blow-em-up baubles
Fryer Bungy, English conjurer & skillet gourmand
Kid Darkthrone, not-very-noted local misanthrope, reformed
The Potato Witches of the Caucasus, pastiche weirdos who know a big secret
Baba Yaga, dancing Slavic sorceress
Otto von Bismarck, the Iron Chancellor, made not of iron but of duh
Aide-de-camp, NPC & Hessian
Bear, bait, & lovable ursine scamp
When we last left etc., 'twas some Jedi mind tricksy that both created a new alliance with such deft aplomb that the League of Nations would be sucking their thumb in laudanum shock, & freed the rebellion from the nefarious clutches of the Dark Lord of the Skillet, Fryer Bungy. DUCHESS, EARL, LEMMY, & KID DARKTHRONE stand, having left the German dime store with ten thousand marbles & one other thing, you'll see. Drink up, shoot in, let the third act begin.
DUCHESS: We're --
LEMMY: fucked --
KID DARKTHRONE: mumblejumblewhiskey.
EARL: Stay mellow, hep cats.
OTTO, FRYER BUNGY, & AIDE-DE-CAMP enter, exiting a billowing cloud of dust & a strangely rhythmic yet dissonant rumble in the distance that's less distant with each dissonant yet strangely rhythmic rumble.
LEMMY (enraged): Fuckin' wankers!
LEMMY clocks AIDE-DE-CAMP on the skull with his bass, knocking him out.
OTTO (chuckling): That Hessian was our last hope.
FRYER (giggling): No, there is another.
OTTO: (cackling with snotty glee): & another, & another, & so on, & so on, & so on.
A colossal column or ten of Berk-heads, each of each of the hundreds as tall as a really tall house with equally tall pointy olde tyme helmets you know the ones, march menacingly out of the dust, with menace, & probably some guns.
EARL (chortling): You fool! You foolish fool!
OTTO: Ja, sie blieben quieten und don't call me stupid!
POTATO WITCHES enter.
WITCH #1: Earl --
WITCH #2: use --
WITCH #3: the --
WITCHES, ALL THREE: The earplugs!
EARL rolls the marbles, all ten-thousand of them, one for each foot of OTTO's army, that's five-thousand, & since they're marbles & these are real big contraptions made of iron what else, but rest assured that the POTATO WITCHES didn't rest but sent a carrier pigeon to call not for help in desperation, but to initiate phase two of their brilliant counter-counterstrike that would make the Grande Armée blush if they hadn't been freezer burned outside Pooty-Poot's Playhouse. Oh yeah, while the Berk-heads are busy stomping, all the good guys put in their dime store ear plugs. BEAR enters.
BEAR (growls with gusto): *growl*
FRYER: Everything louder than everything else!
The shockwave rattles not just the bones of all present, but the moustache off OTTO & onto the German soil, swimming in shards of Krazy Leim.
OTTO: Gott im himmel! Mein ears! Mein moustache!
In the obfuscating confusion, KID DARKTHRONE, being a kid & thus smaller than everyone else, rushes in between the giant metal legs tripping over each other, grabs the prize moments before it is crushed like so many marbles, & since the stache was magical like a Bag of Holding or a +1 broadsword, I hope that was clear if not sorry, the army crumbles into nuts & bolts & galvanic whirring machines, rusting real quick like one of those time-lapse photographic essays.
DUCHESS: Now, Lemmy, to fulfill your part of the bargain, help us find --
BABA YAGA enters riding her dancing hut & holding the Fabergé Potato, which she pickpocketed from OTTO in the inveigling discomfiture.
BABA YAGA (crowing): this?
DUCHESS: Baba Yaga!
BABA YAGA: That's my name --
EARL: We'll wear you out!
BABA YAGA (sighing): Who writes this thing?
EARL: Don't ask.
WITCH #1 (serious): You --
WITCH #2 (seriouser): must --
WITCH #3 (seriousest): retrieve --
LEMMY: Lemme ask ya somethin' Baby Yags, howsabout --
BABA YAGA: You have the bluest eyes I've ever seen.
LEMMY: They's brown ya fuckin' blind bird.
BABA YAGA (winking): I do need glasses.
LEMMY (nudging): I fuckin' knows how ta get two pairs for the price 'a one.
BABA YAGA: Oh, Lemmy.
LEMMY: Oh, Baby Yags.
You would of course be cordially invited to the wedding of Miss Baba Yaga & Mr. Ian Kilmister but since that was a textual interpolation by a hand devious cough DUCHESS cough, we'll stop here. As for loose ends, FRYER BUNGY either escaped into the Black Forest, was abducted by Atlanteans, or was hired as cook by a traveling harlequin comedie-burlesque troup depending on which rumor you choose to believe; OTTO VON BISMARCK went back to Berlin where conflicts with Der Kaiser would almost sideline Germany's chances in the 1974 World Cup; the Fabergé Potato is back on the mantle in the Museum of Palimpsest Oddities where it belongs; & as for who caught the bouquet, oh, let's say Moe.