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Australian Tales (part I) By: Richard Davidson on 4/13/2002; 6:25 PM Alphonz was a righteous little wombat. Smarter than all the other wombats, he was a tempest in a tea tree. He often spent his days making prank phone calls, and using up all the penicillin. His lobster was no less, often sending exploding cigars to foreign dignitaries, under the name "Picasso, Jr." Several of the other animals formed a committee, but it did no good, due to language barriers. This was just fine with Alphonz, and he packed up his lobster, and headed for the Swiss Alps. No one could imagine the adventure they would have, of this he was pretty sure, and he bought the bus ticket that would take him to the shipyard, making sure his lobster could get plenty of air. It was a rusty, smelly old bus, and it made creaking noises like a sad iguana. Alphonz, smitten by the dingy rain, wrote notes on a little notepad, like notes from a scale, noting things he noticed. What he didn't notice, however, was the large, unkempt mongoose approaching him at an alarming rate. Alphonz had never been comfortable around mongooses, or mongeese, whatever the case may be, ever since one had sold him that copper sink. Had he seen him coming, Alphonz would have pretended to have the Gout, or at the very least, Distemper. Alphonz shuddered as the mongoose sat beside him, curling his lip and hissing. Alphonz had great resolve that he wouldn't buy anything from him. The bus creaked on in silence, and Alphonz could almost hear himself think. Some of the kangaroos were waving pistols around, and it was obvious the driver was getting nervous. They bumped along in noisy, creaky silence, each animal's voice louder than the next. Only the gorilla was quiet, drinking in the situation with strange, irrational contempt. Had his microphone been on, we would've known what he was thinking, but as it was, we could only speculate, and knit green sweaters. My wife informed me of the difference between heat gravitation and cold underwear, leaving me fascinated, and more than a little sick. I wondered why we weren't central characters in the story, but by then Alphonz was off the bus, and headed towards the biggest ship I had ever seen, and believe me, I've never seen a ship before. One thing that seperates the wombat from all other species is it's incredible desire to learn, not to mention it's ability to disguise itself. Alphonz quickly assumed the identity of a French Legionaire, and his lobster made a convincing Foreign Minister. The two of them together were only three feet tall, and yet the illusion was complete. I was stunned at their mastery, having witnessed it with my own bloodshot eyes, and then the bus pulled away, taking me out of the story forever. Once on board, Alphonz requested a gin gimlet, a bag of pecans, and a small tub filled with salt water. The bellboy, who was actually an Arctic Seal, nodded his understanding, making it obvious he would keep quiet for a big tip. Alphonz reached for a twenty, but thinking better of it, produced a small tin of sardines. The bellboy slapped his flippers together in excitement, and barked "Oh Caroline" in D flat. Alphonz patiently watched him exit the room, and leaned back for a very long voyage. In very little time, he fell asleep. He dreamt of strawberry yogurt, cascading down slopes of rancid turnips, grubworms dancing on their moldy stalks. Suddenly Alphonz was standing in a cold metal room, with icecubes bouncing against his forehead. A large man with only one eye was breathing on his face, and it smelled like stale coffee grounds. He was screaming a word Alphonz couldn't understand, and then it got dark. Alphonz thought the dream was over, and then he found himself naked on the side of a mountain, as usual. He awoke with a gritty feeling in his mouth, probably from all the sand he had eaten earlier. His lobster was still sleeping soundly, due to all the alliteration in the sentence, probably, and Alphonz went into the tiny kitchen of his stateroom, and poured himself a cup of coffee. It tasted like Drain-O, but it wasn't foaming, so he figured it must be safe. The phone rang. "Hello, ees thees the resident of room 3Beeee?" the voice said, in a fictional accent. "Uh, yes it is, er, rather I think..." Alphonz replied confidently. "I haff urgent maysage for jou," the fictional accent continued. "Well, what is it," Alphonz asked in his least patient voice. "Jou weel meet me by the bow of sheep at ten oclock," it intoned. Alphonz panicked. He was a very intelligent wombat, knowing all kinds of things, but he never had mastered the ability to tell time. He had to think of something, and think of it fast. "No. You will come to my stateroom at sunset, and if you don't come alone, I'll kill you." "OK, OK, no need to be so upset! Jou win. Aye weel come alone, and aye weel come at the sunset, wheech coeencedentally eenough weel be at ten oclock. Try to relax!" "That's easy for you to say, in that fictional foreign accent of yours, but I've got the people of France to think about!" Alphonz spat into the telephone. He got out his lobster's dart gun, and dipped each dart in folic acid. He wanted his lobster ready, when the moment finally came. He rearranged the room several times, making sure the colors and themes were correctly matched. He nibbled on some berries, and soiled the rug, cleaning up after himself, as always. He was going to have to add toilet training to his "to do" list. Suddenly, the ship lurched, and a severed head rolled out from under the bathroom sink. It was Mao Ling Ling, the panda in charge of Chinese security. Alphonz almost reinterpreted the Magna Carta for a moment, got a grip on himself, and began chanting the lyrics to a Donny Osmond song. He wondered if he'd ever make it to Switzerland, or even the Atlantic, for that matter. (to be continued)
RE: Australian Tales (part I) By: Mark Morgan on 4/22/2001; 1:56 AM Hey, Richard! Conversant has the ability to add page numbers to long pieces. That is, at the bottom of every page would be something like: 1 2 3 4 5 Would you like me to set up these "to be continued" stories in this fashion? Time permitting I could retro the other ones you wrote.
RE: Australian Tales (part I) By: Richard Davidson on 4/22/2001; 2:55 PM That would be cool. Don't waste too much of your time doing it, though. They're only stories.
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