Tarzan's Tripes Forever, and Other Feghoots

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A Tall Ship Tale #62: Just Hit Escape

Category: alt.callahans, Puns, Rated G

The continuation of Paul DeAnguara’s story.

Owen admired the finished escape plan. “We’re practically out of here already! Captain, let’s see that bagel you were just looking at.” Quid brought the bagel across the cell.

“Okay, now, the door has two locks. Spread the lox on the bagel and eat it. … Oh, I see — you don’t like salmon? Try this, then. The door has two locks to choose from. Pick either lock … Now pick the other lock.” They emerged into the corridor and looked around. Just then the guard turned and saw them.

Owen tucked his viola under his chin and played several C-notes. He tried to bribe the guard with them; but as it turned out the guard was not very notable. Sir Hillary glanced desparately at the framed slogan:


He snatched the slogan from the wall. “I’m sorry to have to do this, but you leave me no choice,” he grated, taking aim at the guard and pulling the trigger. But it was indeed a slow gun; the bullet drifted out of it in a leisurely way and the guard had no trouble stepping around it. “So it’s to be a chase, then?” the Captain exclaimed. He ran to the corridor sink and turned on the water; luckily it was flouridated. They climbed into the floor-ride and it carried them quickly to the end of the corridor.

But what to do about the corridor door? “The door is connected by its hinges to the stone wall,” Owen observed. He walked up to the Stonehenge, selected a pillar, sniffled loudly and asked for something that would open him up. But the piller demanded a doctor’s prescription.

“The Legume is docked,” Emma suggested.

“Then that dock is tied up. We need another doc,” Sir Hillary warned.

“Okay. Has anybody got a docket of our trial?” Quid asked.

But the guard was catching up to them. “This is taking too long,” Emma growled. “I will open the door. Don’t look!” she warned. The others covered their eyes. There was an intriguing rustle of feminine clothing, followed by a shattering crash. They opened their eyes and looked at the door; it hung on one hinge and was a twisted ruin. Emma was just buttoning up her blouse. Sir Hillary’s curiosity wilted under the tall Transylvanian’s steely gaze, and he turned and silently followed the others through the busted door.

The yard, exposed to towers on every side, was the next challenge. Owen consulted the clipboard again. “They’re watch-towers, see? Bless them and tell them you already belong, and maybe they’ll go away.”

The Captain shook his head. “Not good enough; there’d still be witnesses. What else?”

“Pry up some cobblestones, and cobble shoes with them. Then run for it. If the guards shoot you, you can heel yourself.”

“That sounds painful. What else?”

Under Owen’s direction, Quid, Emma and Sir Hillary stood in a line, each with one foot extended. Their three feet together made the length of the yard. They looked up at the tile-crested wall from its base, and consulted the clipboard again. It advised that Emma, as the token woman, would get high after a sufficient number of tokes. When she attained the top of the wall she could break off some tiles. She wouldn’t need many, for resistance is few-tile. Once she contacted the resistance, help would be assured.

“But suppose she got stoned instead?” Quid wondered. “Let’s just play some music.” So they deployed their instruments and quickly ran off a few staffs of Vivaldi’s “Spring.” Then they used the springy staffs to pole-vault over the wall. Before they left, Owen put the notes in the vault for safe-keeping.

“Now, then, how do we get out of here?” Sir Hillary wondered. They decided to split into two groups and meet back on board the ship. Quid and Emma would go to the nearby alley, find a dog and flea. Owen and Sir Hillary would walk to the forest and leaf.

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