Tarzan's Tripes Forever, and Other Feghoots

The Web's Original Shaggy Dog Story Archive


Another Tall Tale by Barnstead

Category: alt.callahans, Rated G

This was posted by John Barnstead in alt.callahans.


Pernicious the Musquodoboit Harbour Farm Cat, relaxing more than he has managed since the end of DJ’s wonderful Birthday Bash, and abetted in this endeavour by the fortuitous continued malfunctioning of the Anagram Detection Device (ADD) which has prevented his AWOL amanuensis and general factotum Barnstead from attempting to make his life miserable, looks up from the copy of the “Evansville Courier” which he has been reading desultorily while absent-mindedly lapping at a more-than-half-empty saucer of 32% cream, and purrs luxuriantly, which, being interpreted, means:

“I just read in this morning’s paper that a new used comic book store has opened in Evansville Indiana, a mere forty minute drive from where that wretched Barnstead has been seriously inconveniencing me by his continued absence. Ahh, the memories it brings back, of the good ol’ days when comic books cost ten cents and the little white thought and speech balloons actually contained complete paragraphs… It was truly a Golden Age, when plots turned not on the poundage of a superhero’s beefcake or the pounding of his fists, but the needle-like acuity of his thought-processes — you could tell the end had come when they started drawing Green Lantern with a Herculean physique… Ahh yes, the good ol’ days, when comics dared to ponder such profound philosophical questions as “Why do so many of the women in Superman’s life have the initials `L.L.’?” Months of stories were devoted to untangling the intricacies of this conundrum…

And speaking of drums, I suppose it is not surprising that, with men becoming more sensitive with the passage of time, and all this entertaining folderol about `male-bonding’ (tell that to two tomcats!), Superman himself is rumoured to have joined a men’s liberation group… The group, known as the Nietzschean Chinos, is said to gather monthly on one of the small, unmapped Hawaiian islands, where the members gather in sweatbaths and take turns prancing around to the intoxicating rhythms of coconut husks… I’m told you can elicit different sounds from them depending on just what part of the coconut is employed… that of the outer hull is most warlike, while that of the softer interior is said to have amazing aphrodisiac qualities…

The purported reason why Superman and his group fled the mainland for this exercise in `getting in touch with his outer-(space) child’ was that he had been subjected to persistent harrassment on the part of the younger, Texas-raised sister of his girlfriend, Lois Lane, a young whippersnapper with an eye to the main chance known as Lolita Lane… She had managed to alter the choreography for this shindig clandestinely, in such a way as to require the use of female dancing partners… Naturally, the naive Lois had NO IDEA what her sister was up to…

A smart-ass Patron interrupts Pernicious: “`Lois LANE??’ Isn’t that sort of a past tense archaic by now, Pernicious?”

Pernicious feigns a French accent in his reply: “More woolly thinking on your part, I’m afraid, cher Patron… But if I may continue…”

“Well, you can imagine the shock Lois felt when Superman told her why it was that he was leaving… Everyone knows what a temper she has… And I must say, she went off like a rocket…

A queasy feeling strikes certain more perspicacious Patrons… they can see what’s coming…

“Oh, I get it!” says the smart-ass Patron who has been trying to get Pernicious riled all night… “She flew off the panhandle, right? All the way from Texas to Hawaii! Went right out of control? HAH hah hah!!….” — said Patron continues to guffaw at his own razor-sharp wit…

Pernicious would look down a long bony nose at him in utter disdain, were such a nose available to him; as it is, he relies on that cool tone of voice which is the ten-thousand-year-old heritage of the feline’s superior breeding programme:

“Hardly, my dear fellow… every KNOWS what a MS. L’S reaction to the INNER SHELL GUY DANCE SIS TAMES is likely to be…”

Pernicious buffs his claws modestly against the countertop of the bar. He turns to Mike, who, although still suffering from a novel form of aphasia, is still fully capable of looking after his customers — “Mike, could you tell me when you expect the next zeta beam around here? I’m feeling mighty STRANGE without Barnstead to kick around, and it MIGHT just be a way to get him back here without the RUBY HUSHPUPPIES ™ (Yechch! I detest even the suggestion of anything canine…) Not that I care that he RANN out on me…

« Previous post
Next post »

Leave a Reply