Since I'm obviously not getting any sleep tonight

[EK WAFFLR]

I thought, why the hell not try to do my part to get this forum back to what it was way before I even heard of it.

So, I'm going to introduce you all to a dear friend of mine.

Lord Arthur Swindleton-Arglebargle III is an out-of-work nobleman with very little money and a tendency to wear monocles in public.
I first encountered him some years ago, when, for some reason, he was at a party I attended. I didn't notice him until the day afte, when he woke me up with his screams from behind the sofa I was sleeping on. He then proceded to jump out of an open window, running around in the garden shouting random numbers and letters in a high pitched voice. Needless to say, we became fast friends.


( I'm going to use this feller to write about stuff that happens, or just random stories that pop up in my head  )

[Nephew Twiddleton]

This looks promising.

[EK WAFFLR]

thanks, Twid!





Coming soon: A very christmessy shopping day.

[Luna]

   I await.

[EK WAFFLR]

It should have been a dark and stormy night, but it was a bright, cold, and sunny Friday morning.
Lord Arthur Swindleton-Arglebargle III woke up by falling out of the crib he had inexplicably stolen the night before and glanced with bloodshot eyes on his watch. Fuck. It's Christmas Eve tomorrow, he thought, when these heathens in the northlands open their presents.
I got dressed rather quickly, changing only the ascot he wore the day before to a new ascot with an almost, but not quite, identical pattern.
He drank a cup of coffee with a dash of Pimm's No. 1, and ran out of his small house in the outskirts of the nation's capital village.

The train was, of course, filled to the brim with last-minute shoppers such as himself.
This made Arthur very cross indeed, and he pondered the laziness of man as he tried unsuccessfully to ignore the cries of babies and the general jolly ho ho ho's from the adults.
Looking out of the window, he saw his own reflection, seeing as the train was in a tunnel.
Gadzooks! he thought. I forgot to shave! His mood turned even more sour,  and by the time he arrived at his station he was ready to talk very sternly indeed to anyone who dared bump into him.

He hurried into the largest shopping mall in the village¹, got bumped eighty four times, managed to go through the revolving doors three times (about as many revolutions per minute as a small South American republic), and fell face first into a ladies lingerie store. He got to his feet and was promptly stopped by a security guard who told Arthur to come with him to the emergency doctor.

To be continued.


¹ A small gas station in American terms.

[EK WAFFLR]

The Mall Doc turned out to be a female. At least the name tag suggested that. She looked like a Vogon in a David Bowie costume. Arthur was only slightly terrified, and very nearly didn't wet himself at all.
Vogon Bowie took one look at his nose, and told him that the swelling would go away and would you please get the fuck out of here, I have better things to do.

Nose bandaged, he returned to the lingerie store to buy a baby doll for his aunt, unsure if he wanted to see  her try it on or not.
Now, he needed to find a proper present to his niece Inga. He zigzagged his way through the sea of people, getting bumped, elbowed, kneed, fisted and even butted once or twice. He snapped. The elbower had, in addition to elbowing him, told him rudely to watch his step, so he turned around and smacked Mr. Elbow Man square on the head.
"Listen here, my good feller-me-lad. If you are in such a god damned hurry, you should have done your shopping weeks ago! Now, kindly fuck off and treat people NICE! Merry Christmas!"
The crowd applauded loudly to Arthur's speech, and he walked off feeling only slightly better.

TBC

[EK WAFFLR]

Lord Arthur Swindleton-Arglebargle III was hankering for a swell night at home with his tea, scones, and copious amounts of absinte. He had planned to play the banjolele, and read up on current events in Northern Belgium, singing the articles he saw.

Alas, that wasn't to be. He hadn't even managed to properly make his fis first cup of Absinthea, before there was a rumbling knock at the door of his mansion. "Bloody 'ell", he thought. "Visitors, again?"
It was his friend CeeCee, the mentally unstable friend from across the country, needing a place to sleep.

"A telegram would have been swell, Ceec," said Arthur. "But you're welcome here any time. Come in. Have some absinthea."
"Some what?"
"Tea and absinthe. Soothing for both body and mind."

They ventured into the living room, where he offered Ceecee the comfy chair, and he himself stretched out on the uncomfortable sofa, swigging down the first cup of the stuff at once. The effect was immediate.


TBC

[EK WAFFLR]

The Mall Doc turned out to be a female. At least the name tag suggested that. She looked like a Vogon in a David Bowie costume. Arthur was only slightly terrified, and very nearly didn't wet himself at all.
Vogon Bowie took one look at his nose, and told him that the swelling would go away and would you please get the fuck out of here, I have better things to do.

Nose bandaged, he returned to the lingerie store to buy a baby doll for his aunt, unsure if he wanted to see  her try it on or not.
Now, he needed to find a proper present to his niece Inga. He zigzagged his way through the sea of people, getting bumped, elbowed, kneed, fisted and even butted once or twice. He snapped. The elbower had, in addition to elbowing him, told him rudely to watch his step, so he turned around and smacked Mr. Elbow Man square on the head.
"Listen here, my good feller-me-lad. If you are in such a god damned hurry, you should have done your shopping weeks ago! Now, kindly fuck off and treat people NICE! Merry Christmas!"
The crowd applauded loudly to Arthur's speech, and he walked off feeling only slightly better.

TBC

Shit. Forgot to continue this.

Arthur walked off, smiling at his cheering crowd, out the door, and right into a telephone pole, knocking him unconscious. He woke up in a straight jacket, in a padded cell three days later, with no recollection of what had happened inbetween. He was told that, after he crashed with the telephone pole, he got up, started dancing the foxtrot with the nearest person, who went along, amazingly enough, before he climbed the pole, claiming the entire city for the Marklarian Empire. Four men had to pull him down, and into the police car. At the station, he only replied to the cops' interrogation by quoting David Bowie lyrics to them, in Nynorsk. They tried everything. Isolation cell for 12 hours, good cop/bad cop routine, you name it. So they sent him to a mental institution.
He spent two surprisingly docile months there, but that may have been the massive amounts of drugs they gave him.
They let him out, saying he was now ready to face society again.

But he missed christmas, and all of the presents he bought had mysteriously vanished. (But that is a story for another time)

[Reginald Ret]

Hah, that brought a smile to this rainy morning.

[EK WAFFLR]

Thanks, regret. =)

[Doktor Howl]

More.

Or I'll stomp on someone.

[Doktor Howl]

Dude needs a quest for the PERFECT CUP OF THE BROWN.

[EK WAFFLR]

Dude needs a quest for the PERFECT CUP OF THE BROWN.

On it!

[Nephew Twiddleton]

Agree with Dok, more please.

[Cardinal Pizza Deliverance.]

I like the cut of that Lord Arthur Swindleton-Arglebargle III fellow's jib. Also, I would like more small gas stations that open up into lingerie stores.