Last Post Wins....

[Juliabam]

And What a cliff hanger This turns out to be. from a cave chipped into th cliff in late stoneage, springs an arm holding a giant net weaving around the frog and his shrink, this being hunting ground for them since dawn of life it's now obvious the french have them in their sticky hold. Now what The frog was thinking. did those frenchies forget the oil and their frog frying pan, and what on earth happened to my luger ?

[freswith]

Fortunately Freswith finds his Luger and points it at the Frenchies, shouting "Hande Hoch! Oder ich shiessen sie! Ich bin Deutsche." and the French, obeying their most primal instincts, turn about face, drop their trousers and bend over, crying: "Zut alors! !l est Allemand! Nous somme finis!" enabling Freswith and the Professor to make their escaoe through the door marked "Wun Hung Lo's Eatery and Quaich Store."

[square_duck]

*sitting up, he slips out of his body armor and digs out the 9mm round...mumbling about how there is always someone trying to have duck for dinner.*

Then he calls in an air and artillery strike on the cliff face according to GPS coordinates.

redressing, and picking up his scattered gear, he starts off to where he started off to, avoiding the incoming air and artillery strike....

[underwhere]

CUT!

That was great work people. Now, onto the next scene.

[wetman]

I do agree, what about a scene like this, where I am winning?

[Bonsai]

Lord Wetman has won and and is getting back to his castle on his coach. Now it's midnight and suddenly the road is crossed by a very fast black whitchchair that chants a dark spell on the running coach.

The driver gets muted into a fat frog and square features grow fast on the butler

[Juliabam]

I bet he wets his nappy and calls for mommyyy

[freswith]

In desperation Lord Wetman reaches into the ticket pocket on his Raglan coat and produces his Fedex account card, and on rubbing it is immediately transported to Peoria, which is almost exactly where he didn't want to go. In the meantime Freswith and the Professor emerge from a long dank tunnel into the most dangerous quarter of Invercockaleekie where the massage parlours and gambling dens have been frightened off by an influx of estate agents, financial advisors and banks. Here Wun Hung Lo continues to thrive as an Haute Cuisine takeaway and Grail Repository guarded only by an enormous Chinese dragon with a ferocious lisp.

"Wachoo wan' den Frethwith?" it glowers at the unfortunate pair, "It'th way patht time for my beddy byth an I'm really pithed off by lame excuthes!"

[wetman]

I bet he wets his nappy and calls for mommyyy

Well, I wouldn't have called it calling, more of a pleading look. And yes, I did wet my nappy; what would you have done?

... transported to Peoria,

...

Is that Peoria, Illinois? I'm not playing there!

And anyway, I have to get back to this canardnivorous bonsai patch. Although, knowing the resourcefulness of anatinus quadratum, I won't need to worry too much.

<Puts a thumb out to hitch a ride to New York>

[square_duck]

Trudging on, with weary feets, the duck keep following his nose. That scent....THAT smell....it can't be!

He looks around and thinks.....yeah...YEAH! as distant...almost ancient memories come flooding back...

memories of good friends and AWESOME food...and his first taste of those rare and most delectable square slugs.

where was that...? whats the name of that place? that town....something about a wet chicken...Inver...Iver...???

The thoughts and memories ramble through his mind as he plods on...driven by memories, but also by his growling stomach. the thought of those delacasies, the best this side of the Galpagose!.

Rounding a rocky outcrop, he heads down a long trail....following the scent and the cool breeze. His weiry body pushing towards the goal..

AH! Invercockaleekie! Thats It! whew...what a dump, but some damn good food and lots of very fun and good people, and the seat of many of his fondest memories with his grandfather, Squire Drake. And that restraunt..if you want ot call it that...OH! and...and...DAMN! whats his name....the cook...he grumbles at the faltering memory as he trudges on.

Then a smile crosses his dust coated face...a smile of fond recogition..."Wun Hung Lo" yeah... he nods. I wonder if he's still around...? the smell he is following tells all though, for there is only one and only one person who can cook like. With those spices and herbs and GARLIC! YES! that bieng Wun Hung Lo..and his handsom wife, Wooo. He remembers a rumor that they had a daughter as well..little Whow, but never saw her or heard much about her.

OH! and.....what was that......pet dragon they had...what the hell was it's name..? ..at the time it seemed a monster, though only mabe 3 feet long....what was it 's name.....goofy thing had a frigging speach impediment too. Square busts out laughing at the memory of the lisping and spitting reptile.

CHAN TILLY! yelled as he walked along....thats it! Thats damn dragons name....Chan tilly he giggled and smiled at the memory of eating outside on the sidewalk while the silly dragon cavorted infront of the store trying to attract customers.

Then he remebered something his grandfather Squire warned him about, that the town can also be dangerious and always be prepared. He unholstered his trusty .45, checked the clip, full...put it in and chambered a round and put it back in the holster and hoped he didn't have to use it. He only witnessed it once with his granddfather in a confrontation on the streets of Invercockaleekie, and saw the horrible outcome of being on the wrong end of the weapon he now carries. He wonders if the stain from that encounter is still on the cobblestones.

He rounds a bend and in the clearing, and shadows of the cliffs was what he sought.

The smells and scents grew stronger as he approached the town limits. His stomach growled, but he also became more cautious, following the warning of his forebearer. Adjusting his faded and dusty fadora, he glanced and squinted to the side and into the town.

It's strange...itseems to have changed quite a bit. It doeesn't seem as run down as before. He carefully worked his way around into the town, always wary as warned.

Then he saw it the sign....which he didin't remember seeing before. The neon and lights blinking and flashing as gawdy and tacky as possible...

"WUN HUNG LO'S EATRY AND QUAICH STORE"

He followed the arrow pointing the direction down a busy street, cautious as warned...drawn buy the intense smells and growing hunger.....and the memories....

[freswith]

The Professor stood amazed at the sight of a real live dragon. He had been brought up to believe such things to be purely mythological, and to be stood in front of such a fine example of Dragonis Nobilis was a huge surprise for him. Not so Freswith, who had been a regular patron at Wun Hung Lo's.

"What's on the menu tonight, Chantilly? Do you have any Peking Duck?" he asked.

"Bit thort on duck. Might have thome nithe frogth legth." replied the dragon. "Take your troutherth down and we'll thee."

"Very funny, Chantilly. Is my usual corner free?"

"Yeth. Nobody elth dare thit there; It'th too clothe to the Quaich thtore. Radiathon Hathard. It'th all yourth."

No sooner had Freswith guided the professor to the nook by the little grey cupboard on the wall than the batswing doors swung open and nobody came in. On looking downwards it became apparent that the nobody was a singularly mis-shapen and very angry duck.

[underwhere]

Yesterday upon the stair

I met a man who wasn

[square_duck]

[

He wasn’t there again today

Oh, how I wish he’d go away

-- William Hughes Mearns, "Antigonish", courtesy of the Wikipedia article

In which case, the man who wasn't there was really a duck? That might explain a few things.....

Does this mean you wish "I" would 'go away'??

[wetman]

Does this mean you wish "I" would 'go away'??

Are we into poetry now?

By the way, dear Duck, isn't A. Carnegie spelled like this (in your Signature [or is it your sick nature, and therefore carnagie])?

Oh, and I win; sorry to not participate in the story, I'm not exactly proficient at the 'belles-lettres'...

[square_duck]

Are we into poetry now?

By the way, dear Duck, isn't A. Carnegie spelled like this (in your Signature [or is it your sick nature, and therefore carnagie])?

Oh, and I win; sorry to not participate in the story, I'm not exactly proficient at the 'belles-lettres'...

Hell, I don't know I didn't think to google it when I put that in my profile

[underwhere]

Does this mean you wish "I" would 'go away'??

I do not wish that the square duck would go away, for it is so intriguing to look at, and it has a certain wit about it which I find very amusing, even if I am winning right now and said duck is not.

Anyway, wetman also can not be winning, because as already stated, I am winning.

Now that we have that all cleared up, we now return you to your regularly scheduled program.

[Baby Brian]

Wait, wait. Who's winning again?

[babykeiff]

Baby Brian, in an effort to alleviate your worries and address your enquiry, in this instance, the most likely answer to this would be me

[Codymoogle]

Not anymore!

[freswith]

Oh, and I win; sorry to not participate in the story, I'm not exactly proficient at the 'belles-lettres'...

Is that like "French Letters"? Presumably just a different shape, like a duck who happens to be square.

[wetman]

Is that like "French Letters"? Presumably just a different shape, like a duck who happens to be square.

Cuisses de grenouilles

[underwhere]

Fine. Leave the winning to me. See if I care.

[freswith]

Well, so much for Wetman. Now for Underwhere....

[underwhere]

I think freswith must be jealous.

[freswith]

Of whom?