WHOLESOME TALES

How dare you! I have half a mind to get my anonymous writer friend to tell the True Tale to End all True Tales! You know, I asked Wisey to hold back, for old friendship's sake. I'm not so old and doddery as to forget how you once Worshipped the ground I walked on... But you might be forcing my hand...

That was before you went all moralistic on me! Wheres the Odo who used to go the pubs in Needlehole and carouse? (is that a word?-it'll do) Where's the Odo with a saucy tale and a twinkle in his eye?

Pettytyrant101 wrote:That was before you went all moralistic on me! Wheres the Odo who used to go the pubs in Needlehole and carouse? (is that a word?-it'll do) Where's the Odo with a saucy tale and a twinkle in his eye?

I deny everything, especially my past --- err --- which never happened - the carousing part -- or pub going --- it was perhaps a different Odo --- err-- not me.... One of us is confused, Mr Tyrant, that's the truth I know!

You should never listen to Petty, Odo, you know it's not good for you. {{{An unreliable sort I hear tell, with selective memory. Remembers things and doesn't even care if they're respectable things to remember or not}}}}}

He should indeed listen to me Orwell. A buckie-addled brain may indeed forget many things and jumble others. But it never forgets an old drinking buddy.

A civilized respectable hobbit should never live in the past, it's ... not respectable!

If a civilised respectable hobbit didn't live in the past would there be any hobbits in the present - whether respectable or not?

Kafria wrote:If a civilised respectable hobbit didn't live in the past would there be any hobbits in the present - whether respectable or not?

You might have a point, Kafria. Poor old Odo...

THE SAWGUH OF THE UNUSUAL GIRL

Once upon a time there lived an unusual girl, who we will call Ally for accuracy's sake. This girl lived in a small village called Llllafffawwwwyyyyllooneelan, in Whaleswotchedfrumzacoast, which we might call Whales for breviity's sake. We'll call Llllafffawwwwyyyyllooneelan, Llooneyllan for the same reason.

Now this unusual girl was very unusual, no more so than on the day, one Saturday morning when the world was still more green than brown, she attended at Mr Wyllynawwwfallyyyyynnnnal's Jelly Emporium in Owwennnyllanllewwwwediinall Street.

"Would you like some jelly, Ally?" Mr Wyllynawwwfallyyyyynnnnal asked in the sing song lilting voice peculiar to the region.

"Indeed I would," Ally sang back in a similar sing song lilting voice similarly peculiar to the region, though in girlie tones, for Ally was, in fact, a girl, if you remember. (If not: see above).

"What flavour and what colour?"

"'Orlando Bloom Jelly' would be fine," Ally lilted somewhat sheepishly.

Now Mr Wyllynawwwfallyyyyynnnnal, being a Jelly Maker by trade, had learned not to ask too many questions, and he promptly said, "I will get you a bath-load - as per the usual."

"That would be exactly as a young girl of a certain type would usually desire," said Ally (who was often wont to use unusual circumlocutions - if indeed, that is a word, or just spelled wrong due to Authorial laziness).

Mr Wyllynawwwfallyyyyynnnnal smiled and did as his customer bidded. Ally soon had a large sack of "Orlando Bloom Jelly Crystals" in her trolley. Off down Owwennnyllanllewwwwediinall Street she proceeded, her long red hair flicking occasionally in a provocative youthful girlish manner, and singing a song as she sauntered with many L's and W's in it.

Next she came to Freddie Mercury's "Bold Sequins and Ribbons Shoppe" further down Owwennnyllanllewwwwediinall Street (it was not your typical Whelsh shopping strip street, I grant ye). Freddie was not the Freddie you're thinking of. He was English for a start, even if he traded in Arabic Sequins and Ribbons.

Freddie asked, "It'd be pink and purple and golden sequins agin would it be, me Lassie, knock the noo?" (Freddie's mother was Scottish).

"I'll have two quart for the nonce, for a girl with little propriety but none the lack of funniness," Ally sang back, blushing.

Freddie smiled quietly to himself - at least, Ally didn't hear him smile - and soon Ally had a three pack of "Celebrity Bath Sequins" in her trolley, pink, purple and gold in their colouring.

Ally set off again down that sunny street of Llooneyllan, singing a new song, this one with lots of F's and D's in it.

She had not gone far when she met a funny looking fellow. He looked goatish (his legs especially, but also his funny head with horns on it; an anthropoid chap, but animalistic too - and definitely hard to explain - but if you saw pictures of the God "Pan" you'd not go far wrong). The goatish fellow danced out into the roadway, appearing to appear out of nowhere, and that's not something just anyone can do (but the God "Pan" might be able to, in fact, I'm sure He can).

"Hello, lovely red haired girl," says he in a jolly voice. "My name is Pan," (you know, I had a feeling it would be) "and I'm looking for a nice girl - but not too nice - to give this flute to. Do you know where I might find such a girl?"

(Now, I'm sure we know exactly the kind of girl - nice, but not too nice - that Pan was looking for, but Baingi's not in this story, so, making the best of the situation we'll have him give it to Ally).

"I may just know such a girl, circumspectly speaking, good sir!" says our Ally.

"Do you mean Baingil?"

"Just give it me!"

And so, Ally was soon off a'trolleying again, with her jelly and her sequins and her Pan Flute...


Now, if anyone knows what she did with these items, please write to:

Lesbo Proudfoot.
Editor,
The Archet Bugle,
Birdhopping Road,
Forumshire East
(Publishing House).


Thank you,
Extremely Anonymous, esquire.

Another tale with a moral, somewhere, I'm sure, I mean there must be one in there somewhere?

"we know exactly the kind of girl - nice, but not too nice - that Pan was looking for, but Baingi's not in this story"- Bugle

Laughed so hard I snorted hot tea out of nose- expect a lawsuit Archet Bugle!

THE TRUE STORY OF THE COAL SCUTTLE, ONCE AND FOR ALL, YEAH RIGHT....

Once upon a time there was a girl who was most of fond of jelly crystals and sequins, though no one nowadays remembers her name. We'll call her... mm.. how about Ally? Nice Whelsh name that, and as this tale begins in Whaleswotchedfrumzacoast (Whales) in the small village of Llllafffawwwwyyyyllooneellan (Llooneellan), a Whelsh name would be best.

One day Scrotum McOdo staggered into the front yard of Ally's cottage, which was located at the head of a vale near the headwaters of a small river which sadly I cannot name because it had far too many L's, F's, W's and D's in it and it would never fit on just one page, and we must save the trees. Ally, who was jelly bathing with several celebrities, heard his pitiful cry. Jumping out of the bath, she towelled herself off quickly - though not much could be done with her hair in the contingency - and she draped herself in petite clothing (she considered nudity not for public confrontation) and she hurried out her front door.

"Oh my goodness, my poor most handsome, emacipated and weary looking hobbit. What's the matter?"

The most handsome hobbit (Scrotum, that is) said, "Ï have fled the Scottish Hebrides with a posse of less than attractive hobbits chasin' me with vengeance in their eyes and swords in their gnarled mits."

"Less than handsome hobbits from the Scottish Hebrides," Ally mused with sequinned jelly globules falling out of her hair and plopping jelliedly on the path, "They must be Scotshobbits you refer to, and surely not handsome Ozhobbits as I now plainly see you for."

"Yes, indeed - and I only said "less than handsome" in regard to my pursuers to be polite, we know the truth."

"Indeed!" cries Ally, "We Whelsh are overly-polite too."

"Oh dear, you must help me. It's the feared McTyrant Trio almost upon me: Huey, Louey, Dewey - and Pooey, their cousin, is hanging just behind... Hee hee... I shouldn't giggle in such trying circumstances, but a hilarious jape is still a hilarious jape irrespective of the solemnity of the situation, don't you find?"

"Indeed, I do. We appear to understand each other like Soulmates, Scrotum, hee hee."

And Scotum became full of joy, seeing pretty Ally standing before him like an apparition of tasty goprgeousness, what with her globby red hair and her lovely draped clothing that did not look at all unworthy on her voluptuous Whelsh young lady's body.

("Oh stop it," Scrotum's Inner Self rebuked him - "she's a third your age."

"Well," Scrotum's other Inner Self replied (he had at least two), "I'm only a full blooded hobbit and make no apologies for that, nothwithstamnding my grey hair and bulging paunch.")

"I'm not sure a person should be conversationing to hisself in such a loud manner; not in a certain nice but not too nice girl's presence," Ally said.

Scotum went red. "Ooh, my bad. Anyhow, please save me... Hey! Is that Orlando Bloom, Justin Beiber and The Cat in the Hat slipping out your side window?"

Ally frowned ponderously. "My good Scrotum, a gentlehobbit never imparts inplications of that nature by hint or crook." She then added archly, "Well, not in Whales anyhow... But, quick now. Inside. I'll lock the door."

So as quick as two very quick squirrels, Ally and Scotum ran inside. Ally slammed the door behind them. Very shortly after, they watched four angry red faced, much less than handsome McTyrants rush past Ally's house and on down into the village.


"Oot the scoot, given us ouse cool scootle, ya Banksey basstid!" they were crying in loud unattractively harsh Scotshobbit tones.

When they had gone, Ally turned to look at Scrotum, and keenly.

"Now a girl might be asking why four Scotshobbits might be chasin' an Ozhobbit carryin' a coal scuttle, him looking unfed and exhausted from (apparently) months-long fleeing?"

"They are angry," Scrotum said with apparent sincerity, "because the gold coins I gave them were not gold coins at all. No, they were bottle caps that I had no way of knowing were bottle caps which some (unknown) person had painted gold."

"Is that true?"

"Might be.... never mind... Err... might I live here for a few days, until my unfair (that is, ugly) enemies have given up the chase?"

And Ally, feeling only kindness in her Whelsh heart, said, "Of course you may --- but I insist you bathe often. It's the house rule here."

"In jelly?" Scrotum asked hopefully.

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

"In a largish bath?"

"Yes."

"Is there a Jelly Emporium in this town?"

"Yes."

Scrotum now hesitated. This sounded a bit too good to be true. Carefully, he said, "One day, dear girl, will a certain Anonymous Author get himself into really really really big trouble?"

"I do indeed think so."

"Would that involve a lawsuit for Breaches of the Forumshire Respectabilty Rules?"

"I would think so. Indeed, I'm sure we can be confident about that."

"In that case, I will stay in your spare room - with my coal scuttle."

And, so you see, not all sawguhs end to the Benefit of the McBankses.

Now there was definently a moral in that one I'm certain. But what could it be? Oh yes 'age doesn't dim ambition but an expanding waistline, thinning hair and a saggy bottom do.' Yup think thats it.

I'm not sure what that has to do with Scrtoum McBanks or a certain Anonymous Author, Petty, but it does appear to reflect the state many aging gentlemen (if I may use the terminology somewhat loosely) find themselves in.

THE SAWGUH OF GAYOLD McTYRANT and MINCY McBANKS

Once upon a time, there lived a happy little group of Scotshobbits on Boney M Island, as gay a bunch as one might ever wish to encounter. They lived in the tiny village of Prancypants in the Highlands. It was a fairly new village back then, very fashionable, founded by a group of Scotshobbit lads. And they were not troubled by the presence of lady folk at all, unless, of course, one includes Ernestine Herring, formerly from Skattykatzenfjord, the village Florist. It was a splendiferous village, full of bright colours and cheerful giggling. Oh how jolly those Scotshobbits were. They were simpler times.

Now there were two fellows in the village who were as gay as they come. They were fast friends and had the same taste in makeup, embroidered tops, and up-to-date kilts. One of them was Gayold McTyrant, and true to his name, he was as gay as the days are long in Summer. He adored rolling in the heather, and singing romantic songs involving troops of gay Scotshobbits, and prancing and dancing, and visiting Old Father McReady's Sequins and Ribbons Shoppe. The other was Mincy McBanks, who was the shy one; his mini-kilts were never as short as Gayold's. Nonetheless, Mincy minced about the village, or pranced amid the gloaming, with every bit as much panache as Gayold.

One day the two friends were walking hand in hand up into the heather on Baldybollock Mount, for Scotshobits in those days were not afraid of physical contact with other Scotshobbits, though such contact with lady Scotshobbits was frowned upon, naturally. They were naked, as was often the way in the village, and the sun was warm on their smooth hairless bodies, and a gentle breeze tickled through the hair on their feet. It was truly an innocent age.

"Why did you bring me up here, Gayold?" Mincy asked giving his friend a joyous smile and his hand a thoughtful squeeze. "Oooh I hope you plan a sweet surprise, you sweet gentlhobbit."

"Well, ock the noo, I surely am assuredly plannin' sumpin of a pleasant nature, me laddie," says Gayold. "And this bee as good a patch of softest heather toen doen it about.... Sit yeeself doughn."

CENSORED

"I'm not as weary as one would have naturally thought," Mincy commented as the two friends later climbed to the crest of Baldybollock Mount and cast their admiring eyes over distant beautiful vistas in the North, forests, and lakes, and villages with smoking chimneys, and sheepherders with their flocks on the lower green slopes.

"That may bee due to the healthy rejuvenatin' airs o-this mountin, me laddie. Ya saes ya no wearied at all?"

"No, I feel as if I could exert myself in an extremely exertive way all over again. It's as if I had not done any strenuous exerting only a few minutes ago, here to now."

"Ah! That bein' the case, me laddie...."

CENSORED

"It never ceases to be a wonder to me how a young Scotshobbit can work so hard at certain exerting labours, with a close friend," says Mincy, "And for nigh on an hour, and for the second time in one morning, and yet feel he might enjoy the same labour again, with that same friend, for at least one hour more..." Mincy was saying this as the two friends descended Baldybollock Mount in the direction of the delightfully bubbling waters of Red Velvet Stream with the heather tickling their legs.

"Ho then!" cries Gayold with a glint in his eye...

CENSORED

That night, when the two friends returned home and got into their bed - which was an excellent space saving arrangement by all accounts - Gayold said, "Tomorrow I think I'll lay down some new design ideas for kilts. I'm thinking floral at the moment."

"Oh you are so imaginative, Gayold," says Mincy and gives him a kiss, which was the custom at night in Prancypants, by all accounts. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

And so, you can see, there was a time when a McTyrant and a McBanks could be the best of friends. And what a sad tragedy it is that in later years - after many false allegations made by the McTyrants - the two Clans came to be at Feud.

A complete rag and a mockery of a newspaper in every which way!!!

I would have thought that a Peacemaking kind of tale, Petty, nothwithstanding that the Anonymous Author does seem to show a marked bias in favour of the McBanks in regard to the scuttle. You might be more generous in your reaction. Perhaps I'll ask Odo to review his Family History more closely. Surely the True Story of Scuttle will be there, not yet another Legendary Version... Would that help bring peace?

Both lovely stories-very relatable indeed- though I for sure know a few Baingil's, always steeling my limelight and achievements and stuff!
Though I'm pretty sure I'd never invite someone called scrotun into my house whatever the circumstances; what was that girl thinking??!! I betacha she wasn't, that's what!!

I think I might write a wholesome tale later though, about someone...

I must say coincidences abound in Wholesome Tales, the names always seem so familiar, even though I'm sure none of them relate to anyone in Forumshire - other than Petty and Odo's ancestors, of course!

Just wrote my first Wholesome tale, and my gosh, they are so hard to write! Orwell, you are one clever person!

Oh no, it's not me Ally, it's that extremely Anonymous Author employed by the Bugle. {{{ }}}

THE SAWGUH OF KAFRIANNA

Once upon a time there was a lady of clean habits. This lady was named Kafrianna and she is a completely invented character, though based on a historical personage, or so it's said. Kafrianna lived in Angleshire, and she was a Reformed Alcoholic and Smoker and a former Woman of Untidy Houseliness. And like all Reformed folk, she was a veritable Zealot against all folk who suffered from her own previous behaviours.

One day Kafrianna was watching daytime Palantir and saw a documentary about the Scotshobbiton Drinking Ague. Watching it, Kafrianna experienced a raft of emotions. These were: disgust, pity, anger and Motherinliness.

"I must go and repair this horrid drinking situation," says she. "Not only is that Hebridean Town buckie-riddled, but just look at the flow on effect - the flow of untidiness and squalor. Is there no clean street in that humble Scottish slum-town? Is there not one tidy house or hole? I must seek the advice of the leader of my Order."

And so Kafrianna popped down to the local centre of learning, "Our Lady of the Anklelength Frock." It was a sub-branch of the one in Forumshire.

Lady Lesbo Proudfootus met her in the Naked Lady Chamber of the School. Disrobing first, Kafrianna entered the Room of Naked Perfection, where the Lady Proudfootus awaited her in all Nakedness.

"Oh Grand Witch," says Kafrianna, "I bid your help on a Cleanup Mission that I would be proposing."

"And that is, my mid-aged Daughter Lover?"

"I plan to clean up Scotshobbiton."

Well, you can imagine the Grand Witch's surprise and shock. "You must be a'japing me, sweet voluptuous lady friend," that Grand Dame replied, "None have ever even contemplated a mission of such largeness!"

"It is my definite desire," answers our Kafrianna with chin lifted provactively, "If it can't be done, then I will at least die trying."

"If that becomes the case, you'll die besmirched and squalid in ever body part."

"It is a fate I will accept gladly if that fate is the fate that indeed I'm fated to be a'fated."

"Well, I see that you are decided on this, my shapely piece of Feminine Flesh, and it grieves me, and Wholistically... But seeing you are set on this laudable if somewhat tacky quest, I shall grant you two Magical Accoutrements."

And from her Magical Cleaning Cupboard Lady Proudfootus took out the two said Accoutrements. "These," she proclaimed with a sad smile, "are the Vacuum of Doom and the Dishcloth of Terror."

"They do not seem such dire Accoutrements," Kafrianna mused aloud on taking them deferentially.

"No," Lady Proudfootus said, "but the mere sight of them would drive even the drunkest Scotshobbit Mad with Rage."

"That does not augur well, methinks."

"No it doesn't."

Kafrianna got dressed and soon after left Our Lady with her two Magical Accoutrements under her arms, one under each of her pristinely ladylike shaven armpits.

She rode a tortoise shell coach drawn by unicorns all the way from Angleshire to Scotshobbiton. When she arrived in the town square, all the drunks of the town (that is, all the townsfolk) came to see what was about.

Kafrianna alighted looking stern and determined and beautiful in her own way. But when the Scotshobbits there saw the Vacuum of Doom and the Dishcloth of Terror, their curious drunken smiles turned instantly to snarls of murderous rage. And they took her Magical Accoutrements and smashed them to bits. Then they stripped Karianna naked (some admiringly) and tarred and feathered her and sent her back where she had come. And that's what happens to people who think they can change a Scotshobbit, or clean his town.

Oh what a wonderful cautionary tale. I almost feel like it was written for one such as me. I shall grab a bottle of red from behind the couch - and immediately!

Back in the days when the McBankses were the Mayors of Scotshobbiton, things were much more clean and respectable. The McBankses would never have tarred and feathered a clean living buxom lady. I suspect the latest Wholesome Tale depicts something that happened in the McTyrant Epoch... Stands to reason.

More nonsense and not just from the Bugle, which is only to be expected funny or not, but from you too Odo. As if a Banks ever rose to be Mayor in Scotshobbitland. Utter nonsense. Highest they got was Deputy Mayor and that was only until all those unfortunate questions starting getting asked about the money and the pigs...

If you're referring to the episode with the Oracular Pig and those bagpipes, be advised Mr Tyrant, your family was equally implicat---- involved in that scabri----- laudable event ( )... Err... not EVERYTHING needs to become a Wholesome Tale, you know!