a tale in progress, by request
Me too, actually
I was going to try to get through the whole story without exactly knowing what a yurt is (and without admitting that I didn't know), but my curiosity got the better of me. My wife, avid bird-watcher, reports that she's never once seen a flying monkey and doesn't believe that they exist...of course she's never seen a flying fish or a flying squirrel (other than Rocky the flying squirrel) either, but she believes in THEM. I thought we were spinning a true story here...is it actually FICTION??
fiction yes lol and
lol on the yurt thing i had to google it good to see i wasnt alone.
that Hippy needed to go down in the basement (yes, a yurt with a basement) and wake up Yurtilicious, who happened to be asleep in the brewery. "He needs to deal with Guido and Tony himself" Ripple said, " but I'm going to let them in, because of the sandstorm, and ask them to send Bob to Oz to inquire about.......things...."
thought that Oz sounded like it might be fun, and he knew there was someone there who he wanted to look up anyway. So he conned the Beer Ball into going with him and off they went to Queensland in search of Bear. Bob had an old number for Bear that he had gotten off of the wall of an A Frame back in the day, and he wasn't sure it would still work, but there was nothing else shaking so he just might as well, right? At least he had gas in the car. Beer Ball was looking forward to getting away from the daily grind of life in the yurt and figured that a nice batch of kool aide might just get him out of the hoppy, maltish malaise he'd been slowly sinking into lately. As they went careening off into the sand storm in the White Whale, it suddenly struck Bob that he hadn't bothered to check for flight availability. "Maybe I can get us some space on a MATS (Monkey Air Transportation Service) flight," he thought. "Good idea," Beer Ball telepathically chimed in, "Especially since tornado season is over." For some reason this really caused Bob to snap. Over the whistle-like sound from slamming the brakes on, he screamed "... Conversation is always more interesting than recitation, so speak your mind and not someone else's.
oh my, "call me ishmael"?......a new character? Or is it Cap'n Ahab? (as played by Gregory Peck?) Or Ahab the Arab, sheik of the burning sand......no, no....wrong continent.
"I'll bet they get lost inside of........15 minutes" said Guido with a smirk, knowing full well that it would send Tony into paroxysm's of rage............"15 minutes??....15 MINUTES??!!..ARRRRGHHH!!!! KREEEEGAH!!!!" screamed Tony, gnashing his teeth, pulling his hair, and......
they had Yaks for sale @ the Grand National Rodeo & Stock Show in SF last week.......
The newest thing, I'll bet...like raisin' llamas and ostriches
can these yaks
be shipped to the uk ?
(shakes head at Ripple)
the Flying Monkey Express Delivery Service can deliver anything-especially UK yaks, directly to your yurt.********************************** By trying we can easily learn to endure adversity -- another man's I mean. Mark Twain
sod the effing continuity. Raisin flavoured llamas and ostriches? Much like technicolor pachyderms, it's really too much for me. I'll have the roast rack of yak, please! And could I wash that down with a bottle of the Cuivre Reserve Château Bottled Nuit San Wogga Wogga? Conversation is always more interesting than recitation, so speak your mind and not someone else's.
a rack of yak in a sack?
A rack of yak in a sack
A rack of yak in a sack closed with a tack********************************** By trying we can easily learn to endure adversity -- another man's I mean. Mark Twain
They are American Yaks.....
llamas and ostriches have been around for awhile now :)))
ripples hippy became hipper,beer was brewed,mimers mined,yaks yaked and flying monkeys flew,long haired bobs hair grew short and llamas did what ever llamas did.Yurtilicious started to become visible and guido got 5 to 10 for possesion of chinese opium.And then came the great flood ripple thought what now but tony had an idea he turned the yurt upside down in the hope it would float,and guess what it did.The mimers were thrown overboard for balast reasons and found there way safely to france where they perched there selves safely on top of the eiffel tower.Ripple and his hippy were tired and longed to return to there quiet and humble life when out of nowhere......
Back at the yurt
Hippy, practically feverish with worry, was pacing and pacing, hoping to come up with a strategy to end this conflict with a minimum of mayhem. Bertha (his van) was parked just outside the door. Over the years, after countless paint jobs in countless painting styles, Bertha had always retained two elements in her design. The first was always found, upon close examination, in the strangest of places: a pair of luminous blue eyes which, if you looked at them long enough and looked at them just right, would seemingly pierce right through your soul. The second, which could be found hidden in plain sight all over the van: the name, "Bertha." If questioned about who/what "Bertha" was, Hippy would typically and variously claim that Bertha was his family dog when he was a kid; a bullfrog that he had for a couple of weeks when he was 6; a cat that had lived to the incredible age of 25; even an iguana that he kept in his college dorm room his freshman year. But if you got enough beer in him, and steered him into a sentimental mood, you just might prise this story from him: About 2.8 million miles back in Bertha the hippie van's history, Hippy shared an apartment on Haight St in SF with his good buddy and best pal, Rob Trapper (note: name changed to protect the living). Rob was an aspiring poet, and he and Hippy had clicked from the start. As was common in those days, the apartment also hosted a revolving cast of various and sundry other like-minded folk and its share of very short-term transients. It was here, in fact, that Hippy had first encountered Too-Late Tony and his none-too-bright sidekick, Longhaired Bob. Tony was in the midst of his first and only rebellion against his family and his brother, and Bob was as always along for the ride. Though he tried to fit in with the peace-and-love crowd, his "15 minute" rages turned everyone off (except Bob, who seemed to find comfort in them), and he was soon sent packing. (Tony wasn't stupid, though, and learned something about the drug trade during his West Coast tenure, and tried to use that to ingratiate himself with this Family upon his return. It worked to the extent that it could, but Guido was still Guido and would always be Guido; Tony was Tony and would always be 15 mintues too late). Hippy and Rob spent relatively little time at the apartment, preferring instead to roam around in (as yet unnamed) Bertha. You'd find them at the docks, in the park, in the mountains. They'd take long roadtrips to the desert, where Hippy would paint away on the van and Rob would scribble endlessly in his notebook. Their very frequent companion was a striking, golden-haired young woman named Bertha. Bertha had luminous blue eyes that seemed to pierce right through to your soul, and a smile that would melt a bit of your heart each time she turned it your way. She was a fiercely intelligent young woman, wise beyond her years, and was kind enough to suffer fools with humor and grace. She was also unrepentently independent: she belonged to no one but herself, and never would. It's no surprise then, that nearly anyone who spent time with her would fall in love with Bertha. One evening Hippy and Rob were off to a big party at a nearby dancehall. Bertha had other plans, so she dropped them at the hall and they arranged for a time when she'd pick them up. The party was a great success, everyone danced all night. During breaks, Rob spent a lot of time chatting up the lead guitarist of the house band, another of his buddies, while Hippy shook the hand of each and every person in the hall. At the end of the evening, they stumbled out into the dark and into the awaiting van, and Bertha began to pilot them home. The night was uncharacteristically clear, with a big old full moon dipping toward the horizon. Hippy got a notion and stuck his head out the window and began howling at the moon, and Rob soon followed suit. Their timing was poor, as a bored police officer parked in a alley heard the ruckus and pulled them over. Bertha managed to shush her friends and banned them to the back of the van. When the officer approached, she turned the full force of her smile on him, and he felt his knees buckle just a little as part of this heart melted. Cops are inquisitive by nature, so despite his smile-induced decision not to hassle these folks, and to soak in more of that smile, he decided a few questions were in order. "What's wrong with your friends?" he asked. Bertha laughed, and said, "Oh they're fine. They just got done with a test and are blowing off a little steam. I'm taking them straight home, you bet!" "Test, what kind of test?" "Well, kind of a chemical test." "A chemistry test?" "Not exactly, a chemical test." "I don't understand. What kind of chemical?" "Acid mostly, I think." In the back of the van, Hippy had gotten quite mesmerized by the strobing red light of the cops cherry-topped car. Rob, though, overhearing the conversation, started muttering something over and over, not quite loud enough to be heard. The cop shone his flashlight into the back of the van right at Rob, and said, "What are you saying, boy?" Rob bellowed out, "I'm saying TEST ME, TEST ME, YOU MORON, WHY DON'T YOU ARREST ME???!!" Thus Hippy and Rob found themselves in a holding cell with a bunch of drunks for the rest of the night. As they were semi-lucid by morning, the cops cut them loose without charges, dropping the idea of holding them for psychiatric evaluation. Hippy was some peeved at Rob for his night in the hoosegow, and shuddered that they came just this close to ending up in the loony bin. The incident caused the tiniest crack in the bond between Hippy and Rob, but nothing that a little time and maybe a roadtrip wouldn't have fixed. But real trouble was brewing: Hippy was in love with Bertha, and so was Rob. This is never a good situation and seldom ends well. As Bertha would never be tied to one man, Hippy eventually was filled with despair and longing, and jumped into his van solo, the start of his life of wandering, looking for Bertha around every corner. Rob hooked up with a band, but that's another story entirely. Bertha managed to have three daughters but no husbands, and the daughters all resembled their Mom in a striking way. The daughters too each had three daughters, following Bertha's lead, sans husbands or any longterm romantic entanglements. (To Hippy's everlasting regret, he could call none of those lovely daughters, nor any three of of the grandkids, his own. And with some bitterness, he suspected that Rob could. He was wrong about that, but he held that against Rob for much, much too long). Bertha supported here brood by writing fantasy novels and children's books (under a pseudonym, of course) and did a bit of wandering herself. When she finally settled, it was on a thousand acres of farmland in the heart of the country, where her heart seemed to beat as one with the rhythm of the land. The farm was in Kansas. Now while the rainbow that connects Kansas to Oz tends to move here and there and can be particularly tough at times to track down, its Kansas home base happened to be smack in the middle of Bertha's wheat field. Some say that Bertha was drawn to the rainbow, but most believe that the rainbow was drawn to Bertha. Back at the yurt, Hippy's reverie ended, and he knew what he had to do. He locked the yurt door against the sandstorm, jumped into Bertha the van, and drove west.
I think we posted at about the same time. Continuity once more out the window!
atop the eiffel tower...
Hippy was scratching his head and thinking he forgot something....."the van!!...the VAN!!...We forgot Bertha!!" Hippy exclaimed...Ripple thought for a moment, and coming up with an idea, he reached in his pocket for the dental floss he always carried and started to weave a rope, one strong enough to pull a van up the eiffel tower. Enlisting the help of one of the more sober flying monkeys, he instructed it to find Yurtilicious, for he knew that's where Bertha would be. "Tie the rope to the bumper" he said...........
Hippy's eyes slammed open..
and he awoke with a start....huddled in a fetal position on the floor of the yurt, surrounded by passed out drunken flying monkeys, empty beer bottles and a half full skin of fermented mare's milk. " Oh my......what did I do THIS time" Hippy mumbled while holding his head in his hands. "Ripple TOLD me not to let these guys in..." Nauseated by the breath of drunken flying monkeys , he stumbled to the door of the yurt....
BUT will flying monkeys & yurts...
help the SF Giants win the next few games???
we kin askum....
tho I dunno what good the yurt would be
lessen ya stuck alla the Rangers inside...wif the beer and fermented mare's milk..
i know gratefaldean
think this the 2nd time we posted at the same time its fine though continuity was out the window a long time ago brother!
opened the door
and couldnt work out why bertha the van was hangin from the yurt fastened by braided dental floss.The flood had passed and the yurt was perched dangeriously atop the eiffel tower no more sandstorm either thought ripple if we can braid more floss we can tie it to thease monkeys and they can fly us to safety ripple thought.Now being drunk and flying a yurt was a criminal offence in france,out of nowhere appeared a one eyed sailor with a cheshire grin....
with a rubber chicken clenched
between his teeth...
Winked once at Ripple,
Spat out the chicken, and peered to the west. "THAR'S A BIG BLOW A-COMIN', MATEY, HOLD ONTO YOUR HAT!!" Sure enough, the wind picked up and lifted the yurt and crew and Bertha the van right off the top of the tower. The yurt began to spin with Bertha still dental-floss tethered, Bertha whipping around the yurt spinning faster and faster. The yurt crew passed out from all that spinning, at least those who weren't already passed out from the beer and fermented yak milk. Hippy jumped awake as if from a nightmare. He was lying on the ground in some tall grass. He sat up gingerly, feeling for broken bones, cuts and contusions, but was in pretty good shape. Looking around, he could see the wreckage of the yurt nearby, flying monkeys scattered all around, and Bertha sitting pretty-as-you-please on all four wheels (those thousands of paint jobs having made Bertha nearly indestructable). Sitting there in a field that stretched as far as he could see, Hippy murmured, "I don't think we're in Paris anymore, Bertha...."
"that being the case"
continued Hippy in his murmer "there is only one thing left to do", and he started to sing "Masterpiece" at the top of his lungs. Which awoke Yurtilicious from his deep slumber and started him dancing. And a whole lot of French people saying "pffffffffffffffffffft" and looking disdainful, which is what they do best. Beating their baguettes on the ground in a most menacing way.********************************** By trying we can easily learn to endure adversity -- another man's I mean. Mark Twain
Thanks for the warning Dean
will just duck into the men's room now!********************************** By trying we can easily learn to endure adversity -- another man's I mean. Mark Twain
one of the baguette bashing french men he yeilded his baguette with pride,he was not a man to be messed with.The french were not happy,a smashed up yurt,drunken monkeys,a part visible cat and a hippy"not in my country he bellowed" he raised his baguette and aimed for hippys head,hippy managed to dodge the blow but the drunken monkeys were not happy and started flapping madly around kinguido,angry drunken monkeys was not a good thing and hippy scratched head and thought what now.......
yeilded or weilded?
though if he was to yield it, I would happily make some garlic bread......out of respect for those who have weak stomachs I won't mention the peanutbutter....oh....uh..........shoot
Are we still in France?
My head's startin' to spin like a yurt in a twister. This thing cracks me up. I'm trying to move the action to Bertha (the woman)'s thousand acre wheat field in Kansas, but we've got a baguette melee going on somewhere outside of Paris. Hmmm...need to think about this some more. Carry on!
wielded or yielded
Well at first the baguette-waving Frenchman was weilding it like Arthur did Excalibur from time to time, but then he had to yield it to a flying monkey who snatched it out of his hands, while Hippy was scratching his head and thinking that he'd better pack up his yurt and all his kit and caboodle and drag everybody (minus the baguette wielding Frenchmen, of course-who would not deign to leave their beloved homeland) back to ole Bertha's in Kansas, where hopefully things would be a bit less chaotic.********************************** By trying we can easily learn to endure adversity -- another man's I mean. Mark Twain
TL to the rescue, Kansas-wise
Good job! Not sure how we'll get there (was thinking that the whole windstorm/passing out from the Eiffel tower would deposit our crew in Bertha's wheatfield, as opposed to making Bertha the van into a flying van or an amphibious van...or maybe just plain teleportation or a slow boat to NYC), but we're on our way! And maybe we'll have a female character or two after all.
and I thought Hippy waking up
surrounded by monkeys and empties would indicate a very odd dream....but.........
What kind of boat/ship
Does our 1-eyed sailor have? Maybe he's our Atlantic transport?
what kind of boat/ship???
either a ship of fools, or a crystal ship :)********************************** By trying we can easily learn to endure adversity -- another man's I mean. Mark Twain
Come on you guys, don't stop now. I had the pleasure of reading this straight thru the other day for the first time and you are all grate! Yaks & yurts & 15 minutes to beating of bread....more please. It was a rough election and ''the wintertime is coming", as Bob Dylan said.
i think we're all trying
to find a way to tie all of this together....jeez, it's startin' to sound like a James Clavell novel..
The one eyed sailor....
does not have a ship he has a cheshire grin and were are we france or kansas?
Frances the talking mule goes much farther back than ugg boots.......old black and white American film series...even before Mr. Ed
Meanwhile, back in Kansas
Bertha (the woman) was working on holiday plans, looking forward to seeing her three daughters and her nine grandchildren and whoever else crashed the party. All the while, mulling over her latest book: she was stuck, as she'd never been stuck before. Flying monkeys had been inhabiting her dreams for a fortnight, and she took it as a sign for a new direction in her book...but she just couldn't get at the root of it. It was a crystal-clear day, and she looked out her window across her wheatfield to the east. On the horizon was a little dark cloud that seemed to be approaching at an unnatural clip. As it got closer, she realized that it wasn't a cloud at all, that it was more like a big flock of birds. No, not birds. No! It was...
drunken flying monkeys, what do they want with me she thought last time they were here life was crazy and weird and now they had bought along a part visible cat and a hippy oh dear she thought ....