D**h it all! (Please forgive my indiscriminate use of strong language, but my emotions be such that I cannot refrain from speaking my true feelings on these pages which shan't ever be examined by eyes other than my own, (or those of my own dear husband, should my fondest wishes e'er be fulfilled and W-S overcome his natural shyness and reserve and ask dear pa'pa for my hand as companion to my (already given) heart) this being a personal and private accounting of events, both past and present, concerning the total destruction of that good ship the HMS Periwinkle (and her crew) which carried a cargo more precious than gold and destined for the most prestigious cricket pitch in all the West Indies)

I shall begin anew. D**h it all! That brigand of the high seas, "Captain" Nemo (surely that be merely an honorific bestowed by his dastardly crew, for he has not the gentlemanly manners of our true British sailors of the captainly rank) has destroyed the Periwinkle and sent its cargo to the bottom of the ocean. I have been taken aboard his devilish ship where I was unjustly restrained from exercising my right (as a subject of the Crown) to a Furious Feminine Faceslap. I am soon to be subjected to the Sumptuous Feast where I will be called upon to marshal all my strength of will to resist as Mr. Nemo and his small and muddy Henchman regale my ears with monotonous monologue detailing his plans to destroy that most patriotic and gentlemanly game of cricket, and possibly dominate the world. There is much for which this Nemo will answer.

The Case of the Adamantine Chopsticks

Fresh air was circulated about the Ammonite by means of a heterodyne pump system invented by Nemo himself. The pump's rhythmic 'tapocketa tapocketa' sounds were, of course, dampened in the Captain's comfortable stateroom where he held forth with his first mate, Mr. Scott Rubel.

A unexpected knock on the door interrupted their discussion over a game of canasta.

"Oh, what is it now" said Nemo, clearly exasperated as he placed his cards down.

The sailor replied "Captain, sir, we have a survivor - a young woman .. shall I bring her to you for interrogation?

"I suppose so" replied Nemo and then turning to Rubel, "Will you excuse me?"

"And, Mr. Rubel, please set a course for the Orinoco, we have some Hevea Brasiliensis to 'acquire' Nemo added sardonically.

In unison, the entire crew laughed aloud, "HARHARHARHARHAR!"

Upon Rubel's departure, Nemo depressed a switch which automatically retracted various portraits in the stateroom. For your edification, these were largely watercolors depicting the Captain and his former "best chum" Caprice holding aloft trophies the pair had won at events at such as the Turnip Foundation Annual Charitable Badminton Match for Advancement of Clever Young Lads by Half.

The portraits were replaced by more 'action oriented' poses wherein Nemo was depicted in grandiose oils fighting Manticores and the like.

At any rate, once this operation was complete, the female prisoner, wet and bedraggled, was ushered into Nemo's presence.

"You uncouth, ungentlemanly brute!" she exclaimed as she cocked back her arm to deliver a standard British Feminine Furious Faceslap.

She was restrained however by the standard contingent of burly guards as Nemo and Muddy chortled.

Nemo was non-plussed and answered "You may address me as Captain Nemo, with the accent on the second syllable and I am the master of this vessel and your congenial host .. and just who might you be?"

"I am the Lady Lyme Weoghe and my father shall be furious with you! That ship you sunk was carrying a years worth of cricket bats, wicket bails and balls destined for the West Indies. Now their season shall be spoilt! I say good day to you sir!" she added for good measure.

"Cricket be damned Lady for it is amongst my top 10 goals in life to destroy the sport of cricket! Muhahahahahahahaha!" he added for more good measure.

Immediately, the Lady Lyme Weoghe drew her other hand to her mouth and nearly swooned at the Captain's vulgarity. "My father shall have you clapped in irons and your little stooge too!" she continued.

Suddenly abashed, the Captain declared "please forgive me, I shall direct our chef to prepare the standard sumptuous dinner for the two of us and Muddy and I shall regale you with tales of the life aquatic and plans for world domination. (TM)"

Meanwhile, some 20,000 Leagues distant (metaphorically speaking of course), the Royal Linnean Society was set to induct its newest member.

Curiously, in addition to inventing the "Q-Device" (the act for which she would receive the Society's Prestigious Gold Medal), she was perhaps better known to a select few as Nemo's erstwhile badminton parter. However, Dr. Caprice Beamish-Sykes-Norrie-Hargison had completely guiled the dottering fools of the Society. She had cleverly disguised herself by drawing her hair up with two adamantine tipped chopsticks and donned a pair of spectacles.

She would waltz in; take their precious medal and put her cunning plan into action ... right under their snuff filled nostrils.

L'enfant Terrible

Captain Stuart Turnips cursed the treachery of whoever it was who betrayed the location of the lost treasure of the magic bridge and Treasure Island. "ARRGH" he muttered to himself.

Somewhere along Old Shelby Road in the wild Irish province of Oceana County (or County Oceana as the locals referred to it in their drunken brogues) an armed gang of highwaymen stopped the stage coach carrying his mother Lady Turnips and stole his magic map.

Captain Stuart Turnips turned to his father Lord Turnip Townshend for advice.

Lord Turnips: "There are a couple possibilitities my son" He cleared his throat in his phlegmatic manner. "This seems like the work of the infamous 'Dandy Highwayman' which you recall from the legends but he has not yet been seen round these parts. But this attack had none of the hallmarks of his work. After all, Lady Turnip's vestments were not stolen, she was not ravished and the record collection on the stage coach was left intact"

Lord Turnips: "I think what is more likely is that you have a Judas among your crew"

Captain Stuart Turnips interupted his father.

Captain Stuart: "A Judas! That can't be!" [it was at this moment that last night's wild Irish cuisine rose to a bile in the back of Captain Stuart's throat and spilled all over the plush cushons of the drawing room sofa, requiring the entire Turnip family and all their staff to clean the cushions of what appeared to be a combination of Logan's Roadhouse peanuts, chicken nuggets, and that morning's pancake and sausage platter]

Lord Turnips: "Yes son, I think you need to hire a specialist for this sort of thing. I know a boy who is just the same age as your crew. This lad specializes in the art of noodling through who the betrayer just might be. He'll join your crew, he'll eat with them, he'll drink with them, and rampage and pillage with them."

Captain Stuart interupted: "No Daddy, We're good pirates now!"

Lord Turnips [bemused]: "Yes of course. I had forgotten. Certainly, good pirates. Anyway, this lad is just the sort to solve the riddle of who stole the map to the musical bridge and Treasure Island."

Captain Stuart: "Are you sure this boy won't be found out by the crew? Won't they be angry if they find out that he's sneaking around? I want my crew to like me."

Lord Turnips [laughing]: "Pure folly my boy!" If you want to run a tight ship you need to make sure these rogues are motivated by the desire for profit for themselves and for the entire ship, and by a fear that if they don't pull their own weight you'll toss them to the mackeral."

Captain Stuart: "In other words 'Since love and fear can hardly exist together, if we must choose between them, it is far safer to be feared than loved.'"

Lord Turnips: "Exactly."

Captain Stuart: "So where do I find this sneak?"

Raging Stu

Fade in on play area in day care setting. In the center of the shot is a 2 foot high play picnic table with brightly colored seats. Stuart is seated alone, staring blankly into a cup of juice held by two shaky hands, with a sheen of perspiration on a pale brow.

Casey Finnegan enters the shot and sits next to Stuart.

CASEY: "Stu, you look strung out. What's wrong?"

STUART: "I... dunno Casey... ever since I... had that gum at lunchtime... I've been feeling out of it. I think I had too much."

CASEY: "How many hits did you take?"

STUART: "I had 4 gumballs... I think."

CASEY: "You think?! Shit man! You're only supposed to have 2, tops! Maybe the fat kid over there could handle 4, but not you. Have you started to feel the rush of the sugar yet?"

STUART: "Oh yeah, big time. I feel like I want to run around the classroom shouting, jumping, dancing, and crying. All at the same time. I'M FREAKING OUT MAN!"

CASEY: "Easy bro. Let me get my friend Eric. He brought a play medical kit for show and tell. I'm sure he's got something that will bring you down."

STUART: "Hurry..."

A tale of derring-do

The following tale has emerged as a dialogue between Lord Turnip Townshend and the future Lord Turnip over the last few days.

As it turns out . . . Captain Stuart Turnips, the captain of the pirate ship Blue Side of American directed his crew of earnest, formerly bad guy, but now on the side of the good guys, pirates to sail the shores of Lake Michigan against the evil Captain Shakypants and his ship, Jolly Roger.

As it turns out the Jolly Roger was in league with the evil pirate Casey Finnegan and his ship the Blue Murder. If the lost treasure of Oingo Boingo was ever to be recovered from the evil Captain Shakypants, the crew of the Blue Side of American would need to be clever and would need to obtain the advantage of the wind.

To make a long story short . . . somehow Captain Stuart Turnips was able to defeat both the Jolly Roger and Blue Murder and recover the treasure of Oingo Boingo. Somehow the crew of both bad guy ships despite suffering a withering attack from the younger Turnips' crew of rough and ready-albeit-goodguy pirates and having both their mainsails broken by cannon fire, were all able to swim to safety.

Amongst the treasure of Oingo Boingo was a mysterious scroll. Written carefully in the margin of this scroll were the words "to read this treasure map you must use the gem of Sun Za, which is located not too far from the Turnips estate in Western Michigan."

Well that didn't seem too hard. Captain Stuart and his crew docked and repaired and refitted the Blue Side of American in a nearby dock and set out on foot to locate the Sun Za gem. Again, to make a long story short this gem was easily acquired and when Captain Stuart returned to his ship to look at the scroll he found that the scroll was a map to the mysterious Treasure Island which was located somewhere in the seven seas just beyond a musical bridge.

Well, now...the seven seas....The Blue Side of American took off and decided to start with the seventh sea: The Mediteranean, but could not find the musical bridge or Treasure Island.

Then they set sail for the sixth of the seven seas: The Black Sea, but could not find either the musical bridge or Treasure Island.

They then set sail for the fifth of the seven seas: The Adriatic Sea, but the musical bridge nor Treasure Island could be found.

The fourth of the seven seas appeared to offer great promise as it was the North Sea but that voyage came a cropper too.

The third of the seven seas: the White Sea, was miserable and cold to be sure and no musical bridge or Treasure Island could be found.

The second of the seven seas: the Caribean was nice and warm but did not have a musical bridge or Treasure Island.

Finally, they returned to the Great Lakes, which as they knew were the first of the seven seas and toward Lake Michigan, and somewhere around the Mackinaw Bridge they heard a strange and mysterious sound of music....maybe this was the musical bridge? Could Treasure Island be far away?

Electrify The Hull ... Again!!!

Meanwhile, as Woodpecker-Smythe dozed dreamlessly in his first class accommodations, another far more sinister individual awoke in more spartan surroundings ready to take the helm of the Royal British Aquanauts Corps' (RBAC) most dreadful nightmare!

"All ahead full," ordered Captain Nemo, his face beaming from the eerie sound of the HMS Periwinkle breaking up as she plummeted towards Davy Jones' Locker. He doubted there were any survivors from the vicious ramming Ammonite had given her. Nemo had come upon her totally unawares, in the dead of night, and rammed her straight through with nary a slackening of speed.

Figure 2‑1: Hull not yet electrified

Nemo had finally done it. He had sent the Periwinkle, and hopefully its accursed headmaster, The Midshipman, to a watery death. But why did he feel so empty now? Now that his life's work was complete and Revenge was his, why did Nemo feel like crying? Even his talking mascot Muddy noticed Nemo's melancholy mood. "Why so gloomy, boss?", semaphored his quasi-amphibian mudskipper. "I... I don't know,” replied Nemo, his voice barely audible over the super-quiet hum of his control room machinery. He almost absent-mindedly picked up a snow globe from his control desk and began turning it over and over again in his hands. "The Midshipman is almost certainly dead, yet it won't bring her back to me. She's gone forever, Muddy. I was foolish to think The Midshipman's death would ever change that."

And as the snow globe rolled out of his hands and onto the floor, Muddy heard a solitary word."

"Caprice..."

Blissful Unconsciousness

Only a few pleasant hours had passed on my rail voyage to the Duke's estate. Thus far the trip had been quite ordinary; only one incident had marred an otherwise delightful morning - one of the aquanauts had been found dead, in the Caliban's furnace chamber with a metal stake through his heart. According to the turban topped, be-plumed attendants, this was just an accident as the unfortunate gentleman had probably stumbled in the dark en route to the lavatory.

"It were summ-it 'bout the darkness and 'im being not used ter walking about on land and all yer see yer lordship" explained the scuffy porter.

"But the furnace chamber is usually ..." I interrupted.

He continued "Aye, yes, 'less o' course yer werkin on the furnace and it were open - he coulda fell right in and onto that there stake .. Like I was sayin', jes an accident yer lordship, I wouldna give it another thought."

"Still it seems rather strange, but then you know this route best young man, now fetch another lemon squash!" I replied and returned to reading my copy of Aggasiz' Monographie des poissons fossiles du Vieux Gres Rouge, ou Systeme Devonien des Iles Britanniques et de Russie.

I must add this is a really smashing work for the Devonian Fish Enthusiast! I am not sure I completely agree with his notion of thick sheets of ice completely covering our dear old England. This seems a bit farfetched - I continue to subscribe to Lyell's theory that the large boulders strewn about our alpine meadows were propelled there via gigantic cannon operated by air pressure. This seems much more likely.

However, I digress .. for soon the remaining two aquanauts were talking amongst themselves about their "brushes with greatness" including one in which the senior aquanaut, Lt. Pitchfork, encountered that mountebank, the Governor General of Canada whilst on a Chimera hunting expedition in Spitzbergen. Both continued a great length with their tedious tales until I passed into blissful unconsciousness.

Brush with near greatness

Woah!!!! Brushes with greatness....I've got a whopper for you. Are you sitting? Ok. Take a deep breath and get ready. I've got the smelling salts ready. Standby.

...................................................................................................................................................................................................................................... Are you sure you are ready?




Ok.

I met this guy at a Borders bookstore...very near the time that Brigadier Rossaroni and I met Mark Bowden. That was the time that Brigadier Rossaroni made Mark Bowden write the great line in his copy of Blackhawk Down. (I think Mark Bowden wrote in my copy "Please, stay away from me and my family.")














Who is this guy you ask? Why its Charles T. Cannady...Only a minor member of Congress at the time who was part of the impeachment proceedings against Bill Clinton back whenever the hell that was going on in 199dickitysomething.



My brush with greatness was stopping him and asking if he was Charles Cannady and he had a look in his eyes that Brigadier Rossaroni described as similar to the look in Joe Pesci's face just as he realized he's not about to become a "made guy". That face looked like this minus 1 second.

Now why do you suppose he'd have that look on his face? He's in the middle of an impeachment proceeding against a sitting president. Some oafish white guy and another oafish guy come up to him and call him out by name. Could this be the Vince Foster treatment? Or, am I some crazed supporter of the President or a whacko who wants to curry favor with Jodie Foster or something?

Well, all I did is tell the guy that he should keep fighting the good fight. I could tell from the look on his face that he was relieved that I wasn't about to stab him. He seemed really distressed though. Like he wanted nothing to do with the whole fracas.

I understand that this dude is a Judge in Florida now. Hmmm....that would put him in a position to do Judge stuff in a state that seems to have a lot of politcal intrigue...wouldn't it?

Brush With Greatness: Volume III

VOLUME III

I left my place of employment today at Navy Ideafaktori #17 and walked to the elevator. I was engaged in inane banter with a coworker who was also leaving. I believe we were talking about the price of tea in China, but I'll have to review my records to be sure.

Irregardlessly, we got on the elevator. As I was engaged in conversation, I paid no heed to the others who were also taking advantage of Mr. Otis' invention. The elevator reached floor "L" and everybody got out except me and two conversing gents behind me that, as I previously mentioned I was paying no heed to.

As we left floor "L," en route to my stop at "G2," I overhear one of the gentleman say "[blah-blah] [blah-blah-blah] we used to hand those out all the time when I was Governor." Governor.

Well, now I am in quite a quandry. My immediate impulse is to turn and gawk, but being that I'm the only other person in the elevator, this "Governor" would instantly know that I'm gawking at him, and I would be branded a rube and unsophisticate.

My only option at this point is to catch a fleeting glimpse when my target leaves the elevator at G1. Which I do, and catch a glimpse of former Virginia Governor Allen. Yes, that's right, I rode in an elevator with George Allen. That makes me cool, right?

Of course, on the drive home I thought of many clever things I could have said to him, "Hi Governor Macaca!" being the best one.

My impression of him: very tall man, snappy dresser.


VOLUME II

Lord Turnip and I were getting autographed copies of Blackhawk Down. As we presented our copies to Mark Bowden I asked him to write "Thanks for the advice" in my book, explaining that I could then make up any story I wanted when I told others about it. He was amused. I was cool. It erased the shame of my cowardice in VOLUME I.


VOLUME I

Ever since the end of the first Gulf War, I had vowed to Lord Turnip that, if I ever saw Wolf Blitzer in person, I would yell out "Loved you in the war!" Well, one day I finally DID see Mr. Blizter, leading a group of children across the street from me near the Capitol. I said nothing. The shame of it.

I Arrive at Wolverhampton Station and Encounter My Traveling Companions and Subsequently Order A Lemon Squash

My ride to the rail station at Wolverhampton was uneventful, though even the dreary pre-spring West Midlands drizzle had no impact on my growing excitement over the fox hunt and a chance to explore the Duke of Portland's underground library slash ballroom.

Presently, however, my coach arrived and my loyal manservant, Sebastian had several of the local urchins assist him unload my weekend traveling trunks. These of course included my 4x5x7ft large steamer dedicated to foxhunting slash explorer slash adventurer gear; my small traveling valise dedicated to non-foxhunting slash non-explorer slash non-adventurer more croquet playing clothes and my 10ft tall armoire filled with my finest evening wear. Subsequently, the hirelings completed their assigned tasks and my gear was on the train; Sebastian having paid the lot 3s/2d.

Glancing about the platform, my fellow travelers were an average sort: a squad of Girl Guides each of which bore a badge embroidered with the slogan "Nonmortouos Quaesivi" and a small Silver Moon.; three aquanauts of the Royal Undersea Service talking uneasily; a bald, Oriental Rakshasa hunter and his assistant carrying the standard crossbow and a solitary gentleman who identified himself as a "Mr. Mixo." Mr. Mixo, it should be noted bore a small medical bag which tinkled with the sound of glassware and the like.

But enough of this narrative, I climbed the step and entered the luxurious "voiture" and settled into a velvet covered, high backed chair decorated with elaborate gold trim. I gazed out of the large picture window, settled in and ordered a delicious lemon squash from the attendant. I'm sure Lady Lime Wedge would have have been delighted to accompany me for she so loves lemon squashes and all manner of drinks however after her swooning attack following our encounter with the Highwayman that the physician ordered her to one months bedrest with daily doses of laudanum to help here relax. Huzzah for modern British medicine! I'm sure she'll be fine in no time.

That said, I began to think ahead for in a mere 12 hours we would be passing within view of Mount Albert, the largest active volcano in Britain! Needless to say I was terribly excited and wondered if my companions in the first class coach (Mr Mixo, the Girl Guides (and their lovely leader) the three aquanauts (officers of course) and the Rakshasa Hunter among them) were as excited?

Finally a map of the New World we can use

I came across this map whilst at the local cartographers. It was covered in dust and hidden behind a human skin-bound version of the Necronomicon. And that was on top of a copy of the lost map to King Solomon's mines.

I think this will at long last tell us where to go on our vacation to see the American cousins this fall.

A Fine Foxhunt, Indeed

Invitation in hand, I began to concern myself with transport to the Estate of the Brigadier's cousin, the Duke of Portland. My humble estate lies just outside of Shrewsbury in the West Midlands and the Duke of Portland has taken residence in Welbeck Abbey in Nottinghampshire which is currently in the East Midlands. As is patently obvious our humble town is not served by the modern broad gauge railways although Great Western Railway has made promises only to break them time and time again!

Therefore, I shall have to make my way to the nearest station Wolverhampton via limousine and board a Pyracom class 0-6-0 broad gauge class steam locomotive. I believe the sleek and powerful Caliban is currently the top of the line locomotive servicing that particular route. No doubt I shall enjoy the fine velvet chairs in the deluxe sitting car. From Wolverhampton, I shall catch the 8:13 to Birmingham with a change of station northwards to Derby at 2 of the O'Clock Post Meridian and then Nottinghampshire that evening.

Since all should go according to plan and since the Great Western offers the utmost in comfort and security to its passengers (of my class), I shall direct my manservant, Sebastian, to pack the additional gems, precious metals and antique daggers as a necessary for a weekend outing of this sort.

Ah, I do wonder though, what his Grace, William Cavendish Scott Bentinck has in mind regarding Prince Otto. Although we all certainly shall enjoy the good sport and manly fellowship, I cannot but feel a bit uneasy - I have heard that Prince Otto has made disparaging remarks concerning our Annual Flower Show. I also understand he has hired as his manservant, a certain "wild-west gunslinger" by the name of Johnny Six-Guns.

But, tosh, I shall enjoy my eventide sherry and put my mind to rest. What could go wrong?

What Is This Craaaaap?

I've just realized that Col. Tigh is running for US President. How did THAT happen?

Rossaroni Discovers Poseidon's Temple! Claims it in Name of Britain.

Rossaroni has done it again! I've just returned from the mysterious tropical land of Or-Lan-Do and have discovered the ancient Temple of Poseidon, as seen here in these photos. This mysterious temple has a most imposing exterior, and filled this adventurer with much excitement, as well as some fear and trepidation I must add!

But, upon my brave entry into this mysterious ediface, and travelling through a circular tunnel that had swift waters coursing around it's entire circumferance (most astounding!), I was witness to a rather lame laser, fire, and water show. Rather disappointing.

The abode of The Spiderman was much more interesting.

Yours. etc.

BG Rossaroni

P.S. - I would like to offer my apologies to those in attendance (or their next of kin) at last week's Fox hunt. I was completely unaware of the severity of Prince Otto's state and, upon reflection, it was a very poor idea to arm him. And while he will be present at next week's Skeet competition, we will make every effort to keep him away from the fire arms.

18th Century Assessment Boards quite similar to those of the 21st Century

The Booz Allen Quarterly Assessment cycle is not unlike the methods of the Spanish Inquisition of 1480-1834.

Here we see the assessor in stage 1 of the cycle, auto de fe: A cripling series of drafts and re-drafts of the assessment intended to cause the author to confesss to any sin to stop the torments.

This can be seen in some detail in the attached film strip.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JLDVIViWW74