Awards Night!!!!!!

Good evening sports fans! Yes, its that time of year again – awards time.
Well, you’ve got your Tony’s, your Obies and your Oscaries and now for the first time on live-internet, we’ll be presenting the 928th Annual (in this dimension and others both future, past and present time streams) Keepies hosted by Tony Orlando and many other luminaries of the Arts and Sciences including Nobel Prize winner, Lord Kelvin! Incidentally, this entire awards ceremony will be live-blogged by Lady Lyme-Weoghe and Rubber Baby Buggy Bumper!!! WOWZERS!!!

“Ladies and Gentlemen, It is my great pleasure to announce the first category, ‘Best Dining Scene in a Blog set on an undersea vessel’ and the nominees are The Admiral, Brigadier Rossaroni for his thrilling post ‘Inane: (adj.) - lacking sense, significance, or ideas’; Lord Woodpecker-Smythe for ‘MMM, something smells good here aboard the Naughty-Less!’ and Lord Turnips for ‘ Precious Treasure.’

(Live blogging by Lady Lyme Weoghe commences)

Boos and catcalls are erupting from the audience or should I say part of the audience, the Rossaroni part.

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, there’s no such story as MMM, something smells good here aboard the Naughty-Less!’”

“Silence! And allow me to announce the winner”

“The winner is …. THE BRIGADIER!!!!!”

The brigadier is walking up to the stage where he threatens the presenter with a ‘whiff of grapeshot,' takes the statuette in the photo above and makes a pass at the awards girl.

Lord Kelvin and Lord Tony Orlando and Dawn ready the next presentation.

The next award is made to someone in the literary world who has made an enormous contribution to the body of Chris Elliot-based literature via writing, filmmaking and charitable works.

The nominees are: Chris Elliot for writing “The Shroud of the Thwacker” ; Chris Elliot for writing “Into Hot Air” ; Chris Elliot for donating time to appearing in the documentary “Cabin Boy” and finally Lord Turnips for his posting “Prisoner of the Island.”

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO”

Again Boos and catcalls are erupting from the audience or should I say part of the audience, this time the Chris Elliot part.

“Prisoner of the Island isn’t Chris Elliot related!”

“Tangentially it is too!”

Tony ‘s got it back under control

“The Winner is: Chris Elliot for ‘Into Hot Air’!!!!”
Regrettably, the winner is not present tonight and as such I will accept the $500 Shoney’s Big Boy gift certificate.

There seems to be some commotion / controversy going on -----

“Hey, I’m here”

“No you are not”

Security guards are escorting someone from the auditorium and Mr. Dawn has started on a new category.

Now, our next category is very special, it is “Best Subject impersonating a chicken as if under mind control but isn’t really undercontrol anymore.”

The nominees are Lord Turnips in “Might Chanticleer”, Lady Marzipan in “Set Adrift” and The Commodore in “You Ought to Be in Pictures!”

And the winner is LORD TURNIPS in “Might Chanticleer”

Turnips is coming up on stage munching on what appears to be a fluffernutter sandwich

“First I’d like to thank me, then Lady Turnips then Capt Stuart then Daphne Turnips then……”

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING, BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORIING”

Wow this audience is tough! Lets see what the next category is

The next category is Best Faulknerian Rip-Off. The nominees are Lord Woodpecker Smythe for “The Lamp’s Turgid Savage Gleam,” Lord Turnips for “Regarding Troll Fens” and Lady Lyme Weoghe for some letters she posted on-line.

What? I’ll kill him – he’s too lazy to look up the article’s title!

And the winner is Woody with 5000 votes for “The Lamp’s Turgid Savage Gleam”

Woody, I must tell you that was some of the finest writing I’ve seen this decade and that includes several articles by Christopher Hitchens’ in the Atlantic such as his review of Revolutionary Road and most of John Updike’s works.

Woody is responding

“Well, yeah, thanks – I’ve considered writing to be a passion along with being a swain and acting of course, I’d really like to get behind the camera next.”

Ladies and Gents please stay tuned during this important commercial break – we’ll be handing out more awards later including “Most Violent Gunslinger” “Character Most Likely to Murder the Rest of the Ensemble Cast” and the coveted “Best Actor Thrown Forward In Time to Appear in a Dinner Theater Production of ‘Jesus Christ Superstar.’”

Writing Frightening Verse to a Bucktooth Girl in Luxembourg

Hannon/Turnips was in a deep funk.

He sat at his spartan bunk gazing through sunken, red-rimmed eyes at his two adventuring mates, Woody the Half-Elven Illusionist and the Admiral. He absentmindedly twirled the magical dodecahedron in his fingers.

Lord Turnips/Hannon clearly re-emphasized that whilst the Good Party enjoyed many outstanding adventures and had blasted to smithereens, rendered unto dust, dispatched with make-do monster vertebrae flails, and generally smoten . . . many a foe, they had done so under the banner of lawful goodishness.

He also raised a point about the appropriate casus belli that led them to sack the Temple of the Daughters of Odin and Count Grimani’s Castle.

But, it was more than this, it was more than Salina or the imprisoned Lady M or the creepy pair of characters constantly building coffins in the ships’ hold.

Woody hesistated at first but decided they had to do something, “Look Turnips, you know what I do when I when I’m feeling down in the dumps like you? I compose another brilliant poem!”

The Admiral sensing an opening added “And I write entertaining stories in my logbook in which I visualize outcomes to my liking!”

“Sure” Woody added, “And look at old Bocking, he composes rude songs about people when he’s not planning their murders. That’s how he takes his mind off his troubles.”

“I’ve actually started one” replied Turnips as he showed them his own notebook.

Inside was indeed an introduction to a poem. It went as follows: “The day is gone and all its sweets are gone, soft voice ..”

Woody broke in sounding annoyed, “No, no, oh no, not all gooey like that! You need to write poems about dragons, dirks and lances and vanquishing wicked Lichs!”

“Now wait a second Woody, I’ve seen some of your stuff about certain ladies and its just like that” the Admiral chided.

“What were you doing looking in my personal poem book Freebooter?” said Woody, hands place petulantly on his hips.

“Well, it just so happens that I’m the Captain of this vessel..” but the Admiral was unable to finish his statement because both he and Woody somehow found themselves in a slap fight with Turnips caught between the two - each launching highly ineffective blows on the other.

“I think I’ll go talk to Cash and Vardaman” said Turnips as he escaped the cabin.

Exeunt to the Tavern!

In the bleak mid-winter I often travel to visit my comrade-in-arms, Admiral Rossaroni’s, at his heroic citadel, Barrister’s Keepe. We tell tales of past adventures and enjoy fine ales served in goblets fashioned from fine Greyhawk silver and crystal. Sometimes I stop by to borrow fifty feet of rope and a bullseye lantern (I rarely employ the lantern however, since I possess the half-elf’s infravision).

I recall a favorite tale wherein I defeated a Catoblepas, a nightmare creature, loathsome beyond description. Its body resembles that of a huge bloated buffalo and gives off an offensive odor. The odor, naturally, matches its favorite haunt – the fetid swamp. Regrettably, this creature’s gaze causes death in manner similar to a wizard’s death ray spell.

Before, I could complete my marvelous epic, the Admiral interrupted. He waved away Schott, his oaf, then leaned over and carefully explained to me that we would be embarking on his ship, the Planetary Sovereign to undertake a rescue mission to find Lady Marzipan and her manservant Johnny 6G.

Luckily, I’d packed my Wand of Illusion, a few scrolls, two weeks rations and some healing potions. No one will ever say Woodpecker-Smythe, 10^th level illusionist is ever unprepared!

But we still needed able-bodied back-up for the Admiral’s trusty steel, the +5 magic sword “Sabrina Tuberculomata Teleutosorus" and my amazing skills at magic.

Now, just where in the world could we find the types of adventurers willing to round out our party on such short notice?

“Fedor's Tavern?” I thought out loud

Welcome Adventurers!

What ho, everyone! Allow me to introduce myself. I am Admiral Rossaroni, Freebooter. I have been in residence in Barrister's Keepe, and the nearby Barrister's Keepe harbour, on and off, for too many years to count. While I am a veteran of many an adventure, I am most commonly known for defeating a +4 Kraken last year with my crew of the good ship Planetary Soverign (good thing I had my +2 enchanted broadsword with me at the time).

I must apoligize to you, dear reader, for the quality of my post, as I seem to have a slight headache today to go along with the strange bump on my head. I also seem to have something that can only be described as a vague memory of living an entire lifetime somewhere called "England" and that I was some sort of pompous, aritocratic buffoon. But, as everyone knows, I have been living at Barrister's Keepe ever since my childhood, when the Fell Winter brought the Orc Invasion that has plagued our land ever since. Well, I'm sure I'll get everything sorted out in my old noggin before too long, so fear not.

At present I am embarked on a quest. I am sailing, with my crew and a band of Intrepid Adventurers (tm), to a distant land to rescue one Lady Marzipan and her manservant J6G.

You Only Live Thrice OR ... HAI KARATE!!!!!!

Turbulent weather appeared on the horizon. Clouds roiled, waves tossed, seabirds careened and cartwheeled about the ev’r darkening sky.

Johnny Sixguns was first to note the change in atmospherics, “Aye, there’s turnbulent weather afoot.”

“I think you mean ‘tur-bu-lent’ not 'turnbulent' Johnny” replied Lady Marzipan.

“No I mean turnbulent – see, look at the donkey’s tail on this comical barometer I picked up in the Black Forest – the tail is swinging around and translating from the German interpretation beneath, it means ‘the weather will be turnbulent.’”

To which Lady M retorted, “You are the biggest idiot I’ve ever met, remind me to murder you later … if we survive.”

Before Sixguns could reply, lighting arced across the turnbulent sky …..

“STOP saying ‘turnbulent’ !” Lady M screamed above the din.

“… the turbulent sky, striking the small craft, sending its occupants about forty feet into the air.”

The streaking pair left behind the lifeboat which was promptly crushed into matchstick sized remnants by the next wave (which, for foreshadowing’s sake was depicted in the 17^th century Japanese woodcut style).

Eventually, dawn came and our two travelers awoke covered with seaweed and surrounded by a forest of poles with pointy-bladey things affixed to their termini. These of course might better be described as halberds but neither Johnny Sixguns or Lady M were in any shape to recall the fantastic weaponry of the AD&D Players Handbook (version 1).

To the shouts of onlookers, Lord Toranaga confidently strode through the crowd and parted the mass of weapons to better assess the situation. He gazed down at the bedraggled survivors.

Groggily, Lady M raised here head and spoke “Have you ever heard the one about Rene Descartes in the bar?”

Barrister's Keepe Kidz Korner!!!!

Kids, have you considered the possibility that if Lady Marzipan and Johnny Sixguns were isolated from the rest of the universe, except for the gravitational pull exerted by the Earth and the Moon, both might evolve into a non-localized quantum state over the next 20 years?

Wowzers! That’s a whole heap of quantum uncertainty without even considering the eigenvectors!!!

See, boys and girls both Johnny Sixguns and Lady Marzipan, as they sit in their lifeboat, are being bombarded by photons and those zany photons have their own quantum states which get all tangled up with each other.

So, how do keep track of all those crazy states?? Here’s a hint: the Lyapunov exponent is about 10 days for the both of them and this system is dissipative.

The BK Kidz Korner Challenge:

Clever children please post a 10-15 page white paper which models the various system states (a system in this case being Johnny Sixguns, Lady Marzipan, the lifeboat, the aforementioned gravity & photons plus a few sharks) and proposes a solution to their quandary (avoiding the non-localized quantum state). The lucky winner shall receive a gift certificate for 5 Crowns, 3 shillings and a halfpenny (good at all Barrister’s Keepe Gift Shoppes!).

The Albin Counter Gambit

Well, thanks to Mr. Sixguns, my last hopes for a quick and satisfying gin and tonic evaporated in shards of glass as the bottle of Bluejacket disintegrated upon the reaction with the .44 caliber bullets from Mr. Sixguns’ pistol.

Drat, I had rather wanted to try that brand.

At any rate, it was but a few moments later and he was hurrying me from the crumbling casino down Rue St. Pierre, towards the Macau docks where a speedy motorized junk bobbed innocently in the muddy waters of the bay.

“Move it Woody” Sixguns barked and I felt the sinister barrel of his revolvers in the small of my back.

“Very well, you extremely rude person!” I said, back straight and head held high, “for I am an Englishman and I do not take to that sort of cheeky behavior; I strongly suggest a more civilized tone as you might find it works wonders in the encouragement department.”

Sixguns paused, looked skyward, chewed something and then spoke “I don’t’ have time for yer stiff upper lip English baloney, if you look down the street I think you’ll catch a glimpse of one TYPE HORDE Battalion fixin’ to run us down.”

“Great Scot” I cried, “We’ll be awash in innumerable forms and our ears shall be assaulted by off-key chanting and yelling.”

“That’s right Woodburger” Sixguns added

I continued, “Yes, the that battalion has several sub-elements such as the dreaded red tape company, the sneaky devil platoon and the atrocity platoon, not to mention the medium blivet squad.”

Sixguns quickly reassured me, “Yeah, but it’ll take ‘em all a while to get here on account of them there crates of rubber stamps, bugles, whistles, chant booklets, and medium atrocity kits being so heavy and awkward,”

Luckily then, we did make our escape as the Type Horde Battalion and its various companies, platoons and squads descended on the Casino. Soon we were safely aboard the motorized junk, “Nanki-Poo”,(safely being a relative term in this instance).

To my surprise, there was a rather calm and collected Lady Marzipan awaiting my arrival, arms akimbo and eyebrows arched.

She spoke, “Well, well, look what the cat dragged in, my old pal J6G and my erstwhile gambling partner, Woodpecker-Smythe.”

“Oh, hello, my dear Marzipan”, I began brightly, “I am so happy you’re well and looking simply smashing in that Oriental garb (she was now wearing a kimono embroidered with a fanciful scene of egrets, lotus flowers and other Nipponese themes).”

I didn’t get much further when she cut me off and said “Now see W-S, today is your lucky day, I was able to talk the two bishops, of your acquaintance into returning the money by appealing to their religious sensibilities – I merely anointed there pates with this black jack”

She slapped the blackjack in her hand in an ominous fashion.

She continued, “Funny thing about those bishops; they were loaded and I relieved them of their extra dough and now we have enough cash to buy two Q-Devices plus a hideaway in the Sandwich Islands. Of course, what I want to do now is so simple even an epsilon minus, semi-prole simpleton like you could do it with out fouling it up”

Obviously she’d been reading some of the Huxley, I’d suggested several years ago but that comment still hurt.

“Here’s my plan: we are going to sail to the South China see to intercept Nemo’s boat, the Ammonite. Once within wireless range we shall broadcast a distress signal to lure him to us” she added in a diabolically sinuous tone.

“Oh, Nemo will never fall for that – he know’s your voice and after all you killed his parents, set a squadron of ships to sink his boat and checked out numerous books on his library card which you never returned” I stated confidently.

Marzipan was non-plussed as usual and delivered the following devastating line:

“YOU shall broadcast the signal and then Mr. Sixguns and I shall sneak aboard his ship and hijack it!”

“But that’s simply awful and not at all cricket,” I interrupted, “Nemo is my friend and he’s got the Brigadier and Lord Turnips along, and Lord Turnips has that absolutely adorable little pirate son, Capt Stuart – he looks so cute in his pirate hat and little sword!”

“But, you shall, Woodpecker, you shall, because if you do not, I shall have to tell your dear Lady Lyme Weoghe about your own trips to the library to check out books such as ‘Clever Sayings for the Wooing of Ladyfolk’ and the like. I imagine that would be quite embarrassing” she added for extra ill effect.

“You are far to clever for me – the Albin Counter Gambit – I should have recognized it when you suggested the game of baccarat. Very well, I shall do your wicked task, just promise me that you will not hurt my friends,” I begged.

My two tormenters replied in unison, “Of course we won’t hurt your friends, you can trust us!”

A Very Narrow Escape

After ignoring the horrible message of warning from the old krone on the corner of 绝望 (Despair Street) and 繁體中文版 (Fishhead Street). Captain Stuart Turnips and his new pal Scaramanga lighted out for the Lucky Dragon casino, saloon, and lair of Heung Wah-yim, the leader of the Sun Yee On triad.



Scaramanga's select group of henchmen trailed behind led by the few individuals named in Chapter 5 of the Captain Stuart/Scaramanga backstory: Chop-xin, Lin Ye Tan, Fang Chi, and Timothy. There were others of course but Captain Stuart didn't have time to memorize them. All he knew was that he was being safely escorted through the dank, sunless streets of Kowloon Walled City toward a rendezvous with some nice people that Scaramanga thought might have some work for him. Scaramanga suggested that they might be able to get something strong to drink. Captain Stuart imagined that this might be some "fizzy stuff" that his super cool father had once given him unbeknownst to Lady Turnips while Lord Turnips was watching the youngster during one of Mother's Summer trips to the Greyhawk baths.

The entourage armed with bill hooks, halberds, nunchukus and assorted other swords and blades appeared incredibly formidable except anyone who giving the assorted arsenal closer inspection would immediately notice that these were stage weapons and largely made of light woods and having rubber blades. Scaramanga began to calculate in his mind the danger he might be in if things went south at the Lucky Dragon. He mused to himself that he was armed with his trusty golden gun (tm). He was painfully aware in his calculations that it would only provide him with only one incredibly accurate shot per minute. So, while he could likely find the precise location of greatest vulnerability and deliver a killing shot on a Wyvvern or Stone Giant, or one of the lesser Lovecraftian demi-gods, he'd be in trouble with a capital T if he encountered a mass foe, such as an army of ghouls, or a mass of martial artists, or heaven forfend . . . an army of ghoul martial artists. In most eventualities, he'd have to trust that his art-obsessed entourage would be able to bluff their way through. Although the eventuality of an army of ghouls would have greater consequences beyond his ability to calculate exactly at that moment. Just as he was doing these mental gymnastics his entourage arrived at the Lucky Dragon.







(They have a nice new sign)

As they entered the Lucky Dragon, the door slammed shut behind Scaramanga and Captain Stuart and around 10 of the members of the entourage who had managed to squeeze into the rather smallish establishment, which was not a casino at all but rather some sort of smorgasbord type cafeteria. The remaining indeterminate number of Scaramanga's entourage were forced to stare in the glass windows as they waited for some space to open up inside. Scaramanga and Captain Stuart apprised the board of fare. The food seemed to be competitively priced, although heavily weighted toward starchy rice, some gristley batter-coated chicken or perhaps pork and some rather dodgy looking beans and broccoli in a sort of brownish sauce. Captain Stuart asked the lady for some "fizzy stuff" to drink and he was handed a red can that was room temperature at best. Scaramanga, glanced at the can in Captain Stuart's hands and asked if he'd ever drank Coca Cola before.

Scaramanga decided to ask after Heung Wah-yim to see if he needed any "wet" work done. Bounding out from the kitchen came a rotund Asian man wearing a rather worn plaid short sleeve shirt, chinos and wearing a white apron stained with the previously noted brownish sauce. Scaramanga noticed (and devotees who read his advice column will note how important this is) that his old client's shoes were cracked and the laces were frayed: not the way to convey confidence and success at all.

"Hello, hello, Engrish Gentlemens, How can Heung Wah-yim help you today? Have you try Fried Duck with plum sauce?" Scaramanga noticed at once that his old client had fallen on rather hard times. "Heung Wah-yim you old scoundrel, how the devil are you?" Heung Wah-yim greeted Scaramanga with a scowl. "You should not come to Kowloon Scaramanga! General Tang's men are searching the street for you. He say you owe him a first edition copy of Balzac's Human Comedy and you no pay off bet on Grand National rast year." He had no sooner stopped talking when the sound of a scuffle in the street could be heard and several bursts from the distinctive Type 50 submachine gun carried by the People's Liberation Army soldiers.

(This is Balzac)



(The CHICOM soldiers looked like this, except NOT smiling)





Scaramanga knew at once that he needed to make a beeline from the Lucky Dragon because as already mentioned, his golden gun (tm) was no match for a platoon of CHICOM soldiers armed with burpguns. General Tang's men shot up the window of the Lucky Dragon and burst through in dramatic fashion. Some of them armed with rifles and bayonets lunged toward the members of Scaramanga's entourage and a fight ensued in which the close spaces of the tightly compacted restaurant provided very little space for the halberds and bill hooks but also negated the advantage of the bayonets and made firing weapons very dangerous. In these tight spaces it was enormously lucky that Captain Stuart was able to read his copy of the book on Ka-rate that he borrowed from the lending library last year. He delivered several precision knockout blows to CHICOM soldiers and fought his way through the melee to Scaramanga who was just slipping through a bathroom window into the night air. Scaramanga shouted to Captain Stuart "hurry, we have to get back to the Casino Lisbao as soon as possible. We have to find Johnny Sixguns before it's too late!!!"

Captain Stuart tucked the red can in his pocket and began running after Scaramanga as the sounds of melee faded behind them.

Didacts and Narpets

Captain Stuart Turnips was just about to enter the terribly exciting and glittering Casino Lisboa with all the sexy possibilitites of high-stakes gambling, overpriced alcoholic drinks with funny names and improbable encounters with characters from his father's college years. He was with his new friend: the dread assassin Scaramanga. Following at a short distance: his motley assortment pseudo intellectual associates comprising his so-called "Army of Martial Artists".


This group, although clearly a collection of oriental fops and dandys, was trying its mightiest to appear menacing and tough to the street goers of Macao. They even went so far as to wield martial arts weapons whilst wearing black cotton gi derived from the Japanese Shinobi shozoku, which if the year were 1975-1980 rather than 1966 would have made them look pretty bad ass instead of like a bunch of underfed guys in pajamas carrying halberds, nunchuku, and bill hooks (n.b.: if you review the AD&D players handbook the latter can be a very effective weapon against larger monsters).

Captain Stuart was a mere lad with little framework for the relative cool-ness or nerd-li-ness of his entourage whatever the particular year of our Lord. Scaramanga, for his part was noticeably uneasy. He had a reputation as a world reknown assassin, gun for hire, and patron of the dark arts to uphold. Despite his dread reputation he really was a soft touch and could not resist the pleading of his minions in particular when someone in the party suggested that as a side trip, they go to Kowloon Walled City to pick up a first edition of Oscar Wilde's Lady Windermere's Fan that was rumored to be held by the Sun Yee On triad but which was being offered as the grand prize in a martial arts tournament to be held that very Sunday.

As is common knowledge, even to a time travelling pirate like Captain Stuart Turnips, the Kowloon Walled City is a completely poverty stricken, lawless, overbuilt, unplanned, urban heck hole that makes the hillside shanty towns of Sao Paulo or Nairobi look like Kensington or Mayfair.*

Scaramanga didn't mind going into the Kowloon Walled City. He felt that a trip to visit his old friend Heung Wah-yim, the leader of the Sun Yee On triad would avail him of some work in the so-called "mortality business".

Stuart for his part was just looking for a way to convince these fine people to help him rescue his crew from the CHICOMs and get back his ship the Blue Side of American. In his mind, which lacked even the barest rudiments of a plan, everything seemed to be going vaguely ok. Scaramanga seemed nice enough, the fops and dandys seemed earnest if not exactly lucid, Macau and Hong Kong had nice weather.

Scaramanga, Stuart and the assorted fops, dandys, and poets in Scaramanga's entourage entered the sunless, claustrophobic, urban nightmare of Kowloon Walled City and asked a nearby krone for directions to the infamous Lucky Dragon Bar and Go Go Casino which was reputed to be where Heung Wah-yim, conducted his business. The harpy coughed and spat a toothless grin at them. She shouted at them in Cantonese 傻瓜，烧毁的賭博娛樂場 (which roughly translates to "you idiots, the old casino burned down"). Scaramanga, who spoke perfect Cantonese dialect pointed at the old woman and made a gesture with his thumb against the back of his front teeth. The old woman suddenly realized who Scaramanga was as she was thrown off by his decidedly uncool associates. She decided to change her tack so as not to antagonize her interrogatories. She said brightly 去釣魚新的賭博娛樂場的腦子街道 (which roughly translates to "Very sorry, you should go to Fish Brain street for the new casino Lucky Dragon" although "fish brain" may well have been "fish head" in this dialect.)

Just as the old woman was about to return to her toothless spitting and cursing she recognized Captain Stuart. She pointed her crooked finger at him and motioned him over to her and whispered 您是畏懼的海盜白蘿卜。 我有警告可怕的消息，但是不能在您的同事前面告訴 (which if Stuart understood a lick of Cantonese would have told him "If you are the pirate Turnips. I have horrible message of warning that I must not tell in front of your associates")

As Stuart listened to the old woman he felt her garlicky breath tickle his ears and he began to giggle. Whatever this silly old person was trying to tell him was lost on him. He smiled as warmly as he could and wished her a nice day in his best church Sunday greeting. "What a nice old woman" he thought to himself.

*Until they were torn down by the Chinese and British in the mid 1990s, Kowloon Walled City was considered no-man's land between the People's Republic of China and British Hong Kong. The state of anarchy served the interest of the criminal triads and provided a haven for those on the run from either government.