Chapter 98:
Ch’nook of the North and his
Crawl from the Wild --Bill
Hillman
“Mush! Mush! On you huskies! On Buck...
On Spitz... On Lassie fellow... . On Yeller... On Benji... On Bruce...
On Trikki Woo... On Babe... On Donder and Blitzen... On big fellows...
Mush!”
The Jeddak of the North -- Warlord of Words
-- Mighty Warrior of the Canadian Wilderness, presented a gallant picture
as he pulled out of his driveway in his custom-made dog sled and headed
south -- his way lit by the aurora borealis dancing in the night sky behind
him. The initial shock of the intrusion into his home by Tangor’s henchmen
had turned to feelings of anger which spurred the usually unflappable Canuck
into action.
Mrs. Jeddak had packed a lunch of his favourite
survival fare -- two ton soup, dried squid lips and sticky rice balls --
while his offspring had rounded up enough animals from around the neighbourhood
to make up a team capable of launching his sled into the deep south of
the continent. He knew he had no time to lose. Tangor had gone too far
this time.
“’Kookie Canuck Crackpot’... indeed. Thinks
he’s the ‘salt of the earth’ does he! What in heck does he mean by that?”
After switching on the auto-musher, the Jeddak left his command post at
the intricate G-pole controls and crawled into the passenger cockpit of
the sled to study his pocket dictionary by the light of the pole star.
“Mmmm.... SALT... ‘...a medicine that causes
movement of the bowels’... Yep... ‘To make appear more prosperous or productive
by fraudulent or illegal means’... Yep... ‘A sailor, especially an experienced
one - a gob’... Uh?... Tangor, a sailor? Well, two out of three ain’t bad.”
The Warlord of Words moved deeper into the
pile of furs and snuggled up to the hot water bottles that Mrs. Jeddak
had so thoughtfully provided. “It’s dang cold for late October. Minus 40...
Lucky for us that’s measured in Celsius. I shudder to think how cold that
would be on the old Fahrenheit scale.”
He had just put his favourite 8-track cartridge
into the on-sled player -- The Blues Buoys Live at the Elks Club in
Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan -- when the panting dog team swerved to one
side to avoid a car stuck in a snow bank in the middle of the single track
road.
“Damn fools. Don’t they know you can’t drive
a car in Canada in the middle of winter. Why, it’s Halloween tomorrow for
cripes sake!”
As the sled sped past the snow-covered, stalled
vehicle he noticed that it was a maroon 1949 Ford sedan with Texas plates,
and huddled in the front seat of the frozen car were three familiar-looking,
blue-faced thugs in narrow-brimmed hats.
“Ha! Let’s see them get outa this one. On
my huskies... it’s California or bust!”
The night was clear and the moon was yellow
and the only traffic on the road consisted of sleds driven by the occasional
Indian trapper and French Canadian fur trader. The Jeddak settled in for
a long journey. Tiring of the tape of hurting songs in waltz time, he reached
down to try to tune in the sled’s wind-up radio to CBC North. The network
had been plugging a new upcoming line-up of soap operas all week: Ma
Perkins, Pepper Young’s Family, One Man’s Family, Stella
Dallas -- trendy topical stuff just too good to miss.
“Mmmm... now where is that CBC station...
mmm... Oh, there’s that American station ERBS... sure pumpin’ out their
signal tonight... must be using that MegaWatt Wolfman pirate tower out
of Mexico again.”
“We interrupt our live remote from the Farris
Big Wheel Club to take you to Pismo Beach ....where our man Orcan Whales
is standing by. Orcan...”
“I am speaking from the roof of the Pismo
Beach Women’s Auxiliary tea room. The bells you hear are ringing to warn
people to evacuate the city. The streets are jammed. The weather balloons
are still falling. Accompanying these alien IFOs are billowing clouds of
lethal black smog which so far have had little or no effect on our hardy
Californians. But the awesome FAY Ray has incapacitated the army guys.
Parts of the city are experiencing mob hysteria. Starbucks has been looted.
The 7-11 is closed. And ahh... wait... I have just been handed a bulletin
... in an amazing development the White House has officially declared tomorrow
to be New Year’s Day 2000!... and...”
“Enough... enough... pull a little harder
there Rinty... Mush!... On you huskies!”
“And now Oxydol presents America’s mother
of the air waves... America’s own Ma Perkins....”
But the Warlord’s mind just wasn’t on entertainment
tonight. He hadn’t wanted to scare the folks back home, but during his
set-to with the American thugs, one of them had dropped a hit list, listing
major Canadian heroes that Tangor had earmarked as the next victims for
his bottomless pit. He seemed to have a thing against Canadians, and especially
actors, writers and musicians:
Aykroyd, Dan * Bochner, Lloyd * Burr, Raymond
* Cameron, James * Cameron, Rod * Candy, John * Carrey, Jim * Carson, Jack
* Chong, Tommy * Cronenberg, David * Dmytryk, Edward * Doohan, James “Scotty”
* Ford, Glenn * Fox, Michael J. * Fraser, Brendan * Galbraith, John Kenneth
* George, Chief Dan * Gibson, William * Goulet, Robert * Greene, Graham
* Greene, Lorne * Hall, Monty * Henning, Doug * Hiller, Arthur * Hockey
Stars, NHL * Huston, Walter * Jennings, Peter * Jewison, Norman * Kent,
Arthur * Kitsch, Taylor * Levy, Eugene * Linkletter, Art * Little, Rich
* Lockhart, Gene * MacDonald, Norm * MacNeil, Robert * Mandel, Howie *
Massey, Raymond * Mayer, Louis B * McLuhan, Marshall * Michaels, Lorne
* Moranis, Rick * Morse, Barry * Myers, Mike * Nielsen, Leslie * Perry,
Matthew * Pidgeon, Walter * Plummer, Christopher * Priestley, Jason * Reeves,
Keanu * Rogen, Seth * Safer, Morley * Sahl, Mort * Sarrazin, Michael *
Shuster, Joe (Superman creator) * Sennett, Mack * Service, Robert * Shatner,
William * Short, Martin * Silverheels, Jay * Smith, Steve (Red Green) *
Steinberg, Dave * Sutherland, Donald * Sutherland, Kiefer * Thicke, Alan:
Actor * Thomas, Dave * Trebek, Alex * Vernon, John * the Villeneuves *
Warner, Jack * Wayne & Schuster
Anderson, Pamela * Bujold, Genevieve * Cattrall,
Kim * De Carlo, Yvonne * Dewhurst, Colleen * Dressler, Marie * Durbin,
Deanna * Keeler, Ruby * Kidder, Margot * Kuzyk, Mimi: Actress * Lillie,
Beatrice * Martin, Andrea * Maxwell, Lois * Nelligan, Kate * O'Hara, Catherine
* Oh, Sandra * Paquin, Anna * Pickford, Mary * Rutherford, Ann * Shaver,
Helen * Shearer, Norma * Smith, Alexis * Stratton, Dorothy * Tilly, Jennifer
* Tilly, Meg * Tweed, Shannon * Wray, Fay
Adams, Bryan * Anka, Paul * April Wine *
Arden, Jann * Bachman-Turner-Overdrive * Breau, Lenny * Cockburn, Bruce
* Cohen, Leonard * Crash Test Dummies * Dion, Celine * Ferguson, Maynard
* Gould, Glenn * The Guess Who * Healey, Jeff * lang, k.d * Lightfoot,
Gordon * Lombardo, Guy * McGarrigle, Kate and Anna * McKennitt, Loreena
* McLachlan, Sarah * Mitchell, Joni * Morissette, Alanis * Murray, Anne
* Peterson, Oscar * Robertson, Robbie * Rush * Sainte-Marie, Buffy * Shaffer,
Paul * Siberry, Jane * Snow, Hank * Stratas, Teresa * Twain, Shania * The
Tragically Hip * Young, Neil...
The thought of the mad Texan hurling these
Canadian icons into a bottomless pit of oblivion sent shivers down the
Jeddak’s spine and further strengthened his resolve to get to the Golden
State in record time.
“Faster you huskies... and that means you
too Cleaver Beaver, you’ll have time to sleep after we have finished our
mission.” The team had been extremely fortunate in having recruited this
famous furry symbol of the Canadian nation as lead animal -- luckily they
had been able to awaken him from his winter’s nap, but he hadn’t found
his winter legs yet and the Jeddak noticed that kept dozing off and falling
asleep in the traces.
“M*U*S*H!”
Chapter 99:
MISTER Hilary Goes to Washington...
...In the Heat of the Fight
--Bill Hillman
It’s
a Nyce World After All
The unerring homing
instinct and acute hearing of Ward Cleaver guided him in leading the surviving
members of the Billman family back into familiar territory.
As they approached
a hilltop mansion, young Willie squealed with delight: “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!...
it’s that Nyce song - ‘It’s a Nyce world after all...’”
The weary but whistling
party was met at the Ratnaza Mansion entrance by Hitchcock who was unloading
the last of the day’s haul of groceries from a Yellow Cab waiting in the
driveway. He looked up in surprise and asked: “Where’s Master Bryce?”
This was too much for
the overwrought, bereaved Cleaver. The flood of upwelling emotions triggered
an incredible caterwauling. Wallowing in self pity he wrapped himself around
the butler’s spatted ankles and sobbed: “He’s gone... Albert... he’s gone...
What am I going to do. He’s got my Tamagotchi! It's gonna die!”
Hitchcock was the perfect
butler and host. Within an hour the travellers had been pampered, fed and
shown around the mansion -- all but Ward Cleaver who lay whimpering in
the top section of the two-tiered bunk bed unit that was usually slept
in by poor Bryce.
Man the Lifeboat
- Get the Woman and Children Outa Here
It did not take long
for the rejuvenated Billman off-springs to invade every nook and cranny
of the Ratnaza mansion. There seemed to be no place for staid Albert to
hide. When he discovered that the onslaught had advanced as far as his
favourite sanctuary, the ground floor study, he could take no more.
“Out! Out! You ruffians...
you hooligans!” shouted the harried butler as he shooed the rampaging Billman
kids out of the newly created shambles. These little monsters had taken
over the entire mansion. “I Confess, I should have stuck with that gig
as stage director at the Jamaica Inn -- Stagefright or not!” he groused
to himself as he dug through the rubble to retrieve his damaged prize leather
Paradine Case with the Capricorn insignia. He realized now that he was
the Wrong Man for this job.
He stood Spellbound
and, as memories of his past failures swirled through his mind, he was
overwhelmed with feelings of Vertigo and Suspense. Here he was, Hiding
in his own room -- convinced without a Shadow of a Doubt that this was
a Billman Family Plot to drive him into a Frenzy. All of his jobs had ended
this way. First there was that Trouble with Harry and that Psycho, Marnie,
and those two Strangers on a Train -- Mr. and Mrs. Smith -- who in their
zeal To Catch a Thief, had put him under Suspicion. Jeeze, it was only
an old copy of Juno and the Paycock! You’d think he had committed a Murder
or was a Notorious Saboteur or something. Then he saw her, Rebecca - the
Woman Alone. The Girl was Young, -- Young and Innocent -- and a Foreign
Correspondent. For Albert it was love at first sight but, 39 Steps past
the dining car and the Lady Vanishes -- along with his dreams and....
Shaking off his depression,
he looked around the demolished den, pulled back the Rope of the Torn Curtain
which covered the Rear Window and looked out to the North, By Northwest.
At first he thought the falling objects in the brilliant Topaz sky were
Birds but upon closer scrutiny he realized that he was witness to a downpouring
of weather balloons. There was something wrong. Seriously wrong. He reached
for the phone and Dialed M, For.... yes, this was a job for a Secret Agent
-- he could always count on him -- the Man Who Knew Too Much!
Bungalow
Bill
Meanwhile the Billman
kids had joined their mother Cilli who was being entertained by the giant
multi-screen video wall in the Media Room. They were just getting into
an exciting Brady Bunch rerun when the show was interrupted by a synthesized
trumpet fanfare and a familiar Double B insignia that flashed across the
centre screen.
“We now present a special,
non-scheduled Presidential address to the nation, televised from the White
House. Accompanying the President in this important telecast are advisors
from the American Laser Lab and Federal Underground Complex for Keeping
Extraterrestrial Dudes and UFOs Pickled.”
Despite the time-consuming
and tongue-twisting inconvenience of calling this complex by its full name
each time, the media preferred to struggle through the long moniker rather
than use the unfortunate acronym.
“We take you now to
the White House and President Bill Blimpton.”
“Mommy, Mommy those
are the initials on all of Daddy’s paper things... BB. Why is the President
wearing that silly big hat Mommy? Oh! Mommy look. There’s Daddy... look,
he’s with the president!” cried excited little Phillie as she trampolined
on the imported leather sofa.
“My fellow Americans.
It is with heavy head that I come to you tonight,” spoke the burdened leader
of the Western world in a plodding and stilted monotone.
“Our nation and the
planet are under attack. Countless numbers of weather balloon-shaped alien
spacecraft are landing on our soil. The accompanying black smog cloud has
proven to be ineffectual in Southern California but is turning out to be
a very lethal weapon elsewhere in the world. Even more of a threat is posed
by the enemy’s FAY Ray which has incapacitated the gallant members of our
armed forces by turning them into mind-washed, love-starved zombies --
with the base instincts of a gorilla. My scientific advisers have devised
a daring strategy. What we are about to present to you is for your eyes
and ears only. It is top secret stuff. My wife and chief advisor, Hilary,
will explain the plan.”
The introduction seemed
to catch Hilary Billman off guard and he muttered a surprised: “Wife???
Eh??? [Canadian writer’s translation for American audiences: ‘Huh’]”
The advisor made a
rapid recovery from the shock of the inaccurate introduction and turned
to face the close-up camera to outline the strategy he had so cleverly
prepared.
“Anyway... ah... Thank-you
Mr. President. Our plan is daring and simple. At midnight tonight GMT,
the entire planet must advance all calendars to the year 2000. Tomorrow
IS New Year’s day - October 31, 2000 AD. Tomorrow we celebrate the new
Millennium... and I do mean celebrate. At noon tomorrow -- upon hearing
the code words MORK KLAATU MINDY NICKNITE -- EVERY inhabitant of this planet
will take to the streets to celebrate the coming of the year 2000.
“Thanks to computer
guru Bill Greats, every computer in the Universe is programmed to self-destruct
with the coming of the new Millennium. We must convince the enemy that
the clocks on their computers are all wrong which will force them to change
their dates to 2000 AD. If their computers fail... so will their entire
network of weapons and life-support systems... and with the help of the
Millennium Bug, we can...”
Before the Presidential
Advisor could end his speech all hell broke loose. Crashing up through
the floor and impaling the president’s desk appeared the tip of giant corkscrew
which was soon followed by the emergence of a huge burrowing machine. The
cameras were upset and bumped askew revealing that the White House Oval
Office was really a mock-up set and backdrop, positioned in the middle
of a gigantic hangar which was filled with row upon row of metallic weather-balloons.
The President was knocked
to the floor, losing his gigantic floppy hat which, to everyone’s amazement,
ran away on spider legs leaving the world leader sitting on the floor with
a bewildered vacant expression on his face.
Only two people seemed
to have had the presence of mind to take action. A grey-haired advisor
wearing the name tag “Buzz Bozhart” leaped to the huge computer console
which had been offscreen until now. A tilted and slightly out-of-focus
television camera showed him furiously pounding a keyboard, entering directions
which were displayed on the huge wall monitors.
“PASSWORD:
klaatu
Disable
bionic doubles RETURN
Sonny
B. RETURN
Jane
P. RETURN
klaatu
RETURN”
Meanwhile, the sight
of this long, grey, almost whale-shaped craft seemed to have transformed
Hilary Billman into a madman. Cilli gasped as she saw her husband reach
for the ornate, spear-tipped flagpole supporting the Presidential flag
and charge toward the intruding burrower machine -- screaming: “Ho! The
great white! Towards you I come you monster whale. To the end of my life
I will fight with you!”
Before Cilli could
see Bozhart’s final entry or determine her husband’s fate, the television
screen turned to black.
“We are experiencing
technical difficulties with our special broadcast from the White House.
Please stand by. We now return to tonight’s exciting episode of the Brady
Bunch.”
Chapter 100:***Special
Centennial & Millennium
Gala Celebration Issue***--Bill
Hillman
Our mail bag has been overflowing with a
deluge of fan mail since the first edition of the Ratnaz Files and since
this is our 100th issue, we feel it is only fitting that we listen to,
and feature, the words of some of our loyal readers.
Is the Jeddak of the North really from Canada? What state
is that in? My Dad says it’s just left of Greenland.
Phillie
Editor: Yes,
unfortunately the Jeddak is a foreigner of non-American heritage. Canada
is in a state of confusion. Actually it is just to the right of the Alaskan
Panhandle.
I got this idea for a story. This earth guy goes to Mars,
you see. And he jumps all over the place and... well that’s as far as I
got... but it’s going to be really good.
Normal Nut
Are the Blues Buoys playing at the next Dumb Dumb? Where
can we buy their 8-track tapes? Abner and Dwit Yoakum
Editors: The
Blues Buoys 8-tracks are completely sold out. There are a few albums left
on Edison cylinders but they too are going fast. The boys have no plans
for playing the Dumb Dumb in the near future as they have an exclusive
contract with Farris’ Big Wheel Club... besides, a couple of old geezers
stole their Volkswagen mini bus a while back.
Why does Whizzle cost so much more than those cheap McGurgle
and Grossitter and Bunlap reprints. What a rip off! Furthermore, the paper
in the reprints is much easier to re-use out there in our little crescent
moon backhouse. Up with recycling!
Howard Sterno
What does Captain Canuck wear under that codpiece?
Wee Angus MacDonald
I always thought this was a family magazine. But now I
must protest. If your writer Tangor keeps writing filthy things, I feel
I must cancel my subscription for the sake of the children. Please feature
more of the clean, family-oriented stories by that Canadian fellow. My
two-year-old thinks they are the best.
Morel Magoraty
Editor: We will
be featuring many more of the wholesome stories by the Jeddak of the North
in the upcoming chapters. Look for “No Mo’! No Mo’! You! Naughty Ass” and
“4 People, Verses, Harry Flint’s Titillating Treasure Trove, and Some Naughty
Rap”
Why don’t you buy some stories by Otis Alavator Klimb?
He's just as good as old Ed.
Enna
How can we join the Rex, the Wonder Rooster fan club?
Dan and Jean
That Texas guy is a comedy genius. Me and the boys down
at the KKK club house are still laughing about that Chapter 77: You Only
Live Twice In Real Life. Have yuse guys thought of putting out another
all comedy issue of Ratnaz like that one?
Joe Goebbels III
Editors: Our
Texas writer, Tangor, reports that he is experiencing a writer’s block.
His well of inspiration has dried up and he is short a few hundred words
for his upcoming chapters. He invites all his readers to send in a few
words. Every little bit helps.
I think that Barbarians should ... (revised for brevity
from the original 36-page letter)... and besides, they can’t even apply
eyeliner properly.
Tuvane Tuyak
KUDOS
FROM FELLOW AUTHORS
We are looking for scripts for our next
season’s Ray Razzbury Theatre. We invite your team of writers to submit
scripts. We are especially interested in the adventures of that surfer
girl and her rooster.
Ray Razzbury
Keith, Richard and I just wrote a song about Rex the Wonder
Rooster. Do you want to hear it? It was a big hit when we played it at
Edgar Nyce’s Jeriatric Park.
Mick Jogger
Hope to see billions and billions more issues -- especially
ones about aliens. I just love Cosmetology.
Carl Shogun
Chief Astrologer and Cosmetologist at the
Nancy Reagan Conservatory Dedicated to Seeking Out Fading Stars
Your stuff is getting much better. I refuse to read the
early chapters. They should never have been written.
Michael Redneck
Why have you discontinued that adventure series about
those three Karas guys and their zither? Orcan Whales III
FROSTY, MELNICK, LEERMAN, LEAKMAN,
AND IZU, P.C.
FORMERLY CLAMPETT, BODINE AND ASSOCIATES
RR 3 BUGTUSSEL, TN
April 1, 2000
Re: Objection by BB, Inc. and Touchwood
Pictures to the use of RATNAZ and publishing of RATNAZ related stories
Dear Messrs. Tangor and Jeddak:
We are lawyers to B. Bozhart, Inc. ("BB")
and Nick Miser’s Touchwood Pictures Productions. Our clients have wrested
from their original creator, all existing rights to the RATNAZ trademark
and all related works as well as the following letters of the alphabet:
A, R, N, L, S, T and E (Rights to Z pending).
It has recently come to our attention that
you have written 100 chapters with the unauthorized prominent mis-use of
RATNAZ in their title and text. We hereby demand that you desist or you
will come under the wrath of our full legal clout.
Sincerely yours,
“Nuk ‘em” Nijinski
Chairman of the Bored
Editors: In
an effort to comply with the above demand, our writers are working on a
new name for our intrepid jungle hero. Some of the suggestions which have
crossed our desk have been Micky, Goofy, Chyp, Dopy, Louy, McDuck, and
Ch'mook. We trust that some or all of these shall meet with your approval.
FROM
THE EDITORS’ DESK:
As we go to press, the entire Ratnaz Files
cast from past issues are gathering in the Walmart parking lot next door
for a Centennial-Millennium Gala Celebration. Our entertainment editor
has been commissioned to report on this historic event and his feature
will appear in a future issue of this magazine.
Also slated to appear in a future issue is
a MEET THE AUTHORS feature where we shall share candid human interest stories
about our highly paid stable of artistes.
Chapter 101:
“No Mo’! No Mo’! You! Naughty Ass!"
--Bill Hillman
The eldest daughter of Hilary Billman fought
her way through the jungle underbrush until she reached an open glade where
she was momentarily set aback by the panoramic slendour of the scene which
stretched out before her. Milli resumed her desperate flight in the direction
of a remarkable waterfall on the far side of the clearing. The frightened
girl was half-way across the glade before her panting, yellow-jacketed
pursuer emerged cursing from the jungle. With his prey now in plain sight,
his chase took on renewed vigour, but as he saw her approach the waters
of the falls he suddenly lost sight of her as he tripped over the struggling
figures of a man and a woman concealed in the tall tropical grasses.
The force of the collision precipitated the
woman’s escape across the veldt, leaving Yellow Jacket to face the wrath
of her frustrated attacker. In the second before the man lunged at him,
the yellow avenger’s trained eye for detail noted that his opponent was
a burly character in sailor togs. He was an otherwise rather bland individual
except for his distinctive gob cap which was decorated with artistically
arranged, multi-hued parrot feathers which obviously had been laboriously
scotch-taped to the fabric to achieve a look of studied carelessness.
The testosterone-charged males clashed with
a ferocity usually associated only with wild, primitive beasts. Bryce Lee,
the Yellow Jacket, was no stranger to such barbaric contact. He broke away,
retreated some distance, and turned to vent a cry his ancestors had voiced
since time primordial.
“Owwwwwwwwwwwwch. Geeeze that hurt. What’d
ya wanna do that for!? You crazy or somethin’?”
Seeing that there was no reasoning with the
assailing sailor he prepared for battle and stood with fists raised high
in an awe-inspiring John L. Sullivan classic pugilist stance. Even this,
however, did not prepare him for the lunatic charge which toppled both
combatants into the pool below the falls.
Instinctively the student of every known
martial art drew from his bag of tricks the most feared technique practiced
by heavyweight prize fighters and before the grappling bodies had bobbed
to the surface, the hemi-Asian avenger had his teeth clamped firmly on
his opponent’s right ear.
Bryce Lee soon realized he had bitten off
more than he could chew. The appendages of his adversary seemed to have
grown and multiplied. He found himself cocooned in a bone-crunching coil
of pulsating tentacles and realized that his opponent was experiencing
the same plight -- they had been entrapped by the tentacles of a giant
octopus!
With only seconds of life left in his body,
the crushed crusader freed a hand and reached for his Buzz utility belt.
Lightning fast moves produced a battle-proven, life-saving weapon -- an
industrial strength vibrator. He applied the throbbing device to the monster’s
tickle prone underbelly long enough to relax the terrible grip of the tentacles.
What transpired next took place in a blur
faster than the eye could follow but by the time Lee was finished, the
eight-armed monster had been disabled by a phalanx of strategically clamped
handcuffs. The reprieve was short-lived, however, for in the confusion
of battle he realized that he had accidentally cuffed himself and the barbarian
to the writhing tentacles of their mutual foe.
Suddenly he felt very old and tired. As he
felt the veil of unconsciousness descending, his last thoughts were of
the his faithful young companion Splay-Toe. “The boy! Oh, I wish the boy
was here. He would give me strength.”
His fading auditory senses could hear the
faint far off cursing and pitiful pleadings of his new comrade in arms
who must surely have been in his final death throes: “Naughty Ass! Naughty
Ass! No Mo’! No Mo’!”
The last thing he remembered was a lion-like
roar and being raised up out of the water toward the heavens by a massive
force from below.
During the struggle between
the two barbarians and the marine monster, the crippled sub Naughtyass
had magically appeared from the bottomless depths of the pool and had risen
to the surface beneath them, hoisting the jumbled and teeming menage a
troi out of the water.
The craft had barely broken the surface when
a hatch on the conning tower was flung open and Captain No’mo leaped forth
to the rescue, roaring like an untamed beast and wildly swinging a fire
axe. Within moments, the deck was teeming with squirming detached tentacles,
body fluids and the sprawling bodies of the two now-unconscious victims
of the mighty mollusk. Defeated and dying, the armless body of the octopus
slid back into the depths.
Was this the end of the mighty Yellow Jacket?
Had the life of one so dedicated in his fearless battle against crime and
evil truly come to an end... at the arms of a filthy fishy foe? ....
Chapter 102:Four
People, Verses, Harry Flint’s Titillating Treasure Trove, and Some
Naughty Rap
-- Bill Hillman
Milli ended her dash across the jungle clearing
by plunging into the icy waters of the pool beneath a splendid waterfall
at the far side of the clearing. As she pulled herself onto the rocks near
the base of the falls, she could see what appeared to be a cave entrance
hidden behind the tumbling waters of the falls. She made her way over the
slippery rocks, through the cascading waters and into the cave mouth.
Before her eyes could grow accustomed to
the sudden darkness, she was grasped savagely by the hands of a wiry wheezing
old man with horny claw-like nails and hairy palms. Whatever nefarious
plans the old codger may have had in mind were thwarted prematurely by
the bombardment of two bodies falling upon him from a collapsing section
of the cave roof.
With the aid of the increased light from
the newly-formed opening above, Milli could see that her attacker was an
old bearded man -- only half conscious under the weight of the man and
woman she recognized as Darter and Dee Dee who had mysteriously disappeared
back at the Jeriatric Park reception lounge.
She could now see that the cave was lined
with chests each marked XXX. “Aha,” she muttered. “Moonshine liquor --
just like that stuff from Daddy’s still back in West Virginia.”
“What rock you bin hiding under Daisy Mae?”
came the muffled and laboured response from under Dan Darter. This ain’t
no Kickapoo Joy Juice, Sweetie. Ain’t no money in that stuff no mo’. We
got XXX RATED goods. Yo Ho Ho an’a bottle of rum gets a Ho Ho with a big-bottomed
bum -- he he he he!” the wild-eyed reprobate cackled out an uncontrollable
maniacal giggle at his lewd rhyme.
Feeling that he was being confronted by someone
even more perverted than himself, Dan Darter leaped to his feet and pulled
the two women to the far side of the cave. An upwelling of moral indignation
seemed to come over him as he tried to keep himself between the scantily
clad girls and the lecherous old coot of the caves.
“Who are you? What despicable activity are
you involved in?” asked Darter as he surveyed the XXX branded crates piled
along the walls of the cave.
“It’s Flint’s treasure. I moved it over here
from the stockade where Cap’n No’mo had stored it. It’s mine, mine, all
mine. It belongs to old Pete Gunn now. Look at this...look at that ...”
he screamed in near frenzy as he hobbled around the cavern. “Ain’t nobody’s
gonna get Harry Flint’s contraband XXX goodies.”
The amazed trio couldn’t help but notice
some of the magazine labels on the crates: Harry Flint’s Lustler, Huge
Heifer’s Playbore, and e.z. ‘doc’ smut's Great Glansman featured in All-Gory
Passion Stories.
“I got hot stuff here kiddies. Ya like ta
watch? I even got them there new fangled Vie-Dee-O tapie thingies. Ain’t
seen ‘em yet but the titles make even an ole salt like Pete Gunn blush.”
This unlikely curator of classic erotica
had carefully arranged, in alphabetical order, a huge selection of what
must have been some of the steamiest videos ever recorded to tape:
An Affair to Remember, African Queen, The
Agony and the Ecstasy, Big Top Pee Wee, Blood Alley, Casanova’s Big Night,
Cinderfella, The Devil and Miss Jones, Dr. Ehrlich’s Magic Bullet, Dragonwyck,
Earth Girls are Easy, Enter the Dragon, Fail-Safe, Family Jewels, The Farmer’s
Daughter, Fun with Dick and Jane, The Gay Ranchero, Geisha Boy, Good Fairy,
Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, The Horn Blows at Midnight, A Man Called
Horse, The Man with the Golden Gun, Mary Poppins, The Mating Game, Moby
Dick, A Night to Remember, Nuns on the Run, Octopussy, Of Human Bondage,
Nutcracker Fantasy, Notorious Landlady, On Top of Old Smokey, Pandora’s
Box, Pillow Talk, Please Don’t Eat the Daisys, Pocketful of Miracles, Privates
on Parade, Quigley Down Under, Sex Lies and Videotape, She’s Working Her
Way Through College, Some Like It Hot, Space Balls, Squaw Man, Switching
Channels, Teachers Pet, Three Men and a Little Lady, This Happy Breed,
Thunderball, Triumphs of a Man Called Horse, Two Mules for Sister Sarah,
Under the Cherry Moon, We Dive at Dawn, Wee Willie Winkie, What’s Up Tiger
Lily?, Wrong Box.
Their perusal of this treasure trove of forbidden
erotica was cut short by the sound of the incessant beat of rap music which
rose above the roar of the falls at the entrance to the cave.
Old Pete Gunn's face turned ashen and he
screamed out in terror: “Oh no... No’mo’s back Ya gotta hide me. I can’t
stand that noise. Not Slimey Whiteguy and Barber Strident and their yodel
rap duets. He’s found me ... I can’t take any more of that infernal caterwauling
he calls music. He’s got speakers everywhere on that underwater boat.”
“When I’m / call ing / yoo ooo / ooo ooo
/ ooo ooo / oo oo”
“Pee ple / pee ple / who need / pee pul
/ are the / luck ee / est Pee / pul in / the wirld...”
“Nooooo! He’s coming!” Pete Gunn’s terrified
cries reverberated through the catacombs as he ran deeper into the subterranean
labyrinth -- leaving Milli, Dee Dee and Darter alone to face the unknown
terrors just beyond the wall of water at the cave mouth.
Chapter 103:
Bertie Peeps at the Diary as
Sleeping Giants Lie --Bill
Hillman
“Yuh can’t hide behind yur writerz no more
my treacherouz couzin. Come on... fight like a man!” bleated Ratnaz, the
wild child of the jungle, as he instinctively dropped into the fighting
stance he had learned from his adopted father, Buck Ram. He crouched on
all fours, lowered his head and pawed the floor with his forelegs before
charging at the hated usurper of his rightful titles, family fortunes and
golf courses.
At that same moment, Devon McGuinness, Lord
Greatstrokes, bent over to arm himself with a 3-iron from his ever-present
golf bag. Unfortunately, the bogus lord misgauged the speed of his enraged
cousin’s charge and both men met head-on. The two heads collided with a
force that lesser mortals could not have survived and the Edgar Nyce bunker
reverberated with prolonged deafening, gong-like reverberations.
“Let them lie there Bertie,” ordered Nyce
as Ratnaz’s comely companion made a move to run to his aid. “It’s safer
for all of us. They’ll come to, eventually. Come over here Bert -- there
is something you must read. I am afraid you do not know the whole story
behind the troubles we face.” Ed picked up and passed over a heavy, leather-bound
book bearing the title:
THE PERSONAL
DAILY JOURNAL OF NICK MISER - PRESIDENT - RODENT & TOUCHWOOD PICTURES
- TOP SECRET STUFF.
Bertie Ketchum reluctantly opened the diary
and started to read a recent entry.
Dear Diary: I’m about to face the most disastrous day
of my life. The Elmer Ford film premier is tomorrow night. This thing is
a stinkeroo. It is so bad we decided to not use the RATNAZ name... couldn’t
wish this turkey on even that over-the-hill oaf -- it’s a disaster. That
klutzy Elmer jerk is an idiot -- constantly swinging into trees and sets.
Decided to let him take the heat. Our new title is ELMER OF THE JUNGLE.
I’m afraid there’s going to be a big clean-up bill in the theatre -- nothing
worse than rotten tomatoes. Those little Rodenteers can turn ugly when
they smell a clunker.
Dear Diary: We gotta save face. Spent the
day rushing an animated Ratnaz film into production. No more chances with
no-talent, muscle-bound live actors. Trying to get some of the best Ed
Nyce artists in the business: Hal ‘Gump’ Forester, Franco Frazelli, Allen
J. St. Jaques and his son Jeff Jaques. We’ll spare no expense on this one.
Gotta wipe off the stigma of that Elmer of the Jungle thing. But
even this big budget project is attracting its share of weirdos. Security
just threw out some gin-soaked, chubby broad with a rooster on her shoulder
-- said she was Frazelli’s model. Yah... right.
Dear Diary: Last night’s premier was a huge
success! The audience thought every scene was hilarious... laughed all
through it. I decided to take some curtain calls after the credits... after
all, I was the brains behind it. Critics say it’s the comedy hit of the
year, I knew it was going to be good. Why, that Elmer Ford is a comedy
genius -- but it takes a talented producer to discover talent like this.
By golly, mommy would have been proud.
Dear Diary: Met with Orcan Whales today...
film projects ideas... Ever since that Citizen Kubla Khan bomb, he’s been
getting weirder... trying to flog disaster movies... something about a
big sinking ship he calls the Titanic, earthquakes, tidal waves, and some
far-fetched thing about aliens that he wants to call the Invasion of the
Led Zeppelins... give us a break Orcan.
Dear Diary: Finally kept that appointment
with Buzz Bozhart today... he’s the real brains behind the BB Inc. conglomerate.
He cleared up a lotta stuff about his no-good son Brace Bozhart’s mysterious
behaviour... I’m starting to put the pieces together. And he let me in
on why Brace has been playing Ratnaz for a fool. He got the dumb goat kid
drunk and took some pretty incriminating photos of him in a motel room
with a half dozen stewardesses. Ratnaz and Edgar Nyce are finished. They
can’t survive the scandal if we release the photos. Ed’s a changed, crushed
man. And the ape man is too stupid to know what’s really going on... thinks
Brace Bozhart is his friend.
Dear Diary: Had our legal department send
a letter today to those simps at that Whizzle All-Gory pulp rag. Should
put an end to their cashing in on our guy’s name. No talent hacks!
Dear Diary: Good ole Buzz took me over to
their secret underground Area 22 complex at Butt Buttes today. And how’s
this for a piece of luck... I met President Bill Blimpton over there. You
know there is something unhealthy about our recent presidents’ obsession
with their looks. First we lost Raegun to Grecian Formula-induced Alzheimer's.
Now Bungalow Bill is wearing a silly, gigantic floppy hat everywhere. Never
saw him without it - must think he’s Jack Carson’s Great Tarak or something.
Weird.
Buzz had Lt. Rykor give me a tour of the
whole BB Inc. underground complex ... top secret stuff that even the government
doesn’t know about... and he even promised to give me a tour of the Alien
Autopsy Lab next time I go back.
Bertie put the book aside and looked up in
shocked amazement. Ed was hunched over a 15 minute Topographic Map sheet
on which he was carefully calculating the latitudinal and longitudinal
coordinates of Butt Buttes. Without raising his head he asked, “Hot stuff,
huh?. Wanna come with us on our little mission?”
Ed finished his calculations and scribbled
the coordinates on a slip of paper which he passed on to Carson Nappie.
“All right now. Let’s get these two sleeping lugs into the Pellucifer and
let’s get the show on the road.”
Within moments, seven people -- Ed, Nappie,
Rathmind, Bertie, Captain Canuck, and the still-unconscious Ratnaz and
Greatstrokes -- were crammed into the tiny cabin of the Pellucifar. Little
did they know that they were about to embark on the most important... and
most perilous adventure of their lives.
Chapter 104:
“Pardon Me Roy, Is That The Cat That Chewed Your New Shoes...
Your
clogs that is, Mr. Datsun.”
(Obviously, a knowledge of the history of big band music is essential
for the comprehension of titles around here.) --Bill
Hillman
Herlock Cabyns looked on in horror as the
lovable Zany Grany was swept away by a massive tidal wave while attempting
to rescue his beloved cat and dog.
“Stop that infernal clatter Datsun,” shouted
Cabyns to his clog dancing companion. “Don’t you realize that this is serious!”
The crushed assistant looked down forlornly
at his two twitching feet encased in scratched and cat-hair-covered clogs.
Zany’s now-deceased feline must have used the wooden shoes that Datsun
had taken such a shine to as a scratching post.
Unnerved by the horrific loss of life he
had just witnessed, the sleuth extraordinaire looked around the lamented
western author’s cedar lined study taking note of the towering stacks of
manuscripts and rejection notices. His gaze settled on a flickering computer
monitor which he was surprised to discover displayed the second chapter
of the manuscript that old Grany had shared with him earlier:
Course
of
Chaos by Crafter
(William Ja-On Campbell Hillman)
Zany Grany pseudonym
Chapter
Two: Enroute to Revenge
http://www.geocities.com/Hollywood/Boulevard/6643/jamillen.html
“Mmmm... just the ticket to settle my nerves.
Anything would be better than that other stuff the old codger forced on
me... frogs? I think Mr. Grany should have stuck to horse operas.” Cabyns
soon got into the electronic manuscript and became so engrossed in the
tale that even Datsun’s determined resumed clogging to the annoying sound
of the scratchy accordion record had little effect on his concentration.
While Cabyns read, Datsun eventually tired
of his strenuous footwork and looked around for other amusements. The title
on a large weathered notebook caught his eye:
PROPERTY OF AGENT Z.G. -- PROJECT BLUE BOOK
Realizing that their host was probably now
lying in a watery grave, the English doctor had no compunction in perusing
the contents of the book. He was amazed at what he saw. The entries were
all careful observations of celestial and meteorological phenomena from
over the last year -- all recorded in a very trained and exacting manner.
Most of the activity seemed to have been associated with the area above
and around the Butt Buttes landform which was clearly visible through the
rear window of Grany’s cabin.
Datsun was well into his study of the notebook
when he realized that his remarkable associate had moved over behind him
and was reading the notebook from over his shoulder.
“Come, my dear Datsun. We must be going.
This is an incredible development,” exclaimed an excited Cabyns.
Following a great deal of difficulty in saddling
the two surviving burros, the accomplished English horsemen, now turned
assmen, were soon trekking to higher ground -- and toward the ominous Butt
Buttes. Sadly they had to leave one of the saddled burros, the short one,
behind as its old worn saddle of French design was far too loose to trek.
The two side-saddle equestrians were so intent
on the difficulties of sharing the same saddle and in watching what appeared
to be an unusually large number of birds gliding over the distant twin
buttes, that they were oblivious to the threatening shadows that had engulfed
them from overhead.
Chapter 105:
Fun with Boz and Jane -- A Primer
--Bill Hillman
See
Boz 1 drive to the ranch.
Boz
can not find Jane.
He
meets the Men in Black.
They
are looking for space men.
The
Men in Black show Boz something.
They
show him a silver thing-- a-- ma-- jig.
See
Boz scratch his head.
Look
at the big red knob on the thing-- a-- ma-- jig.
Oooo.
See
Boz 2 drive fast.
He
is trying to catch Jane.
Jane
drives faster.
He
can not catch her.
Look
at his red face.
Boz
is angry.
See
Boz 3 look in the city.
He
can not find Jane.
He
goes away on a fast aeroplane.
It
is a jet.
Jets
fly fast.
Boz
thinks Mister Billman is a bad man.
See
Boz 4 park his car.
Jane
likes to ride in his car.
Boz
and Jane go into a big building.
Randy
Rodent lives there.
See
Jane 1 drive fast.
Tuvane
rides with Jane.
Tuvane
is a smart lawyer girl.
Sometimes
smart lawyer girls are really boys who wear dresses.
Jane
and Tuvane like to help each other.
See
Jane 2 take a pretty girl for a ride.
They
go fast in Jane’s yellow car.
The
girl’s name is Judy Flanders sometimes.
Jane
thinks Judy likes men who ride motorcycles.
Jane
makes her visit the motorcycle men.
The
motorcycle men are lonely.
See
Jane 3 wake up Randy Rodent’s daddy.
His
name is Nick.
Jane
talks loud to Mister Nick.
She
is angry at Mister Boz.
Jane
thinks Mister Boz has a new girl friend.
Jane
likes to play with guns.
See
Jane 4 come to visit Jane 3.
Jane
3 is angry.
She
likes to play with guns.
Boz
and Jane like to pretend.
They
like to pretend they are frozen.
Look
at all the frozen Bozes and Janes.
They
are not moving.
Oh!
Look
again.
One
Boz is moving.
Quick!
Come
see.
One
Jane is moving.
Jump
Jane.
Do
you know which ones they are boys and girls?
Mister
Tangor knows.
Don’t
you Mister Tangor?
Mister
Tangor likes to have secrets.
Do
you like secrets boys and girls?
Fun
with Boz and Jane: A Primer II
(The
Incoherent, Incomprehensible Adult Version)
Do
you remember all that shit that went down back in Chapter 99?
When
powerful Buzz Bozhart entered the code word Klaatu, he shut down all the
bogus Bozes and Janes.
They
ground to a halt and fell into a state of suspended animation.
Only
the two real ones carried on with what they were doing...
...and of course we all know who they are...
...and what they were doing...
...don’t we Tangor?
[Nudge...
nudge... (wink)...(wink)... say no more... say what?...]
Chapter 106:
Captain Marble and the Pit of Doom
-Shaboom, Shaboom! --Bill
Hillman
Sherman was still smarting from his boss’s
verbal abuse... and he was still getting his body parts back together after
the alien Tang-Gor’s mean-spirited attack on his molecules. But he wasn’t
going to take it much longer. He had an ace up his sleeve and now was the
time to play it. He was well aware of the one weakness in the mantle of
the alien Gheeks -- oregano addiction! And he knew his plan could not fail.
“By the way, Tang-Gor... I have a little
gift for you,” purred Sherman as he produced a lead-lined jewel box. “Here...
It’s good stuff... just in from Panama -- fresh oregano. Just a token of
my appreciation.”
Unbeknownst to Tang-Gor the Gheek, the oregano
leaves had been spiked with a powerful 10 percent portion of catnip. In
fact, the very act of opening the lead container had released enough of
the catnip essence to make the alien feel weak in the chellae.
Unable to resist the lure of an oregano fix,
the head-like creature scurried over and sucked up the offering from Sherman’s
outstretched hand. The effect was immediate and startling. Within seconds
the Gheek had become incoherent and was rolling, writhing and bouncing
around the room.
Despite Sherman’s verbal tirades against
Tangor’s rival, the Jeddak of the North, he had been secretly conspiring
with the Canuck for some time. Realizing that Tangor, Tang-Gor and Company
were becoming increasingly dangerous and unpredictable, Sherman had contacted
the more stable and unquestionably more clever Warlord of Words on the
InterNet. The thankful Jeddak had bestowed superpowers known only to select
British Loyalists upon the poor little creep. The moment for Sherman’s
first test of these powers was at hand.
“This is a job for Captain Marble!”
Sherman swayed rhythmically and snapped his
fingers to create a backbeat as he intoned the magic mantra in a high-pitched
cracking voice:
“Shaboom, Shaboom, Sha La-la, la-la, la-la,
la-la, la-la, Shaboom, Shaboom...”
An Al Capp-inspired cartoon cloud appeared
over the two disparate creatures in Tangor’s study -- the knock-kneed geek
and the convulsing Gheek-head. Lightning bolts flashed from the black cloud
and a sudden change occurred in Sherman’s appearance. His coke-bottle-thick
glasses fell to the floor, the rain from the cloud slicked back his disheveled
hair, and his many-sizes-too-large K-Mart Aisle #3 special wardrobe fell
away -- revealing a magnificent red flannel suit. Scotch taped to the buttons
which ran from crotch to neck up the front of the costume was a sheet of
wrinkled computer paper bearing a lightning bolt insignia that had been
meticulously hand drawn with a yellow hi-liter. Around his shoulders was
a thick burlap rope to which was fastened a billowing purple satin bedsheet
which doubled as a cape. The loins of the once lowly mortal, now transformed
to superhero, were sheathed in chartreuse BVDs which were worn outside
of the main red body suit -- obviously a Madonna-inspired fashion flare.
With new-found confidence he groped myopically
toward Tangor’s well worn computer keyboard -- narrowly avoiding tripping
over the rolling alien. Upon finding the computer, Captain Marble commenced
to revise the text that had been left on the monitor:
“The heroic Jeddak of the North, on his selfless
and daring mission of mercy, drove his sled team relentlessly. Already
he could see the sprawling city lights of Minot, North Dakota, as they
sped southward without respite.
“Meanwhile, down at the bottom of Tangor’s
bottomless pit, four bruised, battered and perplexed casualties of the
mad Texan’s deranged wrath huddled by a locked doorway as screaming bodies
plummeted from above -- landing in their midst in mangled heaps on the
earthen pit floor. An exotically beautiful, near-naked young woman clung
to the largest of the two men in the group and gave a running commentary
as the bodies fell around them:
‘Why, it’s poor Dudley... we worked for the
same syndicate. And here comes... ah... it looks like the flying nun...
oooph... I bet that hurt. Oh...and look... Little old ladies... in black...
on brooms sticks?... and... there’s a big one.... pow!... look at him bounce...
look out here comes a skinny one... uh oh... too late... ooo the carnage...
Look Mars honey, here comes a masked cowboy and an Indian ... and a horse...’”
Captain Marble worked well into the night
-- his nearsighted eyes just inches from the clattering keys of the computer
keyboard. Tangor’s best laid plans went 'oft agley' as his treacherous
one-time “yes man” caused his favourite characters to disappear one by
one down into his own deadly pit of doom.
Taking full advantage of his boss’s absence,
Sherman -- now transformed into the mighty Captain Marble -- paused from
his keyboarding only to periodically open the lead box at his side and
to withdraw portions of the powerful catnip-spiked oregano which he tossed
to the helpless, writhing and mewling alien Tang-Gor.
The fate of the world depended upon a lone
gallant man and his tireless band of hairy sled animals who by now had
reached the Black Hills and were approaching the base of scenic Mount Rushmore.
Would the heroic Canadian, the indomitable Jeddak of the North, reach the
troubled American Southwest in time to save the world... and Pismo Beach?
Bill
Hillman
...to be continued... in Ratnaz
Files Book X
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