Litany
Active Member
I am not one to blow my own trumpet, indeed it’s been many years since I last even played upon my old recorder, but so many people have asked me in these past few months ‘Litany, fair pirate wench, where in heckity hast thou beeneth for so longethneth?’ One gets so very tired of repeating the same heroic tale of derring-do and high living, and also of the terrible speech impediments so prevalent upon these green shores. And so I shall consign my tale to the written word, that all may read at their leisure my most improbable, and yet completely true, adventures. I will also take the liberty of illustrating my stories with snapshots taken along the way, so you can see that it’s all true, and not even slightly made up.
My tale begins at Portsmouth harbour, where I and my ship’s chimp and faithful companion, Office McChimpworthy, were to depart upon our epic voyage around the world in twelvety days. The naysayers at the Grog and Whippet Society said it couldn’t be done. Well, perhaps they were right, but I’ve never welched on a bet and I wasn’t about to start now. Those of you who attended my farewell supper at Flinty Floghorn’s Hotel De Muffins will have already met my ship’s chimp and faithful companion, Officer McChimpworthy, but for those few souls unfortunate enough to have missed out on the belly buster of the century allow me to backtrack a few years to a misty night, dark with foreboding.
I had recently arrived in Gerstangle, long the home of the might Prince Cherpokepee, who I was to visit that evening for dinner and dancing. I was wearing my finest red and black stripy jumper and looked quite the wench about town. In fact, I could hardly move for people stopping me to comment upon how fine I looked. I decided to take the long walk through the zoo. Entry was free after 8pm and I had a longing to hear the mournful song of the kookamonkey bird. The low-lying mists made it hard to make out the path in the moonlight, but I could just hear the song on the wind and so I followed it to the kookamonkey enclosure.
The song sounded different today. Sadder. More full of unrelenting woe than ever I had heard before. Creeping closer to the bars I could just see through the mist that the kookamonkey bird looked a little different too. Furrier, in fact. Stepping closer still I bumped right in to the back of someone. A man. A man with green hair and a stick. ‘How odd,’ I thought. Everyone knows sticks are prohibited from the Gerstangle zoo under pain of poking. Ever since the terrible stick riots of ’47 when the elephants ran amok under the influence of drug-laced peanuts. A terrible time indeed. Surely no one would be fool enough to bring the wrath of Prince Cherpokepee down upon their sorry heads by bringing a stick into these hallowed grounds? Yet there he stood. Besticked. Indeed, there he stood poking said stick through the bars of the kookamonkey enclosure. I was enraged, and greatly so. ‘Hold sir!’ Said I. ‘Put down that stick and prepare to defend yourself. Loath as I am to stain my best red and black stripy jumper with the blood of such a fiend as stands before me, I have no choice but to defend this poor kookamonkey, and defend it I shall!’
‘Kookamonkey?’ Said he, ‘Thar b’aint be no kookamonkey. Thar be my dinner. I’s only be poking ‘im to check as ‘ow ‘e be fat nuff.’
The accent of Gerstangle is a thick one, but I am well versed in the tongues of the peninsula and so was able to translate the ruffian’s words in lightening speed. I peered through the mist and sure enough, the plaintive songbird was no kookamonkey but a very sad looking chimpanzee. Well, you know as well as I that under statute 497 of the Gerstangle Code of Munching it’s quite illegal to eat chimp, raw or otherwise due their explosive colons. Why, the last time someone tried to eat chimp he nearly blew up the royal palace and gave my eyebrows a good singing to boot.
‘Sir, I cannot allow you to eat this chimpanzee. With every fibre of my being I oppose you.’ And so saying I took up a fighting stance.
‘Nay lassy. I b’aint be afightin nay girly girl.’ Said the scoundrel as he continue to poke his prey in his ample belly.
‘So be it. You make it all the easier.’
And so he did, for I am no stranger to thumping those who refuse to defend themselves. Indeed, I see it as my duty. If the defenceless remain forever unthumped they’ll never learn to defend themselves. I have enough to do without playing the vigilante hero every minute of the day. So I thumped this scallywag and I thumped him hard again. Soon he lay dead and pummelled upon the ground. The broken stick by his side was all the explanation the police would get for the presence of this battered corpse. I was hungry and, more importantly, I was late for dinner.
With a flick of my finely turned wrist, I unlocked the complicated mechanism securing the chimp’s prison and released him into the night. But he would not go. He fixed me with his baleful eyes and proceeded to share with me his sorry tale of woe.
‘Ook ack phweeeeeeeeeeeee. Ack ack chee phweeeeeeeeeeeeee. Eep ack oop oop ack!’
‘Indeed? Well that is terrible indeed,’ I replied. My stomach was rumbling and I could tell this chap was nowhere near the end of his story. ‘Well, Officer McChimpworthy, I can tell your tale is one worth hearing and this Willy Barcelona sounds a nefarious sort, but I cannot listen to accounts of wrongdoing on an empty stomach. Come, let us away to the royal palace where we might feast on cheese and pork dumplings and you may continue your tale in warmth and safety.’
And so it was that I came to meet Officer McChimpworthy. We soon became great friends and I promoted him to the position of ship’s chimp and faithful companion, which is indeed how he stands before you today. I simply haven’t the time to continue with this at the moment, there are so many pressing matters to attend to. I shall return another time to continue my tale.
My tale begins at Portsmouth harbour, where I and my ship’s chimp and faithful companion, Office McChimpworthy, were to depart upon our epic voyage around the world in twelvety days. The naysayers at the Grog and Whippet Society said it couldn’t be done. Well, perhaps they were right, but I’ve never welched on a bet and I wasn’t about to start now. Those of you who attended my farewell supper at Flinty Floghorn’s Hotel De Muffins will have already met my ship’s chimp and faithful companion, Officer McChimpworthy, but for those few souls unfortunate enough to have missed out on the belly buster of the century allow me to backtrack a few years to a misty night, dark with foreboding.
I had recently arrived in Gerstangle, long the home of the might Prince Cherpokepee, who I was to visit that evening for dinner and dancing. I was wearing my finest red and black stripy jumper and looked quite the wench about town. In fact, I could hardly move for people stopping me to comment upon how fine I looked. I decided to take the long walk through the zoo. Entry was free after 8pm and I had a longing to hear the mournful song of the kookamonkey bird. The low-lying mists made it hard to make out the path in the moonlight, but I could just hear the song on the wind and so I followed it to the kookamonkey enclosure.
The song sounded different today. Sadder. More full of unrelenting woe than ever I had heard before. Creeping closer to the bars I could just see through the mist that the kookamonkey bird looked a little different too. Furrier, in fact. Stepping closer still I bumped right in to the back of someone. A man. A man with green hair and a stick. ‘How odd,’ I thought. Everyone knows sticks are prohibited from the Gerstangle zoo under pain of poking. Ever since the terrible stick riots of ’47 when the elephants ran amok under the influence of drug-laced peanuts. A terrible time indeed. Surely no one would be fool enough to bring the wrath of Prince Cherpokepee down upon their sorry heads by bringing a stick into these hallowed grounds? Yet there he stood. Besticked. Indeed, there he stood poking said stick through the bars of the kookamonkey enclosure. I was enraged, and greatly so. ‘Hold sir!’ Said I. ‘Put down that stick and prepare to defend yourself. Loath as I am to stain my best red and black stripy jumper with the blood of such a fiend as stands before me, I have no choice but to defend this poor kookamonkey, and defend it I shall!’
‘Kookamonkey?’ Said he, ‘Thar b’aint be no kookamonkey. Thar be my dinner. I’s only be poking ‘im to check as ‘ow ‘e be fat nuff.’
The accent of Gerstangle is a thick one, but I am well versed in the tongues of the peninsula and so was able to translate the ruffian’s words in lightening speed. I peered through the mist and sure enough, the plaintive songbird was no kookamonkey but a very sad looking chimpanzee. Well, you know as well as I that under statute 497 of the Gerstangle Code of Munching it’s quite illegal to eat chimp, raw or otherwise due their explosive colons. Why, the last time someone tried to eat chimp he nearly blew up the royal palace and gave my eyebrows a good singing to boot.
‘Sir, I cannot allow you to eat this chimpanzee. With every fibre of my being I oppose you.’ And so saying I took up a fighting stance.
‘Nay lassy. I b’aint be afightin nay girly girl.’ Said the scoundrel as he continue to poke his prey in his ample belly.
‘So be it. You make it all the easier.’
And so he did, for I am no stranger to thumping those who refuse to defend themselves. Indeed, I see it as my duty. If the defenceless remain forever unthumped they’ll never learn to defend themselves. I have enough to do without playing the vigilante hero every minute of the day. So I thumped this scallywag and I thumped him hard again. Soon he lay dead and pummelled upon the ground. The broken stick by his side was all the explanation the police would get for the presence of this battered corpse. I was hungry and, more importantly, I was late for dinner.
With a flick of my finely turned wrist, I unlocked the complicated mechanism securing the chimp’s prison and released him into the night. But he would not go. He fixed me with his baleful eyes and proceeded to share with me his sorry tale of woe.
‘Ook ack phweeeeeeeeeeeee. Ack ack chee phweeeeeeeeeeeeee. Eep ack oop oop ack!’
‘Indeed? Well that is terrible indeed,’ I replied. My stomach was rumbling and I could tell this chap was nowhere near the end of his story. ‘Well, Officer McChimpworthy, I can tell your tale is one worth hearing and this Willy Barcelona sounds a nefarious sort, but I cannot listen to accounts of wrongdoing on an empty stomach. Come, let us away to the royal palace where we might feast on cheese and pork dumplings and you may continue your tale in warmth and safety.’
And so it was that I came to meet Officer McChimpworthy. We soon became great friends and I promoted him to the position of ship’s chimp and faithful companion, which is indeed how he stands before you today. I simply haven’t the time to continue with this at the moment, there are so many pressing matters to attend to. I shall return another time to continue my tale.
