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Category Archives: storybook for punloving adults

THE TRAVELS OF SEA CZAR CITY, VOL 8, PAGE 6

Abel waved his cane in surrender and sent me back through his hall of montezuma to the door of triple E.

On a desk was a stack of risky photos which I put in my pocket, but no jar of pimentos.

Those, he swore. he sold months ago to Professor Gobbles, the owner of Jackassic Park.

I didn’t think my Keister could make it all the way to Basketune, so I caught the “Blue Streak”, at the Blunder Bus Station, and headed up island, where I got the Blue Ferry to Warp Seed Harbour.

I flagged a cab that took me through Ripe Pillage and up to the surly gates of Jackassic Park.

Under the legend: “Laugh Clone, Laugh”, was a padlock indicating it was closed for the night.

Now I always say the only good defence is a grate off fence, which I found soon enough.

After I wriggled through, it was as quiet as church lice, except for the distant hee-hawing of the giant pre-hysterical beasts.

They must have heard me as well because it wasn’t lawn before my ass was grass, surrounded by a group of the biggest donkeys that ever brayed on my kind.

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ASS DEEP IN THE PARK

 

 

 

 
 

THE TRAVELS OF SEA CZAR CITY, VOL. 8, PAGE 5

Despite their motto, “We’ll Never Rook You”, the Castle Brothers Moving And Storage aren’t above a drop off from the back of their truck, so I decided my first stop would be Snagg’s Pawnshop.

I found the old gout in his gage at the back of the shop.

“Castle Brothers”, Abel banged his cane, “you know I have no truck with those haulers.”

“Can the Bullfinch, you old mythmaker, unless you want Police Detective, Max Tracker, in here going over your place with a fine truth comb.”

The trick was treat enough to shake the snake’s rattle.

“Alright, alright,” he said “I did buy a cornporn box off the Castles last year, but sold it to a stranger I’ve never seen sense.”

“Yeah”, I laughed, “if I know my granddad, he had enough steamy picts to black the males of most of Gulp Island.

And me, I don’t see you selling such a goal mine.

So cut the cake and lets get down to slices.”

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THE OLD GOUT

 

 
 

THE TRAVELS OF SEA CZAR CITY, VOL. 8, PAGE 4

It was then that Flambow began waxing on about the ear of Winset VanGoth.

Seems that the mad artist had unplugged said appendage from his skull in a deaf scheme to woo the lovely Miss Kinky.

Miss Kinky informed Winset that she’d rather a ring than an ear.

It was then, according to Auteur, that Miss Kinky plopped the shrivelled shell into young Randy Jim’s Sour Toad cocktail.

Flambow said my granddad decided to retain it as a cheap steak.

Now that the infamous artist of “Scary, Scary Night” has finally nicked the ducat, the good citizens of Farris want to bury VanGoth with ear in tow.

All this seemed fine with my randy granddad, except he claimed that the objet d’hark hadn’t been heard from in quite some time.

“I kept it as a pimento”, Granddad said,  “in a jar with others.

I had it in a box of cornporn, marked: ‘Highly Spliced’.

But last year, when I got everything out of storage, it like the vegetable, didn’t turnip.

Looks like its a job for you, PeeEye”.

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WHATS THIS EAR ?

 

 
 

THE TRAVELS OF SEA CZAR CITY, VOL. 8. PAGE 3

My Keister barely got us to Snob Hill and Casa Nova, my granddad’s estate.

Hoover, the butler, answered the door ( though no one heard it ask anything).

He directed us to the ballroom where Randy Jim was shooting baskets with his Army Bolt 45.

Hoover brought us drinks, a Schmaltz (“The beer that is already one too many”) for granddad, an Old Jack Horner for me and an Absent for Auteur Flambow.

We toasted the bread basket laying gut shot on the floor and some Mad Gazelle from Arms And Tears, they knew in the old daze.

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A TOAST TO DEERS GONE BY

 
 

THE TRAVELS OF SEA CZAR CITY, VOL.8, PAGE 2

To tell the truth, I always thought my granddad’s pipe dreams stemmed from reading too much Ballsack.

That is until the morning Helen Wheels, my preceptionist, ushered in a tattered visage of the past and introduced him as one Flambow.

“Flambow” I asked, “author of ‘The Seasonings Of Nell’ ?”

He nodded.

“But” I said, “I thought you were mort. ”

“No” he replied, “Mort is my brother, I am Auteur, and as you see, I am very much arrived.

Bone sure, Messear, you are relative to Randell Jock Atrack ?”

“If you mean old Randy Jim,  he’s my granddad.”

“Ah, your grandpear, the old fruit, may we?”

“May we what?”

“Speak to heem?”

“Sure I’ll ring him right now.

I’m sure he will be trilled to hear from an old camp padre. ”

“Oh ear from me he shall.”

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A CAST FROM THE PAST

 
 

THE TRAVELS OF SEA CZAR CITY, VOL. 8, PAGE 1

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OLD FACTORY PERFUMERY

My randy granddad use to say it was the rest of times and the wurst of sausage, his youth before Witch War I, when he lived in Ferris on Mount See All Island in an artist’s carrot above the Cafe Ok in old Moan Mart.

He said in those days, you might see John Paul Dart writing his book: “Extendulism, The Art Of Boredom” at a table outside.

He might be smoking a Galoshes or his pipe and maybe talking to Flambow, the poet, or Kinky, Rann May’s model and currant raisin.

“At any moment”, Randy Jim would say, “you might see Pueblo Paycosto, Winset Van Goth or even the ‘Moveable Fist’ himself, Ernie Heminghaw.”

Granddad said from his window, he could see the river Stain and the giant wheel from which Ferris got its name.

In the evening he said he would stroll the Bully Yard with Mangiggly Annie and slinky Juliet Geeko.

“As dawn crowed over the top of the Church Of The Sacred Cur”, granddad would say, “we’d stagger home, harm in harm,with a bottle of Dino and enough bread to bag it.”

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FERRIS, A WHEELY GREAT CITY

 

 
 

THE SHAGGY SAGA OF SEA CZAR CITY,VOL 7, PAGE 40

My preceptionist, Helen Wheels, has been steaming for a few months now and that morning her kettle hit the fan.

“Quit horsing around, boss”, she brayed when I came through the office door, “enough stalling!

You promised to tell me, if the Hidawhy people are the only ones who can leave the Bikini Triangle anytime they want, then how, seven years ago, did you and that German Shepherd, Fritz, make it all the way to Cuba?”

“Oh simmer down, Miss Teas.

What you probably don’t know is that my mother, Antik Dotes’ father was a full blood Hidawhy chef.

In fact Randy Jim, my grandfather on my daddy’s side and the little cook,  Nogga Hide, grew up just over the bridge from each other on the native preserve.

As kids, they played cowboys and engines together.

So that and the help I gave Nobull Savage during the Trick Or Treaty Affair allowed me to become a full Blood Other and a pass on the unseen barrier grief of the Triangle.”

“Well  that explains you, sort of”, Helen said, “but Nell’s Bells, it doesn’t explain how the Shepherd paid for his ticket to Havana!”

“Sheeply, I presume.”

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COWBOYS AND ENGINES

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Don’t forget to tune in next time for Vol. 8, “The Travels Of Sea Czar City”. where our intripid bumbler travels to Basketune Island in search of Winset Van Goth’s missing ear and spends midnight in Jackassic Park. You’ll go to the hanging of the Candyhouse Fiend, witness the kidnapping of the Prime Sinister, Magnet Carter, and watch The Good Knight leap from his radio adventures into the light of day. Its Kantzeem, the Truth Teller back from the dread and Randy James Hatrack reciting his boudoirs.

 

Anyone interested in a print of Baba Alley, just send a self addressed mailing tube to  Galaraw Gallery, Chinablock, Sea Czar City, Gulp Island, Bikini Triangle, somewhere in the Nonpacific Ocean.

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BABA ALLEY

 

 

 
 
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