Episode IV- Son of the narwhal

At the bottom of the mazzlewanny trench at the deepest, darkest, most gloomy, and somewhat pleasantly jovial, part of Lake Tweed, (Not to be confused with Lake Theed, which rests bubbly at the top of mount Zap, on it’s side, (no one knows how)) son of the Narwhal sat wallowing in bitterness, having returned from receiving his false degree in Agricultural law at a prestigious university, to find his mother slain by an unknown attacker.

(How a Narwhal received passage into an accredited school dermatologists have yet to explain. Perhaps it is because he disguised himself as Lord Tennyson and applied cocoa butter to his face.)

Son of the Narwhal, or Riley, as we will call him just this once, sat contemplating who could have knocked off Ma. He determined that this foe must have been specially trained at fighting Narwhals, as well as Walrus’s and the like, for his Mother had never died before, so had obviously never encountered so great an opponent. Or at least one who could not be easily dissuaded with a small sum of devilled eggs divided into thirds. Using deductive reasoning, Son of Narwhal decided the assassin was a middle-aged woman of 82. He also determined her name was Blanche, as she dropped a note written in sideways reformed Aramaic.

 Being a big Humphrey Bogart fan he happened to know a little sideways Reformed Aramaic and interpreted the note to say, “gone shopping- Blanche”

            Son of the Narwhal was furious, he began vigorously cleaning everything in sight, (which is something he did when stressed) he mopped the floor and polished his mothers old China Cabinet. In his flustered O.C.D. state he failed to take his cherry pie out of the oven and it was horribly burnt. That was it, he decided he had no other choice but to avenge his mothers’ death and kill her assailants. So he packed a nap-sack, fed his sea cucumber and locked up never to return again (at least until spring cleaning).

Meanwhile, Blanche and skiperdoo were on an ice-fishing trip after visiting the Czarina of Tokyo, about the economic benefits of Kiwi farming.

“Wow, that’s a whopper!” as Blanche reeled in a king Salmon. Skiperdoo was pleasantly sloshing in the puddles with his galoshes. They had a jolly time making a snowman. The whole afternoon was very aesthetically pleasing… until!

The Son of the Narwhal silently floated through the dark murky water, in search of his newfound victims. He made not a sound, nor disturbed the water, in trying to keep concealed until the right moment, to take them by surprise.

Then Blanche thought she saw something far off in the distance, come up out of the water, like a fin. She paid no attention to what she saw, because she was to busy banging the Salmon’s head on a rock.

Then She heard a deafening and bloodcurdling roar, like a bull. Apparently the Narwhal had stubbed his sort-of-toes on a wall of ice. He was stuck, behind a wall of ice still left over from the ice age. He had to wait for global warming. Finally 3 days later, (it melted fast) he was free from his icy confinement to do what he had come to do. For some reason Blanche and skiperdoo were still on the little boat, after three days. The Narwhal began to increase in speed, he became faster and faster. He put forth his great horn and let out another terrible roar.

As the Narwhal came careening toward Blanche and skiperdoo, in a dead charge, and just as all hope for the two heroes seemed lost, and it appeared that they weren’t getting out of this alive...

WHAAMMM!!!!

“Sir, we’ve hit something!”

“What? An iceberg?”

“I don’t know sir, but we’re sinking.”

“No, that’s impossible, this ship is unsinkable! Quick cabin boy, go straighten the deck chairs.”

“Yes sir, but shouldn’t I get the rafts ready?”

“No I’ll do that, you just worry about those chairs.”

Yes, as you might have guessed, at this very moment there was a group of zealous and fanatical history fans reenacting the Titanic tragedy (They having done Civil War reenactments so many times they were bored of it.) with a real ship at 1/3 scale and authentic wardrobe and all.

The Narwhal was snuffed out in the very climax of his would be victory by none other than the Titanic look-alike. A very uneventful death if you ask me. But he did leave a good dent.

Blanche being a quick thinker as she was took action. She helped many of the victims of the wreck into lifeboats, and boosted their spirits. She saved dozens.

 Blanche had been on the college journalism team under the pen name Molly Black, so upon returning to America she was deemed the “Unsinkable Molly Black” for her heroics, it being a catchier name than Blanche for media ratings. The governor awarded her a trophy, before she and skiperdoo returned home.

The tattered corpse of Son of the Narwhal slowly sank to the black depths of the deep blue sea, never to avenge his late mother. And Blanche and Skippy were never aware of the deadly fate that was so near them from the terror that had been pursuing them for days.

Episode III- Blanche and the Natives

One fine summer day Blanche and Skiperdoo packed up and dawned their fuzzy mittens and overcoats, it being freezing cold outside, and made the long journey to attend to the plight of some native cliff dwelling people on the southern most part of a tiny island, just west of the mainland of a larger island nearer Guatemala.

These industrious peoples had built a large city right out of the side of the cliffs. The buildings were held together and connected only by bamboo, as well as magnetically reinforced titanium cables, artificially made of bamboo.

They harvested honey plants and ate the roots from the side of the cliffs, as well as the tails of the blue-footed gecko.

 It was nearly paradise, except for a chronic problem. On a routinely basis, almost nightly, a deranged sleepwalker, sometimes dozens, would stagger over one of the rope bridges and plummet to their untimely demise. The generally accepted consensus among the villagers on these sleepy suicidal jumpers was that they must be dead; the bodies having been dashed against the jagged rocks below, it seemed like the logical conclusion. The statistics were catastrophic; in the past eight months they had lost nearly one. But their culture having kept no records, never knew by morning who was gone and who remained.

Blanche founded the first opu-opu community lemonade stand (for such was the name by which they were known.) and the problem was solved. She then told them of an Elvis Presley Concert in Memphis, which the villagers ecstatically decided unanimously to attend; they having no king of their own on a count that he had fallen to his death two weeks earlier without the knowledge of his people.           

 With the Opu-Opu gone, Blanche decided to take advantage of their hospitality and make waffles. She, while cooking the waffles, began to rummage through some of the natives effects. She found an old gene lamp, rubbed it and out flowed a gene, telling her he would grant her three wishes. Not being a fool Blanche knew there was no such thing as gene’s and told him “I don’t believe in gene’s, back in that lamp you!” and promptly hurled it out the window to its untimely demise. She then found a red vacuum, and decided to keep it. You never know when a red vacuum could come in handy.

She climbed down a rope ladder, carrying Skiperdoo in the pocket of her pantaloons. She climbed into a glass bottom canoe and was off down the river, far below the cliffs.

 Being old and with failing eyesight she did not realize that the glass bottom canoe had no glass at all. And they began to sink. They were however saved by a three-finned blue turtle. However only having three fins, he had not the proper propulsion and therefore eventually went in circles.

 He was the last of his kind, all the others having died. One can only get so far on 3 fins and natural selection had not been kind to them, having waited several thousand years for a fourth fin to appear.

On a side note Skiperdoo fell into the water and was devoured by sharks. So Blanche slowly drifted home on the back of the blue turtle. She became so hungry that she opened and ate everything in the red vacuum bag. When they reached land she gave the turtle her shoelace as a token of her good faith. She then ate the first turnip she came upon. But was chased off of the beach by a blind four horned cow named little Netty.

After wandering through a dark and dreary forest for who knows how long, filled with creatures, old hieroglyphs and signs of ancient barbaric people, she eventually came upon civilization. She attended a dinner theater on the edge of the dark forest. It was spectacular and well worth the ticket price. She met many people who complimented her on her red vacuum, how pristine it looked and made some new Mongol friends.

She returned home with a torn dress, a full stomach, some new native friends and a brand new old red vacuum. And also with the rest of Skiperdoo, for contrary to popular belief, he was not eaten entirely. The sharks only chomped off his back end, therefore forcing Blanche to have to get one of those little pet wheelchairs for animals with no back legs, for them to scoot around in, by walking with their front legs. It was a wonderfully emotionally exhilarating adventure for the both of them. And they fell asleep in each other’s arms watching Jeopardy.

EPISODE II- BLANCHE AND THE MYSTERIOUS GNARFLING CUMQUAT

Blanche awoke one day to find a man dressed in a plaid grass hula skirt, standing at her bedside. He startled her by saying “I am Gnefkin! Lord of Cumquats!” and he handed her a custom made cumquat. He then serenaded her with his accordion but then disappeared by running smack into the wall and turning into a dust bunny. He was then carried away by the wind, and a magical rainbow. She starred in wonder and amazement at this newfound gift. What was a Cumquat?

She set it aside and began to do her morning Jazzercising with her new “Tina and the fuzzy chicks” workout video. Suddenly the cumquat began to gurgle and golup. She at first paid it no mind but then it began to bounce around the house and it broke her grandmother’s old antique vase. So Blanche went straight to the book fare and bought “how to control a cumquat.”

She returned to find that the cumquat had painted the Sistine chapel on her ceiling with nothing more than toothpaste and raspberry jam. He had also erected an alter to burn incense to the Lord of the produce section, in her front yard. And he turned her horse cart into a monument to the great and terrible Bill.

She decided that the cumquat had to go. Skiperdoo tried to help but just received an enormous blow to the head by the cumquat. After many different attempts, including casting a spell, Blanche finally lured the cumquat into a cage with a floppy disc and a paring knife. Once inside the cage it stopped moving entirely. In fact the cumquat made absolutely no noise whatsoever. Blanche was satisfied with the new disposition of this little terror, and became at ease after a while.

Then strange things began to happen around the farm. First the chickens got chicken pox and died of pneumonia. Then a large gapping hole appeared in the middle of blanche’s flowerbed. She went out to the barn to find one of the three new horses completely bald and as smooth as a baby’s bottom. There was also a monkey throwing marbles into a bucket of water, just outside the fence.

Blanche became suspicious, and sought advice from a mental health care provider. The first appointment went well, although Blanche had used up her entire piggy bank, which she was going to donate to bald women. But upon arrival for her second appointment she found that the psychiatrist had mysteriously died. He had choked on a plastic spoon and drank an entire bottle of rubbing alcohol to sterilize the dirty spoon. He died in 3 seconds of internal hemorrhaging.

She went home in sadness, and walked in to find the house dead silent, and the cumquat sitting ever so still in the cage with a malicious air about him.

 “What have you done to Skiperdoo, what did you do to the shrink! And my house! Why are you doing these things to me, have you no morals at all? Did you ever have a mother!?” The cumquat starred at her and Blanche could hear a faint mischievous gnome like chuckle.

 She decided that the cumquat was the cause of all this folly and must therefore die; so she had cumquat for dinner, it was delicious. So Blanche was once again at peace on the little farm, after she found Skiperdoo… who did not die; but was buried up to his ears in jell-o by the voodoo curse of said late cumquat. All is well… but some say, to this day, when the moon is high and the tub is full, if you listen carefully, one can hear the distant and ever so faint chuckle of the cumquat.

Episode I- Blanche and Skiperdoo vs. the Narwhal

Long ago, (probably sometime in the 1970’s) somewhere in Kansas, on an old contemporary farm, in a little old farmhouse lived an old widow of 13 years named Blanche. Her late husband had settled that land and built up their farm back in 1921. He asked her to marry him in 23 and the two lived a blissful marriage together until his death in 1964. Blanche had reserved herself to a life of solitude in mourning, with only her little dog Skipperdoo for company.

The fiery spunk and sense of adventure she once possessed in her youth had long dwindled, leaving nothing but fond memories of her younger years. You see she had been the stubborn one, her husband being quieter, gentile and reserved. She was the spitfire then, but time had made her more like him. Little did she know that the need for that sense of adventure would soon be rekindled once again.

 With the fire crackling, Blanche sat in the warm dim light, on her comfy 3-legged stool, with her head in a bucket of anchovies, (to reduce wrinkles) reading “The Hound of the Baskervilles” by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

The phone beeped, (Blanche had a chronic superstition of ringing, it signifying the end of cherry farmers everywhere.) she answered it. It was of course her cousin Fran, who was calling to announce she had just won the Glasgow gin rummy contest. Well of course Blanche was jealous, on account that Fran had won the Senior Citizen cricket tournament in Cambridge the week before.

Suddenly there was a scratch at the door, so Blanche hung up on her chattering relative, and opened the door… there was no one there… she looked around, but then looked down. There was Skiperdoo, her little dog (which by the way was a crossbreed of an Irish wolfhound and a teacup poodle) don’t ask what it looked like, it’s simply dreadful.) Skiperdoo was covered head to toe in slime. She had been playing in the bogs again, taunting the alligators. (Skiperdoo was good at that) “Oh! Skippy, dirty again are we?” so Blanche promptly threw Skiperdoo into a bucket of soapy water and thrashed her vigorously up and down the washboard. She then threw Skiperdoo into her old crank powered dryer.

All was going well, when suddenly the old appliance began to sputter and cough. Sparks flew everywhere and the old dryer exploded into a huge ball of fire that was visible from space. It consumed their little old house, and the entirety of the 40 acre farm on which Blanche’s late husband Herbert worked 43 years to complete, killing the chickens, frying the eggs, and killing Blanch’s three horses, Ned, Kilby and the third of which who’s name was never documented on record. (And if it was the record was burned up.)

Skiperdoo came out unscathed but a bit static.

Needless to say Blanche needed a new dryer. She decided to take in the warranty and retrieve a new solar powered portable dryer.

So to avoid expensive shipping costs, Blanche purchased two 350-dollar cruise tickets on the Queen Marry, to personally make the trip to Tasmania to pick up the new contraption. Her old sense of adventure and need for a challenge was beginning to come back. Youth was breathed into her again. Blanche was once a great fighter, trained by the masters, and felt her long dormant skills returning.

On the way she met Dracula on the ship and threw him overboard to the fishes. Thus Dracula suffered a very uneventful death at the hands of Blanche, after centuries of a reign of tyranny in Transylvania. But this event is not important in this period of history and is not pertinent to the story, thus we will speak no more of it.

Anyway She went to Tasmania, took some lovely pictures of the wildlife, such as kelp, sea cucumbers and the voracious wild mongoose. After picking up her dryer and having a run in with the Chinese mafia over a voided check, Blanche boarded the Ship for the journey home.

Unfortunately Blanche drifted into a deep sleep, and when she awoke she found that she had missed her stop, and had ended up somewhere on the southeast coast of the arctic wastes, or more so, south southwest, and somewhat north nearer Norway, or Dublin or someplace like that. And what’s worse, she noted that her dentures were missing.

She exited the ship, all other passengers having contracted the dreaded Scouitzkylumpingitis syndrome virus, highly contagious, with a tendency to be somewhat on the benign side of malignant.

She came to the conclusion that this arctic wasteland was completely devoid of life. So having found a suitable souvenir shop, she bought a small bag of dried peas for the road.

While walking along, and balancing on the edge of a cliff, she saw out of the corner of her eye, Skiperdoo vigorously chasing a lemming, which he chased right over the cliff. Skiperdoo stood suspended in air for a moment, then VOOSH! Fell like a rock as gravity took its course. Blanche watched in terror as Skiperdoo fell hundreds of feet into the icey cold water below. Determined to save her fuzzy little friend, Blanche dug her boney old, fingers, which were callused, worn, yet tough as nails from almost 60 years of playing the piano, into the side of the cliff and began the long descent to rescue her floating comrade.

Right as she reached the bottom of the cliff she stopped to admire some lovely purple daisy’s on the ground, having forgotten what she was doing, on account that she had suffered a minor stroke back in 71 and had Alzheimer’s. My, did they smell lovely, but suddenly she was roused from her never land like state by the yapping of her drowning dog. She turned to see a large horn ascending out of the deep blue abyss. Why it was a Giant Narwhal, Blanche remembered them from her high school wildlife Biology class. It had come to eat Skiperdoo.

This, now was the deciding moment, would Blanche Summon her inner crocodile hunter and defeat the Narwhal, or would she stand and watch in shock as her little pet was rent in twain and consumed by the assailing sea monster. She summoned the courage and just as the vicious creature was about to ingest the little dog, she exploded into the air with an ancient Scottish war cry and a double barrel roll, and began to beat the Narwhal with her purse filled with bricks. The Narwhal’s Long spear like horn broke off and with a stunning turn of the table and lightning reflexes, Blanche impaled the Beast with its own weapon. All was well; the Narwhal floated lifelessly in the biter cold water, now tainted red, and slowly sank to the bottom of the sea.

Blanche and Skiperdoo then caught the nearest bus home, but having no change, Blanche promised the bus driver ten percent of her second million. They returned to what was left of their little home, and Blanche and Skiperdoo together began the rebuilding process.