2017-03-16 / Features

Silly Social Scenes

A Wand'ring Minstrel (Nye)

BOBSEARCH CONTINUES; WHERE WE LEFT OFF – The great-hearted Bactrian camel Batbayar (Firm Happiness), and his rider Bat-Erdene Ganzorig (Firm Jewel with Courage of Steel), had raced at subsonic speed across Asia and Europe along a continuous series of empty flatcars in the direction of Vermont USA and The Thrice-Blessed Adorable Bob the Cat in the World Being the Most Brilliant and Loved, which the Mongolian government, fearful of being overthrown in a popular uprising were Bob not found, had charged their security chief with finding. Having sworn a Solemn Oath and Covenant before a vast public assemblage to erect a statue of Bob in the central square in Ulaanbataar to rival in giganticness and splendoriferousness that of Zeus by Phidias at Olympia, the government nervously awaited word from their champion. They were left in doubt, however, for Bat-Erdene’s pink Princess phone was long out of range of a signal. The indomitable Mongolians had, however, reached and gone beyond the Austrian border and were headed for Calais and the Chunnel.

    Wasabi, meanwhile, was traveling in ever-widening circles (but circles nonetheless) in his search as what was left of his brain searched for something that was just out of reach of his synapses. He was on the outskirts of  Mountpeculiar, the artsy-fartsy, higgledy-piggledy, itsy-bitsy capital city, groping for the memory that would take him to Bob’s location.

    On the Other Side of the Atlantic, a Third Force was preparing to depart for Bobland as the result of a personal plea for assistance from the governator’s Eminenza Grigiot, Don Riccardo Mazzaratti. The Third Force was Director General of WC-1, a body so secretive that none of the British police or intelligence agencies knew of it; its sole task was to provide round-the-clock security for the water closet of HM the Queen, something Her Britannic Majesty would entrust to none but the director, for whom she had created the position some years earlier after she discovered a cross-eyed Cornish clam and cod costermonger sitting on the Royal throne. HM drove off the intruder (some might say extruder) by walloping him with a toilet brush, but was so thoroughly upset that the Government fell. Thinking back over the military men whom she had known, HM chose Leftenant-General Sir Aethelred-the-Unready Kumquat-Picklethwacker, KG, GCB, GCMG, PDQ, ETC, descendant of an old Saxon family long resident in Britain.

    Thus, when word reached HM, who had personally draped the Collar and Star of the Garter around Bob’s shoulders, that the Muscular Black Cat was missing, she naturally turned to the head of WC-1, who was then at his ancestral home in Great Dorking-Under-Ware, the Ninth Century Picklethwacker Castle, a Saxon stronghold of 236-1/2 rooms. Calling on the ultra-secure line that connected her with Sir Aethel (as he was known to his friends) at any hour of the day or Knight, HM sketched the situation, expressed her Deep Concern, and commanded Sir Aethel to leave immediately for the Lost Colonies. This her Chief of WC-1 was happy to do, asking only that he be given time enough to throw a few things together ere he departed, to which HM agreed, advising that the Royal dirigible, HMQ the Second would pick him up the following day. Next HM the Q rang up the captain of her dirigible at Heathrow Airport, Commodore Sir Percival Puckerly-Persimmon, advising him of the Grave Crisis and telling him to hop to it. This done, HM called for tea and crumpets.

    In Sodom-on-the-Potomac, things were stirring as well, though not in a good way, as President Dumpster constantly twitted All & Sundry (an Alt-Fright fake news site) about the missing pussy, demanding that action so the pussy could be delivered to him. His Chief Hatchetman, Staph Bunion, rolled his eyes and sent his trolls out to search the cellphones of underlings for incriminating evidence of disloyalty or malingering underlings. One of these later limped down a corridor, moaning, “Oh, man, this bunion is killing me!” Overhearing this, Bunion lashed out, fired the footsore troll with Extreme Prejudice, and drop-kicked the hapless minion into next week.

    In Moscow President for Life Vlad the Would-Be Impaler Putrid prepared to embark for the United States on a personal search for the cat, calculating that this would endear him to the great, stupid Americanski public. His plan was to parachute into Mountpeculiar from his supersonic jet fighter, reasoning that dolts like the Vermontese would be unable to detect his plane as it crossed into Americanski air space.

    As all this was taking place, Il Senatore Mazzaratti paced the floor of Governator Philpott’s office, which he had not left since Bob’s disappearance, wearing a path in the Wilton carpet, alternately muttering to himself and swearing Italian vengeance upon anyone who harmed his Very Dear Friend Bob. Don Riccardo had a cot brought in, along with a hotplate, a ten-gallon kettle of minestrone and a bushel of eggplant, with which he sustained himself (along with an occasional sip of Montepulciano d’Abruzzo to cleanse his palate). No, the Don was not taking this well, and it boded ill for anyone who harmed his Favorite Feline . . . .



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