Captain Flint

Web Name: Captain Flint






Captain Flint

Tweeting twiFables, using neglected, obsolete or welking wordies to explore and admire the kindly life and curious times of Mr Stepney Ryf.

Friday, 8 June 2012 Numbles, fumbles and rumbustical Ryf in RomaWritten daily, tweeted daily from the bucket Aug 09-June 12
Ep1 It was a worrying wordie night. Ryf Moldwarp were feeling farctate after a supper of numbles under the auroraaustralis
Ep2 and were playing a game ofprick-the-garter with locals (a clank-knapper, micher moll). But thingswere getting muddled
Ep3because, as in all medieval games, the gamblersgeeked. Ryf, our translunary hero, was soon seeking the truth point of it.
Ep4Ah, hed been in such a Wildean moodsince the Rutterkin War, travelling the world to find frim fruits wel-willy wordies
Ep5And Ryf was no different at this reechyrout as he questioned the origin of prick. A logomachy with fisticuffs ensued
Ep6 as the micher and moll thought Ryfwas being rude. While the bawdy micher bespawled Ryfs breeches, hiskicky-wicky
Ep7kicked Moldwarps gibus, which made ourheart-quaking hero punch tother one. You cumberworld cullion, roxledRyf.
Ep8You milk-livered mumpsimus, mumbledthe micher as Ryf his Moldwarp fled. Ryf, flebile peace-loving,wept because he
Ep9yearned to find true shibboleths, ofenlightenment. Wordies we will find, praps those beyond the alkahest! whisperedour
Ep10tomtes wappered wambling mate,reassuringly. Such belgards on Ryfs ruthful face as the pileous poppet built asoily hill
Ep11on which to rest their heads, andponder on the worlds nimiety of ninnies, hoddy-doddies, pebble-peelers andpopinjays
Ep12Soon they were sleeping unawarethat more tricks than in a lanterloo game were approaching, in the niminy-piminyform of
Ep13an abbey-lubber in a billycock. Oncean Adamite, the maculated monk woke Ryf with a scratching-under-his-cassockracket.
Ep14Ryf opened an eye as the papelardbowed low, flaunting a fracid asss head in his face. With a fawning fleer, hesaid
Ep15Mr Ryf, can I show you the way aheadin your search for wlonk wordies? Freely, I offer you my cephaleonomancyservices.
Ep16Ever-curious, Ryf nodded to the grog-blossomedmonk, and stared as the long-dead head was broiled. Mageiristic lores made
Ep17bubbles burst as the monk stirred.Moldwarp woke and whispered, Whats that snattock of a sluggard up to? Making figgy-
Ep18 dowdy? Ryf laughed at his pigsney.No, hes doing a divination thingy. After much murlimews the monk maffled andmoaned
Ep19then, Woonkers! I see the Way for youRyf! he pribbled. Oh my! PRAY sir, what sockdolager do you foresee for me? cried
Ep20our tomte, a bit hypocritically. Mr RyfI see you looking so fine in a white fedora! I see you there inEgads! inRoma!
Ep21Ryf rolled his eyes, Whatll thisfopdoodle next foresee? Me in a false peruke, in a molly-house supping skilly?But he
Ep22decided to humour the porridge-belly,Come, Moldy, lets go swithly, and peirastically prod the pea-goose popery fora
Ep23sooth. The chaw-bacon beamed as Moldwarp Ryf went to board a boat, thinking theyd endiablee the frape til it wasa
Ep24abawling against the pope. On the orlop, they drank grog with a flongmaker, a willyer, a wed-breaker one-handed apple
Ep25man. While Ryf prabbled with aphlyarologist, Moldy discussed welking medical words with a widgeon, but all nightin the
Ep26shadows sat a parlous papicolist,disguised as a paynim, watching grinning. During the weeks on the waves theCaptain
Ep27 shared his skillygalee, spinee bumboo with Ryf Moldy. One cupshotten night as they clavered in hiscabin, the Captain
Ep28whispered a warning, Theres a weatherspywatching, Ryf. If you go widdershins to Roma, youll end up a kissingcrust ina
Ep29circumbendibus. Ryf laughed, Fearnot, young bawcock. Im a tomte on a quest, and a gigantomachia would benothing more
Ep30or less than a gapesnest. Yoicks, theCaptain said, you do speak like a tip-top tomte, not a grouthead goliard. Lets
Ep31bowse up the jib sir! I just hope theydont bomullock you and you find the words to pen a bragget of a brut. Thegiant
Ep32of a tomte said, Ive already done a Bunsenburner of a brut! With the sausage and mash Ive acquired Colonel Quondams to
Ep33foist on the folk the bar ofsoap, in the Ratican. After a game of able-whackets in which Ryf won a packet,the ship
Ep34dropped anchor at the mawmsey mouth ofthe Tiber. A last doble-doble, some fuzzled farewells, then Ryf disembarked,and
Ep35due to being a quidnunc withoutsea-legs, he wambled and galped down the gang plank, clutching his gift for theartolaters
Ep36The papicolist (now disguided as a pittancer)gave Ryf a handful of holy-dabbies, then pushed him roughly in a carriage
Ep37Thus the merry-go-sorry began withfubbery our hero carried off by a hylden, leaving Moldy screaming Stop thevillain!
Ep38But the writhled spinicop had a firmhold of his spreth. Greedily, he raced Ryf to what he hoped would be spiritualdeath
Ep39and thus once in such a state, Ryfmight parbreak his atheism and cry out for a swinkless salvation such was thepickle-
Ep40herrings plan. The cart at last hitits target tumbled Ryf in the midst of the merdaille, near Pope Peskysmagnificent
Ep41 apartment. Ryf was prone, clutchinghis appley phone sack of love gloves, when a pizzle-greased Pantagruel stottered
Ep42by, crouched spittled a smellybreath word in Ryfs face: Trinc. With gelastic jubilation, Ryf sat up gasped, What?
Ep43 Trinc, whispered the javel giant.Ryf drooled at the Goddess Bottles panomphean word and smiled, Sir, I willstotay
Ep44 anywhere with you (or your dearworthPanurge) for a drop or two of piquant truth. In a ferry whisk, Ryf followed goggle-
Ep45 -eyed Pantagruel, unaware that the louchelurdan was planning to trip him into a fumbling, fescennine, fatiferous Fall
Ep46 via the temptation of gluttony. The popespoxy puttock led Ryf to an inn where a temperance test lurked smelling of sin
Ep47Twas a pannychous feast: a palmipedpie, pye pie, bag pudding and jorum of gin. Oh my! Such joy! sighed oursolonist...
Ep48Paunchy Pantagruel slapped Ryf on the thigh,then pushed a pot of purl plate of pulpatoon towards him. Trinc! Eat!he
Ep49growled. Though both belly-pinched andyearning for a bombard of balderdash, Ryf boggled wishing his missingmoldwarp
Ep50could advise him. Then a honk heraldeda warning on his appley: Bouffage may bring bumwhush or a buckswanging! Moldyx
Ep51Ryf quivered, faced with a scarychoice: to be spatrified by pies puddings or the ignivomous anger of a papulouspeagoose
Ep52Ah, sighed Ryf, my saviour! as a Lollardknight stottered by, shouting: Stockfishvile standing tuck! Bulls pizzle!
Ep53Oh my! The pop-bellied fizgig, Falstaff,turned from the applesquire he was cursing bowed, Ryf! My fitchet pie and
Ep54faticane! Why are you here? Ryf sobbedinto Falstaffs ear: I know youre no lick-spigot my famelicose friend but Ibeg
Ep55you to help snarf this feast, or Illexplode like a gumfiated link-hide (or be murdered by that titivil,Pantagruel).
Ep56Oh dear, is Tickle-brain in a stew? Illmake a snack of it dedicate my lambition to a total unbelief in you, smiledthe
Ep57heretic knight. As Ryfs disciple ate apie holus-bolus, Ryf himself higgle-haggled with Pantagruel, scoring moralpoints
Ep58on the sharing of what had now becomea bid-ale feast. Soon all except Ryf were prancing a passy-measure, Pantagruelwas
Ep59back to being a wine-bibber. Piddleto the pope, he gruntled, then Falstaff staggered up, raised Ryfs sack, shouted
Ep60All rise for Ryf whos not only apurveyor of love gloves but a spreader of lyfe! Blushing like a blushet at abridelope
Ep61Ryf bowed to his pewfellow, Thankyou. Saved from a pabulous Fall, he guzzled a goblet of nippitate ale crambledoff...
Ep62 leaving Pantagruels plan in pieces. Inthe mood for bawdreaminy, Ryf rang Moldy, longing for nothing less than morology
Ep63,not realizing that another talkingstocktemptation awaited him in the palm of a flizzy pharmacopolist with apestle-pie
Ep64In this new guise, the pygalgiapapicolist ran up in a fluckadrift and pushed his pestle-pie of powder underRyfs nostril
Ep65The sophist smiled, Want a tinctureor puff of this sir? Woonkers! What a whirl of wlonk wordies and logomancy youcould
Ep66experience! A drop can make a mooterof you, a troubly man of tolutiloquence! Ryf replied, Can you promise cavesof ice?
Ep67the milk of Paradise? flashing eyes? oblivion?an errhine to inspire a white-rabbit vision or canorous peal of laughter?...
Ep68or will you transform me into ababliaminy of borborology? With a dirty digit, the sluggard touched Ryfslips, drawn
Ep69by the sigaldry of curiosity, our word-diggerand adventurer shadowed his tempter to a Doric den of opiates deliquium...
Ep70By gum such a mullipood of methomaniaawaited Ryf. A couch of kittling prickmedainties playing handy-dandy welcomedhim
Ep71Much kippage followed as fustilugs andfoppets fought for the attentions of their long-admired kingling. Ryf,delighted by
Ep72a ferly: a friendly maccaroni mumblingmacaronics playing the guitar! Ryf ran through the murk to embrace anddeosculate
Ep73his old mate from Brainbridge HugePolly (famed for his boanthropy and buffoonery). Reunited, the buddies bibbled
Ep74 hokered the hunkerish views ofthe day, while the papist debulliated with disgust at a renifleurs overturesand rushed
Ep75away. The drizzard gone, drury anddicacity filled the bagnio with fun. But Ryf reddened and his heart quaked withfear
Ep76as a haspenald, a shunless temptation drewnear. Ryf played with his appley phone, then a round of Pope Joan with Huge...
Ep77,seeking distraction from this quidam whoquemed him. But then a belgard from the felicific face made him quackle, and his
Ep78 skilly-like beer spilled down his ballop.Their eyes met, Ryf thought of Moldy and felt qued. A beckoning nod from the
Ep79 haspenald put Ryf deeper into a malebolge. Hes aschismarch, a scrivener, whispered a lace-clad gent, making Ryf yet
Ep80 more inquisitive. After three puffsof hashish, Ryf walked willy-nilly, following what now seemed a quiddity(essence of a thing), but without
Ep81knowing what the It itself was. In theshadowy room, would he be cavorting glaikitly with a costnung or seriously seeking
Ep82the kalon. Ryf pursued hissapphire-eyed summum bonum, or mammet, up three rickety steps, to a chamber ofsmoke that
Ep83both kittled and brought on a kef. Hehadnt a clue what would happen nexta baisemain? a bergamask? He certainlydidnt
Ep84 expect such a callithumpian collieshangie,nor did he fear a hamartia, as he tumbled through the door, into the arms of
Ep85a flourishing kallipyg called HarrisPopple, who tripped on a bombous bottle, sending Ryf floundering to the fulvidfloor
Ep86where he fell flat on the fidging feetof a stirious Stoic bore, who was nibbling from a takeout box of Lukes quiches
Ep87Squashed by the falcate feet of thefastuous man, Ryf lay farcifully, staring up into the vertumnal lads eyes. Fambling,
Ep88Ryf saw a flary Fall approaching as hesat up to sip the skilly that Harris Popple had brought him. In a chantepleureof
Ep89imagined cheeping-merry cupidity anddespairing desidery, Ryf rang Moldy on his appley for a snattock of
Ep90 salvation. But the lines were dead.Ryf haffled, hoined and, untrowful, stood, then crawled to the anima mundi onthe
Ep91 bed, who emanated purpose and warmth. Oh to sleep and to croodle, careless of this couchee that conskites the world with
Ep92perplexity, whispered Ryf, then restedhis head on a soft woolly wanger. The slawsy-gawsy cogitators drew nearer
Ep93, straining to hear a word that wassaid in the sapid snip-snap that followed between our for-the-nonce Hedonichero and
Ep94 the lambent lad. But all they heardwas disturbing dittology. As they penned the kittle words for posterity, Ryf began
Ep95 to relax, at last, in the lupanar talkingof the worlds dapocaginous state, the whittie-whattie, trittle-trattle, and
Ep96lack of daedal ideas. But just as Ryfwas feeling elevated by eudemonics close to crying out Evoe!, theyounker (later
Ep97described as an agnostic, perfidiousPelagius or pottle of Prometheus) took his macker by the hand, strode to theeyethurl
Ep98 and whistered, If you seek fatidicfruits, precellent words, or seely soothnesslook there, pointing with an empyreal
Ep99 finkle stalk. There sits a noeticalspirit. Ever yiver for transcendent truths, after osculant goodbyes Ryfstumbled
Ep100out of the opium-den door like a toper,tripping murklins and tired. In the shadows, on the OccidentOrient road, and
Ep101 between two demonocracy abodes, Ryf spotteda crouched canous man, umbratilous, thin and in gyves, who seemed to be
Ep102 singing a skimple-skamble, or an amoretto.As Ryf drew closer to eavesdrop, he saw that the quidam was cuddling a coney
Ep103Are you a tregetour in trouble?asked Ryf, sad to see a singing man in chains. But the hectoring hoker from agathering
Ep104 thring made it impossible to understandhis words but Ryf knew by his smilet he had a clean inwit, he wasnt a dawkin
Ep105and his ditty was dearworth. But the glee-dreamingcame to an end as scroyles ran from the threng. This scofflaw escaped
Ep106from his oubliette, screamed aswasher. (Via simple-hearted tendresse, susurred a bystander.) Off to thefurca with
Ep107the lorendriver! came the mercilesswords from a scut of a skains-mate. No! shouted Ryf, weeping with midtholing,and
Ep108begging the multitude to help him. Ascuffleand an animant scambled through the threat. Magnifico! Moldy! Twas Ryfs
Ep109missing mate. But neither rumbusticalRyf nor mollifying Moldy, nor a bowelly batterfang from some blokes from thethrong
Ep110could stop the soldiers. So, by hisshackle, the untheatric chap was pulled to his feet and dragged nuddling downthe
Ep111street, still inclipping his coneyand humming. You rabbit-suckers! called Ryf. Is this indole innocentpeace-pusher
Ep112to be murdered for misimagination? a subrision?some solfing? Cant you hear the troth in his maffling! Hes no cully,
Ep113cudden or fop. He cant even hear thecorrupt. As the singing man was dragged into the nightertale, Moldy mumbled Truth
Ep114 in a shillibeer will end up in agrave again, pulled by power politics. The only belief here is in fiatand fake gods
Ep115Wrackful, Ryf cracked, sat on thekerb, hopeloss haveless, but then recalled the finkle stalk, the promiseof fatidic
Ep116fruits, precellent words and seelysoothness. By that spondence, Ill find the gale-gale tonight, for sure, sikedRyf,
Ep117, determined now to save him from thegallow-fork. Leaving his gunny of love gloves in the popets palace porch,with
Ep118his humble symmist holding a burningtorch, Ryf set off nogtivigating, seeking the lighty, his heart barely beatingwith
Ep119brokenness, his rage ripe forevenness; his mind hollow for the tickle of a troth. All amort, they searchedevery snicket
Ep120, sliddery papal palace and a thousandRoman streets. Dejected and drubly, Ryf and Moldy drumbled to a halt. Then they
Ep121, saw a Romulist, rough fromnight-rule. Ryf called, Is there city news? Dreaded words were heard: The coneyman?...
Ep122Mistrow, maybe an hour ago, the threetrees had him, mumbled the nazzy nuncio. Agrising, and aestuating with rage,
Ep123Ryf pledged revenge; crying and cussing, Pribbling, poxmarked pillicocks! Fobbing, fat-kidneyed afgods! The ninnies...
Ep124who allowed it should be ground intofex. Zounds! nodded Moldy, The nodcocks joppes should be encaged andfed geck!
Ep125Yes! the noddee nodder agreed. But, chuckaby, fambled Ryf, Now, what is left? Only aleatory avenues and authorized
Ep126thought-catchers? Who can we now truston our quest? Who will unperplex and unfork the thingummy? What can enlumineour
Ep127dearworthy wordies? socked Ryf. Andnow, our poor Fool is hangd, Moldy. The world seemed sunk in a puant pit of
Ep128ay-lasting alectryomachy all hopeadust, and plans to seek inspirative ideas disparpled. Ryf closed his wink-a-peeps
Ep129feeling drubly trist, with everyliving speech now dowly droughty, plus each guiding word weazeny, sincethe scragging
Ep130of the songster. Mornif Moldy openeda Bologna bottle of acqua-vitae, swincked, then snored at the carfour,alongside Ryf
Ep131, who figgled in his somnifery undera procellous cloud of confused compossiblity. In the grim hours of day-rawe,while
Ep132 dreaming of losing at both basset loo, Ryf suddenly woke wondered what to do - for something was nuddling hisleg
Ep133He lay acumble, cataleptic with fear.Was it the cataglottism of a carnifex, sent by the agelast murderer of innocence
Ep134and song? Moldy! Help me! susurredRyf to his fossorial friend. But the near-sibman snored. With a scritch, Ryf kicked,
Ep135there was a squeal a sob, then whust! Oh Ryf, grummede Moldy, look what youve done, you swelping pelting peabrain.
Ep136Ryf rose whewled. It wasnt amanqueller hed yerked but a coney, the peace-pushers last couthly comfort andconfidant
Ep137The reckling lay still as a pillow,glowing, and annealing the shadows like a pap-hawk in a Caravaggio. Then arigsby ran
Ep138up, pointed at the rabbit and Ryf, That drut was sent to you by the singing-man a living fardel of his dyingwords.
Ep139Entheous words now forever lost, mambledMoldy. O wumme! cried Ryf to the ghostly coney, I leally never meant to
Ep140hurt thee. I mistook thee for a missalist.Kneeling, with singults, Ryf squdged the thrummy bunny. Suddenly, it swoofed
Ep141 It lives! shritched our goddikin,heart-thrilled by his gowpin of living, sniffing inquisitiveness. Come, minstrels
Ep142muse, innocent witness, youre now mychiaroscuro of mannishlaik. Lets rouk and round, unsnarl the knots; inkle
Ep143your soothly words to me. Yes, shish,quietly, for the illuminati might eavesdrop. The bedazzled bun looked loveredly
Ep144into Ryfs inly eyes, snudged, then hoppedto the ground. And with a teetotum, a skip and a jump, raced down the road,
Ep145waving enkerly. Its beckoning!said Ryf with a needful neb. Come Moldy, and together they ran, craving arevelation
Ep146At last, words we will find, huffedMoldy. The WordIm sure of it! blustered Ryf, as they poppled past the praetory
Ep147which echoed with Pope Peskys shouts, Warderere! Gardyloo! Yoohoo! Down dusky rews they kept the coneys caude in sight
Ep148, passing many a saucy source of tropologicalwaggery and wit: Caravaggios wasty wanes; a playmonger in a white fedora
Ep149 where a wapacut slept on the brim; theshendly inn where Falstaff fizzled and Pantagruel paggled; an apple utterer who
Ep150uttered idioms. Ryf sighed as they forpassedthe tod-hole where hed nearly overwended words in the spond of a wliti wine
Ep151 and on they fadged, fortired withfollowing the rabbit, who now baled along the slubby banks of the timorous Tiber.Void
Ep152of all but the desire for a quietquiblet, a diddy ditton, even just a jest from the jumping buck, Ryf lumperedon. Then Ep153in a mint-while, Moldy reared, his nebquivering in the morning mizzle. Ryf, listen! The way-witere had formeltedinto
Ep154the mist, yet with a gutturinegrinding, like the purring of a well-queme pet, it pulled them on, into the unfathomed
Ep155fog. I smake no hoverings, no filthyair, whispered Moldy. Nor murmelling, said Ryf as his feet chorked in the slutch
Ep156, rather the bray and yering of brokennotes. This air is steeped in seraphic purrs and a nirth of dissonance. Hasten,
Ep157Moldy, I swear an iron gate isopening that, or Im a gongoozler. Chromatic quaverings, ferly tutlyings tuggedthem on
Ep158into the wimpling roke that quenchedthe throats of a gathering crowd but a few striddles away. Both smitten and
Ep159 strucken by the swage and swell of unpredictabletangs and tones, they stumbled into the meinie of unsummable beasts and
Ep160their bandying and fuddled forkedfollowers. For each floscular and fluffy thing had escorted a mort, mascle or kitling
Ep161to the fleam of Romulus andRemus. The chirming of the thring soon fampled Ryfs sensorium with a dindle ofboth derf
Ep162and edmod wondrous words as ensorcelling as the gargles in the meandering moliminous river. Words rising and gyring...
Ep163 Hwæt? Wet? Whatt? Qwat? Whar?Whi? Hwy? Whoo Hwoo? Ooh!...such deliberation addubitation balteredthrough the blore
Ep164 Ryf and the questioning folk,in a fonding of universalisability, then opened their arms wide to the way-witeres,
Ep165for an inyetting of illuminativewit or entheus. In an eie wurp, the wights leapt into the wampishing arms oftheir wards
Ep166Tightly held, thesecuddlesome creatures were neither widges nor whiddlers but whiskery whisperersof three willy words
Ep167, clearly heard by everyhugging free-hearted questor, questant, and even some quiddlers. Each open-breastedsearcher
Ep168stood tremulous, heartafire, full-blown intellective and inspired. Onefold Moldy, envyless of hiskneesy-playing mate,
Ep169noddled, subrided, and wlenchedas Ryf stroked the keymans coney and said, At the peace-pushers behest,dogmies are
Ep170dead! (Or may be,shortly, added Moldy in a kindly but salted aside.) Because I, and thisthriste and thrilly throng,
Ep171 continued Ryf, will beunbridled and blithe, and hold stithly these stover-scented creatures sootwisdom in mind.
Ep172Wopi andthrough-thrilled, Ryf thanked the coney, cherely stroking his scut. Moldy stoodthildiliche in the thickening
Ep173mist, metheful and thoughtsome- was it time to awaie now that Ryfs trist was transferred to three wightyrabbity words?
Ep174Was their unmeddledamicality now murksome? Would he, a moldewarp, now be no more than amollipilose poge, or pawn, to
Ep175a wordsmith? Moldy delvedin the brae, frighty of what Ryf might say arrivederci? tooraloo? Stonishedand upset, Ryf
Ep176bushed outthe bob, then begged the Oryctolaguscuniculus to hop off. Moldy fumbled and drumbled inthe fanc, Youve no
Ep177need of me now, themoldewarp said. Oh Moldy, dont go, screaked Ryf, umbethink Socrates! and hismate he begriped...
Ep178 Come now Moldy, trueyoure no doddypoll nor bard, but you are my Dante, my Petrarch, myMachiavelli, and my dearest of
Ep179 Abelards! Now youre a-switheringover my need for thee, because the three witter words, the flewsey wordstergave to me
Ep180,were already lusking inyour animalia encephalon, werent theyeh? Moldy blushed and soakingly suckedhis prepollex.
Ep181 Yea, said he, his neb alla-grin. I did know the wordies, before you even questioned him. Come,Rosinante lured Ryf
Ep182lets scamper and skiff,find a ship, and go a-fidging to spread our words like godlings! Moldy straitlyraced after
Ep183Ryf, mumping thru themist: Ryf, in that list, you forgot about Kant, didnt you? Im your carking Kant,too, you cockly
Ep184clunter, arent I? Ourhero pulled his subfusc mucksluff close against the chill. You Ivesmattered muchwhat matey,
Ep185he pattered, as they prancedto the pier. Weve faced many-a fiddle-faddler, heard his flim-flam, balderdashand bosh,
Ep186yet you were alert toevery word as cant as a kitlin, listening heedily, your wee peepers makingyou wary of the cecity
Ep187 of others' squinny subjectivity.Ah Moldy, you can besmell a true word in a brabbling of banter andthimblerigging. Our
Ep188 two scrutineers strodelike buccaneers up the embarcadero, holding fast their whithering words like flashingdirks for a
Ep189 distant wi. The weffe oftar and salt wained them on, to the crambo-loving captains ship, its holdrefert with pottle-
Ep190 bottles, devils-booksand skrits. The freebooter filled bel-accoil bowl-cups of spunkie - corn-brandyand rumbullion
Ep191 for Ryf and Moldy his much-missedcarders, muckers and mates. Once at bree, the three crept juldily under a clout
Ep192Ryf rounded his pistle ofRoma of the bouts of savagery, scoggery and unright into the tar-pots ear.Greedily, the
Ep193skipper in his sea-bookscreeved, until Ryf fell into a sloom. Sipping his shench, the slubberingship-gume grumbled,
Ep194If Im to make a storyof it, I yere a happy ending. Ah my friend, siked Ryf, you crave the wordsthe coney cracked.
Ep195 Ryf slipped the Capn a notekin,upon which, the coneys words were writ. Nearly scumming at the mouth, the amykeread:
Ep196 Freolaic, kindlaik,resun, ... Whannow, Ryf! There be no love words in it! What sort of truth isthis? Its all faken
Ep197and frigidal! Seely, Ryf laughed, there be love atthe colk of them! And now, my winger, where are we wayfaring?
Ep198The distrait scipper glouted, Were chartered to assail oceanwards, then east. Only the man below knows our destinacy.
Ep199Go, shrive him Ryf. Findout where were heading. Take himhis prog - this rizzar and grog. Down into the ships bosom
Ep200Ryf fombled; hooly, Moldyfollowed into the creaking hold. They suddenly stopped at a rundlet, where awretchock of a man
Ep201sat in the dirt,gruntling. Are you the charterer? asked Ryf. The dwarf noddled, scrabbed the peckageas Moldy gibbered
Ep202Where to, Sir? The griggrinned greedily, slaking fishbones from his grab-hooks. Northerly theneasterly? asked Ryf,
Ep203knowingly, yet yemelich.Then Ryf recognised the yegg, and yexed, I know you. There was a giggle and anod. The friends
Ep204fled. Later, all three(Ryf, the Cpn and Moldy) stood stilly, staring across the bree. Was it reallyhe? asked the...
Ep205tremblin talpe. Ay,said Ryf and ere long well be sailing in the jaws of an epical ryne. Agelid wind gealde their
Ep206hearts. Moldy quaved, Thenlets unbark; its safer we frayste a bower in a game of cards. Ryf gravelysnuffed the air
Ep207and let wit, Nay Moldy, weshould go where the squab takes us. Lets rid our imaginal minds of resty ways.Lets take a
Ep208tip from the truepennysresilient rabbit, rationate and swap tritical theories with percipience unclewmysteries with
Ep209quaintise and experience.Besides we mustnt lose sight of that squamulose spean, that paggling pricke,the one they call
Ep210Ryf charely lowered hisvoiceAlberich. A shudder ran thru the ship. So, crawked Moldy, Ill be upthe main mast....
Ep211Ay, and the Capn willensure our sailage is fast. And fret not, we have our freolaic, kindlaik andresun cards, beamed
Ep212 Ryf, as he traistily turnedto check the foison of his suasory speech. See, Moldy, our cepivorous Captainisnt afeard
Ep213 But the anecdotard skipper had just disappeared.

No comments: Tuesday, 28 September 2010 Rutterkins, Ryf and the Bouncing Book a tremefying tale in which a giant (with a tomte heart) seeks a flurch of followersWritten daily, tweeted daily Aug 09-Jan 10

Part 1

epi With a hey, and a ho, and a heynonny-no, twittered Mr Ryf, as he night-tripped through the orchard.

epiiThen, by gum, a vile voice stopped him dead: One more step and youll be a hylden, a haggersnash or a hurrion

epiii Our hero, Ryf (once upon a time a tomte, now a giant thing) screamed at the sight of a

epivrutterkin. This vision of ugsumness left Mr Ryf completely terrified

epv The rutterkin roxled: You lily-livered giant you strut-speech Ryf, listen closely to this

epviLoran. The rutterkin flicked a switch and the audio hissed: The land of Nors boss, lord, beloved and most ostentiferous

epviiogre speaking: You and your flothery follower are banished from Nor and its beblubbered bogs. We are confiscating

epviiievery apple, orchard and twittering for my commercial conquering of the world. So be gone by a months mirknight or

epixthere will be war The tape stopped. The gubbertushed rutterkin disappeared in a spray of

epxpismire slime as the teary Mr Ryf, all in barlihood, crushed the rudesby rutterkin with his foot!...

epxi Up popped a nosey nose: Oh my, My Ryf. What a feff! Youve made a verjuice of it, roxled his moldwarp mate, And

epxii I hear the rumble of a million sullen-sick rutterkins crambling near. My dearest cowfyne tomte, I fear that

epxiiiwe have less than a month to prepare for a whipping war. Mr Ryf was in such a twee, all a-queachy and feeling guilty

epxivand scraping a boot free of goo, he drumbled, Im such a croudling, a cumberworld. Darling moldywarp, what shall we do?

epxvThe moldwarp quoddled, You must don your tweeds, and your ballop britches (because zips are too vulgar for

epxviBrainbridge). Then, Mr Ryf, you must jog-trot to that crapulous capital of Campshire, and find fearless Followers who...

epxvii will fisticuff. So, at dawn, the tristful tomte and true-penny moldwarp, exchanged farewell fears, then

epxviii a wauling Mr Ryf strode south in tailored tweeds and cocked copataine to the city of witworm fame, mumbling: Googly,

Part 2

epxivgoogly, googly, (thinking of a tucket of a talkie he thought he might have seen). Comforted by such tuzzymuzzy musings

epxvand the red ruly apple held close to his high-lone heart, Mr Ryf set off at a jeopartytrot, in a fluckadrift

epxvito find rutterkin-fighting Followers. But our celibataire was soon in despair, on the rat-run road to Brainbridge

epxviiFor the first flock of followers were a five-wit ferrywhisk of fun frith: a jimp jemima, a jocund jo, a night-tripping

epxviiinanny, a fair-jannocks jester and a buncing bunny. But not a whiffinger or warmongerer amongst them. Ryf stroked his

epxixamulet apple and whispered the words, I cant lead such golden-sweet sequaces on a rutterkin ferd. And, as if...

epxxfrom his Delicious Red, words filled Ryfs unky head: Tally-ho to Brainbridge! There live feisty franions who will fight

epxxifor sure, Without more causeywebs, our welwilly wonder whizzed into Campshire, then took on a wallopy gait at the sight

epxxiiof the grammar-folks gates to Brainbridge. Everyone stared as he galloped through the Gogs, followed by the five-wits

epxxiiiThey tarried at a treating house in Trumpton St, and had a well-thawed game of weety winks. After squopping successes

epxxivRyf sidled out, now disguised as a sizar. He sneaked into Pepys and had pribbles and prabbles with lightfoot libidinists

epxxvand fizgigs whod follow. In gardies cellar, they kissed the cap glavered over Ryfs rutterkin map. Meanwhile in Nor

epxxvithe land shuddered and the moldwarp mewed. Then Ryfs wrinkly apple frightened them all with a hi-frequency fritinancy...

epxxviiA message came through from a Queens College comsci: You can hasten your pace with pigeons; gain 50,000 fighters in a

epxxviiisingle tweetin flight! After a swift meet with the Hugemm Rights, Ryf tied a missive to the writhled leg

epxxixof a flapping tabellarious. It said: Ryf seeks Followers to fight. Meet me at the Wee-wow Tree at greking.

epxxxWakeful Ryf, thru the night, davered in dark-house daymares floating ice, devils smiles, caves of hair, fertile miles

epxxxi scared that just jemmie duffs and gyrovagues might turn up. Meanwhile in Nor the land shuddered and the moldwarp

epxxxiimewed as ruthless rutterkins rumbled towards Spuddlham. At dawn, Ryf ran to Queens, dreading deep-musing doppelgangers

epxxxiiiBut what a surprise, a stirring sight, as the bulldog opened the vomitory. Behind the finely farded feral bird,

epxxxivglad-warbling crowds skipped freely forth, in a coranto towards the Wee-wow Tree. Ryf stood stunned by the sandillions

epxxxvof chucks chaps; and with a glistening eye, spied famous familiars: a fried-bread lover, a hatless joker, mashers and

epxxxvimumpers, a tabernarious trefusis and termagant of a wife; Ryf eyeballed comediographers, college commoners and Lordy

epxxxviioh my, he thought, amidst this fine flurch of followers, I see a particular petanque player, a ruby spam fan, a

epxxxviiiminimus moriarty, Brainbridge bedmakers, verecund Wagner fans, timid transcribblers, a gaudiloquent supporter of

epxxxixfeisty folivores, and woweeee, now I see a Wildean lookalike smiling at me. Oh goodness, such goodness marched

Part 3

epXLtoward the hero, giant and ever-truepenny tomte. Meanwhile in Nor, roisting, shard-borne rutterkins stripped dainty

epXLItrees of Ida Rems, their greylimbed armies oozing frothy phlegms into froglively bogs. And, as Ryfs only apple

epXLIIwhinnied in his waistcoat, a little folky moldwarp was chained and chucked atop a pyre. For recineration, after

epXLIIIweve fired Nor, the rutterkins roared, deaf to a whisper from our mantic moldwarp: There be a tiger-booted tomte

epXLIVwholl make a tittynope of yall, my dears. In Brainbridge, Ryf wiped a tear as his Followers cheered Speech Speech!

epXLVRyf coughed: Uhuhum, then, Tell me my Followers, Which of you shall we say doth love us most (oops by my sword, wrong

epXLVI speech). With tomte modesty, the giant spoke on: Err he today that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother!

epXLVIIHis Followers shuffled closer. Please, Fighters step to the fore, Stretcherbearers to the aft. Swords we shall find

epXLVIIIand onward we will march!' quothered Ryf. There was no oppilation, no lithernesse, no supplosion of feet, as the sweet

epXLIXdetermined crowd did as they were told. Yet, there was an unpredicted force involved as thousands padded aft

epLand only twenty frim Fighters stepped to the fore. Silent in fealtie, his Followers waited. Ryf sighed in the mebby-scales

epLIand wondered what to do. Twenty fighters cant defeat the rutterkins, he knew. Blinking at the quackled giant, the 87000

epLII(plus) perky pacifists smiled from the aft. Ryf reached for his Delicious Red, hoping for advice from his wordpecker mate

epLIIIDearest moldywarp, I fear I too could never raise a sword, whispered the giant, now a disquixotted major general...

epLIVBut Nor was out of range, and things were getting fraught. Moldwarp had cramp atop the pyre and the rutterkins were afire

epLV... Woeful Ryf set up an HQ at the anchor drinkery, and talked with his Fighters of the battle ahead and their weaponry

epLVI...After a nobbler, Ryf unbosomed his core concern, We cant slay mobs of reeky rutterkins with a posy of swords!

epLVII...Then McWallis, a pensiful fighter, placed a calling card on the table as his answer. This is where you must go,

epLVIII ...he whispered. The grimy card read: Nicknackitarian: seller of curiously mixed-up inventions, past present.

epLIX ... from Pullikins to Petards. Yarely, McWallis and Ryf strode, to a darksome door in Kettles Yard to buy weaponry

epLX...Weve no groats, said McWallis. Ryf, the giant smiled. No worries, he chuckled, mellifluously. I pocketed a shiny

epLXI...card. Fie Ryf, you buffoon! Youll be in the stocks someday soon, replied the nimmers mate. Through the squeaky

epLXII...door they walked. In the shops gloom, a snogly geard fellow (the nicknackitarian) tipped his hat (a deerstalker)

Part 4

epLXIII..., and while Ryf exchanged grins and greetings with the ebrious aproneer, McWallis found the weapon he was seeking...

epLXIV ...Just the trick, said McWallis. One of my inventions, from many moons ago. Skybosh! quarked Ryf, rather rudely,

epLXVIts just an empty book, not even an abcedary! Indeed the damp dimpled casing held just a wodge of pockmarked parchment

epLXVIWoot weep?' asked McWallis. Do not. We shall make a weapon of this yet, or you can call me a maidenmaker! The

epLXVIIbousy seller popped the book in a bag. For Ryf, he put in a free pair of Persian slippers and peccable pipe

epLXVIII To exalt the mind, dear man, said the giants pipe-smoking, trinkling fan. Then Ryf McWallis to the Anchor ran

epLXIXSmoke rose in the northeast from fiery rampallion rutterkin feasts. Dizzy with distress for his moldwarp in Nor, Ryf got

epLXXsick on sicer. But as he sucked on the pipe and twiddled his softly slippered toes, he was no longer temulent, but wiser

epLXXIMcWallis, my man, the game is afoot! What answer lies in that free-given book? If we miscarry, Nor will quob, called

epLXXIIRyf through the pub. Shush yor roozles, this is no shilling-dreadful, McWallis replied, tossing the book on the table

epLXXIIIFrom there it bounced into the giants lap. Lordy, my tinkering works! grinned McWallis. This will be our birdsnie

epLXXIV, our blore of a bomb! The books dimples were gone, its edges rounded, the whole was now rolled, tight as a banderol

epLXXVLets quother of it to your Followers, said the potvaliant inventor, Theyll fuel this crackling cosaque with

epLXXVIWith charactery from concupiscent mortals, interjected Ryf, musing upon tomte tales of scrabbled silver signatures,

epLXXVIIand facinorous words exploding like fairie dust. The plan was set and Ryf ran ahead, into the night with their weapon

epLXXVIIIThereabouts the Wee-wow Tree, Ryf fimmled his homely apple-john, fearing his Followers would be flarting or gone

epLXXIXBut there was a crowd having fun, by gum. Such a hurly-burly, a ferlie, all greeting Ryf with ale aeipathy, on on

epLXXXOur bawcock, Ryf, begged the throng, I need your words for a bouncing bomb. Witwright followers, please scrawl here

epLXXXI bethumpt the rutterkins with witsnapper spears. Save all in Nor, my dear moldywarp prhaps the world. Now, unfurl

epLXXXIIthe parchment here. Scabrous sceptics, a bigot of the year, cronked at all who ran tantivy, to sign the greenhorned

epLXXXIIIgenerals book. Ryf dared not look at the scribblings of his weety winks kin, Hugemm mates, frim fighters, pacifists

epLXXXIVand the wilde antinomian. Thoughts of nightshade words now plagued him. Weeping-ripe, Ryf rowned, Once the battles done

epLXXXVwhat will I become? a fool? fustilarian? a hero or a Gilbertian? Oh my Once farced with a foison of foaming words,

epLXXXVIthe tome and its secrets were furled. And the hody-moke crowd drank a toast, as Ryf was led to an unknown aerodrome

epLXXXVIIRoaring like ceraunoscopes, merlin-powered flying machines waited. Ryf flies? smiled McWallis. The giant nodded,...

epLXXXVIIIhaving faith in his gadfly glee-dreams as a tomte. Begoggled, Ryf pushed the throttles. Deep in the belly of the

epLXXXIXcraft lay the boudic bomb of rutterkin destruction. Ryf rose into the vacivity, singing bravely

epXCThe sky cracked. Our airgonaut dived into the enemy flak. No more mammering! Ill save Nor and my moldwarp, batterfang

epXCIthose knavish cullions with this beastly bomb! Ryf flicked a switch. The book was released just as his craft was hit

epXCIIand exploded. In the bogs below, the bomb bounced, while our giant nepheliad floated earthwards. Bethumpt by sods and

epXCIIIwappered by fire, Ryf flopped in a field of wet wooze. Spanwhengled near Spuddlham, he lay in a daze listening for the

epXCIV...explosion. Then a flip and a flap, and the book landed on Ryf's lap, fizzing. From the mist, scuttled scabious scaly...

epXCVlickspittles. Bearing tinder scythes, ledgers knives, ranks of red-eye rutterkins fleerd at him. The Elder, an ogre

epXCVIpoked the parchment with a mort-headed mace, Ha! your bletcherous bomb fantastical followers have failed you!

epXCVIIRyf raged, Read it! I dare you! then maffled an aside, Now Im fated to share a rutterkin grave, dug with senticous

epXCVIIIsentences. Cullions claws unrolled the book. All amort, Ryf stood to the fore, ready to fall in flames of fulmination

epXCIXThe ogre read. Yet no fiery blasts. To his army he said: Close it. We must retreat to the Ratican. Ryf cannot be violated.

epCPeace. Mirknight. Then oh joy! Dear moldwarp from the clods arose! Such croodlings catchings-up in the softly falling snow

epCIRyf stroked the scroll, Why didnt the words explode, poppet? Ah, look here! Your Followers mistook the purpose of it

epCIISee here, their quills bled not with war or rutterkin protests for every tweet twifable is a wuzzle of affectionosity

epCIIIAnd Ryf, this applausive passion you inspired rid us of the rutterkins, without the loss of life! My igniparous angel

epCIV,your sweet power is truly heart-quaking, sighed the minnock moldywarp. Now tarry no more, my prickmedainty tomte, for

epCVwe must daff all be off home for monsterful drynkyngs. Faustian friends are waiting. Danseyheaded drumbled, the

epCVIpair joined the carousing crowd. But murklins, Ryf crept from his fervent Followers the cataglottisms of fluffy fans

epCVIIto fret upon his Followers: How to I lead? What do they eat? A flower fell in Ryfs lap our dinkum tomte gazed about

epCVIIIThere at his back was the Wildean chap, smiling and tipping his hatStarrified ecstasiated, and no longer bajulating,

epCIXRyf picked up the rose, adjusted his clothes and into the lief crowd he strode, knowingly, beautifully, bursting with

epCXunked and unutterable love. Now a follower himself (of the Wildean man) the tweetable road looked blissfully good. THE END

No comments: Older PostsHomeSubscribe to:Posts (Atom)Inspired by the grand master of words, Stephen FryCaptain FlintTwifables Rutterkins, Ryf and the Bouncing Book and Mr Ryf and the Golden Juicy tweeted JuneAug 2009, Aug-Jan 2010 via @CptFlint. All wordies are real (except for the Names, of course). Current twif: Numbles, Fumbles Rumbustical Ryf in RomaView my complete profileBlog Archive 2012(1) June(1)Numbles, fumbles and rumbustical Ryf in Roma 2010(1) September(1) 2009(1) November(1)Followers

TAGS:Captain Flint 

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