Litsters In History.

I must say this is way more entertaining than Anderson Cooper at the moment.


Proceed Scherezade.


you'll live another day.

Somebody relate something embarassing about Silverluna so I can do a story about her!

Dixon Carter Lee said:

Mine was better. And wasn't Cagney great?

Click to expand...

Yeth

Morcheeba: PT Barnum's Greatest Show On Earth Circus, 1871

"Golly Mr. Barnum...you say the circus might go under? That'd be just awful...awful I tell you!" a visibly distressed Morcheeba fanned herself furiously.

"Yes, m'dear tis sad but true...and I fear there is very little I can do about our star attraction General Tom Thumb's condition" replied the wily circus promoter Phineas T. Barnum.

"But...but...what exactly is the nature of the General's condition?" a puzzled Morcheeba asked.

"Ah, how to put this delicately to a hothouse flower such as yourself...you see, while General Thumb is a scant 24 inches tall, his testosterone...that's the manly hormone m'dear...his testosterone level is such that if he doesn't find regular relief from his pelvic congestion...what the masses indelicately refer to as "blue balls"...why I fear he'll begin to grow to normal proportions and the circus would be ruined!"

"Oh no!" cried Morcheeba, "All my life I've dreamed of performing in the circus, and now this! Ah, cruel fate!"

"If only I could find some way to keep the General's testosterone level low..." the portly Barnum lamented.

"Ah, Mr. Barnum...perhaps I might be of some assistance" Morcheeba began tenatively. "During the Great War of Northern Aggression, I was called upon to relieve pelvic congestion from a number of wounded soldiers regularly....I've even learned something called "the French Technique" that might be the thing to help poor General Thumb!"

"Gadzooks, m'dear, you might be on to something!" exclaimed Barnum as they stopped in front of General Tom Thumb's ornate circus wagon. Morcheeba knocked on the door to the wagon, and a diminutive man appeared at the door.

"Come inside, lass, has the Great Barnum told you my story of woe?" began General Tom Thumb. "Why yes....yes indeed" exclaimed Morcheeba, as the tiny man ushered her into his ornate palace on wheels. Throwing a sidelong wink at Barnum, Tom Thumb shut the door.

"Hey Boss, hey Boss" an incredibly hairy man known as Francisco the Human Wolfman ran up to P.T. Barnum. The unfortunate man was covered all over his body with thick patches of human hair, making him look garishly like a wolf. "What's this I heard you've hired a new farm girl as an assistant? I could sure use some 'assisting', if you know what I mean"

"Quiet, you oaf!" whispered Barnum. "She's in Thumb's wagon right now, servicing him with her mouth. I'll send her over to your tent in a while...tell her you need relief from pelvic congestion or your fur will fall out or something. Hell, m'boy we play our cards right and this one could end up sucking off that irritable Jumbo the Elephant as well!!" Both men laughed.

Morcheeba appeared in the doorway then, a stream of translucent white dribbling from each corner of her mouth. "Excuse me, gentleman, I must freshen up a bit...for a small man, the General had some major congestion!" She blushed slightly and walked off.

"Geez, boss" said the Wolfman "there's a sucker born every minute".

"Indeed, m'boy, indeed" said Barnum, grinning and mentally filing away the Wolfman's pithy phrase.

La Principessa: Frank Sinatra's Singing Debut 1938

The Rustic Cabin Supper Club - Hoboken New Jersey

"But Princess...what if I stink up the joint...what if they don't like me?" the scrawny teenager fidgeted with his hands.

"Francis Albert Sinatra, you stop that nonsense talk right this minute! " said La Principessa. "I've heard you sing with the house band in rehearsals, and let me tell you...the audience will love your voice!"

The stunning Italian beauty rubbed the apprehensive Sinatra's shoulders and continued. "Who knows...maybe this could be your big break? I've heard talent scouts from the Ted Mack amateur hour might be in the audience. Look, the featured singer called in sick...somebody has to go out there and sing with the band. Somebody with charm...with charisma...with polish, and most of all...with talent. And that..." she touched a graceful pointed finger against the nearly concave chest of the scrawy would-be singer "is YOU." She kissed Sinatra playfully on the cheek. Sinatra reddened.

"Aw gee thanks, Princess" Sinatra beamed. He reached over and kissed her on the lips, and pulled her close to him. She giggled and pushed him away. "Go out there, Francis, and knock 'em dead!" She straightened his bowtie, gave him a pat on his tuxedoed posterior, and gently pushed him from the wings of the supper club onto the performance stage.

"And now...." the announcer intoned "please give a warm welcome to Hoboken's own Frankie Sinatra!"

Sinatra raced through three standards, the crowd applauding warmly after each song. When the band took a break, Sinatra bounded off the stage. He was grinning ear-to-ear as he came backstage. With a whoop, he swept a startled La Principessa off her feet and kissed her fully on the lips.

"Did you see that? They liked me! They really liked me! I'm gonna be going places" a jubliant Sinatra cried. He lowered her gently to the ground. The excited singer kissed her again, his hands beginning to drift southward, down her back...

"Enough, Francis" smiled La Principessa, attempting to sound stern as she pushed his roaming hands away. "You know good and well I am saving myself for marriage...."

"Then marry ME, princess!" said the impulsive crooner. "I'm going places...straight to the top. Marry me and be my wife and let's set the world on fire together!"

"I...I...can't, Francis" the lower lip of the Italian beauty trembled ever so slightly. "I...I'm...Francis, I'm spoken for."

"Spoken for? Whaddya mean? You're engaged?" said a perplexed Sinatra.

"My father...well, there are political considerations. This is normal among my social strata. My father has arranged for me to be wed a very high ranking German Luftwaffe officer. His name is Jazzmanjim, and he's the captain of the Hindenburg. He arrives tonight in Lakehurst, as a matter of fact!"

"The NAZI GASBAG?" exclaimed Sinatra.

"Well, once you get past his revolting politics, he's really quite a charming man.." began La Principessa.

"..the blimp!?" groaned Sinatra, slumping down into a chair.

"Well yes, he's a bit on the portly side, but good cooking does that to a man.." continued the lovely Italian.

"no no...I was talking about the airship" moaned the crestfallen Sinatra, his face in his hands.

Rob

You are very talented

Do me

Just dont KILL me off at the end

Busybody: Alabama Air National Guard 1972
The plane lurched to a stop at the end of the Birmingham runway. The pilot opened the cockpit hatch and climbed unsteadily out of the cockpit. Missing a rung on the exit ladder, he slipped and fell ingloriously on his ass on the hot Alabama tarmac.

"Aw shit, he's drunk again" Crew chief Busybody wrinkled his nose in disgust. "That goddamn congressman's son is more trouble than he's worth". He saw the two military MP jeeps, blue lights flashing, enter the far end of the Air Force base. "Shit shit SHIT" he swore under his breath...this was bad. real bad.

He raced over to the pilot, who was attempting to stagger to his feet. "Lieutenant Bush? Are you okay, sir?" Chief Busybody said. "Hell yeah, boy, you worry too much!" replied the swaggering pilot, his breath reeking of beer. "Sir, the MPs are headed this way...what on earth did you do with the plane this time...sir?" the enlisted man momentarily forgetting to call his superior sir. He knew this Texas prick of an officer was especially vain about his rank. "God DAMN em anyway!" thundered Lt. Bush, reaching into the pocket of his flight suit. Withdrawing a bag of a white powdery substance, he thrust it into Chief Busybody's hands. "Cain't let em find THAT on me, no sir!" the drunken officer chuckled.

The lead MP jeep pulled up in front of the two Air Force men and came to a stop. A large burly Air Police sergeant got out of the jeep. "Sir, are you the pilot of this plane?" he asked politely. "Goddam right I am, boy!" snapped Lt. Bush. "Sir, were you aware that a plane with this tail designation buzzed Governor Wallace's mansion twice a little over an hour ago?" "We're fucked" thought Busybody. " I never should have let him get in the cockpit".

"And if I did?" the petulant pilot. "I mean, it's not like there was anyone important in there...after all, they're all Democraps...I mean Democrats" Lt. Bush cackled at his own word mangling. Busybody smiled, in spite of himself....we might just pull this off...

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to come with us. You too, chief" the MP seargeant said. Busybody felt his bowels turn to water...they would ship his ass to Vietnam for this clusterfuck, he just knew it. Dammit all, why'd he have to get tabbed as the crew chief to some dickhead Texas cocaine cowboy. "ahh..speaking of cocaine!" he thought, sliding the package that Bush had given him stealthily into his pocket. The MPs cuffed the two Air Force men.

At the MP station, they were led into an interrogation room. "Would you like to make a statement, Lieutenant Bush?" the lead MP asked. The inebriated pilot immediately straightened up and slowly, steadily repeated the phrase that had been drilled into his head so many times at Harvard "I do not wish to make a statement at this time. I wish to exercise my Miranda rights against self incrimination and wish to speak with an attorney". "Wow, he must do this all the time" thought an impressed Busybody. The MP gave Bush a look usually reserved for when he stepped in something the dog had left. "Alright, Lieutenant" he said coldly "we'll get you some counsel". He got up and stormed out of the room in disgust.

"Okay, son, listen up" Bush whispered "They're gonna give you one phone call...you wanna get out of this? Pay attention. Call this number in Washington. That's my dad's private line. Tell him ah need the services of Agent Jay and Agent Kay. You got that chief?

"uh...yes sir. Agent Jay and Kay..yes sir" the perplexed Chief Busybody wondered what the hell was going on NOW, then decided he didn't want to know. He made the call shortly when he was offered one.

A short time later, the MP sergeant returned. "Awright, you two get back into the jeep...you've been released into the custody of General Turnipseed...I don't know how you did it" he got right up in the face of the bleary eyed Bush "But I'd better not ever see you around here again" "Oh, you won't...you won't" Bush smirked. Chief Busybody noticed a twinkle in Bush's eye.

Back at the Air Force base, the two men, still cuffed, were led before a formation of the entire National Guard company. At it's head was a red-faced General William "Wild Bill" Turnipseed.

"You two fuckups are both on your way to Vietnam" he thundered. "I want everyone in this outfit to see what happens to shitheads that don't make the grade in this outfit!" Busybody whimpered. Combat had always scared him...that was his primary reason for bribing the recruiter into letting him join the Air National Guard. That was two thousand dollars wasted, he thought sourly.

"You two are a disgrace to the Air Force. I ought to...what the HELL? Who the hell let civilians in here!" the General shouted.

Two men dressed in black suits and wearing black Ray-Ban sunglasses strode purposefully to the front of the formation. "Good afternoon, General, this won't take but a moment. My name is Agent Jay and this is my associate Agent Kay. If you would all be so kind as to look at this pen..." A blinding flash of light and the troops stood mesmerized.

Agent Jay spoke slowly "Lieutenant Bush was never here in Alabama. He was never here. You never saw him." All the men nodded their heads dumbly.

Bush winked at Busybody. "Told ya!" he mouthed silently to his crew chief.

So thats why ole Turnipseed doesnt remember?

This is funny!



Bumpin' uglies back to page one. Hopefully breakwall and RobDown won't forget to provide us with more fine entertainment.

Bumping as well !!

Jeez, this is great! How on earth have I managed to miss this til now?

~Bump~

Tristesse said:

~Bump~

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Great bump Tris http://pages.prodigy.net/rogerlori1/emoticons/homer.gif

Maybe someone else should take a shot at a story...I feel like I'm hogging this thread.

edited to add: Isn't eight enough?

RobDownSouth said:

Maybe someone else should take a shot at a story...I feel like I'm hogging this thread.

edited to add: Isn't eight enough?

Click to expand...

No.

RobDownSouth said:

Maybe someone else should take a shot at a story...I feel like I'm hogging this thread.

edited to add: Isn't eight enough?

Click to expand...

No.

Just made me want more.

Bump because this thread should NOT be on page 3

Pope Leo looked down at MWG as she shrugged and smiled. He could feel another one of his migraines coming on...

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Best line ever...........Granted i don't care for the pope............

RobDownSouth said:

Maybe someone else should take a shot at a story...I feel like I'm hogging this thread.

edited to add: Isn't eight enough?

Click to expand...

You are better at this then I am RDS

Scott X: Ancient Greece 800 B.C.

"Hello, I'm Scott X. I have a Master's in Literature, you know", Scott X used his usual opening line.

"A Master of Literature! Zounds, well met, good sir, well met indeed! I am Homer, a humble scribe." said the grizzled man in the toga in front of Scott. "Long have I dreamed of meeting a Master of Literature!"

"A scribe, huh? Have you written anything?" asked Scott.

Homer beamed, "A good jest, sir. I have, of course, gathered much fame with my tale of The Iliad..."

"The Illy-who? Never heard of it" Scott X interrupted.

"You've...never heard of it?" said a perplexed Homer. "But..my masterwork was the talk of all Greece last season!"

"Oh, then that explains it...it's in Greek. Prolly has a different name in English, mebbe "The Illiad" translates to "The Shining" or something. Hey, have you ever read Stephen King...great author!"

"King Stephen? Nay, I have never heard of such a thing..a scribe of royalty? Most perplexing" replied Homer.

"You really oughta read more classics like King...all of us with Master's in Literature do!" replied Scott X. "say...what's that you have in your hands?"

Homer brightened. "Ah, tis scrolls of my latest epic! The trials and tribulations of Jason and his band of Argonauts! I am at work at current describing how Jason bests the hulking cyclops..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" said Scott X. "Mixed metaphor city, baby! First of all, you've got your hero facing off against the Hulk AND Cyclops from the X-men? Uh-uh...these hero against hero things don't work!"

"Think you not, oh Master of Literature?" said a visibly dismayed Homer.

"And another thing...your hero's name...Jason." said Scott X with a shudder. "Too many bad associations with another series of classics...the Friday the 13th series. People expect guys named Jason to wear hockey masks and kill a lot of people".

"Alas, this is terrible news...I did not know of any other writings wherein the protagonist was named Jason!" exclaimed Homer.

"Well, constructive criticism is what we people with Master's in Literature do best. I DID tell you I have a Master's in Literature, didn't I?" queried Scott X.

"Several times, good sir, several times" responded Homer. "I beseech your help then, learned Master. Pray thee come up with a suitable name then for the protagonist in my epic".

Scott X thought long and hard. "Does your hero have a lot of muscles?"

"Muscles? As in strength? No, good sir, he is but a simple man" replied Homer.

"Nuts...then there goes my best choice, 'Rambo'" said Scott X. He thought for a bit more and his face lit up. "I've got it! The perfect name!"

"Yes? asked an expectant Homer.

"Frodo!" smiled a smug Scott X.

"Frodo, eh?" said Homer. "That name does have an air of heroic authenticity. Truly you are a Master of Literature, sir"

"Yes, I am" replied Scott X immodestly.

Note to self

Do not become a target of RDS..........

Great work, Rob, but I think we're all waiting for your take on LT.