Bakka returns from border patrol and is greeted with smile's and cheers from Hurley and Amj37 who are celebrating the new digs.
The empire has prospered since Bakka scouting run and the central library now recognise Freedom force as an Empire within it's data banks.
Wild Wombat was at the back of the room tryng to feed punch cards into a DVD drive.
"Heelllllpppp!!!!" he bellowed,"the techo piece of crap doesn't like me."

Drop Bear was at the main console sniggering at the wild one and keeping one admiring eye on the gradual growing status of Freedom Force. "Party time folks We have the top ten posi."
"Sir!. Scout Bakka reporting"
"Yes, yes what you got for me"
"Well Sir. It could get a bit rough around here."
"How rough bakka?"
"How about a four front war. Some drongo got the co-ordinates around the wrong way."
"Cripes! how bad is it"
"Sir we have the MWC to the north. The Pirates are at our south border. I bet they have already raided the beer bunker. The GammerSquad are to the south east and the EA are to the East."
"Basically sir we are a Hero sanger of GROSS Farmers."
[Message Edited]

Welcome, ajm37.
Correct bakka.
Oh, great stories! Where do you guys find the time!
LOL

It's just a jump to the left


[Message Edited]

And a jump to the right...

Put your hands on your head...

With your hands on your hips.

Note to bakka and Ray - thanks guys, your joint explanation makes perfect sense. The problem is, now that I've tried to submit under new nick, I can't recover the game. A 9,500 point large win (my first at large)......all gone...... (:(

Head?!?! Must be some southern hemisphere version. :notsure: Just turn the music off. It's ruined.

Bloody hell...where are my suspenders....

Sorry Kit - my old brain just couldn't dredge up the lyrics!

Excellent bar though. And it's not like I was looking for a dance club. Well to commiserate with Wombat's loss, the next round is on me. Sound good?

Absolutely - good on ya Kit! LOL

Pontius comtemplated the evilness of his little addition to Kit's Transmorgifriar. Was it the source of the widespread animal effect? After all, Kit's only target had been Chris, now turned into a drop bear. But now, with the little power addition, half the Anzac's were affected. Pontius for a short time, regretted the action taken against his friend, but it passed quickly as Pontius thought about it and realized the breakup of the Anzac fighting force was worth a few lives ruined. But what of this new mutie empire he thought. Would they be a threat? And how widespread was the effect of the transmorgifriar? Oh well, we'll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it. No one will know it was us in the first place. I'll just have to live with the guilt. (laughter) Oh well thought Pontius, Perhaps it's time to take this neutral cloak off again. Nooo not yet, there were more secretive things he had in mind.

Wild Wombat woke outside the cave after what seemed an eternity. Instead of an almighty hangover he felt...more alive...as if the world had taken on an extra dimension for him. He slowly rose and moved on down the trail; but after a few steps felt so transformed he found himself skipping and jumping down the bush track.

He began humming to himself and a shrt way on, burst into song:
Cel-e-brate good times, come on!
do-do-do-do-do do do-do
cel-e-brate good times, come on!
do-do-do-do-do do do-do
Well there's a party goin' on right here...

Wild Wombat felt a surge of energy run though his body and to his utter amazement, suddenly came across two of his favourite things, in the middle of the track: a basket of honey-and-witchety-grub cakes, and a freshly tapped keg of Fosters beer.

Without warning, a shower of leaves fell from the forest canopy; a swirl of multicoloured leaves fell around Wild Wombat as he sat beside the cakes and beer.

Gnawing contentedly on a cake, he reached for a beer....and pondered this new development.

Ah, good, good! Good it is to see that another Empire has joined the theme cause. Welcome you I do ally.

MARRIAGE AND PARTNERS

The Ship of Doom

The odd man looked around the Captain’s den with a grimace.

Pontius looked up from his PC with a worried frown, his Sun King crown at a jaunty angle.
“Don’t mind us, Pookie”, said Mrs Pilot with a wave of her fierce hand. “Go back to your nerdy mates”. Pontius tried to continue typing his congratulatory message, with one ear cocked. He found that sometimes he could do two things at the same time.

The stranger pursed his lips and said, “For this room, I’m thinking something faux”.
Mrs Pilot looked pleased. The man continued: “And that ugly PC has to go. I’m thinking iMac, I’m thinking silver”.

Mrs Pilot nodded with greater enthusiasm: “My Vogues and Marie Claires are in the knitting room”. She pulled at the man’s arm. The man wiped his finger along the dark mahogany bookcase and looked at the dust. Wiping his fingers fastidiously on his colour coordinated handkerchief he said: “Your magazines will be a perfect place to start. Let’s go conceptualize”.

Mrs Pilot and her new friend left the cave-like den, giggling conspiratorially.

The Ship of Doom, earlier

King Pontius I, the Sun King, swept into the throne room.

The gathered pirates, wearing powdered wigs and bright pantaloons, knelt or bowed to the Sun King. Pontius sat on the Versailles throne with a grunt and waited. Spymaster Gerakken finally stood upright and struck a pose. Unfortunately, the long, red Cardinal’s robes hid his lithe, handsome legs. Pontius looked at Gerakken thoughtfully. “What news, Cardinal Richelieu?” Pontius asked, regally.

Nicholas Pousin snickered. Gerakken cast a reproving glare at KitWarrior. To the resplendent Pontius he said: “Oh great and powerful Sun King, Colbert’s financial program goes well. The Huguenot’s are firmly held. Come Colbert, show His Highness your plans”. Ray the Wanderer stepped up, the carefully drafted, hostile take-over report clenched firmly in his expressive hands.

The Versailles meeting ended soon after when Peggy-Sue made her lush entrance.

The Waltzing Matilda, earlier

Dropbear moaned dramatically. His wet burp introduced an aroma of stale beer into the sick bay.

Dr Quinn pulled the thermometer from Dropbear, quickly wiped it and studied the temperature.
“Well, you’re not gonna die ya silly bear”, she said. “It’s only beer poisoning. Cheap, nasty beer at that.”

Dropbear whimpered and looked forlorn. He knew his forlorn look would get him an extra tummy scratch and perhaps a chocolate. And it did.

‘Dr Quinn is a great medicine woman’ thought Dropbear, just before he passed out.

The Ship of Doom, earlier

Darth Bob broke the spell with an innocent giggle. Hearty laughs echoed through the Survey Ship of Doom as the entire crew cracked up. EBZ hollered, "pirates being audited?!?!" The laughter intensified. Gerakken threw in, "interior design? On THIS ship?!?!" The laughter rolled on.

The Ship of Doom, earlier

Spymaster Gerakken finished putting his Cardinal’s robes on, and turned towards the quartermaster. His make-up had already run and he had used a little too much rouge.

“Bloody auditors and decorators AND ESPECIALLY artistic types. I’d give them all to Stealthfrequency to make ‘em walk the gangplank if I had my way”. The quartermaster’s dark countenance paled.

“Now”, Gerakken continued, “your report on our beer consumption. And quartermaster…”. The quartermaster looked up, terrified. “I assume we’ll fool the auditors again this year?”

The quartermaster nodded quickly in agreement: “We’re not stupid boss. We know all the tricks”.

The Ship of Doom, earlier

The newly installed animal-feces alarm clanged abruptly.

Dropbear looked around curiously. But he had, unbeknownst to him, chosen his time well. The pirates had gathered for Yoda’s daily yoga and spiritual healing hour and were in no mood to threaten an intruder. The Ship of Doom was open to any and all.

Dropbear motioned to the odd man who was patiently waiting on the gangplank, and together they moved through the ship’s metallic corridors, to the room which had a sign: ‘Pirate Wives Hairdressing Salon’. Dropbear handed a wad of money to the odd man and said: “You know what to do”. The man nodded eagerly. Curiously, Dropbear asked, somewhat tipsily: “Do you recommend solid mahogany for the marital bedroom?”. The other man chuckled: “Heavens no. The current fashion is for a thin veneer of mahogany”.

The salon was bright and cheerful, with many mirrors. “Mrs Pilot”, said Dropbear with a grin, “meet Bruce”. Bruce the designer stopped chatting with Nigel the hairdresser and took Mrs Pilot’s hand with a flourish. “Darling, you look ravishing” he said, as he bent to kiss her hand. Mrs Pilot, rollers in her hair, tittered. “Now, I have some colour charts for you to look at. I’m thinking lavenders and primrose…” said Bruce.

The other pirate wives looked on, jealously.

The G.R.O.S.S. Co-operative Building Society Bank, earlier

Mrs Pax handed over the money with pride. The bank clerk counted the bundle of greenbacks and stamped the Visa credit card bill. “Well done Mrs Pax. It’s not often anyone pays a credit card bill completely off!” They beamed at each other.

“Between you and me, Jimmie, I just wanted to have more quality time with Mr Pax. This is my little present to him for being such a caring husband who devotes all his spare time to me”.

“You’re a lucky lady, Mrs Pax. And now he can’t blackmail you with the visa bill either. Haha”.

Mrs Pax snorted. “Well you know Jimmie, Mr Pax is not like that. It wouldn’t enter his adorable mind”. Young Jimmie was impressed: he shook his head in amazement. ‘How funny married couples are’, he thought, ‘Gosh I can’t wait until I’ve married my adorable pirate Peggy-Sue’.

Jimmie turned to the next customer, a short, daggy bear. “Good morning um, sir?”.

The Ship of Doom, earlier

The auditor clipped his Ship of Doom Visitor’s Pass on.

CypherPax adjusted his eye patch and motioned the landlubber to proceed into the Ship of Doom. The auditor tried not to stare at the pirate playing by the gangplank. The pirate was poking a teddy with a large cutlass, pretending the teddy was walking the plank, and then tipped it brutally off. “Aren’t ya late for the poetry reading, Stealthfrequency mate?” asked CypherPax as he and the auditor passed.

The auditor had been sent from Matthew & Son, with strict instructions to not upset the rather touchy and bellicose pirates, especially when they’d had a tipple. He composed his features and mentally prepared for a very tedious audit. Matthew’s son had assured him that there would be embezzlements a plenty in the pirate’s cooked books. There was every year.

But the auditor knew all the tricks.

The Waltzing Matilda, earlier

Dropbear turned his back towards Space Wombat. “Wombie, I haven’t shaved for awhile, and you know I could only ask this of a mate. Ah, any dags on me?” he asked, innocently. Wombie quickly glanced at Dropbear, and sure enough, a round, solid dag was hanging stiffly. Wombie wrinkled his nose: “Not at all Dropie, clean as a whistle”. Dropbear nodded with relief.

“Well, wish me luck Wombie. I’m off to use my well-polished stand-under tactics on the G.R.O.S.S. Co-operative Building Society Bank. We can use their own money against them, ha, ha”.

The Wombat looked concerned: “Is that ethical Dropbear?” Dropbear rolled his eyes: “Sheesh Wombie, I reckon it’s OK to commit crimes if it helps the State. Anyways, may as well hang for a sheep, as for a lamb”. They laughed together, with relief.

“Come on Dropie, for once in your life at least try a beer or two. It’ll give you courage for the mission. It’s good Melbourne beer”. Wombie cracked a slab and against his better judgment, Dropbear took a swig, or two, or three.

The Ship of Doom, earlier

Pirate Peggy-Sue quivered with excitement when she heard the news: she was a real role-player and adored playing the French Court bimbo. And she so loved men wearing make-up and powdered wigs.

The Ship of Doom, earlier

The gathering looked at the new holo deck controls with interest. “What happened to the old holo deck” asked EBZM, curiously.

The quartermaster chuckled. “I sold it to Zoshan the Quartermaster of the MWS Manifest Destiny”. The gathering burst into raucous laughter. CypherPax even rolled on the ground with mirth. Pontius spluttered his beer, but didn’t drop it. “Gosh Quartermaster KitWarrior, that was truly evil” said Pontius. KitWarrior looked abashed: “Well…Ever since the holodeck got stuck in that bizarre western adventure, it wasn’t much fun at all!”.

“Serves the buggas of Brutopia right” sneered EBZM. Pontius glared at him: “EBZM, show a bit of respect to the drongos. Use their proper name”. EBZM shrugged: “Alright, serves the happy People’s Republic of middle America right”.

Spymaster Gerakken caressed the holodeck controls and turned to Pontius. “Ah, Captain. Can I be the Cardinal next. You can be the Sun King. Pleaaaase….”. He tried not to whine.

“Of-course Spymaster” said Pontius, keeping the tremor of excitement from his rich voice.


Notes:
1 I should advise any teenagers reading this that bank robbery (even from pirates of their ill-gotten gains) is not condoned by the writer.
2 The Fellowship of the Ring Ethics Committee later admonished Dropbear for his actions.
3 Pontius’ nickname is in fact Wigglewam and not Pookie.
4 Pontius has in fact often done two things at the very same time.
5 Gerakken does not use or condone makeup on blokes.
6 Married couples are not generally funny, but can cause amusement.
7 Solid mahogany is still fashionable.
8 Mrs Pax did not, in fact, pay off the Visa bill.
9 The Ship of Doom was later sold for scrap to a Singaporean business, and now languishes in Singapore harbour.

Now as you would all know, 'A Day in the Life of Pontius' actually comes AFTER 'Marriage and Partners'. For it to make sense, read it in that order. Now you may think I am getting into my little stories a little too much, but I wanted to rescue this from threadzilla, for ease of reference. Don't mind me!

KULCHA AND FREEDOM

The Noble Sacrifice

Brave KitWarrior faced the guillotine gallantly.

He waved a hand at Mrs P who was knitting and cackling near the foot of the blood-soaked platform. Kit said, “It is a far, far, better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far, better rest that I go to, than I have ever known”.

A perplexed look crossed the Drengin’s face, briefly. “What did he just say?” the Drengin asked. The watching pirate shrugged. He was in no mood for delay, for he was having too much fun that day. The pirate bustled the brave Kit to the wood and metallic structure: “Off the plank ya go. Oh. Um...”

It had all started innocently enough.

The Ship of Doom: The Foreign Affairs and Good Relations Committee

Pontius startled the G.R.O.S.S. Foreign Affairs and Good Relations Committee by springing to his feet, screaming, waving his hands in the air madly, and blinking.

The Spymaster looked over, concerned: “Boss, why are you blinking?”
Pontius giggled. A giggle that started high and ended in a gargling gurgle. It was an unsettling giggle. “Why, vices are sometimes only virtues carried to excess!” Pontius muttered. “Why did I not see this? Yes. Yes. And now that my darling is on the mahogany desk in the bedroom, I can be my favourite character ‘Yor-Gottabe Kidding’, and yet still have quality time with Mrs Pilot!”

Without a backward glance Pontius left the room, walking backwards.

The G.R.O.S.S. Cooperative Building Society Bank

Jimmie hauled the sack of gold to the counter. “Gee Mr...” Jimmie suddenly sneezed. “Sorry about that sir. Ah, that is the full cash advance on your Mastercard. Must be a real emergency, sir. Why, when I was talking the other day to Mrs P…”

The pirate abruptly turned with his haul and left Jimmie in mid-sentence. Jimmie scratched his head. But his thoughts soon returned to Peggy-Sue. She had not had much time to see him recently, what with the elections and all. Young Jimmie was lonely.

The Ship of Doom: A Cabin

The pirate worshiped the gold. It would win him the election. He put it in his bathtub and burrowed through it like a gopher, and tossed it up and let it hit him on the head. His wife watched, silently, from the bathroom door. She was a wise and learned person and thought: ‘You do not know what men have done to win it, and how they have found, too late, that it glitters brightest at a distance, and turns quite dim and dull when handled’. Still, it paid the bills.

And a cute little bear had recently recommended a very costly interior designer to her.

The Ship of Doom: The Election

The pirates looked askance at each other: it had been a bitter campaign with no prisoners taken.

Tensions had run high for the past several weeks, for Pontius had locked himself in his apartment and could not be contacted. The ship without a captain had foundered and Gerakken had called for a ‘Dauphin’ as he elegantly put it, to take the seat whilst Pontius was ‘indisposed’, as he said.

Black smoke placed the last ballot in the box. With much ceremony, the Spymaster then slowly counted the butterfly ballots. The crowd of pirates hushed as the last vote was counted. Gerakken paled and looked up. “We, uh, may have to recount the vote” he said hopefully. “There are two votes in which the chads have not fully…”

EBZM put his cutlass to Gerakken’s handsome neck: “The numbers Richelieu” he said with the merest sneer. CypherPax knew it was not pleasant news, for a small well defined drop of perspiration inched its way down Gerakken’s patrician brow.

Gerakken muttered “Well, as we know, Welshman was disqualified for being a European. So…” He paused dramatically, warming to the moment. “Peggy-Sue got 1 vote”. The pirates tittered: Peggy-Sue had voted for herself again. “Capt. Chaos got 7 votes”. Capt. Chaos’ many friends roughly punched him with pleasure. “Gerakken got 14 votes. Thanks guys”. The crowd stirred uneasily. “And so, with fifteen votes…”

The Last Minutes of The Prancing Pony

A many-coloured rainbow glistened for a brief heartbeat on The Prancing Pony, in the dale, and then was gone. The little fairies and wizards, and well, rather odd, bar-dwellers were laughing gaily. Gengsta held himself with aplomb, but as for the rest! Let us simply say that mulled cherry wine is not for the faint-hearted.

Gengsta was weary. Weary of fairies and pixies and hairy feet. He wanted to rub shoulders with beings of power and light: beings with whom he could reach the heights and plumb the depths. At least, the adorable little bear had been convincing at the time, although its logic was presently hard to follow. Where is the little fellow, thought Gengsta, as he looked around, foggily.

Suddenly, without warning, the bright green door (which had a rather pretty brass knob and red trim) burst open. A throng of Drengin surged through the tavern, pirate cutlasses flashing and hacking.

The pirate watched from the hill. The burning, the fire, lit his eyes. But his heart was cold.

The stench of death hung over the tavern for many months after.

The Line of Credit

Later, the pirate dropped the AMEX card into the waiting hands of the Drengin overlords. “That is all I have left”, whimpered the pirate numbly. “You have ALL my available lines of credit now”. The Drengin grunted: “This line of credit will do for now. Long may our alliance endure, paleskin”. The pirate shuddered.

He had meant well at first, but things had quickly gotten out of hand, as they did.

The Last Informative Minutes of Ray the Wanderer

Despite himself, Ray the Wanderer looked up from the bloody neck rest. “Ah, I might point out that noyades can be a much more efficient form of mass executio….”

Swish.
Kerplunk.
Gurgle.
Thud.

A head rolled into the half full basket. Saint-Just (or The Nemesis of Ray as he later styled himself) was mightily pleased. Mrs P clapped with mounting excitement and returned to her husband’s jumper: “knit one, pearl one…”

The Brave Freedom Force Fighters Unite

The brave Freedom Force fighters milled about the closed and barred bar door in confusion. Some less brave, wailed. “What’s this?” asked Dropbear, with some concern. Dropbear’s green, cuddly eyes sparkled, and he fingered his sparse medals.

“Oh Dropbear. Disaster…”, whispered ajm37. He couldn’t continue. Slitherin slithered up quickly: “Dropie, some mad fool accused the pirates of being drunken and soft! It has led to this! They have become teetotallers! The Drengin and their pirate ally have banned beer!”. He jabbed a finger at the closed, dark pub.

Dropbear glanced at Hurley with concern, as they sipped their pinots, thoughtfully.

The Teacher’s Burden

Mrs Pax threw the apple at Yoda. It hit him on the head, hard.

“No, no, no”, she said with some exasperation. She knew that she should keep her cool, but it was so difficult. Jedi Master Yoda was irritated and angry now: his eyes flashed with pent-up emotion.

“But Yoda, what have I been saying about sentence construction? How long have you been speaking English?” Yoda had the decency to look embarrassed.

Suddenly, the schoolroom door burst open, and the Drengin storm troopers stormed in, with drawn pistols ready. Within seconds Yoda was trussed and bundled into chains and carried from the room. The remaining pirate and the Drengin bowed to Mrs Pax.

“That little frog won’t need any more tuition” the pirate said, his lips twitching with mirth. Mrs Pax frowned at the pirate. She didn’t like her classes interrupted.

The Happy People’s Republic of Middle America

The happy People’s Republic of Middle America citizens were unhappy. Their slave gang ambled dejectedly by. The pirate took the opportunity, as he always did, to slyly kick the last stooped slave in the line. And then a second kick when the slave was down. The mid-westerners moaned. Their petty problems with their educational system now seemed, well…, somewhat petty!

Completed, I have, The War of the Worlds website!!! Neat it is... On it you will find all the stories of WotW in a nice web layout. Visit it you must at http://www.geocities.com/gc_war_of_the_worlds/

A Hungry Desperate Tom

Sinbad was hungry.

As far as Sinbad could work out. Mummy was having quality time with daddy. In the sleeping room. Daddy would occasionally shout with excitement. Or groan with despair.

Sinbad glared at them again. Mummy was still reading. Her Marie Claires. Daddy hadn’t left the computer. For weeks. Sinbad eyed the game box. But of-course he couldn’t read.

Sinbad instinctively knew. Lock down and conserve energy. He had already gone days without food. But he knew there was a way he could live. Neither dead nor alive. But otherwise, he faced certain death. He crawled into Schrodinger’s box. And clawed the lid closed after.

Bats of a Feather

Lightning flashed and lit the eyrie.

Unshed tears filled Bakka’s red eyes. Bakka knew he was being foolishly sentimental, but he so hated to send his pretties into danger. Yet, his duty was clear. There was only one force that could rid the Universe of the Drengin menace and (his lips curled with hate) their human ally.

Bakka finished tying the brief message to each wing of his brood of bats and tossed them from the eyrie window. “Fly. Fly my pretties” he yelled into the howling wind and driving rain. Lightning flashed again. The thud of the Drengin axes at the eyrie door started soon after.

A Sad Interlude

The Drengin wept and grunted with fury: the funeral of Zazgorax had been a sombre affair.

Only the Freedom Force yet offered resistance. All the other human empires now knew that resistance was futile, and offered their skin tax willingly. Only the Freedom Fighters had the bravery and skill to allude the Drengin, and to even deal grievous blows to the mighty Drengin war machine from their hidden burrows.

Titorax punched Jazaxorax in the drengin plexus. “What ho! Stiff upper lip Jazaxorax. You’ll feel better after a nice cup of tea, a fresh skin sandwich and a good lie down”. Jazaxorax was not mollified. He shook his fist at the wintry sky: he was especially grieved as Zazgorax had been his third cousin on his mother’s side, and had been a budding poet and minstrel back on the skin ranch.

“As I live and breath, I will not be sad again. Curse you Freedom Fighters! Curse you all!”. Lightning flashed, as the uncaring rain swept away his tears of grief.

A Very Scared Dropbear

“But they are after you Dropie, you must flee!”.

Dropbear looked around wildly. He fled from the building. He passed Ms Quinn’s consulting rooms as fast as he could run.

He was so scared, he didn’t care about elegance or pride. He wanted to live! He wanted to sniff the flowers and play games; chat to his mate and his mates; drink pinot; and eat and sleep and look for dags. He had been told what had happened to Ray and Gengsta and the poor farmers and Yoda. (No-one had heard from the Europeans or the Undead, but no one ever did!)

Dropbear didn’t want to see the final frontier just yet!