[J m HofMarN]

This is a tie in from my dictionary written by crazy people post in the lobby. Here are the rules.

To post a story you must follow these guidelines that provide a slight framework unless of course you're not into that. The story should involve the following:

One character should be named Martin Chuzzlewit.

At least ten words from the list here should be used.

One scene should occur in a barber shop where customers can order food and eat while they have their hair cut.

There should be a missing briefcase full of nude photos of F Scott Fitzgerald.

The deadline for entry is non-existant and the prize is insubstantial. They can be of any genre you want, from horror to satyre to (I hope someone takes this one) erotic science fiction. They can be any length as well. Maybe if we hire some large men we can get some of the more Redcloud inclined people among us to make this another feature like the legendary My Fool is a Crock literary movement.

The word list lies beneath.

Miasma: refering to bad air or a cloud of unhealthy gas.
Ubiquitous: meaning to be everywhere at once.
Squiggly: Meaning to have squiggles, or to feel as if one is squiggling.
Dastardly: Do people even use this word anymore? It means fiendish and cowardly.
Constitution: It used to refer to one's health. I think I shall have to use it more often I recall Paul used it once in his ten dollar haircut article and it was delightful.
Good Heavens!: Not so much a word as an exp​ression but I still likes it.
Corporeal - being of this world
ethereal. - being not material
Boffo, wizard, spiffy, keen - Dated terms that translate to today's interjection and compliment "cool".
seducted: to be allured into capture, and unlawful physical removal from location.
controll: same as control but the extra "l" make it seem a little more so...
kablammo: extreemly significant in its overwelmingness...
(i.e.it was like, kablammo) 'blam' is used for less intense situations.
brrrrrrrr: 1. it's cold or shes hot
"flustrated" - flustered AND frustrated
confuzzled - A cross betwixt confused and puzzled, and it just sounds so endearingly silly.
hypmotize: like hypnotize but a little mo potent.
Indubitably: Without a doubt.
Conflate: It means basically to blow up (not explode, but enlarge) a criminal. Actually, it means to merge or meld together two separate things. I just think it's a really useful word that sounds cool.
craptastic, craptacular, etc.: adj. for anything so terrible it's entertaining...
Fantacrap: a combination of crap and fantasy
Spam: its just a great word, or an onomonopoea
Brilliant - I never hear anyone around me say this. At all. I once said this to someone and their response was basically "This is the South, nobody says 'brilliant!'" I use this for everything I like. Repeatedly.
Eh - Usually accompanied by a head-tilt and arched eyebrow.
Smeg - I've been saying this ever since I first started watching Red Dwarf.
Utter(ly) - Usually said twice for further effect.
Mad - At some point, I started saying this all the time instead of crazy, nuts, or other words like that. I blame the Cheshire Cat and Mad Hatter.
Shpadoinkle - Do I really need to explain?
But still! - I like saying this when I go off about something, suddenly change my tone and/or thought on the topic, then rush back to it.
Woot/wootage/woo-tage/Huzzah and woot! - Several variations of one celebratory exclamation.
Nifty/niftiness/Of The Nifty - I've been saying this every since I started reading Sluggy Freelance.
Random/randomness - Where would I be without it?
Muchly - Just because.
Effulgent - I don't actually use it, but the rampant fangirl in me just won't let it go (any Spike fan will understand this).
Secominute - Kind of like saying "just a second" or "just a minute," only somewhere in-between.
Miracle of Miracles, Nightmare of Nightmares - That means I'm not sure if it's a very good thing or a very bad thing, or it’s something really bad that wasn't likely to happen. So far I've only actually used it once, but I really like how it sounds.
Puffins/Puffins are Supreme Because, let's face it, they just are
Chips are Good...I like Chips I used to say this all the time whenever there was an awkward silence
Only on Tuesdays I usually use this as an answer to a question to which it doesn't make sense. Say its Friday, and somebody asks 'do you always talk like that'. It's funny to watch their exp​ressions.
Phrasz/Ptaa/Orange words of no meaning that I say at random intervals to annoy people. Well, orange has two meanings, but I don't use it to mean either of them.
Bah! My way of dismissing something that I don't like
Meyh Similar to Bah! but less angry, more bored/I don't care.
Wibble - For lack of anything better to say.
BOX! - I type this in the largest available font and "scream" it every time there's a lull in the conversation when I'm IMing one of my friends. She cracks up every time.
Toy Soldiars: Not a term I use, but its what my roommate keeps referring to my wargaming minatures as. I've threatened Graham on him, but still he doesn't take them seriously.
Snakebite: 45% lager, 45% cider, 10% blackcurrent squash/cordial/concentrate (delete as you call it). My standard pint of choice.
Night of the Beans: A ritual I created on another forum, where every sentence uttered must incorporate the word "bean" or "beans". The more inappropriate the better. I was quoting a Garfield cartoon when it started...
Peebles (noun): An invention of a ladyfriend of mine, little geometric-shaped creatures with antenna and smily faces.
trabies- is the name of a disease that I invented
crazy- means crazy

This post has been edited by J m HofMarN: 05 December 2004 - 02:23 AM

[Slade]

You, sir, are ON.

[Jordan]

""""But still! - I like saying this when I go off about something, suddenly change my tone and/or thought on the topic, then rush back to it."""""

I run in to that one frequently. It annoys me too. You can go on and on explaining something. You can present both qualitative and quantative data, etc.. And the person can refute every single thing you mentioned by simply saying "ya, but still". And leave it there. Ya but still what!

[J m HofMarN]

Martin Chuzzlewit in: The wrong briefcase.

( Side note to Sime: As part of my exhaustive research on Chuzzlewits, Nude photos and Puffins that I did for this story I came across this site on puffins. It advertises something about a virtual puffin and also says that puffins are amazing creatures but never quite justifies that statement with anything resembling facts. Really I think nature lovers would call a pet rock an amazing creature if it were endangered. Anywho here's a link to Puffins! )

I was nineteen when I met Martin Chuzzlewit. Little did I know he would change my life forever. This was because he would, in fact, not change my life at all. I had gone to the local barbour shop/cafe to have my hair cut whilst I ate cucumber sandwhiches.

Chuzzlewit and I embarked upon the following discourse as we sipped tea every minute on the minute, as the passing of sixty seconds without tea creates the necessity for what the British call "tea time" or "homoerotocism hour." however the latter term quickly fell out of use as it was in no way accurate.

"Why hello there Chuzzlewit old chum. A fine Christmas eve it is!" Said I.

"Indeed it is m'boy." He related to me as he snipped with one hand and cooked some scones with the other. It was odd to see scones cooked in a skillet but when a fellow has a pair of scissors to your head its best not to question why he's sauteeing tea biscuits.

"What do you intend to do this Christmas?" I inquired.

"The same thing I do every Christmas I should think." He replied.

"Indeed?" I asked.

"Indeed!" came his reply.

"So you're going to look at dodgy pictures of authors who havnt yet been born?" I ventured, as this was his Christmas eve tradition.

"I should hope so!" He said in an exasperated tone.

"Do you often have to hope for such things?" I inquired, my curiousity aroused by his tone.

"Only on Tuesdays!" he quipped.

"Haha!" I laughed I laughed heartily. "I don't know what that meant or how it made sense but it certainly was witty!"

"Indeed!" He ejaculated.

"Indeed!" I echoed.

This went on for half an hour until my pocket watch exploded and hit his briefcase with a resounding crash after killing a chimney sweep.

"A bit of bad luck I might say." I ventured.

"About the chimney sweep?" He asked.

"Good gracious no, about my pocket watch!" We both laughed because we were so witty and burgeoise and we had a snifter of brandy brought out while they halled the chimney sweep's corpse away.

"You know, had that pocket watch not been corporeal it would have never done so much damage to your brief case. I blame corporealness. What the dickens do you keep in there if I might ask." I queried.

"You certainly may ask." Was his courteous response.

"I most certainly have." I pointed out.

"Indeed you have." He agreed.

"Indeed." I replied.

"What were we talking about?" He asked moments later.

"I was asking what was in your breifcase." I deftly replied.

"Oh, puffins." He said curtly.

"Wot? Puffins?" I said curiously with a raised eyebrow and a sincere tone of disbelief.

"Little semi aquatic birds from the colonies." He explained.

"I quite know what a puffin is!" I said. "What I should like to know is what in the queen's name are they doing in your baggage!"

He considered this for a moment before speaking. "They're doing terribly little. I'm no expert on puffin anatomy but I should think they've passed on."

"Why should puffins be in your breif case. I thought you liked looking at still photos of naked authors, not live bodies of naked puffins." I pointed out.

"I hardly think they're naked, or live as I pointed out." He remarked.

"Why they most certainly are naked they're not even wearing pants I'd imagine." I said indignantly.

"What business of yours is it what the puffins do in the privacy of my briefcase!?" He demanded rather beligerently. I felt it best to change the subject to save us a bit of fisticuffs.

"What are they in your briefcase for in the first place?" I asked more calmly.

"Well I picked up the wrong brief case." He said.

"So someone now has a brief case full of explicit photos of Gertrude Stein in place of a briefcase of dead puffins they should be posessing?" I asked, trying to grasp the situation.

"No, I think you're wrong." He corrected.

"You mean you believe the puffins were alive and have since become deceased?" I inquired.

"No. Well, yes, I'm rather sure of that since their chirping died down half an hour ago but I was refering to the images. They're of F Scott Fitzgerald actually." He said sagely, as if he were a man who did not intend to spend Christmas eve stairing at the spokesman of the lost generation.

"He's going to be a grand author as soon as he's born you know." I remarked.

"I'm sure! Why you'd have to be quite mad not to think so!" He replied with gusto.

Another exchange of 'indeed's followed hereafter and was broken by the entry of a gangly fellow who had a net in one hand and a briefcase in the other.

"Oh I am doomed!" He lamented. "Utterly, utterly doomed! Someone has seduced or abducted my puffins. Or perhaps both! Oh my poor puffins! They've been seducted they have!" Our hearts were moved to compassion for this poor wretch and our minds considered that his missing puffins might be the very ones we had, especially since we could very easily spot one of the author of "Tender is the Night"'s unclothed leg poking out of the briefcase he had.

"Sir, might we speak with you for a moment?" Asked Mr. Chuzzlewit.

"Certainly, if you would buy me a bit of whiskey." Was his answer.

"We would certainly buy you a bit of whiskey if you would drink it with us." Was my rebuttle.

"Indeed!" He replied.

"Huzzah!" We all cried out.

Once he had sat down and had a drop to drink we pressed him on with his story. After he introduced himself as Lord Higgenbottum he began his sad tale after we introduced ourselves to him, in return of his own introduction..

"I own a zoo. It's not a great zoo. It's not even a very good zoo. But it is profitable in some manner so I've not yet gone bankrupt. I was transporting some imported puffins.."

"Wait!" Cried Chuzzlewit. "In what manner could the puffins not be imported? Indubitably they must be imported, for they are surely not native."

"I might be exporting them from my zoo to Zanzibar." Higgenbottum vengtured.

"Zanzibar?" Said I, as if I were offended by the suggestion. "Why it would surely be easier to procure puffins around Zanzibar than to import them."

"There might be a puffin shortage." He mused. We both looked at him as if he were a lunatic and he continued his story."

"Well I had them in my briefcase and I seem to have switched it for some dirty pictures." He said sadly.

"Those pictures weren't dirty when I bought them!" Cried Chuzzlewit. "Bunburry!" (this was my name) "Bunburry listen to what this villain has done he's soiled my nude photos of F. Scott Fitzgerald! Do you know how hard it is to find photos of men who havnt been born yet? It's bloody difficult!"

"I'd certainly say so!" I replied.

"Well it's difficult to find imported puffins as well, you know!" Cried Higgenbottum miserably as he tried to peer at the briefcase that Chuzzlewit concealed behind him. As he said that a school of puffins trundled past, proving to us that there was no necessity to import puffins. We prepared to point this out but Higgenbottum cut us off.

"Those are native puffins!" He said patronisingly. "Noone wants to see native puffins so we import exotic, foreign puffins."

"Aren't foreign puffins the same as regular puffins?" I inquisitioned him.

"Yes, but more exotic. Also, the native puffins hate them." He said matter of factly.

"Why on earth would native puffins hate their own species?" Inquired Chuzzlewit.

"Because the immigrant puffins take all their jobs." Said Higgenbottum. "And I should like to know what you have in that briefcase."

"Oh just some puffins." Replied my companion smugly.

"It's you!" Cried our guest-turned-accuser. "You've seducted my puffins! I'll call the lorries on you I will!"

I rushed to my friend's defense. "He couldnt seduct your puffins if he wanted to their safely ensconced in that briefcase and they're dead anyhow!"

"WOT? You've seducted and murdered my puffins!?" Said Higgenbottum as his face reddened.

"Well it serves you right for dirtying my photos." Replied the defendant.

"They were already quite dirty when I found them it's not as though I took off the poor man's clothes!" Cried Higgenbottum indignantly.

"And it's not as though I killed your puffins when you were the one who put them in a bloody briefcase! What sort of zoo keeper puts his animals in luggage anyhow?" Retorted Chuzzlewit

Higgenbottum looked down dejectedly. "Well I told you its not a very good zoo. We cant afford cages and such. I had read up on puffins and the audobon society insists that they're amazing creatures, so I figured they could survive a bit of a trip in a travel bag."

"Did it say they could?" I inquired, wondering why the audobon society might instruct people to keep puffins in luggage or take them on out-of-country trips.

"No. But I figured there had to be a reason they were so amazing and being able to survive in brief cases seemed like an amazing thing so I put two and two together and left for the colonies immediately with my brief case."

"Well." Said Chuzzlewit. "I think I can solve your problem right now. This is a woman's purse and not a brief case at all." He said exaltantly producing the purse of dead puffins that had been thought to be a brief case of dead puffins.

"Why it is!" I excliamed.

"Well played Chuzzlewit, well played. Why no wonder the puffins died!" We all had a jolly good laugh untilChuzzlewit keeled over under the weight of his own cleverness.

"I'm having a heart attack!" He cried.

"Indeed!" We both replied. When he said nothing for a long while and grew still I had one more brandy and then asked for a check.

The end~!

[Just your average movie goer]

Marvelous, my good chap. Very marvelous, indeed.

You're a very creative and prolific man, JM. And this was another thoroughly entertaining piece of writing. I enjoyed it very much.

[SimeSublime]

You...killed...the...Puffins?


BASTARD!

[Slade]

Indeed! Quite quite, and all that tosh, wot wot. Et. al.

Kudos to you, JM. My story will be up when it gets finished. But homework comes first!

[J m HofMarN]

Movie Goer- as always your encouragement is as helpful as it is appreciated, thanks for your kind words.

Sime- Yes, but keep in mind that in this work, which could also be called the tragedy of the puffins, the man who murdered the puffins dies of a heart attack to pay for his sins. It's poetic justice.

Slade- I'm eagerly anticipating it.

Everyone else- Let's get some stories up!

[Ninja Duck]

Indeed! Quite quite, and all that tosh, wot wot. Et. al.

Kudos to you, JM. My story will be up when it gets finished. But homework comes first!

<{POST_SNAPBACK}>

What kind of buggered up system of priorities are they teaching you at that school?

Anyway, nice story. Indeed.

[Chyld]

Alright, its time I threw my hand in. Damnit if I haven't ad-libbed enough daft stories in half a year, now its time to write a serious one. Or have I got it the wrong way round...?

The Cat Under My Sofa: An Once-AutoBiographical Tale In The Martin Chuzzlewit Style

I sat down in front of the television, pressing the power button on the new DVD player in the lounge. I could just have watched the telly straight, but it was going to be nothing but home improvement shows and news at this hour, and damnit if I couldn't test the damned thing out myself.

"Hey! I was watching that!" my brother exclaimed.

"Oh, come off it!" I said, grabbing the TV guide "A New Life In Hong Kong: A couple move away from England to open a combination hair salon/restaurant? Jesus..."

"Suit yourself..." he grunted, and shuffled off elsewhere. The crazy guy. I smiled, and whacked on my Animatrix DVD.

Later, as the final, surreal piece was crossing the screen, my littler brother came in.

"Is the cat under the sofa?" he asked.

"Indubitably not!" I cried. I knew that she was outside hunting a mouse I'd taken off of her earlier. I didn't let her out myself, I feared for the constitution of the little bleeder.

"There's something under the sofa then!" he cried.

"Eh?" I enquired, moving the sofa slightly, "There's nothing under there, apart from that large fluggy ginger tom... what?"

There was indeed, a large fluffy ginger tom seated under my sofa. He looked at me, and remarked "Conflate it! Who are you and where am I?" Actually, he didn't say that, he merely remarked "Mew?" But we all know what he meant.

"Good Heavens! There's a large cat called Martin Chuzzlewit under the sofa!" I cried, to the alarm of the poor beast.

"Martin Chuzzlewit?"

"Well, doesn't he look a Martin Chuzzlewit to you?" I pleaded.

He did indeed seem like a Martin Chuzzlewit. His fur was orange and white, his eyes flicked here and there as if to say "Only on Tuesday do I drink so much I walk into someone else's house, get me out now!", and he was hiding under anything he could find.

"OK, someone get the front door open, I'll carry him out" I decided. I'd been vaccinated for trabies, which is quite common amongst large ginger toms called Martin Chuzzlewit, but also rampant in citizens of Kingston-upon-Hull. Since I'd been living there for three months, an innoculation was a nifty idea indeed.

I picked up the large ginger tom called Martin Chuzzlewit, and carried him to the now-open front door. He jumped out of my hands, gave me a look that said "Hey, thanks kid!" and ran out. His stride was a bit wobbly, but I gave it no thought.

"Well, that was weird..." I said, parking me arse in front of the telly again, and pressing play. I felt by my side for... it was gone!

"Where's my briefcase?" I screamed, jumping a foot in the air. "That contained my nude photos of F Scott Fitzgerald! I was going to put them on eBay for a bloody fortune!"

"You've been carrying them all day, [Chyld]" said my mother. "The only person that's been near them was that cat..."

"AARGH! That flustrated cat has nicked my briefcase full of nude pictures of F Scott Fitzgerald! I'll gut it alive!" I roared, grabbing Graham, my ubiquitous butchers knife. I lunged out of the door into the pouring rain, the cat evidently long gone.

"Since when did he get a briefcase?" my dad asked.

Teh Edn!!!!!11 (about 11 words used)

[J m HofMarN]

Wow Chylde not half bad. I love using Chuzzlewit as the cat and making up his dialogue was a cool touch. I really like the cliff hanger at the end, it leaves it open to a sequel and keeps you wondering. Does the main character get revenge on the cat with the fortune in nude photos? Does the cat win out in the end? Will he get trabies? It's a teaser!

[Just your average movie goer]

Great work, Chyld. You also have a flair for this. I enjoyed it a lot, especially the line about the cat just saying "Meow", but [you] all knew what he meant.

Fantastic.

[Slade]

My story has inflated itself. It is currently at 5 and a half pages, 12 point font, single spaced in MS Word, and it's not done yet, although my zeal for it is increasing, so I may finish it tomorrow inbetwixt classes.

Edit: Kudos, Chyld. You make me chuckle as well.

This post has been edited by Slade: 07 December 2004 - 02:30 AM

[Chyld]

Blimey, that's slightly long.

My story did actually happen last night, exactly as described. Hang on, I lie, I left the knife in Hull, so I used a wooden spoon called Malcom. And oh yes, its not trabies that's rampant in Hull, its Chavitis, a horrendous disease that causes its victims to come out in burberry caps and tracksuits, and causes their cars to sprout body kits and large bass speakers. Its usually fatal, thankfully.

[barend]

The Ubiquitous Miasma
by Barend Nieuwstraten III

Martin Chuzzlewit woke up in a confuzzled state from his effulgent dream. He had been seducted by this ethereal repeating nightmare that had him both flustrated and hypmotized. It was begenning to wear on his constitution and he knew it would indubitably conflate him, challanging his corporeal state, and he knew this would not be Boffo, wizard, spiffy, or even keen! He was loosing controll.

his Squiggly Orange sleeping gown was drenched in sweat, and the Peebles, puffins and
of his Nightmare of Nightmares was prooving to be no Miracle of Miracles. He felt like a Toy Soldiar in all of this dastardly fantacrap that had been spamming his otherwise brilliant mind, now slowly turning mad.

but was this randomness muchly the result of drinking Snakebite straight from the BOX, or was going crazy a symptom of the trabies virus he aquired during Utterly, Utterly, craptastic time he had upon the 'night of beans'...
As he pondered the niftiness of that Shpadoinkle evening, 'secominute,' he thought, 'a Wibble Phrasz Ptaa' he paused... "Good Heavens!" he said aloud... "this smeg has got to my head!" ...

He ran out side, "Brrrrrr" he let out in response to the cold. But still, it was cold. in fact it was like kablammo cold, and when he realized he had entered the outside world without oustide attire he could only react with a simple "Bah!" but then he realized he no longer cared and replaced it with a "Meyh"...

however people walked past him in supprise at his nakidity, tilting their heads and offering a simple "eh?" except for some of the females walking past rejoicing in their wootage. He decided he no longer wanted this adventure and returned to bed...

THE END

edit: please note, i used all words...

This post has been edited by barend: 07 December 2004 - 08:21 PM