A bit of ancient history found in the mountie's library, not generally known outside the order:

The Battle of Mooseopolai

Fairly near to the site of what would later become Troy, the ancient ancestors of the mounties, wearing their characteristic scarlet tunics over their armor, wearing their trademark wide brimmed helmets, fought the pivotal battle of that age and some would say of all the ages to come.

Vastly outnumbered. Being able to muster only thirty men because of the large number of competing world threats at the time, the mounties had to stop the most fearsome army of that time, the mighty Hittites.

Yes the Hitties, still remembering well their victory over Egypt at Kadesh, sought to crush the only force standing between them and mastery of the Western World. They would enslave the other tribes of the world. Make the Hittite Empire last for thousands of years.

The ancestral mountie king, arranged his thirty at a narrow choke point between mountain and sea. He was not so foolish as to pick a point that had a goat path or some such thing allowing the enemy to get in his rear. He made sure the Hittites would have to charge directly at his men. Over rough ground that did not suit the Hittities heavy war chariots. He would rely upon his men's iron discipline, forged from great suffering, their well made armor, their knowledge of war, to beat a foe that outnumbered them 10000 to 1. The largest army ever assembled, that drank lakes dry as it passed by from march thirst.

The slaughter that day was unheard of in those times. As the deranged Hittite king, unwilling to concede the field to so few men, ordered charge after charge, wave after wave. He tried archers. He tried elephants. He tried guile. He tried gold.

The thirty stood firm. Europe remained free. The Hittites vanished from history.

How ironic it is that this great stand is forgotten and that of the showy Spartans, with 10 times the number (not including servants to those 300), is remembered. It just goes to show you that history is not nearly as objective as we might like.

The Poohawks unfortunately did not know history as well as they should have. Or they might have been better prepared for what was to come.





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Ok, I'm posting mainly because I want to be included in the next segment of the story! LOL

Happy Easter Dudley...



Easter respects and well wishes were coupled with pleas for a part in the coming battle. Many had scores of their own to settle with the Poohawks. No exception was the bubbly Ms Pandora. There was steel in her normally soft eyes as she pressed the mountie for an active role.

"Have a nice dinner with your family, relax." said Ride to the eager young model. "I am sure your special abilities will figure into the outcome somehow."

"The Poohawks will not strike until after the holiday has passed. This is part of what was gained by fighting a duel with them."



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Then disaster... I just don't have the words, I guess I'll take you to the scene *sigh*

On the eve of the Poohawk invasion, we find Ride dead drunk, being fed drink after drink by his bartender/shrink: Wart.

"She dumped me Wart. I can't believe it but she dumped me." groaned the mountie.

"A turible shame that is Ride" replied Wart. "What happened?"

"It's the damned mountie thing again. Plus she's a control freak. And you know how I am about my freedom." gushed the mountie. "She's probably a lesbian too."

"Now Ride. You shoudn't otter talk about a lady like that." said Wart with a somewhat steady gaze.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. They go around like wrecking crews making havoc in men's lives. And we are supposed to be gentle to the ladies, hands off the precious ladies, watch out for the delicate ladies. Well I've had enough I tells ya. I am going to become a monk." said the mountie with great feeling as he tried to place a glass back on the top of the bar.

"And another thing. I am sick and tired of patroling the North Woods month after month getting pricked like a pin cushion by these vultures we call mosquitoes. Mosquitoes shit! They are ten times the size of those cute little insects you see in those nature films, or science films on disease. One nearly bit my arm off the other day."

"Yeah I am throwing in with the philosphers and going on strike too. So I'll find an order that does no work. Just silence, celibacy, and maybe some light TV watching."

"Sleep on it." said Wart with a wise sounding voice. "I'm sure you'll feel better by morning."

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Disasters come in threes they say...

"Evil pure and simple from the 8th dimension! Red Lectroids! Here in New Jersey!" screamed the staff writer into the phone shortly before the line went dead.

It was true. The lectroids were back. They had decided to try a new business. YoYoDyne was a catastrophe so they decided to become more ambitious and go for it all: DoRide StoryWerks. Yes, this megalocorporo powerhouse was the force of the New Economy. People wanted escape. They wanted heros. They wanted scantily clad models being chased by bug eyed monsters. And the Werks had slaked their desires, and slaked them with style. The people, always generous, showered monatary blessings upon the corporation in their gratitude.

But the golden age was ended. Emilio Lizardo, Lord Whorfin, had come back from the grave it seems to lead his moldy collection of freak aliens on another evil crusade. We don't know his plan. We don't know his motivation. But we do know his methods.

He rounded up all the writers for a pep talk before sending them to their cells.

"I have ah... 'acquired' thisa place. Consider me your ah... editor in chief. We musta work while the clock she's a ticking. We ah hide they seek. History... is a made at night! Character is what you are in the dark."

"What is the greatest joy?" he screamed at his new writing staff.

"The joy of duty." they stammered back knowing by experience what happened if they didn't.

"Good, good. Now I wanta the stories and maka them how I like it."



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John Bigboote: Let's go to Crysstal's room. I want some bootie!

John Gomez: Yes!

John O'Conner: Can we kill her? John Whorfin said we can kill her.

John Bigboote: Damn John Whorfin and the horse he rode in on! I want some bootie.

(enter the room)

Crysstal: What the ?!?

John Bigboote: mmmmmm now that's some ass. Take her to the shock tower!

John Smallberries: Yes the shocktower!

John YaYa: We'll do this slow. We'll do this one by one. So we can really really enjoy it.

John Smallberries: I never get tired of the shocktower.

(Klaxons start going off)

All: Someone shut off the god damned Klaxons!!!!




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two very drunk lectroids enter Lavin's room...

John BigBoote: So this is her?

John O'Conner: Ooooh very nice... for a monkeygirl.

John BigBoote: Show!!!

John O'Conner: hee hee, yeah. Show!!!

(Lavin ignores them)

John BigBoote: Hand... What is it? Hand.... Oh yeah, Hand Bra. Right now! bayyyyybeeeee.

(Lavin btw does have very, very, very nice breasts. But she did nothing to show this to them)

John O'Conner: Show toes. Show toes. Show toes.

John BigBoote: (rolling eyes up into head and sticking out arms) Brains... I want her brains...

John O'Conner: Haw haw haw.

(private curtains go up)

John BigBoote: oooooh let's see what the monkeyboy does with the monkeygirl.

John O'Conner: Do they have any electrodes?

John BigBoote: No (disgusted). I think they are just talking. Get to it monkeyboy!!!

John O'Conner: How long is he going to take. It's been minutes.

John BigBoote: Whattya doing in there monkeyboy? The clock she's a ticking. hee hee

John O'Conner: How do these things ever reproduce. They are so slow at it.

John BigBoote: Beats me. Look at that, I bet she's faking it!

John O'Conner: Yeah, come on.

(private ends)

the 2 john's in unison: Show!!!



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haha, WOW Where the hell are my boys at? Someone needs to write a story for me

lol

Love you all Quote

haha, WOW Where the hell are my boys at? Someone needs to write a story for me

lol

Love you all



The Poohawks' plans had begun to unravel at the very start. First they made the mistake of kidnapping Adeline. *sigh* As much as we all want them to fail you can't help but feel some pity for a normally world class, in an evil sort of way, organization that somehow comes unglued at a critical time in its history.

The next monkey wrench was not really their fault. It was just Fate clearing her throat and saying, "don't forget that I am still oh so very important." Yes they couldn't know that Bucolic Buffalo had a disastrous susceptibility for the famous Brianna Banks coded somewhere down deep in his long DNA strings.

It was a freak accident. An anomalous occurrence. The Poohawk strike team that he was leading was simply taking a lunch break in a resort town that was on the way to their ultimate destination. Unfortunately for them, the model too was in this town, on their street, near their van, in fact she had just walked out of a salon looking oh so fine and in just the right mood to play some major mischief with a poor Poohawk's heart.

She happened to look over her shoulder as she walked down the street and saw these eyes locked on her. Bucolic Buffalo. The legendary. The strong. The poetical. The pastoral.

What a moment. She knew in an instant that this was the love of her life. No matter how tragic it might turn out to be. For she recognized him instantly. From the news reels, the wanted posters, and the police sketches. In their mutually mesmerized, fascinated gazes, a high bandwidth flow of all kinds of terrible truths flowed back and forth.

The strike team groaned because they understood. A young lieutenant stepped forward and assumed command. Only a few words were exchanged and the Poohawk van drove off. Leaving the new found lovers alone to begin their passionate, firey, and oh so doomed affair. Fate was so proud of her work, even in advance, that she strutted around Asgaard high-fiving the gods. Whatta day for Fate.

The gods too knew it was going to be so good. They gathered for something similar to a super bowl party down here in Mortalville. Sitting around their mutually shared consciousnesses eating popcorn and making comments on the action.

The two mortals were some of their finest work. Achingly beautiful. Darkly handsome. In their way such opposites from the extremes of man and woman. But so right together.

Poets would have to be notified to get the pertinent details. A new Romeo and Juliet story was in the duct tubes ready to be blown through for mankind. Just as engaging, stimulating, and heart rending.

Yep, and even the actors knew the special role they were about to play in the convoluted history of mankind. Their eyes were misty, their tie even stronger, as they walked happily, confidently, to their mutual destruction...






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Lizardo leaned back in his overstuffed chair. This was a great time in the former professor's life. He had always wanted to be an editor. He had worked up to it slowly. First he was a scientist that slowly lost his grip on reality and was driven insane/possessed during an experiment gone horribly wrong, getting his lectroid on. Then he was a bloody tyrant that enslaved an entire planet. When that failed he became an almost messianic figure to his band of exiled lectroids, escaping from the Trenton Asylum for the Criminally Insane to lead them on a daring exodus.

Yep editor seems the logical next step in a long, storied career. It would broaden him, he felt, his background was ... over technical, over tyrant.

"I'll begin with a simple list", he thought and then scrawled with a feverish hand:

Emilio Lizardo's Five Favorite Models

1. John TaTas

2. John LongClitty

3. John TightTrench

4. John NymphomaniacalProclivities

5. John SpiralPussy

"Ah, feels ah so good to set the tone around thisa place." then to his secretary:

"We are gonna mak our owna paper now. Flood the basement!. And tell Dwight Shroot that he's a losta his number one client. bwa ha ha ha ha ha"



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Now at this point in the action I should clarify something. You, the patient reader, may be getting the impression that this is going to turn into one of those: "lectroids try to go legitimate but can't really succeed because of the enemies they've made in the course of being evil" type stories.

But I want to assure you that I will not pull such a horrible ruse on you. There will be no tearful speeches by some lectroid wife who can't quite love her horrible husband "you are even more dangerous when you go straight." There will be no tragic ending scenes where a lectroid daughter is gunned down in the crossfire even though she had nothing more evil on her agenda than breaking a few lectroid hearts.

No. Let's be clear. Red lectroids love being evil. They may own a legitimate business for a time but that is just for their own amusement. It does not signal some change in their world view. At any rate the crimes they have committed on a large number of planets, effecting a large number of species, do not have time limits for the prosecution to worry about. Their acts were so evil that no jury nor judge would complain if they were tried for them two centuries after the committing.

You can expect that if justice finally catches up with these renegade neer do wells that it will be the bloody, ruthless, nonsentimental, blood freezing justice of our most violent vigilante films. You, the noble reader, deserve nothing less.








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Now years after the mountie had passed on, kicked the bucket, joined the choir invisible, shuffled of this mortal coil... biographers were trying to understand his relationship with the famous bright starlet known to the western world simply as Axana. The normally expansive mountie was uncharacteristically mute on this subject.

It was clear he had warm feelings for her. But why? Where did their paths cross, when had these two busy people ever had time to engage?

His comments were short and tongue in cheek. For example: female Tom Bombadil. But there were also paintings of her hanging in his gallery in which she looked very beautiful and very sweet. Always laughing. Eyes full of warmth and humor.

He would speak in a kind of code when people asked him about this. Eyes full of warmth and fun mystery.

He might say something like "She is a riddle. She is not what she appears to be."

And then veer into gentle taunting about how easy she was to crack up.

Definately a tough, in her way, lifer of the kind he was admitting into his search set. But the biographers also of course knew that she was not the one he was looking for.





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Nice story -----quite good writing -and verry interesting!! Tell us more Quote

heyyy dudley i miss u hon,hope all is great there.muuuuaaah! Quote

Now Ride has his flaws it's true. But many find that his generous nature makes up for many of them. One service that he happily provides is counseling to some of his friends in trouble in their lives. Here he was well served by his time spent in training under various mystics, knowledge acquired during enlightenment, and his close association with Bob Newhart.

Rather than describing this, I feel that it would help to give a concrete example. Consider an interview that Ride had with a struggling young model. Discerning readers will notice the Newhartian influence in his method

Disturbed model: (nervously) Hi Dudley, is now a good time?

Ride: (warmly) Yes my child. Please come in and make yourself at home. I have all the time you could possibly require for your troubles. But I suspect that our session will last only five minutes.

model: (doubtful) I don't know. I have a lot of serious problems. Should I lie down on the couch?

Ride: oh no. That won't be necessary. Please pull up a chair.

model: (after arranging herself and looking around nervously) My problem is... my biggest problem is... I am scared of being buried alive in a box. It's just... I start to think of it and I panic.

Ride: Hmmm I see. Well has anybody ever tried to bury you in a box?

model: No. No, not that I know of anyway. But I can't help thinking about it. I can't go through tunnels. I can't ride in elevators. I don't like being in a house. Or anything boxy. It's really messing up my life.

Ride: Oh I see. This is a common phobia. Let's get to the treatment. Now I am going to tell you two words that I want you to remember whenever you start to feel afraid of being buried alive in a box. I want you to listen to them very very carefully. I want you to take them home with you and incorporate them in your life. Are you ready?

model: Should I write them down?

Ride: You can if you like but we find that most people can remember them. Are you ready?

model: Yes thank you.

Ride: (gently) Ok here they are: (screaming) STOP IT!!!

model: Sorry?

Ride: (louder) STOP IT!!!

model: Stop it?

Ride: S-T-O-P new word I-T. STOP IT!!!

model: What do you mean?

Ride: You know it's funny. It's just two words but you wouldn't believe the number of people who ask the same thing as you just did. This is not Yiddish. It's simple English. STOP IT.

model: (trying to control her temper) So I should just stop it?

Ride: You don't want to be afraid of being buried alive in a box do you? I mean it sounds so ... so frightening.

model: It is. No. Of course not. But I can't help it it's been with me since childhood and ...

Ride: (interrupting her) No, nooo. We don't go there. Just STOP IT!!!

model: So I should just stop it?

Ride: Yes my dear, good girl. Now that takes care of that. Do you have any more problems?

model: Well I am bolemic. I stick fingers down my throat to throw up and ...

Ride: What are you kidding? STOP IT!!! Don't do that.

model: But I am compelled to. My mom used to call me fatty and ...

Ride: No, noooo. No, noooo. We will not go there. Just STOP it.

model: And my horoscope says...

Ride: And we definately aren't going there. Just STOP IT. Anything more?

model: Ok... I have self destructive relationships with men and ...

Ride: STOP IT!!!

model: What?

Ride: Well you want to be with a good man don't you?

model: Well yeah but ever since I was ...

Ride: No no, we aren't going there. Just STOP IT. Geez, don't be such a big baby. Anything else?

model: Well I wash my hands a lot...

Ride: That's ok. I do too. There's a lot of germs around. You gotta be careful. Don't worry about that. Any more?

model: I am too afraid to drive a car and ...

Ride: What are you deranged? STOP IT!!!

model: (losing her temper) YOU STOP IT!!! YOU STOP IT!!!

Ride: (professorily) What seems to be the problem?

model: I don't like this new therapy at all. You are just telling me to stop it.

Ride: (gentle again) I see. You think we are going too fast?

model: (sulkily) Yes. Yes I do.

Ride: Ok very well. I am going to give you 13 words that I want you to take home with you. Listen to them very carefully. Make them a part of you life. Are you ready? Got your pen?

model: Ok, go ahead.

Ride: (shouting so loud that she drops the pen and everything else) STOP IT RIGHT NOW OR I WILL BURY YOU ALIVE IN A BOX!!!
















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heyyy dudley i miss u hon,hope all is great there.muuuuaaah!



Thanks for the hello sweetie.

It is 10 o'clock and all is well here.

How goes the watch there?

Kisses and well wishes.

ddr Quote

Nice story -----quite good writing -and verry interesting!! Tell us more


The words seemed simple and innocent enough...

But once spoken they flew through time and space...

Unlocking a crypt, unlocking a vault where ...

deep below the earth, encased in a block of ice....

waiting to be thawed out and to take those first giant foot steps...

evil incarnate...

(doom... doom... dooom... dooom....)

Sounds like something coming this way...

( screen cuts out. snow noise only)



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There passed ... a weary time. A weary time. Reflected in each weary face.

Long hours spent upon the unbroken monotony of sentry duty. Red, hurting eyes staring at radar screens, watching a line sweep through black space uncovering nothing. Countless hours spent poring over the results of battle simulations probing for vulnerabilities. An eternity spent on the drill ground practicing formations.

Legions of grumpy warriors of different shapes, sizes, and backgrounds shuffled through their paces. Trying to keep morale up while they waited for all hell to break loose. A hard part about being purely defensive, but how could they go on the offensive? How do you strike an enemy that is without form? Just names, vague legends?

Oh there were aggressive, elite teams that tried to do just that. More out of impatience than for the sake of following any sound strategy. The efforts resulted merely in dramatic entrances into empty buildings, bombing camoflage nets which covered nothing, rounding up suspicious characters who would only smile and shrug their shoulders instead of divulge any useful information.

Such times require a man to make the most of doing nothing. To show his discipline in this simple yet critical art. To expend no resources, keep readiness, and give his enemy no new vulnerability even though it is impossible at the moment to move against him.

Ride had plenty of time to dwell upon the model that he had worked so hard to remember and now labored so hard to forget. It is a good thing he was far away from any French Foreign Legion Recruitment Center. In his state, he might have switched flags and gone off on some other, more destructive, campaign.

Why? Why? He wanted to ask. But he already knew that the female mind was an inscrutable thing. Mysterious. He would never understand it fully. He always got his best results when he modeled it as a random walk. But even then he was often surprised by large discontinuous jumps in state as the female mind transitioned using unknown rules of its own.

Oh he had operated on them, been partners with Buckaroo on the most delicate of brain surgeries. But that only made him more certain of his own limitations. They often got lost and had to feel their way out, using the simplest of tricks that have been used to navigate out of mazes since mankind first ventured into twisted passageways for the sake of gain.

How often nurses had overhead them say: "Run away! Run away! Hug the right wall. No the left. Hug the left wall. Get the screw top threading tool STAT!!! Before it crawls out!!!"

Yes the monster that dwells in there made even these two heroes shiver in their boots. At once beautiful and powerful....





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We shift to a remote mountain village several days later. A humble village milkman is ruminating on life:

"A mountie on the roof...
Sounds crazy, no?
But here, in our little village of Waythehelluphere,
you might say
every one of us is a mountie on the roof.
Trying to scratch out a pleasant, simple existence
without breaking his neck.
It isn't easy.
You may ask,
why do we stay up there
if it's so dangerous?
Well, we stay because
Waythehelluphere is our home.
And how do we keep our balance?
That I can tell you in one word!
Perdition!!! Perdition!!!"

He then lurched into a long song extolling his particular view of life, his philosophy, and his vision of his and his family's future. While the mountie who provoked this odd reaction from our obviously soused milkman laughed, danced, and played a wicked fiddle, stomping loudly on the bright red shingles of what served for the roof of village hall.

Yes... yes... no matter how bad it got in Waythehelluphere, the citizens knew they were blessed because of the visits of the strange mountie and his crazed fiddling ways...

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And yea on the 40th night of the 40th day the devil came to Ride. He came unannounced, unexpected. He did not come to carry Ride away. He did not come to frighten him. No, he came to see if it was time for a bargain, a horse trade.

When the devil came for such haggling, he adopted a very subtle form. He did not want to remind the mortal of just what he was. He only wanted to convey power, seriousness, intelligence. So he adopted a near human form, but a bit larger, he wore a beard and had some grey to invoke age and wisdom. There was no love in his form. Without knowing it, he also gave the impression of such terrible coldness.

Devil: Soooo, I see that you are at an important crossroad in your life.

Ride: Am I?

Devil: You want her. Desperately. But she doesn't want you.

Ride: Who?

Devil: Now you are thinking of how trivial all your other possessions are. Even your accomplishments seem to pale beside the fact that you cannot have your love.

Ride: I think you have me confused with someone else?

Devil: But I can offer you her. You know it. She can be yours forever. If you just pay my price.

Ride: Would you like some coffee?

Devil: Don't be a fool. Don't waste your life. Are you going to be a pitiful slave of duty your whole life? Are you going to risk everything for people who are barely even aware you exist? Let alone appreciate it.

Ride: You seem to care a great deal for me. (blows him a kiss)

Devil: I can see how we have mutual interests.

Ride: Oh yeah?

Devil: Or if you prefer I can offer you instant forgetfullness. Wiping her out of your memory. Removing completely any hold she had on you.

Ride: Hmmmm you have never been alive have you? Never been mortal?

Devil: (eyes blazing briefly) You worm! You insignificant thing! You think you possess some shred of knowledge that I don't? I who have been in existence since this reality ever began? Who has seen all that has transpired. Judged the outcome of every mortal life.

Ride: You are so very wise. Did you go to Harvard?

Devil: (controlling great anger) Very well. Solve your pathetic problems on your own.

And he left the mountie alone again. Yep it had been a very eventful few weeks.

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Storm clouds swirled high in the charge stoked sky. Rain, mixed with sleet, mixed with ice, mixed with flakes of granite, shorn from jagged cliffs. The dark castle, lair of The One, stood tall, stood stark, stood steady.

The solitude of The One was broken. A man had dared to enter her web.

He was in the audience chamber. He only vaugely sensed, rather than saw, a very shapely shape in the dark shadows draped over a tall chair.

The One: "Maggot!!! What are you doing here!!!"

Peter: "Do not hate me meestress. Please do not hurt me. There is some business we can do together."

The One: "Vile, diseased beast! What could I possibly want with you."

Peter: (wiping his brow) "I have found out one of your secrets. It is such a little one but.."

The One: (eyes widening and becoming so fierce) "But you'd like to blackmail me... right?"

Peter: "Well it would be such a shame for it to become common knowledge. I'd hate to see your ... reputation... suffer."

The One: "What damaging thing could you possibly know about me, you worm? "

Peter: "Let's just say I know who you were slumming around with before you came to your senses."

The One: "Oh dooooo you?" (then she threw back her head and laughed a chilling, animal laugh)

Peter: "Oh yes madam, you can be most certain of that."

The One: "Before I... 'came to my senses', I lived in a simple split level down on the plains. Now, you pathetic, joke of a man, I live in a glorious castle perched on the tallest mountain for miles around. If you want to make public just how this came to pass, ha ha ha, then go right ahead. It suits my new image... so well.

That is... if you even make it out of here alive."

From somewhere deep in the castle a large, iron door could be heard opening. Claws on waxed floor could be just made out by Peter's sharp ears. His plan had backfired in a very big way. It will be interesting to see if this is the last we ever hear from him.

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