Barbelith Underground > Creation > Blake Chipper

Many, many years earlier...

Deepest, Darkest Africa

A pleasure craft lazes its way down a placid river. The teeming jungle crowds up against the riverbed. The calm green walls belie the restless sounds one can hear from behind them.

Duke and Lady West-Poges lounge on the deck of the boat, being shaded by two nubile, topless natives. Their countenances mirror the tranquilly of their surroundings. Lady West-Poges gently clacking knitting needles provide accompaniment for the melody provided by buzzing jungle flies. From time to time the girls lean over and swat these fist-sized flys away from the peers. Suddenly, His Grace sits bolt upright, jutting his pith-helmeted between the sweat-sheened bosoms of his servant.

"By God's mighty balls, Florrie. I haven't killed anything in near two hours! What kind of a safari is this? A papist one?"

"Now dear, I'm sure the Jeusits have nothing to do with your lack of game to slaughter."

"Are you mad woman? What good can come of missionary work? Tell these savages about God, and soon they'll be wearing clothes, washing before they eat, and attending our best universities, when what God made them for is shading us from this ghastly sun, thrashing about in the brush to stir up rhinos, and maybe do a little dance for us sometime."

"They ARE a musical people."

"Too right."

The Duke pulls a silver piccolo from his breast pocket and blows a short trill. A small troop of pygmies, of all ages and sex, emerges from below decks.

"You lot, dive into the water and make some noise. That's it, take a nice dip, you dirty things."

The pygmies slip into the calm water. Immediately, the river comes to roiling life. A dozen 15 foot long river submerged river crocs attack the hapless pygmies.

"Hah, hah look at those snapping jaws! They'll look smashing mounted above the mantle. Lord Bess-Eaton will be so jealous."

The Duke fires his carbine expertly into the fray, killing several crocs right off. It soon become apparent, however, that there are too many of them. The pygmies whoops of funs become the shrieks of the maimed and the shrieks of the to-be-maimed."

" Do something Matthew! Those poor creatures are being eaten alive."

His Grace's face turns grim.

"Get me some more ammunition Florrie! There's a good lass"

Screams fill the jungle air and Gunpowder smoke swirls about as the t Duke futilely tries to save the pygmies.

Finally, his ammunition spent, he places his knife into his teeth and dives into the water. The last croc is bearing down on a young pygmy boy, who's clinging to the mangled corpse of his father.

"Take that, you stygian beast. And that!"

The croc vanquished by the timely strokes of the Duke's trusty knife, he collects the young pygmy boy and climbs back on bored.

"oh Matthew! That was so noble of you!"

"Someone has to defend these savages against a world that is bound to defeat them."

The boy starts bawling, calling for his dead relatives.

"Matthew, he must be only 4 or 5 years old. And an orphan! Isn't there something we can do?"

His grace lifts the boy up, staring at him right in his eyes. The boy falls silent.

"I'll be damned if I let the papists get a hold of him. We'll make you a fine Englishman, my boy."

And with that, the young pygmy lad became Neville West-Poges...

[ 21-11-2001: Message edited by: Clever Clogs Todd ]

Blake Chipper - all weirdy