Wednesday, June 11, 2003
KRIPPENDORF KRONIKLES.. VOL 3:
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(In previous episodes our protagonist has attempted an audience with Dr. Whan twice without success, hoping to wrangle his Third Prototype from his dying lips with vigour, love and cutlery. However, the notoriously tetchy doctor has other plans, as Krippendorf will begin to realise.)
"Two-hundred years have I waxed and waned to ascertain his position", he said, as he writhed viciously. I managed to stop his writhing by unplugging the cord, and he was greatly displeased; his Favourite Jam Machine! Alas, he had another, Plum and Mango Petit. "What is Mango Petit?" I asked, and was rewarded with a framed photograph of an iron teat, at which I chuckled truthfully. Pursing his lips in the manner of the Miroquis he managed to spit at a passing horse; it was enough, its back broke.
"A dried and juiceless variety, it must be said."
At this my brow furrowed heavily; I was forced to my knees by the lonesome breeze, blowing north by nor'east. Words formed at my lips were hesitant, a violent shove gave them breath.
"A veiled insult?"
"No, a fruit." He began a modern interpretation of Finley's Revenge. I applauded loudly and was shushed.
"Do not presume to shush me." I was his guest, after all. At this I was shushed with such violent force that all four of my toes broke at the Indian joint; an incident not seen since 10 years ago behind the stands.
Naturally incensed, I blew my nose in disgust and made to leave. My host pursed his lips once more; seeing my chance I leapt for the window, forgetting my altitude; alas! five storeys and a punctured third lung. His parting words rang in my ears as I fled, "Grarrgh uhrg grahhh". I knew I would not forget these words for the rest of my life. I resolved to beat him about the sweetbreads with bouillebase upon our next meeting, which I knew would be our last...
--------------------------------------------
(In previous episodes our protagonist has attempted an audience with Dr. Whan twice without success, hoping to wrangle his Third Prototype from his dying lips with vigour, love and cutlery. However, the notoriously tetchy doctor has other plans, as Krippendorf will begin to realise.)
"Two-hundred years have I waxed and waned to ascertain his position", he said, as he writhed viciously. I managed to stop his writhing by unplugging the cord, and he was greatly displeased; his Favourite Jam Machine! Alas, he had another, Plum and Mango Petit. "What is Mango Petit?" I asked, and was rewarded with a framed photograph of an iron teat, at which I chuckled truthfully. Pursing his lips in the manner of the Miroquis he managed to spit at a passing horse; it was enough, its back broke.
"A dried and juiceless variety, it must be said."
At this my brow furrowed heavily; I was forced to my knees by the lonesome breeze, blowing north by nor'east. Words formed at my lips were hesitant, a violent shove gave them breath.
"A veiled insult?"
"No, a fruit." He began a modern interpretation of Finley's Revenge. I applauded loudly and was shushed.
"Do not presume to shush me." I was his guest, after all. At this I was shushed with such violent force that all four of my toes broke at the Indian joint; an incident not seen since 10 years ago behind the stands.
Naturally incensed, I blew my nose in disgust and made to leave. My host pursed his lips once more; seeing my chance I leapt for the window, forgetting my altitude; alas! five storeys and a punctured third lung. His parting words rang in my ears as I fled, "Grarrgh uhrg grahhh". I knew I would not forget these words for the rest of my life. I resolved to beat him about the sweetbreads with bouillebase upon our next meeting, which I knew would be our last...
