'GANS ON ICE

by Lucille D'ecoupage

Upon the Whaler's worde, we are cutting a channel by hand through the new ice and advancing at the rate of two miles a day ~ and being driven back at the rate of three ~

Farthing turned from his position at the window and sighed, "There is no sign of sled nor mountain for that matter..."

The Doctor continued scribbling in his journal as he spoke, "All in good time Richard."

"My sense of time is growing confused."

"'Tis the lack of daylight." Thomas looked up at his friend. They both appeared haggard - deep lines were etched in their faces, eyes drooped. The flesh seemed to hang from their bones.

"Too much sleep..." Farthing mumbled.

Lt Caudal came into the room without knocking. The other two barely acknowledged him as he proceeded straight to the stove to warm his hands. "We have cut our prescribed channel for the day. The ship is made fast and we shall start again in the morning."

"I hope the Whaler's word is as good as his claim." said Farthing, "His people should have made their way south weeks ago. Are there Cariboo in these climes?"

"A search party Sir?" said Caudal, eager for adventure.

"I should like to make harbour before we dispatch anyone else. We cannot remain in open water for the duration of winter... We shall have to choose our location well lest we are pressed against the shore."

A silence fell upon them as they considered this scenario. Caudal made his way over to a curtained bunk and removed his military issue wool overcoat. Considered to be of the finest weave, it was no match for the howling winds and plunging temperatures of their present location. He stoked the fire frugally, under the watchful gaze of the Captain and stood close to the small stove to gain more warmth. He began to hum a tune from his youth and in a moment of small miracles, the other two joined him. Soon they sang together a song that began -

A holiday, a holiday and

the first one of the year.

Lord Arnold's wife came

to the church and the

gospel she did hear.

When the meeting it was done

she cast her eyes about,

There she spied little Matty Groves

walking through the crowd.

Come home with me little Matty Groves

come home with me tonight,

Come home with me young Matty Groves

and sleep with me til light...

The Disillusionists cont'd...

It was early morning and the gang stood on the rocks by the ocean.

"Time for the early bird special?" asked Jay, digging into his shirt pocket.

A few moments later they clambered down into the inter-tidal zone. Gunther was wearing his denim 'Regular Guy' outfit. He prepared himself for certain death. They had found a channel in the rock that gave him enough shelter from the breakers so he could slither around to the side of a low rock face. From that angle they hoped they could catch him as he popped out of a wave. The morning was clear and bright. An early fog had burned off and the air was crisp.

Damn if that water wasn't cold though. It was slow going as G edged his way along the pebbled bottom of the channel. By the time he eased his nuts under the water line, he was already shivering. At the end of the channel, where the swells came up to his chin - a ridge of barnacles or mussels, he didn't know which - gave him a foothold and he crunched his way from the channel out into the open water.

This was no postcard. This was an angry, violent place. Full body slams were delivered standing up and full body sucking was immediate and clean. The first wave to hit him almost knocked a tooth loose. It had come in a little higher and wider than it looked from above. He shook the salt-water out of his eyes and looked up. Snot drained down his throat.

Mike was waving and screaming, "That way! That way!"

Gunther turned his back to the water to see where Mike was pointing as the second wave hit. Whatever grip he had on the rocks was lost. He now sat in a tide pool twenty feet from where he just was. The rope was tangled around his feet. By the time the third wave hit he had crawled to a less slippery spot but that hardly mattered. He cracked his tailbone on a rock as he was sucked out during the return trip.

"This is great!" yelled Mike as he filmed. "Get him to come over here!"

Jay climbed down the rocks a few feet, just out of the frame. "Climb up the rocks!" he screamed at Gunther, who was treading white water. "On the next one, try to get washed ashore..."

"Fuck you!" Gunther could feel himself being pulled further away.

"This is great..." Mike zoomed in on G's face.

"If we lose him, are we insured? asked Alexis. "I mean, can we at least collect on that?"

"Tell him to quit dickin' around and get in here."

The water had flattened out and they could see it start to swell - way, way out there. Gunther started paddling across the rip. There was a beach about a half-mile away.

"Where's he going?" said Mike, switching the camera off.

"He's trying to get away..." said Jay.

"What did you say to him?"

May stood beside them. They looked at her and then back at the water. She wondered what that was about. What did they mean, 'what did you say to him?' She started along the rocks to follow Gunther as he swam.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Jay said, "Why don't we get this over with."

"Ya see Jay," said Mike, "that's what I'm talking about. You never want to see anything through."

"See it through? It'll be through when I see my money."

"You'll see it. We've got to finish the movie."

"Fuck the movie. We can't take this back into the city! You're getting distracted. I say we stick to the plan."

"We are Jay. Just keep cool." They started along the shore to where May and Gunther were. He stood dripping on the rocks ahead of them. The rope was gone, his clothes were shredded and he was missing his boots. Once the others had caught up he said, "I hope that was good enough because there's no freakin' way I'm goin' back in there."

"No, that was excellent." Mike took his hand and shook it. "Let's go back and have a look."

'GANS AT SEA

pt II

'GANS ON ICE

by Lucille D'ecoupage

Chapter Three

For many weeks the crew toiled. Insurmountable odds foiled, them. Finally they made landfall. Unable to locate their cache of stores, they spent days scouring the bush. Indeed, there was no sign of anything surrounding the predetermined coordinates. They spent a fortnight cutting wood for fuel for the ship's furnace and it was decided that the Sceptre would forfeit her supplies and head south for safe haven.

And so, the Rotund sailed north, laden with fuel and moldy supplies in order to become wilfully trapped in the ice so that as the next spring came, they may have advantage over nature. It was determined that the Sceptre then would return - bringing fresh meat, vegetables and sweet fruit from the colonies...

Today is Sunday and as such it is our habite to reste unless some minor catastrophe befalls our crew as did laste sabbath as a visitor presented himself and proceeded to re-engineer our mission ~

Dickinson put down his quill and remembered the exchange of the previous week. In his mind he heard a knock at the door, "Yes?"

The voice of the Whaler was on the other side, "Begging your pardon Sir. I vas vondering if I might haf ein word with you."

"Proper channels crewman. You know the proceedure."

"Jah, but I think vot I haf to say would be of special interest to you, if you get my drift, zo to speak."

Dickinson rose from his small desk and made his way over to the hatch. He did not entirely trust this strange individual and he opened it only a crack. "Yes?" he asked of the repulsive creature who stood before him.

"Are you not going to invite me in Zir?"

"What is it you want?"

"Only to stop ze warm air from ezzcaping, good Doctor..."

The blanketed man was allowed inside and began talking at once, most likely to conceal that he shivered uncontrolably. "Vell, Sir, it oc-c-curred to me just yesterday zat I am familiar viz this territory. I haf sailed zese waters on numerous occasions in search of quarry and haf gone further up zis coast zan any official survey has... " He paused to warm his hands at the small stove that stood in the centre of the quarter deck. "At any rate, on many occasions I haf had contact vith the people who inhabit zese shores unt I understand it is your intention to enlist some of them as hunters."

"Zat, ahem... That is correct."

"Sir, as it appears to me, being only a leadsman, but please have confidence in me, ve vill be hard and fast in the ice for many months... I vould like to make contact with some peoples I know furzer to ze west."

"We have already planned our actions."

"Jah, jah, mit begging your pardon Sir, but ze people of this coast I can assure you have already lost the trust in our intentions. Let me go ahead and make contact viz the others. We must make our way furzer up ze coast. They vill be of more use to us."

Dickinson thought for a moment or two. He was still unsure of the Whaler's motivation. If he had had previous dealings with the local inhabitants, why was he so determined to make contact with the others. The Whaler continued so as to not allow him this time to think.

"Zey are afraid of you, but that vill not stop zem from dealing... I fear it vould be to our detriment to haf any dealing with zem at all. Ze others vill be trustworthy, zey haf not had as much contact mit der European... Let me go first. I haf three men in mind to go with me unt ve vill establish ourselves well."

"Let me discuss this with the Captain."

There was a slight hesitation to the Whaler now. He seemed less convinced of his plan. He made his way back towards the entrance, his eyes fleeting around the room. He made his apologies and scurried out of the room. Could he be so ignorant as to not suspect that Dickinson would have to consult with the Captain of the vessel? As soon as Farthing had returned from above deck, Dickinson related his encounter. In the end it was decided that Tarbin would accompany the Whaler's party. Proceeding as far up the coast as possible was after all, their immediate goal.

BOO THE BEAR GETS READY FOR BED

I don't know about you guys but I'm just about ready to put a cap on... what is this, 2006? You people like to put a name on everything - naming time I find particularly amusing. But we simpler beasts are fully prepared to just doze for the winter, altho I must say the winters seem to be getting shorter and not as cold as they used to be but whatareyagonnado?

Plenty of deer this year for some reason. And the berries were good. I found they took a while to ripen. The leaves too took a while to change shades and then boom! Dropped like a beaver-chewed sapling in a wind storm. Ha-ha-ha.

Anywho, better drag a few more pine boughs over to the den. Got a few weeks left but I like to work slow. See ya in the spring (if you don't blow each other up first).

The Disillusionists cont'd...

After dinner had ground to a halt, we followed a trail up the side of the hill, everyone except Alexis who was sullen and uncommunicative. Armed with flashlights, we left her alone in the camper and pushed our way into the woods.

Overgrown with alder, the old road had not been used in many, many years. At points the trail seemed to disappear into the trees. Eventually we found ourselves in a clearing - more of a rocky cap on the hill, where no trees could take root. In the orange light, we had an excellent view of the valley, a bit of jagged shore and a low, burning sunset. We sat there for a time, until the sun seemed to pop below the water.

Mike turned around and pointed out something I don't think any of us had seen before, which was the night rising. From this vantage point we could not only see the shadow of our hill spread against the valley below, but also a ring of bright purple light across the horizon as the edge of the atmosphere refracted the waning beams of sunlight. Below it grew an inky black with no stars and for several minutes we watched as this spectacular power sucked the red from the clouds and obscured the horizon. We stayed like that for an hour at least, barely talking, mesmerized by this beautiful void. Eventually we stumbled back down the trail, stepping into little pools of man-made light.

Alexis has never been alone in the woods before. She was a city dweller and 'interior' by nature. However, on this occasion she felt extremely claustrophobic inside the camper and set about making the space by the fire into a little room. She put a towel on the ground for a rug, pulled a cooler over for a coffee table and arranged the chairs accordingly. She sat and watched the fire with mild interest, like it was a television. She spun around at every noise behind or beside her. The cool night air crawled up her back and she found a blanket to wrap herself in.

She stared at the fire now. Felt it's heat against her face and realized she could move back a foot or two. She threw some more fuel on and wondered what was taking those guys so long. After a while she was transfixed. A moment later she was dancing.

Mike said to no one in particular, "Looking at those rushes, I think we're on to something..." He climbed over a fallen tree limb, "I'd like to do a wet version. If we find a more accessible spot we'll do it. You okay with that G?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not really."

"Then I'm all for it..."

As they continued down the trail, something had changed. Mike thought of ways to incorporate scenes such as the night rising - he would have to try to get that on film tomorrow night. The others didn't seem so sure. Each fell into silence, a new aura of dread fell over them, distinct from the mist of the forest at night.

The Crazy Clover

Bar & Grill

"Not Just Another Irish Pub"

160 Centenniel Parkway

Stoney Creek, ON

~AJ's SUBS~

- Try Our Specialty Sub "The Lougan"

thick slice of fried Balogna with Onions on a Kaiser

'GANS AT SEA

by Ms Lucille D'ecoupage

It was now two months to the day since they had sailed out of Greenwich. Their only sight of their fellow man had been the whaling fleet and the untimely arrival of their guest. The weather had kept them on a static line and the time had come whereupon they were forced to consider their options. If the winds did not pick up they might not make sufficient season to arrive at a cache of supplies which, hopefully, had been delivered as planned some months before. Any further delay in their arrival on the shores of New Found Land made the likelihood of an attempt on the passage this year impossible. The ice, simply put, would be too thick.

Doctor Dickinson sat at the map table and quilled -

It is now well paste the pointe at which we must intercept our supplies. The crewe for the most part seems unconcerned and continues to focus upon petty interventions and the fair distribution of the daily tot of rum. I fear that if this supply wears thin ~ Fore now we can continue as planned, some of the olde hands are no doubt aware of the consequences of making landfall too late in the year. The officers are increasingly isolated and the true spirit of the men can only be read in their faces ~ of which a sort of blank resignation can be founde...

He stared at the rest of the page as a tide of anxiety rose in his gut and did not pass. Suddenly, as if to prove that things indeed could get worse, Lts Caudal and Tarbin burst into the quarterdeck.

"I don't know the exact lee," said Caudal, "I haven't had sufficient speed to see what drift the wake is cutting or to throw the log!"

"But thurly a varianthe of five degrees is something you'd mention."

"There hasn't been sufficient time for me to compare..."

"Gentlemen!" It was Farthing, who had emerged from his bunk and was buttoning his vest. "Are we two suddenly combatants?"

The two of them stood with their heads held low. It was Caudal who spoke first, "Sir. We seem to have struck upon a problem."

"We've run aground!?"

"No Sir. It would seem as though, as I and no doubt every other man on board has heard, we ah, have run a scroottie off course."

The Captain furrowed his brow. Without delay he pulled one of the charts from the rack below the table and unrolled it. Dickinson shuffled his diary quickly to one side and helped secure the chart using the integrated clips on the table. The chart itself showed, or perhaps more accurately didn't show, vast areas of coastline. What coastline it did was rendered in smooth flowing lines - nothing like the jagged rocky shore they lay some thousand nautical miles from. Caudal calculated his bearings and positioned a protractor as a guide. He spoke as he drew light lines on the chart, "The prescribed bearing is north-northwest as we know..."

"And we lie here." Stated Dickinson, as much a question as a fact.

"Correct." Caudal drew another line only a few degrees to the north, away from the known coast of the Americas and sadly, representing another fornight's sailing due west. The four of them stared at the chart as though willing it not to be so.

"You are certain of our current position?"

"As of a few moments ago Sir. The cloud cover has broken enough to get a bearing, trusting that our marine clock is correct."

"Cutting acroth the Gulfe current in these conditions? We shall be back in Bristol before long." proclaimed Tarbin.

"Damn it to hell!" Farthing cried, his fist splintering on the hard oak of the table.

The Lougan Condition

Halloween - or - "Hammer's Christmas"
Nowadays, people seem to break out the Christmas decorations months in advance. In Hamiltoe, it seems like people are gettin' ready for Halloween sometime in August. Some of the displays are massive, I found this one while I was supposed to be workin' - it's a little dark but it's Halloween right? If you don't like it you can begin licking me now.

Speaking of work issues, being a newly minted singleton, I can take advantage of all the hot receptionists in town as my job requires me to leeayze with businesses to coordinate delivery of printed material and to assist in the research of historical premises for a government publication. Turns out May has a boyfriend but that's cool because I really respect her a lot. Also, Lucille and I have come to a working arrangement whereby she will continue submitting 'Gans At Sea so as not to upset the half-dozen or so of you out there... Keep your hands off Bernie. That's just sick.

Anyway, enjoy your Halloween, it's the one time per year when nice girls get to dress up like hookers.

The Disillusionists cont'd...

Jay, Mike, May and Alexis sat around the fire. They ignored me as I returned and took the only thing available to sit on - a milk crate. Mike was looking at the day's rushes on the computer. Jay was in a talkative mood. "...I mean I went through a stage where I thought it was necessary to let everyone know my secrets. Now I think it's more important to just do what the word means, I mean, it wasn't just some guy who had an idea, it was developed over the centuries since the first ape hid somebody's banana. Who was I to go against that?"

"I would like to have a conversation without the words I, Me or Mine in it." May said to no one in particular although Jay looked aghast and went back into his default silent mode. Mike tried to keep things flowing although his attention was squarely on the computer. "So now you're a guy with a lot of secrets."

Jay blurted, "I know what you're saying but I like to think I don't have any." He counted the number of I's to himself.

"The first time I met Alexis," Mike said - still focusing on the computer, "she showed me a tattoo on her ankle that said No Regrets in German. So I said, 'You could look at it as - don't do anything you might regret later', and she looked at me with real... hostility. Like the thought had never occurred to her."

"You know," said Alexis, "I'm sitting right here." She scratched absently at her boot.

"You thought that since you had inscribed yourself with this message from stoner-dom, that it gave you free reign to do whatever the hell you want..."

Alexis focused two little lazer beams on Mike's head. She probably knew everything there was to know about this guy and still he had to treat her this way. She got up and went inside.

Mike continued without looking up, "The equally, perhaps infinitely more interesting concept... and now I've gone and spoiled the party." Mike grinned at us. No one shared his sense of humour.

"How about you G. Any kids?" he said, turning back to the computer.

"No. You?"

"Nope. So what, you've never been married?"

"No. I've been lucky."

"Why do you say that?"

"I don't know. It's something people say."

"Just anybody eh?"

"Okay, here we go." I sighed.

"Here we go what?"

"Is this part of the workshop? Part of the curve?"

"What do you mean?"

"Listen, I don't really have the energy."

"Okay. May, what about you?"

"What about me what?"

"Any kids?"

"Shut the fuck up Mike."

'GANS AT SEA

by Ms Lucille D'ecoupage

Larsfeldt the Whaler sat at the mess table and stuffed a huge mouthful of maggot-infested bread in his toothless gob and washed it down with ale, streams of which flowed down the sides of his mouth and into his coarse undergarments. The others watched in horror as he attempted to smile and strip lengths of dried meat from a slab which had been thrown to him like an animal at a zoo. He nodded and giggled like an imbecile, his ragged blond hair sat in tangles on the top of his head and he smelled poorly, as any man would who had obviously lived a life of shame and deception.

"Sank you. Sank you once again..." he said between mouthfuls of food. The crew were taken aback by his condition - as yet unaware that this was his normal manner of eating. Larsfeldt passed wind explosively and set about to giggling. The room cleared, leaving only Farthing, who breathed through his shirt sleeve and Tarbin who stood transfixed, horrified by the stranger's appalling disposition.

"What manner of incarceration were you subject to?" asked Farthing, assuming the man had spent the past few months chained to a bulwark.

"Uhn?" came the stunted reply.

"Are you a convict? Have you commited some heinious crime?"

Larsfeldt wiped at his chin and replied with dramatic subservience, "Oh no... no Sir. I haf committed no crime. I am a God fearing Christian like you Sir. A God fearing Christian like you."

"Do youth bear any documenthathion?" demanded Tarbin.

The Whaler stopped chewing and raised one eybrow, "Do I vot?"

"Dothumenthathion. Do you hath any paperth?"

"Paperth? Ah jah jah..." he dug fitfully in his small bag, "Jah I haf mine paperth, just ein minute." He withdrew a leather bound sachet which appeared much too exquisite for his taste. Inside he found a worn certificate and handed it to the Lieutenant.

"You are a firtht offither I thee..." Tarbin's speech became more inflicted during times of stress.

"Jah. You vill see zat everything is ein order." Larsfeldt resumed eating, although with considerably less vigour.

"Would you mind explaining to us sir, the manner in which you were introduced?" said Farthing.

Larsfeldt paused again, grunted and then belched. "Zose men are animals Sir. I meant to reform them. Make zem true mariners Sir... But my good intentions are misinterpreted."

"You are a mutineer then?" barked the Captain.

"Ach no! No. Mutineer? Don't be zo zilly."

"Lieutenant, this man is to be confined until he is more willing to cooperate." With that Farthing turned and strode to his quarters. Tarbin and Larsfeldt stared at one another for a moment until Tarbin called down the gangway, "Guardth!"

The Disillusionists cont'd...

Mike took me aside to discuss my motivation. He explained that he had envisioned the character as a complete innocent, devoid of conceit. "You ever shake hands with someone and then get the sense that they've been beating off? Because that's what I'm getting from you."

The temptation to knock out a few teeth was strong. We argued at length and I'll have to admit that I was totally out of my element as I had never acted before and he kept throwing technical terms at me. I countered with the fact that since I was innocent of any acting technique then I should be free of any conceit as well. This made him think. I continued with, "If a wave big enough to come in here and sweep us out to sea was, you... you would be the last person to accept that it was a completely natural occurance and still blame somebody rather than admit that the only control we have is over trivialities." I'm not sure where that came from.

We argued for a while more and in the end I admitted that I found it difficult to remain innocent while I was bleeding. Mike insisted however that we start over again.

"You've just been born and come out of the sea! Why does it feel like you're looking for a trail? You don't even know what a trail is! You've got to do it the hard way... So this time, when you come up the rocks I want you to head straight for that clump of trees over there."

Jay almost pissed his pants. He couldn't believe anyone would do it but off I went out of spite. Jay had been recording the whole exchange but then lost it while doing some ambient surf sounds. We took it from the point where the Cowboy or Trucker or whatever faces his first obstacle after having entered the world. It was a wall of vegetation. Mike tried repeatedly to catch a look of fascination on my face as I plunged headlong into the great unknown. After a few hours and millions of pixels later, Mike felt he had something usable. With plenty of light left to make it up the trail, we packed up and headed back to the camp.

Returning to find the girls passed out in a cloud of drunken mosquitos, we lit a fire and started dinner without waking them. Jay, god bless 'im, was thoughtful enough to spray a cloud of insect repellent over May and Alexis. They finally woke up to the smell of fresh pacific packaged salmon steaks with garlic and lemon, grilled vegetables and wild rice. Mike uncrated a supply of Cab-Sav he insisted was quite drinkable and poured plastic mugs for each of us. For desert we were to sample some artisanal apple crumble with fresh powdered milk sauce.

"Here's to our first day of shooting!"

Everyone grunted and slugged back the wine except for May who was puking in the bushes. She did come back and gamely polish off a bottle's worth over the course of the evening. Later I tried to get in a couple of words with her. She was obviously in no mood or condition for sex. I'd had women withdraw from me fairly quickly before but never like this. I was tired dammit. Tired of endless one-nighters with lots and lots of women and was ready for a meaningful relationship. May motioned for a towel, "Gunther, what happened between us was beautiful and I will never regret it but if you keep on like this..."

I managed to maintain my composure and understood that she and Mike must have something going on.

"That is so completely... Fuck. Why can't you accept what I mean?"

I did and was willing to seal it with a kiss. May wasn't, "I'm outta here." she said and left me alone in the tiny bathroom, her wet towel draped across my face.

'GANS AT SEA

by Lucille D'ecoupage

As the small boat grew increasingly in size and detail, they could see that one individual appeared to be more animated than the rest. On more than one occasion he interupted the beat of the rowing by raising an arm to wave. As the starboard crew raised their oars and reached out to grab at the netting which had been rolled over the side of the Rotund, the animated man set down his oar clumsily, gathered a small kit bag and struggled up the side of the hull. At one point, one of the rowers prodded him with their oar in order to hasten his embarkation. They rowed away without further delay and before anyone could act, the animated stranger stood before the crew, smiling from ear to ear.

"I am Gunther Larsfeldt." he blurted, "Sank you for taking me."

He clumsily shook everyone's hand and then looked up with glee at the rigging above his head.

"I am a free man!"

Highlights of Grunter and Lucille breaking up. Courtesy of Jack the Dog Barker

Grunter Stevenson All's I said was that I thought she was cute.

Lucille D'ecoupage You said she was hot and you wanted to fuck her.

GS I never said that.

LD Well that's what you meant.

GS But I didn't do anything!

LD You've been doing lots of things that piss me off buddy.

GS Like what?

LD Like taking my car without asking. You don't drop in at work anymore.

GS 'Cus ya can't smoke inside and it's getting cold out... Jesus.

LD Aw... It's getting cowd oud, poor baby. And you said DON'T TELL GINGER! You're a fucking asshole.

GS 'Cuz I didn't want you gettin' all worked up over nothin'

LD And then that other pathetic display... what kind of idiot writes "who knew she read it" somewhere where you know I'm going to read it!

GS I uh...

LD Jerk.

'GANS AT SEA

by Ms Lucille D'ecoupage

They watched, for a while, as the mysterious fleet set course to parallel them. The weather was steadily improving, but it was still unwise to renezvous so close. Why would they interupt their voyage to lose ground abeam? They returned no signal. They flew only a Dutch flag.

Lt Caudal stood beside Dickinson and quietly interrupted his gaze. "Doctor. You are a Phrenologist are you not?"

The Doctor looked away from the horizon and squinted at the Liuetenant, "Yes. Indeed I am."

"It's just that," continued Caudal, "and I do feel a bit silly in saying... I seem to have bumped my head but I cannot for the life of me remember when. At any rate I was concerned that - and I know that it's probably nothing to worry about, but can a sort of unrealized bumping have a profound effect upon one's..."

The Doctor completed his sentence, "Health?"

"Health. Yes Sir."

"Come over here. Let's have a look at you."

Dickinson grasped Caudal's cranium in his hands and felt around for any oddities. He pressed his finger tips against a ridge on the dermal extrusion and then tapped lightly on the procenium archway. "Is this normal?" asked the Doctor, referring to a tender tuber-thrombus in the lateral fourth quarter.

"That's where I thought I whacked it Sir."

"I see..." Doctor Dickinson bade the Lieutenant to stand and then took a deep breath and tried to muster as satisfactory an answer as he could. "Lieutenant, it would appear to me that you are in no immediate danger of dying. Any significant dizzyness?"

"No."

"Shortness of breath?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Good. As I said, you're as healthy as a mule Lieutenant... There is a great deal of uncertainty in any journey and the level of excitement prior to embarkation is difficult to sustain over a long period. Your body may need to rest, young man. Get plenty of sleep and if any symptoms are recurring or so on..." the Doctor paused for a moment. "They've dispatched a boat..."

Indeed, there was a dinghy with a half-dozen men on board rowing fiercely in their direction. Caudal called down the hatch without hesitation, "Sergeant, issue sidearms to the watch. All others are to remain below." He turned and took the telescope from the Doctor. They watched as the small craft made it's way toward them. For what purpose, was yet to be known.

Celebrating 100 posts!*

*Lucille I'm sorry.

The Disillusionists cont'd...

All was not well. It appeared now that we had achieved a level of unpreparedness that would amaze a trained monkey. Camera batteries were not charged. Editing programs crashed and sandwiches went uneaten. Early in the day we had returned to the shore and captured many stunning vistas. The ocean behaved magnificently - sending huge boiling reef-break onto the rocks with spiritual regularity. Salt spray however became an issue and the camera took a beating. As well, the breeze shifted offshore and the waves were not standing up as they did in the morning. They were masses of foam and dense black undertow... Impossible to match up with the earlier shots. Nobody had bothered to bring a tide table.

By mid-afternoon the fold-up picnic table had been located and we were ready for a hot lunch. Mike went over the rest of the day's schedule and then shattered an axe handle in a fit of rage over the discovery that no-one had bothered to supply me with a costume. Instead of a Cowboy, I became a Regular Guy with a rope. I think Mike came close to crying. May found some work gloves and a trucker hat but that just seemed to date the look. I practiced walking bow-legged. I overheard a comment between Jay and Alexis that, "...this plan was fucked", while they sat in the camper trying to make a coffee filter out of toilet paper.

We went down to the water for a third time and blocked out my emergence from the surf. The original idea was to have just my hat appear behind a low ridge of rock and have it seemingly bounce along on the surface of the water until the rest of me was revealed. I tripped a few times, trying to keep my head level. Finally we put the hat on a stick and I bobbed it along until Mike said he could fix it in editing. The wet version of the scene was eliminated due to the risk of hypothermia and we moved on to my trek scene through the forest.

Although it looked dry and easily transitted, the forest floor was like a treacherous plate of murderous spaghetti. Wading through the Salal involved dropping suddenly and with shin skinning regularity into pits, chasms, dry creek beds and massive collapsed remnants of mutant ant hills. Logs blocked every possible route and were slippery with moss. One became known as "the emasculator". Thorny vines of wild rose made escape impossible and tiny pore-boring insects added to the pain. The rope caught on everything.

Mike insisted on the realism of the struggle and adopted many different angles to convey this. He lay on his back and insisted I climb over him. From a tree limb he shot my struggle for creation as I twisted my body free from the invisible hands of the undergrowth. We kept as a souvenir something that looked to be the mandible of an ancient giant killer beetle.

Alexis and May faired pretty well as they were back at the campsite mixing drinks.

"Phew," purred Alexis, "pretty hot hey?"

"Yeah," said May, the sweat glinting sofltly on her chest.

"Another daiquiri?"

"Uh-huh."

May held out her glass for Alexis who took it and then pulled herself up out of her lawnchair. She went over to the generator and pulled the cord and it sputtered to life. Alexis filled a blender with mix, ice and whatever booze was handy, hit the button and watched the pretty way it twisted into an minature abyss and then added another shot or two of rum. After a bit she poured out the fresh batch into the glasses and switched off the generator. She handed one to May and then lay back down in the sun.

"What's keeping those guys?" asked May.

"Fuck 'em." said Alexis. It was the twenty-fifth day in a row she had been either drunk or stoned or both. She thought she was getting immune.

Happy just to get away, they covered the guy's problems quickly and then moved on to food and vacation ideas. Food should be a pleasurable experience and should definitely be taken in the country of origin. Clothing too, should be combined with travel. May seemed resigned to dream but Alexis knew that anything was possible. She began to develop elaborate fantasies about killing May. She looked at her through the orange tint of her sunglasses and let her mind wander.

They tried to set up the computer inside a cardboard box to shade the screen so they could watch a DVD. The generator, which was loud and a pain in the ass was low on fuel or clogged or something and was starting to sputter. Alexis didn't want to run the batteries down on the laptop because she knew what kind of tirade that would inspire. They needed the fuel for the blender so they switched everything off and just lay there listening to the insects...

'GANS AT SEA

by Lucille D'ecoupage*

Above the fetid stalls of the crew's quarters existed a world of majesty and terror. The grey dreariness of the previous few days was now dominated by blue, churning skies. The dark swells took on a crispness, were more defined and somehow tamed; yet it was still impossible to make out a linear horizon on those occasions when the ship rose to a crest. There, in a trough some fathoms away, bobbed the twin masts of another as yet unidentified vessel.

The Rotund and Sceptre were not scheduled to meet with their escort for some time. Each man did some quick calculations in order to determine the amount of time 'til they reached land. Dr Dickinson made an appearance above deck. While not aloof, he did spend an inordinate amount of time studying texts.

"Where away?" he asked, wiping his spectacles on his sleeve. The others pointed hard to port and concentrated on the brief appearance of the ship.

"She's close-reefed in these seas..." said Farthing, one eye pressed against the small end of a telescope.

"Brigantine Sir!" came a cry from above, barely audible in the wind. Farthing looked up at the lackey strapped in a bosun's chair.

"Is she in distress?" he called.

"She's under steam..." came the reply.

They all swung together to get another look and there was now, faintly visible, a plume of smoke rising from the retro-fitted stack at the stern of the ship. A whaler.

They all stood for a moment and stared at the brief shadow as it lifted and fell over the crests. A spell of recognition held them - any sighting of their fellows in this inhospitable place gave bittersweet comfort. The Captain was the first to break rank and head back below deck.

"She's a whaler Sir." said Caudal, in order to draw attention to his considerable gifts as a mariner.

"Aye..." came the belaboured response. Farthing knew the routine and waited to answer the next question - as he had done for years whenever encountering a standard proceedure.

"Shall we signal her?"

"In acknowledgement." He ducked his head, then heard Tarbin excitedly cry, "There followth anover!" He sighed with the kind of resolve only a passing ship can muster. These seas were too heavy for any exchange. Fresh whale meat, oil for their lanterns, conditions to the east... Running flags and semaphore was a young man's game. Everything he needed to know he had already gleaned. The keel sat low in the water, her rigging in good repair. She had been at sea for the season and now the fleet was heading home. Conditions had been fair, perhaps the coming winter would be as well. He lay in his bunk with his eyes wide open and listened to the excited footsteps of the crew as they sought contact with a stranger.

*editor's note: I am in deep shit with Lucy right now... who knew she actually read the blog? Anyway, please post your comments to convince her to keep submitting stuff. Thx G.

The Lougan Condition

Wage Slavery

with G. Stevenson

Welp, my E.I. claim from my last job stockin' shelves at Danny's No Frills has finally run out. Looks like your old friend Grunts is gonna have to get a job. Luckily, the government has this program for youth such as myself where they pay half your wages for a six month period or something so I signed up and went to some seminar and now it looks like I'll be working for a publisher because I told them I had shipping experience which is partly true because I used to run steroids over to Fed-Ex for Paully a while back.

I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing there but I guess I'll find out because (and don't tell Ginger this), this hot Asian chick named June or something started at the same time and I think she totally digs me.

Maybe it'll be fun. I can use the dough too because smokes aren't going to get any cheaper hey. It'll be weird having to get up in the morning. I'll let you know how it goes.

GINGER P'S SWEET-AS MOBILITY SERVICE

The Disillusionists cont'd...

After I had opened my eyes to see Alexis and Jay mixing up some instant oatmeal while standing over top of me, I squirmed out of my sleeping bag and headed out the door to take a leak. They looked at me like I was some kind of free entertainment. Outside May and Mike were having coffee at the chairs. A few moments later I joined them with my own cup and a bowl of steaming oatmeal, which by the way I had to fix for myself.

Jay had found a trail that led from the spot where we were parked. It now looked like we were in a small quarry that was used to supply material for road construction years ago. Alexis thought for certain that this was the right place when the trail opened up just as she remembered. The campsite itself seemed to be a fairly popular spot as the trail itself was not particularly overgrown. There were freshly cut branches and a little bit of garbage floating around. No bear shit luckily.

It was a long way down to the ocean. From the top of the trail we could see fog rising from below but no water - the trees obscured any sight line. Once on the trail we became isolated from the sky. The earth was soft, almost mud, it squeezed under our feet even this far into the dry season. In patches the forest opened up and areas of Red Cedar and Spruce lay in a thick carpet of loam. Most of the slope stood with Hemlock and Fir although on occasion, where the ground was disturbed, a cluster of Alder or a lonely Big Leaf Maple claimed some light. On the dry rocky slopes above you could see the twisted limbs of the Arbutus.

A raven's wing has an unmistakable sound. In a clearing we looked up as the bird flew low. It pushed through the air and landed with grace on an old spur. I imagined it was attracted to the ultra violet sheen of May's hair... The huge bird surveyed us and threw it's voice - a sound like a single amplified raindrop.

We were walking on a trail that had, in one form or another, existed for hundreds of years. In ancient times, it had led to banks of mussels and accessed stream beds and spawning grounds. Today it linked up to a logging road and a motorhome. Now among the less than one thousand modern peoples who had traversed it, it never occurred to any of us to consider how lucky we were. Stand just ten feet off of the trail and you are on a spot that no human has ever stood before.

At the bottom of the hill the trail dropped onto the rocks at the shore. The sound, smell, taste and vibration of the waves met us as soon as we broke through the crooked, wind-formed trees. At the edge of a small cliff explosions of spray rose up before us and I turned to Mike and said, "I'm not fuckin' going in there!"

'GANS AT SEA

by Lucille D'ecoupage

Time, as was it's habit, passed.

The Rotund slid sideways down the face of a swell and was lifted like a child upon the crest of another. Caudal and Tarbin amused themselves by alternately sipping a spoonful of soup from a bowl which slid across the galley table between them. An overhead candle lamp swung precariously and occasionally one of them would steady it lest it crashed. Within a few moments it would be swinging again. The noise which surrounded them was almost peaceful. Timbers creaked under the strain and secured items strained against their bonds.

Farthing entered from the passage and swayed in time with the surroundings. His sea-sickness was obvious. A blue pallor rounded out his cheekbones and his eyes sat deep in their sockets. "Damn these seas..." he said to himself.

"They thay after free weeks you'll be used to it Sir." said Tarbin hopefully.

"Three weeks? I have never in all my years become used to it!"

At the Cape of Good Hope some years past, Farthing had lain prostrate on the deck, tied to the mizzen mast by a strand of rope sent seemingly by an angel as he watched - covered in his own vomit - a man bobbing helplessly in the tower of foam that rose above him. His eyes stung even now as he remembered the surging salt spray as the man, now below the ship, sank ever deeper.

"I've earned my share of pusser's medals," added Caudal.

Farthing regarded him with putrid disdain. He shook his head which served only to infuriate his condition and then swallowed the bile which rose in his throat.

Caudal stood and offered the Captain his seat, "Have you tried plugging your ears with oakum?" He guided Farthing to the bench, which was mercifully afixed to the floor. "My Grandfather, Sir, was an industrialist. My blood lies in the land as well..."

"I am quite aware of your heritage Lieutenant and I fail to see what benefit driving men from the fields into the squalor of the city has done for my present condition."

Caudal stood for a moment while the myriad concatenation of insult took hold. Why had I mentioned that? Was it so near the tip of my consciousness that I had to blurt out some reference at every turn? "But Sir..." was all he could say.

"I am a bit our of sorts Lieutenant." said Farthing as way of an apology once he had looked up to see Caudal's obvious distress. Tarbin busied himself with the clearing away the soup so as not to burst out in contrition. "Can you please find the Doctor and summon him here." continued Farthing.

"Sir." the Lieutenant said and was gone.

Caudal could not help but to make haste to the open and upon sliding the heavy teak hatch was met with a blast of cold laden air. The recent history of his family contained a dark period in an otherwise gleaming chamber-pot of belief. How it became of interest to anyone other than the members of his immediate family was still something of a mystery to him. As an industrialist, a manufacturer of ceramics, his grandfather Edward Rothsway Caudal had engaged in some standard business practice of his day. The patriarch had felt no less at ease at the family dinner table because it was common practise for small armies of men to gather in order to settle some difference or other in regards to land, property or honour. E.R. Caudal had however, had the unfortunate experience of being the subject of a scandal sheet at the dawn of the age of the printed page.

And so the grandson, who knew little of the affair which had toppled his grandfather and who now ventured forth on a mission fueled primarily upon the public's insatiable curiosity and ability to read, was subjected to and limited by, the common knowledge of an event committed a generation before his birth.

A moment later Caudal would climb back down the ladder and cry, "There is a vessel off the port rail!"

Film Corner with S.P. Johnson

Trailer Park Boys - The Movie

Let me just begin by stating that I haven't seen the movie, but I know it's going to be good and can't wait for it to come out on DVD. I may even wait for it to go on the used rack at Blockbuster and pick up a copy for my own personal collection. While I have not yet made a pilgrimage to the original Trailer Park location I can tell you that I have lived in a trailer park and their depiction of life therein is spot on. I'd be makin' my way to work and there'd be Jill and Will Bimmer at the kitchen table of their double-wide with a fresh bottle of Smirnoff between 'em. This was at eight in the mornin' folks so if you think you got a drinkin' problem then think again.

One time I came back from a couple a weeks away, I don't know where, and Frank from up the road was gone. I asked where he was and evidently he had taken a couple of shots at Crazy Pete's place one night over who knows what so they came and took him away. Another time Crazy Pete tried breaking into my schoolbus while I was sleepin' and then claimed he had spent the previous night talking to his brother which turned out to be his reflection in the window.

Evidently they had used a tank with a bulldozer blade welded on it to dredge out the swimmin' hole at the campground section. The owner's wife was runnin' an Asian Meditation workshop in the main barn and people used to actually show up from all over. I don't think she'd even been to Chinatown let alone know what Reiki was... Gus over in lot 44 was a Vietnam Vet who used to regale us with stories about "crispy critters" until he'd start twitchin' and then it was time to go home. The manager had spent ten years in jail so the owner figured he was perfect for the job.

One winter me and some other guy almost killed ourselves cuttin' down trees for firewood, I don't know if we were even on the property or not - and then bucked it, split it and bagged it and I don't think we ever got paid. I went back a few years ago and now they've developed it and some sucker spent half a million dollars to look at the same rocks I used to look at for almost nuthin'. Heeyachkkuh-cough-cough, oh yeah... pptuyp. The Trailer Park Boys are fuckin' hilarious.

The Disillusionists cont'd...

We sat by the fire for a while and listened to the wind in the trees. The smoke curled around us and left a familiar cedar imprint on our clothes. Small nocturnal creatures scurried close by, drawn no doubt by the smell of the cheese.

"Oxygenation." Said Mike, stripping an olive pit with his teeth.

"Pardon?"

"Oxygenation," he repeated, "the surf... It's the earth breathing."

I was pretty sure what I heard was the wind in the trees but I couldn't be bothered to argue. It had been a long day and I was tired. I asked Mike instead who the two men in the paintings back at his house were.

"Those? Those are prints I got at a garage sale. I think they were about five bucks each but cost a helluva lot more to get framed. But yeah... they're Thomas More and Oliver Cromwell. I don't really like the Cromwell painting so much. Kind of drab. Supposably Holbien the Younger painted him that way as a reflection of the man. If you look at More, the sleeves of his tunic are just three dimensional... the depth and colour. Vibrancy. The originals are three or four hundred years old, I mean, here's a guy who's willing to give up his life, his wife and family for a principle! I'm not particularly religious but I don't know... the only martyrs you get these days are suicide bombers."

Mike sat back and continued to muse on his general wonderfulness and the sounds that appeared to be coming from between his ears. It seemed though that the trees were now standing stock still. Is what we heard really the surf echoing up from below, baffled by the soft, outstretched arms of the coastal temperate rainforest? We remained silent for a while, interrupted only to make quiet acknowledgement of the passed bottle. Eventually Mike stood up. He left us alone and climbed into the bus. It must have been about two in the morning. Bats swooped close to our heads and scooped up the moths that were attracted to the warmth and light of the fire. An owl eyeballed the bats, but preferred to eat the mice that were busy pilfering the cheese. A line of ants would begin working on the olive pits and a few worms were maneuvering toward the moist pressed soil under the camper's tires.

"I like the way your parents operate," I said to May.

She laughed, "Thanks. I think they had to work on it for a while but they're a lot happier now than I've seen them I guess..."

"Must've been a pretty tough time when all that was going on."

"Yeah." May sighed, "It seems weird that it's really such a long time ago now."

I crossed my legs and rubbed my chin, "Time has lost all meaning to me. No matter how hard I try to slow things down, the faster the days seem to go."

May grabbed my arm, "I know what you mean, I mean..." she took her hand away, "a week used to seem like a month is now."

"And a month a year."

"Exactly. But y'know, when you're two, a year is half your life. So when you're thirty, it's only one-thirtieth."

"Jesus. Imagine what it'd be like when you're a hun'erd."

"Oh god no!"

We laughed at the prospect and then fell into a less awkward silence. May's round face refelected the fire and I leaned over to kiss her. She turned to kiss back and we made contact only slightly askew. She took my hand and placed it firmly on her breast which I thought was a little bit forward but I wasn't about to complain. After a brief consensual struggle I managed to remove both our pants and was soon boning her like no other against the back of the motorhome.

Inside, Mike felt a subtle rocking and at first assumed it was the wind. He rolled over to Alexis like a spoon and was just about to doze off when she said, "You awake?"

"Uh-huh."

"You feel that?"

"Yeah."

They started to laugh. "Oh... It stopped," said Mike.

"Sh-shhh... Listen."

"Did you hear that?"

"Yes."

"Unbelievable... I'm crackin' wood over here."

"Oh gross."

Outside I had unbuttoned May's jacket with one hand and rubbed her clit gently with the other. She melted into me and I rolled her nipple lightly in my fingers and drove my cock deep inside. After a while I thought I might blow my load too soon so I slid down and turned her around and chewed on her sweet pussy. "I muh gonna cum..." she said after I got to the letter zed. I stood back up and started banging like there was no tomorrow. I thought my balls were going to explode. "Don't inside me..." I pulled out and she took me in her mouth. We collapsed together against the bike rack of no pain.

She woke me with a kiss and together we found our pants and shoes and crept into the camper to go to sleep, separately, on the floor.

'GANS AT SEA

by Lucille D'ecoupage

As the ships rounded the Blaskett Islands, off the Dingle Penninsula and the south coast of Ireland, the crews stood on deck as this was the last sight of their homeland for perhaps evermore. Caudal continued his inventory, reading aloud from a raft of sheets while the others contemplated the receeding shore. "Three thousand, seven-hundred and fifty-six gallons of liqour, three and one-half tonnes of tobacco, four and three-quarter tonnes of concentrated lime juice as well as one-hundred and eighty gallons of cranberries." He wiped at the mist which condensed on his forehead and flipped the page to the next, "Let's see, we have as well some eight-hundred pounds of pepper, thirty-nine barrels of molasses and twelve jugs of pickled onions. For the first leg of the journey we have two tonnes of potatoes, sixty kilos of dried parsley, seventy rounds of cheddar, six jars of dried tomatoes in oil with garlic and a live pig one of the men smuggled on board."

"A pig! Did you hear that Thomas?" said Farthing, turning his face from the wind.

"Yes Sir, I believe I did."

Caudal cleared his throat, "Yes sir. Oh and one of the engineers is using the excrement to grow mushrooms below deck."

"Good." Farthing turned again toward the bow, "Tell the pilot to ease the main, we're catching a luff..." To Dickinson he added, "We shall figure a way to roast the pig and settle windward to the Sceptre so she might catch a whiff of our dinner."

"Bloody good idea Richard. Pork roast would be nice."

"This isn't some man o' war with room for a stable amidships Caudal."

"Yes Sir."

"There may be little about duty that appeals to these men... All have seen degradations of the human spirit beyond description and have lived through them with a kind of mute resolve. If for them the reason war was fought, for the good of themselves and their family and homeland, then little patience should be spared for anyone who dares to interfere." Farthing looked again towards the coast. "Be it most often a strict adherance to arbitrary codes of conduct, they had a deep and abiding respect for themselves and for others... so long as those others were in kind."

The other two stood for a moment, unsure about what was just said. Farthing broke the silence by inquiring of the origin of the dried tomatoes at which time the Doctor interrupted and confessed that he had transported a massive quantity home from Italy upon his journey there in the summer.

"Well done Thomas. Caudal, inform the cook that the dried tomatoes are only to be used as a reward upon my orders and are to be kept in my quarters for safe keeping... and I want you and Lieutenant Tarbin to keep close watch on the drink and tobacco. You each are to keep seperate records through my office. Keep them to their daly ration and if any of the snotties keeps theirs in store and turns up on watch drunk I want them brought to me immediately. Ullage and monkey pumps are not welcome on my ship. Understood?"

The Disillusionists cont'd...

We drove for another hour. It was tiresome now. The road was getting worse. It was smaller and not in regular use, without shoulders and cut deep into the side of a hill. A line of concrete ballisters came into view as the road widened around a curve. City reasoning dictated that this was a good place to stop, as any traffic would have a way to get by. But in reality anything out here at this time of night would not have a chance to stop. Alexis, in a rare gesture of self-consciousness, climbed over the concrete, dropped her shorts and squatted. Loose gravel shifted under her boot and she rolled over, an arc of urine sprouted up, glinting in the star light. Both Jay and I caught this rare and spectacular display and it took us at least five minutes to recover. Alexis denied everything - her ankle was probably broken, she said, and then sat in silence for the rest of the ride.

Mike wouldn't let anyone put anything other than his music on the stereo. It began to blend into one song. One distorted jangly guitar bleeding into another. Mountain peaks to the north and south of us rolled by in the dark. This road would be impassable in the winter. There appeared to be snow on some of the trees but it was in fact frost caught in the headlights. Suddenly, to one side of the road, stood hundreds of blackened tree trunks. Like skeleton sentinels, the remnants of fire, they urged us to turn around and leave well enough alone.

Everyone grew increasingly tired and edgy. Eager to arrive at our destination we were all piled in the front of the camper, peering through the windshield for some kind of landmark. Alexis was the only one with any kind of idea where we were. Even Mike and Jay seemed lost. May and I might as well have been in Tibet. It felt like we had been driving for days. Mike sat in the passenger seat, furtively smoking and habitually picking his nails. We drove down into a valley and at the base of a hillside I thought I saw a car. I looked behind to see if anyone else noticed but the other three were dozing on the couch by now, their heads bumping together at every turn. Then the road ran out of road...

This was as far as they could go. Everyone stood in the cold night air. Even Alexis wan't quite sure if this was the spot because it was pitch black and you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. We could hear what we thought were waves crashing on the shore but could also just be the wind in the trees. I managed to get a fire going on the gravel behind the camper and we pulled some lawn chairs out from storage. Jay and Alexis crashed early, Jay on the slide out couch and Alexis in the back bedroom. Mike pulled out a bottle of wine, some olives and a hunk of brie and we sat by the fire to warm ourselves up.

LIFE OF LOUGAN

by J.D. Barker

Feet-turing... Lonesome Betty, Tall Paul, Bob, Reggie and your host - Jack the Dog Barker.

Act I, sc vii

LONESOME BETTY looks over at PAUL and then leans over and kisses him on the cheek.

LO BET (Whispers) The cleanest thing in our body is our mouth.

PAUL Yeah whatever.

LO BET Oh look, the seeds of intelligence. Maybe you'll sprout into a human bean...

This tweaks the ol' short man syndrome. BOB and REGGIE sense it. So does BETTY who snorts and shakes her head - there's no turning back now. JACK tries to leave without anyone noticing.

PAUL experiences shortness of breath. He stares vacantly at the television, trying not to display any symptoms. He stays like this for what seems like hours but is in fact only a few seconds. Steam will soon be coming out of his ears.

PAUL Jack!

JACK turns and sits back down on the carpet, his escape attempt foiled. PAUL looks around, the others are busy watching South Park. When did they change the channel?

BOB Who needs a beer?

'GANS AT SEA

by Lucille D'ecoupage

Lt Tarbin navigated the crowded passageway to the galley. Seething anger swelled his brain. My god, what have I done, he thought as the whole of the impending voyage crashed upon him.

Caudal was playing cards. He saw Tarbin approach and stubbed out his pipe and collected the few shillings that lay on the barrel in front of him. As he stood, he placed his cards face down then turned and donned his coat. There was no other reason for Tarbin to be there. It meant there was something that needed to be doneand within moments he was at the Captain's door.

Farthing held up a hand before he could salute, "Stand easy Lieutenant, I am sure we are out of view of the admiralty." Farthing was not in favour of stiff militaristic doctrine on sea voyages. Given the close quarters they would be in for the nest few months, perhaps years, he preferred to foster a sense of family and discipline maintained by mutual respect.

This utopian atmosphere that Farthing envisioned was of course unattainable. It's core structure, though laudable, was based upon hypocrisy. Equal in duty, ability and respect; unequal in position, responsibility and quarters. In such a confined society, no one duty or action was isolated from any of the others. Indeed the very nature of sail made it so. Still, an hierarchy remained lest democracy break out.

With Caudal seated at the table and Tarbin hovering impatiently outside, the Doctor broke off a piece of the Stilton and handed it around for the others to do the same. He then announced that he had just finished reading an article in a sea farer's journal and was invited by Farthing to repeat it as they dined. The Doctor brushed some bread crumbs off of his lap and reached over and picked up the thin, printed pamphlet.

"If you insist... Ahem, the travelers speed with hasty steps away and leave their social dwelling far behind. Where plenty reigned with more than regal sway and soothed the sorrows of the anxious mind. The crew marched cheerily o'er the barren hills, laughing at worn out jests with toilsome glee. Nor e'er reflected they on any furture ills, so their loved plenty they could see..." He continued to read on in silence, leaving the other two momentarily suspended.

"Is that all?" asked Farthing.

"Hm?" said the Doctor.

"Is there any more?"

"Yes, yes there is..." They waited a moment or two longer until it became obvious that the Docter was lost in thought. Farthing turned his attention to the young Leiutenant.

"Enoch, I would like to go over our list of stores one more time. We may be held over in the channel longer than we anticipated and is often the case, what is drawn upon paper rarely is true to the situation."

It took a moment for Caudal to respond, as he was slow to shift his attention from the Doctor - absorbed still by the poem. "Among neccesary items such as salt and preserved supplies," he began, "we have at our disposal eighty tonnes of flour with and without yeast, fifty tonnes of salted meat and four-hundred cases of tinned meat and vegetables at one pound per..."

"What delightful imagery." Dickinson finally looked up, surprised to see that the other two had moved on.

"Yes. Thank you Thomas for sharing it with us." Farthing nodded to Caudal for him to continue.

LIFE OF LOUGAN

by Jack the Dog Barker etc etc

Act I, sc vi

LONESOME BETTY returns - left - and walks directly across stage into the bedroom - right -

The others visibly tense.

PAUL Back so soon?

After a beat -

BOB (to PAUL) That was quick.

PAUL (quietly) I don't like it.

LONESOME BETTY enters - right - guzzling a can of beer. She sits on the couch, shakes out the backwash on the floor and puts a dent in the can at the bottom edge. She looks around on the coffee table for something, finds a nail and pokes a few holes in the dent. Then she digs around in her purse and pulls out a spoon and a miniscule amount of coke.

PAUL Where'd you get that?

LO BET Bill's place.

PAUL Did ya fuck 'em?

LO BET Nooo, I didn't fuck him.

PAUL Well, did you at least suck his dick 'cuz he ain't givin' that shit away.

LO BET (directly to PAUL) Y'know, you really should have more faith in me y'know.

She goes back to digging in her purse, gets up and exits - right - again. A few moments later she returns with a candle, glass of water and a four-litre jug of diaper bleach and sets up shop.

LO BET I go to all this trouble for you guys and all you can say is "Did you fuck him"...

She grabs a cigarette and lights it, taps some ash on the dent and uses the can as a pipe. She leans back and blinks a couple of times, then passes the can to PAUL who repeats the process as does BOB and finally REGGIE.

PAUL That stuff is shit.
LO BET It's shit alright.

They go for seconds.

LO BET Good thing I didn't have to pay for it.

BOB and REGGIE burst out laughing. PAUL looks pissed off.

PAUL Very funny. (to BOB) Got any more pot?

BOB Oop! Yes I do!