The Snow Arena

[Chesto]

Chanting ' MargaretThatchermargaretthatchermargaretthatchermargaret...' , the Old One, in growing panic, especially with the realization that he could not recall even one of the Osmonds back catalogue, and believing, against toe curling dis-belief, that the Goddess wasn't talking about bananna splits, or anything else of the usually edible variety, when she spoke of tongue useage, tried to force one of his tiny reptilian hands towards the 'report' button. He'd report himself just to get out of the 'interesting' situation he now found himself in.

 

But he was trapped by his blasted tongue, which organ ( even if a tongue wasn't usually categorized as such ) had assumed a far greater relevence to his spiritual well-being than he could ever have thought possible other than that time when, as a young cub, he had attempted to lick the inside of a beehive. Oh what he wouldn't give for an attack of bees at this time of his virtuous, multi- millenial, cellibate peril!

 

The only things he was now capable of thinking was :' So, this is the colour of melt down.' and ' be gentle with me, for I am just a very tiny, very old, reptile, with 'wimmin' issues.'.

[nosisab]

?

 

Step1

Cast 'Convert to ICBM launcher' X2 and 'Convert to ICBM' X2

Step2

Target Moon

Step3

Fire ICBM X2

Little wolves are smart, they learn new tricks, grew ones will repeat history of failure.

Nosisab thought at reviving the same "cutoff of wiring connections" shutting down the combustible flux of the ICBM letting it fall over the blindfolded Marcus Wolfe... but, this would deprive the Lisnpuppy goddess from her deflecting shields redirecting the ICBM against the not so smart and already feeling cold wolf.

 

Post edit: parodying Chesto's signature, Marcus one shall be: I am my own worst enemy. Oh... right

[Lisnpuppy]

The Goddess gave the Shameleon the stink eye.

 

"Get your mind out of the gutter..." she proclaimed. "Tongue for tasting SPAM...geez! You men!"

 

She then reached down and firmly, yet gently extracted the Old One's tongue from the paper moon. "Yuck.." the Goddess proclaimed as reptile salavia dripped from her hand...

 

Looking around she thought about patting the back of Nosisab, but he was so nice. Instead she wiped it on the paper moon and wished she had a wetnap.

 

"So what now..." asked the Goddess.

[Marcus Wolfe]

Enraged by the idea-killing habits of nosisab, Marcus leaped towards the moon. Unfortunately, he did not possess enough mass to break the shield, and hit it like a bug on a wind shield. He fell back down to the earth, but got right back on his feet and soaked himself in gasoline (very expensive nowadays) He climbed into a massive cannon and fired himself at the moon. He lit on fire in the atmosphere, and this time he punctured the shield like a butcher's knife through hot butter. This caused the entire moon to be lit on fire and come crashing down into the sea.

 

As Marcus climbed onto the shores of New Brunswick, he began to feel sorry for his victims. He had spoiled their picnic after all. But no matter. The goddess could not die, the reptilian could probably cast a 'breath underwater' spell and that weasel nosisab would find some way to idea-kill his way out of this.

 

Marcus saw a delicious baby seal and clubbed it over the head before feasting on it's flesh and blubber.

[Chesto]

Phew, thought the Old One as relief washed over him. He had thought that the Goddess was expecting him to whistle.

 

Other than the fact that, in his present reptilian form, he had no teeth, and a tongue like an overcooked length of spaghetti, ( his toothless state was the norm, alas, in any form, ever since that androgynous Greek kid had forced him to chew apart that bloomin chunk of knot and then had proclaimed to all the world that he had done it. Beware Greeks baring... ones' teeth. ) plus very unsympathetic lizard lips, there was no way that the Old One would have desired to whistle. Ever.

 

One whistle from this Old One would have brought all the Furies of the Universe down upon all of the playmates. It was the Strategem of Ultimate Despair, to be used only when all else had failed. The Old One hoped never to find out what it was that would withstand all of the rest of his, as yet, unseen arsenal.

 

None of them were anywhere near that state, yet, though if anyone suggested to him, again, that he eat Spam he might just start whistling ' Dixie'.

 

As to the Goddess' query 'What next? '... the Old One was feeling in great need of rest, after all the recent unpleasantness and misunderstanding. He wondered if he could remember the spell that would turn him into a mudpuddle. Ahhh to be basking in the glow of the Goddess and Nosisab as a mudpuddle. A very small mudpuddle.

 

But it was not to be.

It never, in the Old One's experience, ever is. Wolfie was up to his new tricks. It might just be time to turn into a bubble and float around, sleepily,watching the action. But ever so detached from it all.

 

OM.

[Marcus Wolfe]

Just as Marcus was licking his lips from the greasy seal meat, a giant sea serpent rose out of the water that would scare the bujeebzuz out of a man twice as brave a Marcus. The terrified Canuck ran far inland to Alberta, for surely no giant sea serpents could be found in Alberta.

 

Unfortunately, he found himself in the middle of the Calgary Stampede, and was forced to ride a bucking bull. He managed to stay on for 1 hour 17 minutes and 16 seconds before the bull collapsed of exhaustion. Marcus then proceeded to eat the bull.

[nosisab]

Enraged by the idea-killing habits of nosisab, Marcus leaped towards the moon. Unfortunately, he did not possess enough mass to break the shield, and hit it like a bug on a wind shield. He fell back down to the earth, but got right back on his feet and soaked himself in gasoline (very expensive nowadays) He climbed into a massive cannon and fired himself at the moon. He lit on fire in the atmosphere, and this time he punctured the shield like a butcher's knife through hot butter. This caused the entire moon to be lit on fire and come crashing down into the sea.

 

As Marcus climbed onto the shores of New Brunswick, he began to feel sorry for his victims. He had spoiled their picnic after all. But no matter. The goddess could not die, the reptilian could probably cast a 'breath underwater' spell and that weasel nosisab would find some way to idea-kill his way out of this.

 

Marcus saw a delicious baby seal and clubbed it over the head before feasting on it's flesh and blubber.

Hmm, this little M Wolfe have a lot of nerve I must admit, said Nosisab looking around as to assure the quick snowshield dome he raised would sustain enough to give the goddess time to restore the moon. The shamanleon was quiet, seeming absorbed at some secret and unspeakable thought.

 

Nosisab so went to the table and cleared one of the trays, this one seems the correct size, he thought. Grabbing a nearby apple he teleported MWofe with the mouth yet dripping puppy seal blood and bound him to the tray.

 

Open your mouth said Nosisab to MWolfe, and not even was at command voice, as he knew MWolfe was unable to maintain the mouth closed anyway. And so shove the apple into it. At least this poor beast spared us the trouble of roasting him.

 

The squirrel, that now was fond to the mage, sniffed the air in disgust by the burned furhair stink.

 

I know, little friend, it's not for us... and so saying the ancient old one sent the tray with the disgusting dish of a paralyzed wolf to amidst the trolls. And was sad, what a waste of a good apple (by Meriadock)

[Chesto]

'Tall. and tan. and smnn. and lovely. thegirl. from. I. panema. goeswalking. and when. she'ssmning. sheeats. asandwich. go. ahh.' burbled the old boy in the bubble to the tune of his favourite rendition of 'The Colonel Bogie March', the one where Stan Getz still plays lead sax, hoping that his imperfect memory of the words and his choice of tune did not offend any Brazillian gentilehombres nearby, who may or may not speak eSpanish.

[Marcus Wolfe]

..............Idea killer.........................

With an apple in his mouth, and a tray attached to his back, Marcus fled from the angry Calgarian Cowboys (apparently he had eaten their prize bull) all the way to Quebec, the part of Canada that speaks mostly French. Upon arrival, he started hitting on the first girl he saw:

 

"Excusez moi, madame, mais tu as les yeux tres gorgeux…."

 

SLAP!

 

Well, that didn't work. He headed into a restaurant a waited for the waiter, who soon arrived.

 

"Ah, bonjour monsieur Marcus Wolfe. Quelle sont ton ordeur?"

 

"Je desire le bifteck du Montreal!"

 

"Eh, pardon, mais nous n'avons pas le bifteck du Montreal."

 

"Quoi! C'est Montreal! Comment vous pouves n'avez pas le bifteck du Montreal dans Montreal?!?!"

 

"Je ne sais pas! Mais, nous avons un tres, tres grand Tourtierre avec un grand ordeur des frites pour 19.99$."

 

"Combien grand est le Tourtierre?"

 

The waiter made a motion with his hands, and Marcus gave him the thumbs up. The waiter rushed away and brought him back his order. Marcus happily dug in, knowing that nobody else would understand a word of that conversation without breaking out the French/English dictionary.

[nosisab]

But it was not to be.

It never, in the Old One's experience, ever is. Wolfie was up to his new tricks. It might just be time to turn into a bubble and float around, sleepily,watching the action. But ever so detached from it all.

 

OM.

We need to find a way to decide who will gain the right to be the next to scalp a wolf :)