Written daily, tweeted daily from the bucket Aug 09-June 12
Ep1 It was a worrying wordie night. Ryf &
Moldwarp were feeling farctate after a supper of numbles under the aurora
australis …
Ep2 … and were playing a game of
prick-the-garter with locals (a clank-knapper, micher & moll). But things
were getting muddled…
Ep3…because, as in all medieval games, the gamblers
geeked. Ryf, our translunary hero, was soon seeking the truth & point of it.
…
Ep4…Ah, he’d been in such a Wildean mood
since the Rutterkin War, travelling the world to find frim fruits &
wel-willy wordies …
Ep5…And Ryf was no different at this reechy
rout as he questioned the origin of ‘prick’. A logomachy with fisticuffs ensued…
Ep6 … as the micher and moll thought Ryf
was being rude. While the bawdy micher bespawled Ryf’s breeches, his
kicky-wicky …
Ep7…kicked Moldwarp’s gibus, which made our
heart-quaking hero punch t’other one. “You cumberworld & cullion,” roxled
Ryf. …
Ep8…“You milk-livered mumpsimus,” mumbled
the micher as Ryf & his Moldwarp fled. Ryf, flebile & peace-loving,
wept because he …
Ep9…yearned to find true shibboleths, of
enlightenment. “Wordies we will find, p’raps those beyond the alkahest!” whispered
our…
Ep10…tomte’s wappered wambling mate,
reassuringly. Such belgards on Ryf’s ruthful face as the pileous poppet built a
soily hill…
Ep11…on which to rest their heads, and
ponder on the world’s nimiety of ninnies, hoddy-doddies, pebble-peelers and
popinjays…
Ep12…Soon they were sleeping & unaware
that more tricks than in a lanterloo game were approaching, in the niminy-piminy
form of…
Ep13…an abbey-lubber in a billycock. Once
an Adamite, the maculated monk woke Ryf with a scratching-under-his-cassock
racket. …
Ep14…Ryf opened an eye as the papelard
bowed low, flaunting a fracid ass’s head in his face. With a fawning fleer, he
said…
Ep15…“Mr Ryf, can I show you the way ahead
in your search for wlonk wordies? Freely, I offer you my cephaleonomancy
services.”…
Ep16…Ever-curious, Ryf nodded to the grog-blossomed
monk, and stared as the long-dead head was broiled. Mageiristic lores made…
Ep17…bubbles burst as the monk stirred.
Moldwarp woke and whispered, “What’s that snattock of a sluggard up to? Making figgy-…
Ep18… dowdy?” Ryf laughed at his pigsney.
“No, he’s doing a divination thingy.” After much murlimews the monk maffled and
moaned…
Ep19…then, “Woonkers! I see the Way for you
Ryf!” he pribbled. “Oh my! PRAY sir, what sockdolager do you foresee for me?” cried…
Ep20…our tomte, a bit hypocritically. “Mr Ryf
I see you looking so fine in a white fedora! I see you there in…Egads! …in
Roma!”…
Ep21…Ryf rolled his eyes, “What’ll this
fopdoodle next foresee? Me in a false peruke, in a molly-house supping skilly?”
But he…
Ep22…decided to humour the porridge-belly,
“Come, Moldy, let’s go swithly, and peirastically prod the pea-goose popery for
a…
Ep23…sooth.” The chaw-bacon beamed as Moldwarp
& Ryf went to board a boat, thinking they’d endiablee the frape til it was
a …
Ep24…abawling against the pope. On the orlop, they drank grog with a flong
maker, a willyer, a wed-breaker & one-handed apple…
Ep25…man. While Ryf prabbled with a
phlyarologist, Moldy discussed welking medical words with a widgeon, but all night
in the …
Ep26…shadows sat a parlous papicolist,
disguised as a paynim, watching & grinning. During the weeks on the waves the
Captain…
Ep27… shared his skillygalee, spinee &
bumboo with Ryf & Moldy. One cupshotten night as they clavered in his
cabin, the Captain…
Ep28…whispered a warning, “There’s a weatherspy
watching, Ryf. If you go widdershins to Roma, you’ll end up a kissingcrust in
a…
Ep29…circumbendibus.” Ryf laughed, “Fear
not, young bawcock. I’m a tomte on a quest, and a gigantomachia would be
nothing more …
Ep30…or less than a gapesnest.” “Yoicks,” the
Captain said, “you do speak like a tip-top tomte, not a grouthead goliard. Let’s
…
Ep31…bowse up the jib sir! I just hope they
don’t bomullock you and you find the words to pen a bragget of a brut.” The
giant …
Ep32…of a tomte said, “I’ve already done a Bunsen
burner of a brut! With the sausage and mash I’ve acquired Colonel Quondams to…
Ep33…foist on the folk & the bar of
soap, in the Ratican.” After a game of able-whackets in which Ryf won a packet,
the ship…
Ep34…dropped anchor at the mawmsey mouth of
the Tiber. A last doble-doble, some fuzzled farewells, then Ryf disembarked,
and…
Ep35…due to being a quidnunc without
sea-legs, he wambled and galped down the gang plank, clutching his gift for the
artolaters…
Ep36…The papicolist (now disguided as a pittancer)
gave Ryf a handful of holy-dabbies, then pushed him roughly in a carriage…
Ep37…Thus the merry-go-sorry began with
fubbery – our hero carried off by a hylden, leaving Moldy screaming “Stop the
villain!”…
Ep38…But the writhled spinicop had a firm
hold of his spreth. Greedily, he raced Ryf to what he hoped would be spiritual
death…
Ep39…and thus once in such a state, Ryf
might parbreak his atheism and cry out for a swinkless salvation – such was the
pickle- …
Ep40…herring’s plan. The cart at last hit
its target & tumbled Ryf in the midst of the merdaille, near Pope Pesky’s
magnificent…
Ep41 …apartment. Ryf was prone, clutching
his appley phone & sack of love gloves, when a pizzle-greased Pantagruel stottered…
Ep42…by, crouched & spittled a smelly
breath word in Ryf’s face: “Trinc.” With gelastic jubilation, Ryf sat up &
gasped, “What?”
Ep43 … “Trinc,” whispered the javel giant.
Ryf drooled at the Goddess Bottle’s panomphean word and smiled, “Sir, I will
stotay …
Ep44… anywhere with you (or your dearworth
Panurge) for a drop or two of piquant truth.” In a ferry whisk, Ryf followed goggle-…
Ep45 …-eyed Pantagruel, unaware that the louche
lurdan was planning to trip him into a fumbling, fescennine, fatiferous Fall…
Ep46 …via the temptation of gluttony. The pope’s
poxy puttock led Ryf to an inn where a temperance test lurked smelling of sin …
Ep47…’Twas a pannychous feast: a palmiped
pie, pye pie, bag pudding and jorum of gin. “Oh my! Such joy!” sighed our
solonist...
Ep48…Paunchy Pantagruel slapped Ryf on the thigh,
then pushed a pot of purl & plate of pulpatoon towards him. “Trinc! Eat!”
he…
Ep49…growled. Though both belly-pinched and
yearning for a bombard of balderdash, Ryf boggled – wishing his missing
moldwarp …
Ep50…could advise him. Then a honk heralded
a warning on his appley: “Bouffage may bring bumwhush or a buckswanging! Moldy
x”…
Ep51…Ryf quivered, faced with a scary
choice: to be spatrified by pies & puddings or the ignivomous anger of a papulous
peagoose…
Ep52…“Ah,” sighed Ryf, “my saviour!’” as a Lollard
knight stottered by, shouting: “Stockfish…vile standing tuck! Bull’s pizzle!…
Ep53…Oh my!” The pop-bellied fizgig, Falstaff,
turned from the applesquire he was cursing & bowed, “Ryf! My fitchet pie and…
Ep54…faticane! Why are you here?” Ryf sobbed
into Falstaff’s ear: “I know you’re no lick-spigot my famelicose friend but I
beg…
Ep55…you to help snarf this feast, or I’ll
explode like a gumfiated link-hide (or be murdered by that titivil,
Pantagruel).”…
Ep56…“Oh dear, is Tickle-brain in a stew? I’ll
make a snack of it & dedicate my lambition to a total unbelief in you,” smiled
the…
Ep57…heretic knight. As Ryf’s disciple ate a
pie holus-bolus, Ryf himself higgle-haggled with Pantagruel, scoring moral
points…
Ep58…on the sharing of what had now become
a bid-ale feast. Soon all except Ryf were prancing a passy-measure, & Pantagruel
was…
Ep59…back to being a wine-bibber. “Piddle
to the pope,” he gruntled, then Falstaff staggered up, raised Ryf’s sack, &
shouted…
Ep60…“All rise for Ryf who’s not only a
purveyor of love gloves but a spreader of lyfe!” Blushing like a blushet at a
bridelope…
Ep61…Ryf bowed to his pewfellow, “Thank
you.” Saved from a pabulous Fall, he guzzled a goblet of nippitate ale & crambled
off...
Ep62… leaving Pantagruel’s plan in pieces. In
the mood for bawdreaminy, Ryf rang Moldy, longing for nothing less than morology…
Ep63,…not realizing that another talkingstock
temptation awaited him – in the palm of a flizzy pharmacopolist with a
pestle-pie…
Ep64…In this new guise, the pygalgia
papicolist ran up in a fluckadrift and pushed his pestle-pie of powder under
Ryf’s nostril…
Ep65…The sophist smiled, “Want a tincture
or puff of this sir? Woonkers! What a whirl of wlonk wordies and logomancy you
could…
Ep66…experience! A drop can make a mooter
of you, a troubly man of tolutiloquence!” Ryf replied, “Can you promise caves
of ice?…
Ep67…the milk of Paradise? flashing eyes? oblivion?
an errhine to inspire a white-rabbit vision or canorous peal of laughter?...
Ep68…or will you transform me into a
babliaminy of borborology?” With a dirty digit, the sluggard touched Ryf’s
lips, & drawn…
Ep69…by the sigaldry of curiosity, our word-digger
and adventurer shadowed his tempter to a Doric den of opiates & deliquium...
Ep70…By gum such a mullipood of methomania
awaited Ryf. A couch of kittling prickmedainties playing handy-dandy welcomed
him…
Ep71…Much kippage followed as fustilugs and
foppets fought for the attentions of their long-admired kingling. Ryf,
delighted by…
Ep72…a ferly: a friendly maccaroni mumbling
macaronics & playing the guitar! Ryf ran through the murk to embrace and
deosculate…
Ep73…his old mate from Brainbridge – Huge
Polly (famed for his boanthropy and buffoonery). Reunited, the buddies bibbled…
Ep74…& hokered the hunkerish views of
the day, while the papist debulliated with disgust at a renifleur’s overtures
and rushed…
Ep75…away. The drizzard gone, drury and
dicacity filled the bagnio with fun. But Ryf reddened and his heart quaked with
fear…
Ep76…as a haspenald, a shunless temptation drew
near. Ryf played with his appley phone, then a round of Pope Joan with Huge...
Ep77,…seeking distraction from this quidam who
quemed him. But then a belgard from the felicific face made him quackle, and his…
Ep78… skilly-like beer spilled down his ballop.
Their eyes met, Ryf thought of Moldy and felt qued. A beckoning nod from the…
Ep79… haspenald put Ryf deeper into a malebolge. “He’s a
schismarch, a scrivener,” whispered a lace-clad gent, making Ryf yet…
Ep80… more inquisitive. After three puffs
of hashish, Ryf walked willy-nilly, following what now seemed a quiddity
(essence of a thing), but without…
Ep81…knowing what the It itself was. In the
shadowy room, would he be cavorting glaikitly with a costnung or seriously seeking
…
Ep82…the kalon. Ryf pursued his
sapphire-eyed summum bonum, or mammet, up three rickety steps, to a chamber of
smoke that…
Ep83…both kittled and brought on a kef. He
hadn’t a clue what would happen next…a baisemain? a bergamask? He certainly
didn’t …
Ep84… expect such a callithumpian collieshangie,
nor did he fear a hamartia, as he tumbled through the door, into the arms of…
Ep85…a flourishing kallipyg called Harris
Popple, who tripped on a bombous bottle, sending Ryf floundering to the fulvid
floor…
Ep86…where he fell flat on the fidging feet
of a stirious Stoic & bore, who was nibbling from a takeout box of ‘Luke’s quiches’…
Ep87…Squashed by the falcate feet of the
fastuous man, Ryf lay farcifully, staring up into the vertumnal lad’s eyes. Fambling,…
Ep88…Ryf saw a flary Fall approaching as he
sat up to sip the skilly that Harris Popple had brought him. In a chantepleure
of…
Ep89…imagined cheeping-merry cupidity and
despairing desidery, Ryf rang Moldy on his appley for a snattock of …
Ep90… salvation. But the lines were dead.
Ryf haffled, hoined and, untrowful, stood, then crawled to the anima mundi on
the…
Ep91… bed, who emanated purpose and warmth. “Oh to sleep and to croodle, careless of this couchee that conskites the world with…
Ep92…perplexity,” whispered Ryf, then rested
his head on a soft woolly wanger. The slawsy-gawsy cogitators drew nearer …
Ep93…, straining to hear a word that was
said in the sapid snip-snap that followed between our for-the-nonce Hedonic
hero and…
Ep94… the lambent lad. But all they heard
was disturbing dittology. As they penned the kittle words for posterity, Ryf began
…
Ep95… to relax, at last, in the lupanar – talking
of the world’s dapocaginous state, the whittie-whattie, trittle-trattle, and…
Ep96…lack of daedal ideas. But just as Ryf
was feeling elevated by eudemonics & close to crying out “Evoe!”, the
younker (later…
Ep97…described as an agnostic, perfidious
Pelagius or pottle of Prometheus) took his macker by the hand, strode to the
eyethurl…
Ep98… and whistered, “If you seek fatidic
fruits, precellent words, or seely soothness…look there,” pointing with an empyreal…
Ep99… finkle stalk. “There sits a noetical
spirit.” Ever yiver for transcendent truths, after osculant goodbyes Ryf
stumbled …
Ep100…out of the opium-den door like a toper,
tripping murklins and tired. In the shadows, on the Occident–Orient road, and…
Ep101… between two demonocracy abodes, Ryf spotted
a crouched canous man, umbratilous, thin and in gyves, who seemed to be …
Ep102… singing a skimple-skamble, or an amoretto.
As Ryf drew closer to eavesdrop, he saw that the quidam was cuddling a coney …
Ep103…“Are you a tregetour in trouble?”
asked Ryf, sad to see a singing man in chains. But the hectoring hoker from a
gathering…
Ep104… thring made it impossible to understand
his words – but Ryf knew by his smilet he had a clean inwit, he wasn’t a dawkin…
Ep105…and his ditty was dearworth. But the glee-dreaming
came to an end as scroyles ran from the threng. “This scofflaw escaped…
Ep106…from his oubliette,” screamed a
swasher. (“Via simple-hearted tendresse,” susurred a bystander.) “Off to the
furca with…
Ep107…the lorendriver!” came the merciless
words from a scut of a skains-mate. “No!” shouted Ryf, weeping with midtholing,
and…
Ep108…begging the multitude to help him. A
scuffle…and an animant scambled through the threat. “Magnifico! Moldy!” ’Twas Ryf’s…
Ep109…missing mate. But neither rumbustical
Ryf nor mollifying Moldy, nor a bowelly batterfang from some blokes from the
throng…
Ep110…could stop the soldiers. So, by his
shackle, the untheatric chap was pulled to his feet and dragged nuddling down
the…
Ep111…street, still inclipping his coney
and humming. “You rabbit-suckers!’ called Ryf. “Is this indole & innocent
peace-pusher…
Ep112…to be murdered for misimagination? a subrision?
some solfing? Can’t you hear the troth in his maffling! He’s no cully, …
Ep113…cudden or fop. He can’t even hear the
corrupt.” As the singing man was dragged into the nightertale, Moldy mumbled “Truth…
Ep114… in a shillibeer will end up in a
grave again, pulled by power & politics. The only belief here is in fiat
and fake gods…”
Ep115…Wrackful, Ryf cracked, sat on the
kerb, hopeloss & haveless, but then recalled the finkle stalk, the promise
of fatidic…
Ep116…fruits, precellent words and seely
soothness. “By that spondence, I’ll find the gale-gale tonight, for sure,” siked
Ryf,…
Ep117…, determined now to save him from the
gallow-fork. Leaving his gunny of love gloves in the popet’s palace porch,
with…
Ep118…his humble symmist holding a burning
torch, Ryf set off nogtivigating, seeking the lighty, his heart barely beating
with…
Ep119…brokenness, his rage ripe for
evenness; his mind hollow for the tickle of a troth. All amort, they searched
every snicket…
Ep120…, sliddery papal palace and a thousand
Roman streets. Dejected and drubly, Ryf and Moldy drumbled to a halt. Then they…
Ep121…, saw a Romulist, rough from
night-rule. Ryf called, “Is there city news?” Dreaded words were heard: “The coney
man?...
Ep122…Mistrow, maybe an hour ago, the three
trees had him,” mumbled the nazzy nuncio. Agrising, and aestuating with rage, …
Ep123…Ryf pledged revenge; crying and cussing, “Pribbling, poxmarked pillicocks! Fobbing, fat-kidneyed afgods! The ninnies...
Ep124…who allowed it should be ground into
fex.” “Zounds!” nodded Moldy, “The nodcocks & joppes should be encaged and
fed geck!”…
Ep125…“Yes!” the noddee & nodder agreed. “But, chuckaby,” fambled Ryf, “Now, what is left? Only aleatory avenues and authorized…
Ep126…thought-catchers? Who can we now trust
on our quest? Who will unperplex and unfork the thingummy? What can enlumine
our…
Ep127…dearworthy wordies?” socked Ryf. “And
now, our poor Fool is hang’d, Moldy.” The world seemed sunk in a puant pit of …
Ep128…ay-lasting alectryomachy – all hope
adust, and plans to seek inspirative ideas disparpled. Ryf closed his wink-a-peeps…
Ep129…feeling drubly & trist, with every
living speech now dowly & droughty, plus each guiding word weazeny, since
the scragging…
Ep130…of the songster. Mornif Moldy opened
a Bologna bottle of acqua-vitae, swincked, then snored at the carfour,
alongside Ryf…
Ep131…, who figgled in his somnifery under
a procellous cloud of confused compossiblity. In the grim hours of day-rawe,
while …
Ep132… dreaming of losing at both basset &
loo, Ryf suddenly woke & wondered what to do - for something was nuddling his
leg…
Ep133…He lay acumble, cataleptic with fear.
Was it the cataglottism of a carnifex, sent by the agelast murderer of innocence…
Ep134…and song? “Moldy! Help me!” susurred
Ryf to his fossorial friend. But the near-sibman snored. With a scritch, Ryf kicked,…
Ep135…there was a squeal & a sob, then whust! “Oh Ryf,” grummede Moldy, “look what you’ve done, you swelping pelting peabrain.”…
Ep136…Ryf rose & whewled. It wasn’t a
manqueller he’d yerked but a coney, the peace-pusher’s last couthly comfort and
confidant…
Ep137…The reckling lay still as a pillow,
glowing, and annealing the shadows like a pap-hawk in a Caravaggio. Then a
rigsby ran…
Ep138…up, pointed at the rabbit and Ryf, “That drut was sent to you by the singing-man – a living fardel of his dying
words.”…
Ep139…“Entheous words now forever lost,” mambled
Moldy. “O wumme!” cried Ryf to the ghostly coney, “I leally never meant to…
Ep140…hurt thee. I mistook thee for a missalist.”
Kneeling, with singults, Ryf squdged the thrummy bunny. Suddenly, it swoofed…
Ep141… “It lives!” shritched our goddikin,
heart-thrilled by his gowpin of living, sniffing inquisitiveness. “Come, minstrel’s
…
Ep142…muse, innocent witness, you’re now my
chiaroscuro of mannishlaik. Let’s rouk and round, unsnarl the knots; inkle…
Ep143…your soothly words to me. Yes, shish,
quietly, for the illuminati might eavesdrop.” The bedazzled bun looked loveredly
…
Ep144…into Ryf’s inly eyes, snudged, then hopped
to the ground. And with a teetotum, a skip and a jump, raced down the road, …
Ep145…waving enkerly. “It’s beckoning!”
said Ryf with a needful neb. “Come Moldy,” and together they ran, craving a
revelation…
Ep146…“At last, words we will find,” huffed
Moldy. “The Word…I’m sure of it!” blustered Ryf, as they poppled past the praetory…
Ep147…which echoed with Pope Pesky’s shouts, “Warderere! Gardyloo! Yoohoo!” Down dusky rews they kept the coney’s caude in sight…
Ep148…, passing many a saucy source of tropological
waggery and wit: Caravaggio’s wasty wanes; a playmonger in a white fedora…
Ep149… where a wapacut slept on the brim; the
shendly inn where Falstaff fizzled and Pantagruel paggled; an apple utterer who…
Ep150…uttered idioms. Ryf sighed as they forpassed
the tod-hole where he’d nearly overwended words in the spond of a wliti wine…
Ep151… and on they fadged, fortired with
following the rabbit, who now baled along the slubby banks of the timorous Tiber.
Void…
Ep152…of all but the desire for a quiet
quiblet, a diddy ditton, even just a jest from the jumping buck, Ryf lumpered
on. Then…
Ep153…in a mint-while, Moldy reared, his neb
quivering in the morning mizzle. “Ryf, listen!” The way-witere had formelted
into…
Ep154…the mist, yet with a gutturine
grinding, like the purring of a well-queme pet, it pulled them on, into the unfathomed
…
Ep155…fog. “I smake no hoverings, no filthy
air,” whispered Moldy. “Nor murmelling,” said Ryf as his feet chorked in the slutch…
Ep156…, “rather the bray and yering of broken
notes. This air is steeped in seraphic purrs and a nirth of dissonance. Hasten,…
Ep157…Moldy, I swear an iron gate is
opening – that, or I’m a gongoozler.” Chromatic quaverings, ferly tutlyings tugged
them on…
Ep158…into the wimpling roke that quenched
the throats of a gathering crowd but a few striddles away. Both smitten and…
Ep159… strucken by the swage and swell of unpredictable
tangs and tones, they stumbled into the meinie of unsummable beasts and…
Ep160…their bandying and fuddled forked
followers. For each floscular and fluffy thing had escorted a mort, mascle or kitling…
Ep161…to the fleam of Romulus and
Remus. The chirming of the thring soon fampled Ryf’s sensorium with a dindle of
both derf…
Ep162…and edmod wondrous words – as ensorcelling as the gargles in the meandering moliminous river. Words rising and gyring...
Ep163… Hwæt? Wet? Whatt? Qwat? Whar?
Whi? Hwy? Whoo… Hwoo? Ooh!...such deliberation & addubitation baltered
through the blore…
Ep164… Ryf and the questioning folk,
in a fonding of universalisability, then opened their arms wide to the way-witeres,
…
Ep165…for an inyetting of illuminative
wit or entheus. In an eie wurp, the wights leapt into the wampishing arms of
their wards…
Ep166…Tightly held, these
cuddlesome creatures were neither widges nor whiddlers but whiskery whisperers
of three willy words…
Ep167…, clearly heard by every
hugging free-hearted questor, questant, and even some quiddlers. Each open-breasted
searcher…
Ep168…stood tremulous, heart
afire, full-blown intellective and inspired. Onefold Moldy, envyless of his
kneesy-playing mate,…
Ep169…noddled, subrided, and wlenched
as Ryf stroked the keyman’s coney and said, “At the peace-pusher’s behest,
dogmies are…
Ep170…dead!” (“Or may be,
shortly,’ added Moldy in a kindly but salted aside.) “Because I, and this
thriste and thrilly throng,…
Ep171…” continued Ryf, “will be
unbridled and blithe, and hold stithly these stover-scented creatures’ soot
wisdom in mind.”…
Ep172…Wopi and
through-thrilled, Ryf thanked the coney, cherely stroking his scut. Moldy stood
thildiliche in the thickening…
Ep173…mist, metheful and thoughtsome
- was it time to awaie now that Ryf’s trist was transferred to three wighty
rabbity words?…
Ep174…Was their unmeddled
amicality now murksome? Would he, a moldewarp, now be no more than a
mollipilose poge, or pawn, to…
Ep175…a wordsmith? Moldy delved
in the brae, frighty of what Ryf might say – arrivederci? tooraloo? Stonished
and upset, Ryf…
Ep176…bushed out
the bob, then begged the Oryctolagus
cuniculus to hop off. Moldy fumbled and drumbled in
the fanc, “You’ve no …
Ep177…need of me now,” the
moldewarp said. “Oh Moldy, don’t go,” screaked Ryf, “umbethink Socrates!” and his
mate he begriped...
Ep178… “Come now Moldy, true
you’re no doddypoll nor bard, but you are my Dante, my Petrarch, my
Machiavelli, and my dearest of…
Ep179… Abelards! Now you’re a-swithering
over my need for thee, because the three witter words, the flewsey wordster
gave to me…
Ep180,…were already lusking in
your animalia encephalon, weren’t they…eh?” Moldy blushed and soakingly sucked
his prepollex. …
Ep181… “Yea,” said he, his neb all
a-grin. “I did know the wordies, before you even questioned him.” “Come,
Rosinante” lured Ryf…
Ep182…“let’s scamper and skiff,
find a ship, and go a-fidging – to spread our words like godlings!” Moldy straitly
raced after…
Ep183…Ryf, mumping thru the
mist: “Ryf, in that list, you forgot about Kant, didn’t you? I’m your carking Kant,
too, you cockly…
Ep184…clunter, aren’t I?” Our
hero pulled his subfusc mucksluff close against the chill. “You & I’ve
smattered muchwhat matey,”…
Ep185…he pattered, as they pranced
to the pier. “We’ve faced many-a fiddle-faddler, heard his flim-flam, balderdash
and bosh,…
Ep186…yet you were alert to
every word – as cant as a kitlin, listening heedily, your wee peepers making
you wary of the cecity…
Ep187… of others' squinny subjectivity.
Ah Moldy, you can besmell a true word in a brabbling of banter and
thimblerigging.” Our…
Ep188… two scrutineers strode
like buccaneers up the embarcadero, holding fast their whithering words like flashing
dirks for a…
Ep189… distant wi. The weffe of
tar and salt wained them on, to the crambo-loving captain’s ship, its hold
refert with pottle-…
Ep190… bottles, devil’s-books
and skrits. The freebooter filled bel-accoil bowl-cups of spunkie - corn-brandy
and rumbullion…
Ep191… for Ryf and Moldy – his much-missed
carders, muckers and mates. Once at bree, the three crept juldily under a clout
…
Ep192…Ryf rounded his pistle of
Roma – of the bouts of savagery, scoggery and unright – into the tar-pot’s ear.
Greedily, the …
Ep193…skipper in his sea-book
screeved, until Ryf fell into a sloom. Sipping his shench, the slubbering
ship-gume grumbled, …
Ep194…“If I’m to make a story
of it, I yere a happy ending.” “Ah my friend,’ siked Ryf, “you crave the words
the coney cracked.”…
Ep195… Ryf slipped the Cap’n a notekin,
upon which, the coney’s words were writ. Nearly scumming at the mouth, the amyke
read:…
Ep196… “Freolaic, kindlaik,
resun,” ... “Whannow, Ryf! There be no love words in it! What sort of truth is
this? It’s all faken…
Ep197…and frigidal!” “Seely,” Ryf laughed, “there be love at
the colk of them! And now, my winger, where are we wayfaring?”…
Ep198…The distrait scipper glouted, “We’re chartered to assail oceanwards, then east. Only the man below knows our destinacy.…
Ep199…Go, shrive him Ryf. Find
out where we’re heading. Take him
his prog - this rizzar and grog.” Down into the ship’s bosom…
Ep200…Ryf fombled; hooly, Moldy
followed into the creaking hold. They suddenly stopped at a rundlet, where a
wretchock of a man…
Ep201…sat in the dirt,
gruntling. “Are you the charterer?” asked Ryf. The dwarf noddled, scrabbed the peckage
as Moldy gibbered…
Ep202…“Where to, Sir?” The grig
grinned greedily, slaking fishbones from his grab-hooks. “Northerly then
easterly?” asked Ryf, …
Ep203…knowingly, yet yemelich.
Then Ryf recognised the yegg, and yexed, “I know you.” There was a giggle and a
nod. The friends…
Ep204…fled. Later, all three
(Ryf, the Cp’n and Moldy) stood stilly, staring across the bree. “Was it really
he?” asked the...
Ep205…tremblin’ talpe. “Ay,”
said Ryf “and e’re long we’ll be sailing in the jaws of an epical ryne.” A
gelid wind gealde their…
Ep206…hearts. Moldy quaved, “Then
let’s unbark; it’s safer we frayste a bower in a game of cards.” Ryf gravely
snuffed the air…
Ep207…and let wit, “Nay Moldy, we
should go where the squab takes us. Let’s rid our imaginal minds of resty ways.
Let’s take a…
Ep208…tip from the truepenny’s
resilient rabbit, rationate and swap tritical theories with percipience – unclew
mysteries with…
Ep209…quaintise and experience.
Besides we mustn’t lose sight of that squamulose spean, that paggling pricke,
the one they call… ”
Ep210…Ryf charely lowered his
voice…“Alberich.” A shudder ran thru the ship. “So,” crawked Moldy, “I’ll be up
the main mast....”
Ep211…“Ay, and the Cap’n will
ensure our sailage is fast. And fret not, we have our freolaic, kindlaik and
resun cards,” beamed…
Ep212… Ryf, as he traistily turned
to check the foison of his suasory speech. … “See, Moldy, our cepivorous Captain
isn’t afeard”…
Ep213… But the anecdotard skipper had just disappeared.
