FSN Goes to the Pantdraken

[fsn]

Gentlemen of the Forum.
It is that time of year again. The reaction to last year's effort has been calmed somewhat by insane doses of anti-histamines, and so I put hoof to keyboard to offer for you, the toy moustaches in the Pendraken cracker, this humble offering in response to all the things you have said about me in the previous year.

It's called revenge.

Scene 1: Seen 'em All.

FSN was awake, but refusing to open his eyes. He knew he wasn't in his nice, safe bed. He was fully dressed, wasn't in his Dark Lord pyjamas. He's explored the area on which he lay around him with tentative fingers but his knitted friend, Raggy Phil the Scarecrow was nowhere near enough to offer cuddly (if slightly scratchy) comfort.

"Notagainnotagainnotagain" he whimpered, eyes tightly shut, body contracted into the foetal position. He lay there for several minutes, rocking slightly, chanting his mantra, eyes screwed shut. His orgy of self pity was interrupted when something like a lump hammer nudged him none too gently in the spine.

"What the Minifig are you doing down there?" FSN stopped rocking. He cracked open one tear rimmed eye.

"Bert?" He asked, tentatively. (For those of you who have have missed FSNs previous encounters with Bert, and so enjoyed the last two Christmases, Bert is FSN's guide during these troubling times in his life when reality seems to be ripped asunder.) 

"Kallistra! He remembers me!" As FSN's vision cleared he found he was staring up at the metallic figure of his long time companion, Bert the British Paratrooper (BR11 – with Sten). FSN leapt to his feet as gracefully as a gazelle, with arthritis. And a bad back.  And a blister on his heel.

"Bert!" Ejaculated FSN.

"Yup. Still me." Bert put a cigarette between his thin lips. Now he had four. "Magister Militum! I hoped I'd seen the Minifigging last of you."

"Bert." Said FSN is a reproachful tine.

"We've got days of this Old Glory. You better stanrt saying something other than Minifigging 'Bert'." FSN groped (mentally) for something intelligent to say. Bert waited patiently for the process to complete, watching the obvious suffering it caused FSN dispassionately.

"Why am I here?" FSN managed, with a sigh of relief that he had said something other than 'Bert'.

"Ah well. It's that time of year innit?" Bert casually added a fifth cigarette as he watched FSN's confusion as a cat watches a goldfish dry out on the kitchen floor.

"Yes." FSN placed a finger on his chin, as he had seen a photo of someone else doing it and they looked terribly clever. Who was it? Einstein? Stephen Hawking ... don't be silly ...

"Kim Kardashian!" FSN snapped his fingers in the glee of a memory recaptured. Bert was so nonplussed at the answer that he lit a fag to calm his normally steely – well leady – nerves.

"Just when I think you can't get any Minifigging worse, you come out with this Dom's Decals." FSN had a procedure for these circumstances and mentally replayed the last few minutes to see if he could find where he'd become sidetracked.

"Oh!" He said seriously, "Why does the time of year make a difference?" Bert scratched the back of his neck with his Sten, then examined the few specks of Panzer Grey paint that were now clung to the magazine.

"Obvious, innit?"

"Obviously not." Quipped FSN. Bert sighed.

"Well, it's at this time of year that your doctor goes on a long holiday to the place where they calm him down."

"Yessss." Agreed FSN dubiously.

"And then they get a locum in."

"Ohh! Yes. This year it's Dr. Petal. He's very nice but his beard tickles my ear." Bert paused to contemplate that statement, but thought that there would be a great effort in getting something like a sensible story. He shuddered at the thought of what that story could be and decided to move on.

"I think it might be Dr Patel." He supplied. "Anyway, what's the first thing the locum does?" FSN knew this one. He raised his hand, and made squeaky "IknowIknow"noises, and squirmed impatiently until Bert gave him the nod to answer. FSN put his hands behind his back, and rocked from side to side and made sure his answer could be heard at the back of the class.

"He looks at my medication and says it's too much and ..." he faltered until Bert gave an encouraging, but slightly strained smile "... and he changes what sweeties ... tablets I can have and then I wake up here."

"Very good." Said Bert. FSN clapped his hands and pogoed on the spot. That would show rotten old Westmarcher that FSN wasn't really dumb.

"Kallistra!" Now it was Bert's turn to ejaculate.

"Bert?" queried FSN, taking out a handkerchief and dabbing delicately at the mess.

"Yers."

"You're not swearing the way you used to."

"Nah. New policy." A smoke appeared which Bert lit in his cupped hands before resuming his narrative. "The Dark Lord" – at this point, both Bert and FSN made the sign – change pocket, right nipple, left nipple, right ammo pouch, left ammo pouch – of the mystic "P" which denotes true followers of the One True Scale.

"Have you quite finished?" Asked Bert ... who me? "Yes you. Perry Me! Minifigging narrators hogging the scene with their explanations and Heroicing and Minifigging Ros expositions! There's a character count you know!" Sorry.

"Anyway." Bert stared icily at ... sorry. Do carry on. "The Dark Lord "(Mystic P)" has decided that the names of all potential rivals to Pendraken are to be used as obscenities and profanities in an effort to denigrate their brand name and so boost sales.

"Hmmmm. Will it work?"

"Well, it's a scheme dreamed up by the HäTting Dark Lord" (Mystic P) "himself, (may his X Box never get a webcam)so it's got to work. Or ... are you an unbeliever? "

"All right Narrator. Stop Minifigging sulking. We've got a urine joke coming up that ain't gonna work unless you contribute. Just keep it down to a minimum will you?" Say your're sorry.

"Kallistra! I'm sorry Narrator. Please contribute."  Said Bert in a high pitched voice like a six year old girl with knicker trouble and tonsillitis. "Watch it." Anyway ... back to FSN

"I believe!" Said FSN, Mystic p'ing himself energetically.

"Tumbling Dice, I believe you. Anyway, all the other companies are fair Minifigging game – except don't use the 'P' word."

"Which one?"  FSN gulped. "'Phil'? I think the Narrator's already said that."

"BUM off."

"BUM? Isn't that a bad word in the real world?"

"Nah it's a Spanish firm, does some American stuff and a fair bit for the Spanish Civil War. All in 20mm"

"So it's a bit BUM then?"

"Not as good a Pendraken, any day of the day or night. 10mm Pendraken – Looks good, tastes good and by 'eck it does you good." FSN regarded Bert thought fully for a few moments.

"Parrot? Plebiscite? Polymorphic Light Eruption? Pentecost? ..." Bert silenced this prattle with a gentle finger inserted in FSN's nostril and jerked rapidly upwards.

"It's a company. 10mm. World War II stuff. Starts with 'P'. Rhymes with 'Spithead'. Worst thing you say round here." He paused as he saw FSN's lips moving as he went through the alphabet trying to find a rhyme for 'Spithead'.

"Tithed!"

"I think you'll find that's pronounced 'tie-thed', and it's not even a company! By the Dark Lord's" (Mystic P) "gently dimpled and inexplicably hairless right thigh, you're a right Foundry."   

They stood in silence for a long moment. Bert took the opportunity to set flame to a gasper. FSN went back through the alphabet from 'Aspithead' without luck. Eventually he convinced himself that he'd actually bought something from  'Xspithead'.   

"That it then?" He asked. "Have we done enough to get the story going?" Bert ticked off the points on his fingers.

"Overarching premise established. Reference to previous year's work for continuity. Running joke with the swear words introduced."

"Gives 'em something to look for when the narrative runs a bit slow."

"Yers. Have we mentioned the Christmassy theme yet?"

"Good point - we haven't." At that point a huge Viking warrior approached. He carried a round shield, with rim appropriately bitten, and wore a conical helm. He did not wear a hauberk - basically because the whole mail / chainmail thing gets tiresome – but carried a wickedly sharp spear.

"Is that Maenoferran?" Asked FSN, idly curious as the warrior came to a halt some distance away.

"Yup. Think so." The silent warrior thrust the butt of his spear into the ground and laid the shield carefully against it.

"What's he doing now ... oooh ... ooh! Charades" FSN called his hands excitedly. "I love charades! But he's not doing it right, he's not said it's a film or a book or a gentleman's magazine or a prescrition medicine. Ooh! Ooh! Undressing! Budgie Smuggler! Incontinence Pads! I know, I know, League of Ausberg ... no, there should be more wiping for that ... head, shoulder, hips and knees ... but without the head ...or the shoulders." Behind him, Bert was wondering what the punishment for beating FSN to death with the blunt end of Sten would be. Probably an eternity of nothingness. He sighed at the attractive prospect, and ruefully shook his head.

"It's Minifigging obvious innit?"



"He's a Viking taking off his drawers." Bert added, taking in a deep breath.




"He's a panty-mime Norse."



The world stood still. It would have been time for tumbleweed to blow in, but the tumbleweed refused to do so out of embarrassment.

"Time for a song?" Suggested FSN.

"Yers." Bert lit a cancer stick and added it to the collection arrayed in his pie-hole. As the Viking collected his weaponry and made his slightly rushed way out, a gaunt, ragged figure appeared peering myopically about him as if he couldn't see anything in front of his optivisor. 

"Raggy Phil!" squealed FSN.

"Otherwise known as Techno, master model maker and general all round nice fellow." FSN looked at Bert quizzically.

"He promised me a longer weapon if I said that."

"Well don't let him make it too long. What's he doing?"

"Tuning up."

"He doesn't have an instrument."

"Air guitar."

"Oh dear. Is he ...?"

"Yes."

"Oh no. Not Yes."

"Yes, Yes."

Techno had begun playing his air guitar. Well, he just stood there, looking expectantly around his invisible band members. Suddenly he began plucking and swaying, small flecks of blood going in all directions.

"What's he playing?" Asked FSN

"My fear is that it's Minifigging 'Close to the Edge'."

"Bit near the knuckle if you ask me. Shall we pop out for a cup of tea and come back in half an hour or so and see how he's getting on?" Bert muttered something.

"I'm sorry Bert?" asked FSN politely.

"I was thinking about my cousin. He runs a sheep croft on a small island. The Peter Pig who made the island didn't leave any flat bits, so my cousin kept losing sheep as they rolled off the island. Anyway, my cousin came up with a SHQing brilliant idea. He tied a bit of rope to each sheep, and then tied the other end to a Minifigging big stone. I was comparing your brilliant idea to this Dixon genius." FSN glowed slightly in the unwonted praise.

As they wandered off in search of a nice cup of tea, leaving Techno in apparent ecstasy as he fingered an invisible organ, FSN asked "What did he call this brilliant idea?"

"Ewe anchor."

[Duke Speedy of Leighton]

Groan (again)

[Techno]

Eagerly anticipating the next episode !

(Can I play "Starship Trooper", Next ?......I used to be able to play bits of that on a real guitar.) 
Cheers - Phil

[Lord Kermit of Birkenhead]

Bare him

[Techno]

Bare ? 

Don't think anyone would want to see that. 

Cheers - Phil

[Westmarcher]

 

Totally insane ("ewe anchor" - you should be lambasted for that!) - but good!   

[Although, a word of caution from The Wise to Little Bert about his ejaculations. This is a family forum and when people read that, they only think of one thing. sCUM.]


Looking forward to the next instalment of Raggy Phil and Little Bert!  


I once gave an air guitar to someone as a gift. Helluva difficult to wrap up. But worth it to see the delight on their face when they unwrapped it. Least, I think it was delight ....

[Tawa]

Har! 

[fsn]

(Can I play "Starship Trooper", Next ?......I used to be able to play bits of that on a real guitar.) 
Cheers - Phil

Is that you on the end Techno?

[Techno]

Nobby !....You OIK !

"Starship Trooper" by 'Yes'......Not that appalling bit of poop, above.
You can tell it's not me.....There's no air guitar being played.....Sheesh !

Cheers - Raggy (& Wet) Phil.......Jeepers ! Has it been raining over here for the past few days.

[Orcs]

Mad and Brilliant.   

[d_Guy]

Dear Lord - this is what you were talking about!

OMG!

It's bazar yet - yet - I don't know - almost erotic - or autoerotic - or torturously clever - yet also erotic.

[Techno]

Dear Lord - this is what you were talking about!
OMG!

Heeeeeeeere's, Nobby !
It's going to get worse, Guy.
Trust me on this.

Cheers - Raggy Phil

[Maenoferren]

  enjoying it so far....and yes the maille does get tiresome and heavy and an absolute bugger to get off ...keep up the good work

[Leman]

When I were a lad we used to refer to Sarah Brightman's mob as Hot Gussett.

[fsn]

Scene 2: Be Fair

FSN was so engrossed in his conversation with Bert that he didn't notice the large white horizontal tube until he hit it with his head.

"Oh for Freikorps Sake!" He ejaculated. Fortunately the tube was rather fluffy, so he didn't suffer too much damage. Bert chuckled and ducked under the tube, continuing his musing as if nothing had happened. He pulled up short. FSN, once again delicately dabbing with his handkerchief, didn't notice until he walked into Bert's back.

"Hello fellow chaps!" Came a cheerful voice. FSN looked up at the newcomer. She was a healthy woman, dressed in a very short green tunic worn over a wide collared white shirt with very few buttons done up, and a green Robin Hood hat which sported a very large red feather. The ensemble was completed by green suede boots reaching far above the knee. Behind this vision, was either a very, very large black and white cat or a man in a cat costume.

"Cor!" Said Bert, taking a cigarette from his mouth.

"Wothcha!" Greeted FSN, less distracted than Bert by the display of femininity. The newcomer slapped a shapely thigh.

"Greetings! My name is Mila ... Miladdie, My Laddie. You can call me Lad!"

"OK." Said FSN slowly. "So you're a chap?"

"Indeed." Lad smiled. Legs akimbo, hands on hip, in a most engaging stance.

"Really?"

"Oh yes."

"Not a girl?" In response she laughed. A high pitched, tinkling laugh.

"Am I not dressed as a boy?"

"Ummm... not really." Lad looked a little uncertain.

"Can you prove you're a male?" Asked Bert, a little oily to FSN's way of thinking.

"Of course." Lad replied. "Manchester United, posh bint, pint of lager, sweaty armpit, ... " FSN held up his hand to stop the flow.

"You go into a urinal – 4 positions - there's a bloke standing at trap 1, nearest the door. Which trap do you use?" Lad nodded vigourously.

"Trap 4!"

"Unless ...?" prompted FSN. Lad looked a little concerned ... his/her brow furrowed ...

"Unless " she/he cried "Trap 4 is a child's urinal, in which case Trap 3 is acceptable."

"Dixon me, she's good!" Ejaculated Bert.

"Will you stop that!" Snarled FSN "Me hankie's getting soggy – and we'll have to accept that Lad is a ... lad. Tell me Lad, what's your story? "

"Well, it's funny you should ask ..." replied Lad, and began to sing.

      "When I was just a little g – boy, I asked my moth - father what should I lead?
      Should I lead armour? Should I lead horse?
      Here's what he said to me?"

FSN had moved to the cat and was scratching it behind the ear.

      "Make it infantry,
      Only lead infantry,
      'cos horse needs support you see
      Make it infantry."

The cat tried to bat FSN's attention away with a paw, but FSN was so engrossed in Lad's song, he didn't notice.

      "When I grew up and fell in love,
      I asked my boy – girlfriend 'what lies ahead?',
      Shall we use hussars, a half track or Loach,
      Here's what my girlfriend said."

The cat tired of FSN unwanted attention, stood on his hind legs and with a swift economy of movement, kneed FSN in the groin.

      "Make it infantry,
      Send in the infantry,
      They sneak and they peek you see
      Make it infantry."

FSN grabbed the cat around the neck and they fell to the ground, fists and paws flying. Lad was deeply engrossed in the song, and Bert was a rapt audience, lighting cigarette after cigarette.

      "Now I have children of my own,
      they ask their father, what will they be?
      Will they be pilots, gunners or pikes,
      I tell them tenderly."

The cat had got the upper hand and enjoyed the last chorus sat upon a dazed FSN's back, occasionally pulling contemplatively on one of FSN's ears.

      "Oh, please stay a civ-vie,
      Take exams, get a degree,
      Just don't join the army
      Stay a civvie."

Lad turned as Bert burst into an enthusiastic round of applause.

"More!" He cheered. "More! Never seen no-one twerk to a Doris Day song before, but that was Minifigging magnificent!"

The cat had released FSN and by the time Lad had turned towards them, the cat was sitting again in a most feline posture, cleaning its paws and ears in a most feline way. FSN climbed slowly to his feet, looking evilly at the cat as he did so.

"Very nice." He offered. "That cat of yours?"

"My kitty-witty Mr Floppy?" Lad supplied. FSN laughed a short barking laugh and the pointed at the cat accusingly.

"Yes MR FLOPPY." He laughed again. The cat stopped cleaning his ears and pointedly turned his back on the pair. "MR FLOPPY. The cat, your kitty-witty, well, he's a bit aggressive isn't he?"

"Aggressive?" Lad put on finger on a finely sculpted chin. FSN noted that Lad looked really intelligent doing that – even if the lipstick was a little distracting.

"Well, he's been a bit grumpy since the " Lad continued in a whisper "snip, snip, plink, plonk." Lad mimed scissors for good effect.

"He's more than a bit grumpy. He near had my ear off. He's downright aggressive!"

"Aggressive?"

"Aggressive, combative, threatening ..." FSN groped for a word  "Fierce."

"Fierce! My Kitty? No, I don't think so. Anyway, I have to go. I'm off to find a beautiful girl to marry."

Lad gave an over-huge wave and walked off. The cat followed, turning to direct rude gestures at FSN. FSN replied with scissor mimes, and demonstrations of walking whilst in a particularly masculine type of pain.

"Dixon!" breathed Bert.

"No, if she says she's a girl, I believe her." Retorted FSN, tentatively examining an ear for blood.

"Let's find a pub."

The continued their aimless perambulation. After some minutes they became aware of a familiar figure.

"Is that Techno?" Asked FSN. "Have we walked in a circle?"

"Nah. It's just that you can't go anywhere on the Forum without him appearing sooner or later."

"What's he up to now?"

"Oh no!"

"Oh no what! Not Yes?"

"Yes, Yes, but still Oh No!"

"What? What?"

"Drum solo!" Indeed, Techno had begun a free-form drum solo, energetically flailing away at a pair of Toms, a look of pure elation on his weatherbeaten face.

FSN and Bert hurried away. FSN looked back, and ran headlong into another horizontal furry tube.

"What the ERTL are these things?" He asked, rubbing at his throbbing forehead.

"Oh, those." Replied Bert nonchalantly. "That's just BigJackMac firing off a few missiles."


"Right-o. This way then I think." FSN pointed in an arbitrary direction and strode off. Bert muttered something.

"Sorry Bert, didn't quite catch that."

"Well I was remembering a time when I was seconded to the 1956 Suez campaign. Minifigging horrible it was – hot, lousy intel and general who didn't know the rules, and couldn't throw a six to save her life."

"Her?"

"Yers. It was the daughter of the Egyptian general. She must have been eleven or twelve at the time."

"So, you lost?" Bert eyed him scornfully.

"What with a troop of Centurions, I think they were MDV5's ..."

"That's the Pendraken " (Mystic P) "code of course."

"Indeed." agreed Bert, "Refreshes the parts others cannot reach."

"Do go on with your story."

"Well, we were having a hard time, pinned down by some Peter Pigging mortars, we were waiting for the Centurions to come up, and we would have broken if it weren't for our officer – Lt Kerr – he was originally BR6, but got transferred to our mob with a paint job."

"Really?" Supplied FSN, as Bert lit another fag.

"NAVWAR true! Inspirational leader was the lieutenant." (For the avoidance of doubt, Bert pronounces it "Left- tenant". A "loo-tenant" is someone who dwells in a public toilet.) "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted – the lieutenant was a fine soldier. It was bad luck what happened to him." He puffed on the array of cigarettes hanging from his mouth. 

"What did happen to him?"

"Was horrible. I wasn't there at the time, you understand?" FSN nodded. "But I heard it from a mate who was in the same op – first day of Normandy. Some Perry can't keep his dice off the table, and rolls a D20 with no Minifigging consideration for the tactical situation. First thing my mate knows, the D20 lands right on the lieutenant, breaks him off at the ankles and his body goes skittering right off the table, and under a sideboard."

"No!"

"Minifigging yes! Never did find the body, and as he goes over the table, he's still shouting 'hold firm lads, armour's on the way'." He paused. "You know what the worst of it was?"

"What?"

"It was the Minifigging Yank player that threw the die! Friendly fire!" The pair fell into a comfortable silence – Bert in memory, FSN digesting the story.

"And what brought the late lamented lieutenant to mind?" Asked FSN.

"You remind me of him." FSN became suspicious.

"What was Lieutenant Kerr's first name?"

"Ewan.  Ewan Kerr."