Sigh. In another thread, mad-bax observes
that Bertie is a drunkard and can't spell my name
He is right, and penance must be paid . . .
Schoolmarm Thwackum stood at dawn at the head of Camelot Lakes Lane. She paused for a moment, her azure eyes drinking in the peaceful suburban Saturday scene. There was no sound save for the faint rustle of a hawks wings as it lazed overhead, waiting for its prey any prey would do to show itself, the victims last few slow moments spend in ignorant bliss until it felt the hawks talons appearing from . . . where?
Schoolmarm Thwackums aquiline nostrils flared once, then again, deeper. She took a long step, her black-tanned mastodon boots, heeled with long saber tooth tiger incisors, stirring the languid dust of Camelot Lakes Lane. As her pace picked up her tightly fitted black loin cloth clung closely to her taut robust frame. Passing by mad-baxs split-level pied-a-terre (estate agent lingo for cave) she sensed something stirring within; but something was
always stirring around or within mad-bax, so she ignored the sensation. Instead she fixed her eyes on the hovel down at the end of the block, her destination. She strode purposefully on.
A crude plank door stood akimbo against the doorjamb of the hovel at the end of the street, off its hinges. Or it
would have been off its hinges had iron working been discovered along with the consequent knowledge of how to craft hinges; but no matter. The schoolmarm gently yet forcefully drummed the head of her whippy black riding crop into her glove-encased palm as she gazed upon the rundown hovel. Theres talk of building a Great Lighthouse, she mused, can it be that tax payers would rather line the pockets of powerful, politically-connected contractors rather than clean up squalor like this? She shook her head sadly as she entered the dimly lit hovel at the end of Camelot Lakes Lane.
Snoring and loudly asleep in a disheveled bed lay Bertie, snoozing off an evening of jollity consisting of quaffing a pint or so with Gregski. The covers had fallen partly off Bertie, exposing parts that are best left unmentioned. Schoolmarm Thwackum looked down at Bertie, a cruel smile flitting across her full voluptuous lips. She tapped her riding crop into her palm once; twice. And then turned the control dial up to eleven.
THWACK!!!!
THWACK!!!! THWACK!!!! THWACK!!!!
Bertie leapt up yelping, feet churning, wild-eyed.
What?! Who?! Why?!
THWACK!!!!
Yelp! Schoolmarm Thwackum! YELP! I graduated, years ago! Honest! Why are you here?
Stop your bleating, Ethelbert. You were a slacker when you were in my class, and youre a slacker now.
THWACK!!!!
Yelp!
You never could spell a lick. It was embarrassing and disappointing when you were in my class; but now its become intolerable.
THWACK!!!!
Yelp! Schoolmarm Thwackum, what
are you talking about.
Scroll up in this thread just a tad, Ethelbert. You wrote mad-box. Mad-
box????!!!
THWACK!!!! THWACK!!!! Its bax bax bax!
Im sorry, Schoolmarm. Mad-bax, Im sorry! A typo! Just a typo! Call her off!
Not good enough, Ethelbert.
THWACK!!!! Youre going to learn to spell even if it kills me. Or rather, the cruel smile again, kills you.
THWACK!!!!
Yelp!
Now pick up yon piece of flint, Ethelbert, and get working on the walls of this hovel. By noon I want to see them all filled up with: I wont misspell mad-bax again. Got it?
Snivel. Sniff. Got it.
Bertie proceeds to write (good trick, considering writing hasnt yet been discovered):
I wont misspell mad-bax again
I wont misspell mad-bax again
I wont misspell mad-bax again
I wont misspell mad-bax again
I wont misspell mad-bax again
As Bertie beavers away, Schoolmarm Thwackum reflects on other projects in Fanatannia that might benefit from her, um, personal attention. There are those two lazy warriors, George W Bush and Clubbings R us, who explore worse than Ethelbert can spell. Then theres that Constitution! Whoever wrote that was never in my class! As a piece of creative writing it might not be bad, but as a fine example of exposition?
THWACK!!!!
She glances over at Bertie laboring with his flint. Sigh. Unfortunately, this might be a lifelong commitment.
THWACK!!!!