ADMIRAL HORNSWOGGLE’S NAUTICAL ADVENTURES.

No. 8.—The Monster Galleon, Part 1.

MANY YEARS HAD passed since my last encounter with the supernatural, a time I had spent fruitfully advancing the interests of my country. For my humble service my country had rewarded me with the rank of Admiral, and although I still managed to get out to sea occasionally, in times of peace most of my work demanded a ready hand at the pen rather than a steady hand at the tiller.

My reputation for expertise in unusual nautical affairs, however, had been kept alive in certain of the corridors of power; I believe in the corridors on the ground floor in the eastern part of the building, although I am not entirely sure of that, basing my speculations mostly on a floor plan and a number of rumors. So it was that, just a few years ago last August, I was called into the office of the Minister himself.

“Your reputation precedes you, Admiral,” the Minister declared after we had exchanged the customary shepherd’s pies (an immemorial tradition in the Ministry). “To be specific, it precedes you by about fifteen minutes. Young Captain Blanderson was just in here telling me how much his father thought of you. Since, with the daily urgencies of running the Ministry of War pressing on me from all sides, I seldom have the chance to inquire into the state of our military, I was glad to accept his advice that you were the man for the job.”

I thanked the Minister for his confidence in me, and assured him that I should always do my best to justify it.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he said. “Now, the thing is, we have a rather unusual situation here, and it calls for a certain amount of discretion. We have been losing ships right and left up here south of Greenland in the North Atlantic”—he pointed to a map on the wall behind him—”and certain sailors who made their way back have been spreading the most astonishing tales. I would not have taken them seriously myself, but for the fact that we have lost an unaccountably large number of ships in the same area, and that the rumors have been spreading throughout Her Majesty’s fleet, rendering even the most experienced captains unwilling to sail in the waters off Greenland.”

That was indeed a difficult situation. Our relations with Greenland have always been cordial, and moreover the alliance is vital to our economic interests. Without unrestricted access to the green beans, green cheese, green salads, green peppers, green tea, green curry, green peas, green apples, green mole, green onions, and other greens commonly obtained from Greenland, our greengrocers would find themselves in a sorry state indeed.

I asked the Minister what tales were being spread through the fleet—for you must know that, at my desk job, I was shamefully isolated from the more active parts of our Navy, and the common sailors’ gossip no longer passed to me.

“It is a tale too strange, too uncanny to credit,” the Minister replied, “had not the cold statistics of our losses forced me to conclude that something more than natural must be at work, some sinister demonic force not unlike that which the sailors have described. In short, they tell a tale of a gigantic ship, which they have aptly named the Monster Galleon, three times the size of our largest man-o’-war, and animated by some demonic spirit, so that the thing actually appears to live by consuming other ships. Now, I trust, you can understand the horror with which even the boldest of our captains regard the waters in the vicinity of Greenland.”

I could indeed understand it, as I said to the Minister, though of course monstrous supernatural manifestations no longer held any terror for me after the first two or three I had faced.

“And that,” said the Minister, “is precisely why I have asked you here. Captain Blanderson informs me that a few of the other captains of the fleet have consented to sail into those waters and, if it be possible, defeat the dreadful apparition; but they will do so only under the condition that you command the fleet personally. I cannot find it in myself to order so distinguished an officer into such dreadful peril; I can only ask. Will you do it, Admiral?”

Of course I need not tell you my response.

-

To be continued.

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ASK DR. BOLI.

Dear Dr. Boli: While I agree with the Golf Network premise that a loud check pattern is necessary for distance and accuracy, can you please comment on the rumor that only an aggressive use of paisley will improve one’s “short-game” performance, specifically putting? ——Gratefully yours, J.H.T. Rumsford IV, Snodgrass Country Club.

Dear Sir: Dr. Boli has not played the ancient and invigorating game of golf since that unlucky day when his scheduled game with Mr. James A. Garfield was so cruelly cancelled by envious fate. In those days, the atmosphere of the game was entirely different. For one thing, the golf carts were powered by steam, and they made the most appalling din. It was very hard to concentrate even on so insignificant a task as setting the “ball” on the “birdie” in preparation for the “pitch.” It should also be remembered that proper lawn-mowers came to the game relatively late, so that in the time of the late President Garfield it was still traditional for the grass on the “field” to be waist-high or taller. This quite naturally made every “wicket” something of a challenge, and by the “seventh-inning stretch” one was usually quite exhausted. It was customary to take a light refreshment at that point, and how the champagne flowed! After that, one would take to to the “court” again for another “rally.” Often we would “hit” the “ball” into the “rough,” as it was called then, which was an area of bear traps, land mines, insurance salesmen, and other obstacles designed to make hitting the “ball” back to the “gridiron” more of a challenge. Many a caddy was lost in the “rough,” but those were prosperous times, and caddies were inexpensive and never in short supply. You may well imagine, considering the innate difficulty of the sport in those simpler times, what rejoicing there was if any player should be so fortunate as to make a “basket.” But Dr. Boli has become so caught up in reminiscences that he has forgotten your original question. Perhaps you could write and ask it again.

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TONIGHT AT EIGHT.

Dumont Network: Takedown Notice (crime drama). A fast-paced new drama focusing on the heroic self-appointed enforcers of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. Tonight: Dirk and Moira are horrified to discover that the infamous “Dragon Lady” blogger who posted five tracks from the unreleased Odious Daughters album is hosted on a Chinese server.

The Brimstone Channel: The Jesus Show, with the Reverend Bob-Bob Lee (religion). Tonight: The Rev. Bob-Bob explains how the current economic troubles were actually prophesied in 1 Chronicles 4:36.

Northern Broadcasting System: Stones of the City (crime drama). This latest entry in the vampire-building-inspector genre follows the adventures of Sam Ionescu, inspector for the city of Washington (Penna.). Tonight: Sam is called to investigate at the Luna Park funhouse—unaware that the trouble is in the Hall of Mirrors.

Metromedia: Al ’n’ Me (comedy). The wacky adventures of best buddies Alexander and Hephaestion as they look for new worlds to conquer. Tonight: Who’s going to tell Al that he’s got spinach stuck between his teeth? Certainly not Hephaestion.

Golf Network: The Golf Show (golf). Tonight: How a really loud check pattern can improve your distance and accuracy.

Baldwin Borough Community TV: Baldwin Borough Council Meeting (public affairs). Tonight: Debate on bailing out the Merchants & Usurers State Bank, whose president will go bankrupt if he has to pay all those parking tickets.

Wolf Broadcasting Corporation: Fries with That (reality). The hot new reality show that takes ten new college graduates, puts them in dead-end jobs, and leaves them there forever. Tonight: Fernando discovers a new chemical that repels dirt like magic and keeps an automotive finish looking fresh for decades, and his boss at the car wash kills him.

The Lawnmower Channel: The Reel Thing (yardwork). A nostalgic look back at the days before powered lawn mowers, and a visit to one eccentric who still uses a mechanical mower today.

Science Central: Science Now (documentary). Tonight: “The Higgs Boson.” A live broadcast of services from St. Maxwell’s Cathedral, featuring a homily by Bishop Michelson Morley Smith of the First Church of the Higgs Boson in Point Breeze.

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THE WONDERFULL AUTOMATON.

(Continuing the narrative that began here.)

Part 7.

-

Letter the Seventh: Miss Honoria Wells to Sir George Purvis.

My own beloved George,——

Imprisoned here like the illustrious Rozabel among the Barbary Pirates, tho’ without the daily Necessity of defending my Honor, I cannot but suppose that this Dulness of which you complain in London must be a poor weakling Dulness, hardly worthy of the Name, when measured against the hard and unyielding Dulness which keeps me an unwilling Captive here. Yet Rozabel found her Alphonzo at last; and so I trust that my George in Time shall come to set me free, and make me exchange the unwilling Slavery from which I long to escape, for that willing Submission from which I shall never desire to be released.

Thus I remain, &c.

-

A Poem by Mr. M——, written on the Occasion of seeing a Demonstration of the celebrated Automaton by Doctor Albertus.

O Women! ye have borne the Wits’ Abuse,
And Libels without Number or Excuse;
What Gibes and Innuendoes most impure
With Patience more than Job’s do ye endure!
But now, to Arms! Let all arise as one:
To Arms! To Arms, or ye are all undone!
A greater Threat upon the Field is seen:
The Enemy not Man, but a Machine!
For once, tho’ Wits pretended to despise
The Lure of cherry Lips, or glist’ning Eyes,
The Touch of Fingers delicately slim,—
Man needed Woman, more than she did him.
But now the Beaux all suddenly have spurn’d
Their celebrated Beauties, and have turn’d
Their rapt Attention to a clockwork Toy,
With Transports of unfathomable Joy.
Let Barriers of Rank be thrust aside;
Let Queen with common Hussy be ally’d;
Let ev’ry Art of Woman be employ’d
To win back the Esteem you once enjoy’d.
Make such Adjustments to your Face and Gown
As will turn back the Eyes of Beaux in Town;
Let over-scrupled Virtue be no Bar:
With delicate Allurements win the War.
For should ye lose this Battle, then I fear
The Ruin of the Race of Man is near.

-

Continue to Part 8.

DR. BOLI’S PRESS-CLIPPING BUREAU.

ANTISOCIAL NETWORKING.

HERE ARE A number of Frequently Asked Questions about MyPlaceGetOut.com, the new antisocial networking site.

Q. What is MyPlaceGetOut.com?

A. MyPlaceGetOut.com is the new antisocial networking site.

Q. What is antisocial networking?

A. In the spirit of “Web 2.0,” antisocial networking is a new high-tech way for you to keep all your personal information, hobbies, interests, favorite Web sites, and so on, to yourself.

Q. How do I use it?

A. It’s really very simple. You just browse the Web as you normally do. When you come to a site that particularly interests you, you write down the address on a 3-by-5 index card and store the card safely in a small box.

Q. I have a number of these cards prepared. What do I do with them now?

A. We recommend burning them to ensure your privacy.

Q. What about my personal information, hobbies, interests, &c.? Should I write those down on index cards, too?

A. We recommend not even writing those down. It is always possible that, when you burned the index cards, the smoke would rise from the chimney and form letters spelling out the message you had burned, thus making it legible to the world at large. Such an incident was documented in an animated cartoon by the celebrated Fleischer brothers, and we should hate to be responsible for the unintentional disclosure of your private information.

Q. But if I don’t write down my personal information, how will I remember who I am?

A. For this purpose we recommend some mnemonic device such as a short rhyme. The renowned classical scholar Benjamin Jowett came up with this little ditty:

My name is Benjamin Jowett.
I’m the president of this college.
If anything’s knowledge, I know it,
and what I don’t know isn’t knowledge.

By means of this easily memorized poem he was able to remember, not only his name, but also his employment, and even the attitude he intended to adopt toward his students.

Q. I tried going to MyPlaceGetOut.com, but my browser says “Cannot find server.” What’s going on?

A. In order to protect your privacy completely, the domain name MyPlaceGetOut.com has not been registered and is therefore not accessible from the Internet.

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