One person adds a maximum of 1 paragraph of the tale and the next person has to carry it on and add to it and the next and so on and so on for example:

Poster 1: I ate a home made pie. It was apple....

Poster 2: It tasted very sweet and was still warm.....

Get the idea?

Right I'll start.
________________________________________________

It was a dark and blustery night at the GW Pond forum and every member was asleep in their rooms, dreaming of water falls and toads. Every light was out with the exception of the private study. The lights in this room were dim but lightning struck the weather vane on the roof of the east tower of the Pond HQ. As it did so it illuminated the a figure standing by the PC desk. The person was.......

Somewhat startled by all of this, but still pouting and panting from that last brief, but passionate encounter, with the chicken-headed intruder. The mother-in-law personage, enjoying the coolness of the mushy mud on her well foliage covered legs, took an electric razor from her carry on luggage and deftly shaved off her beard and moustache, revealing .......

"I thought I saw a light down here at the pond, but...your skin, it's positively glowing!"

"Yes, m'dear," MIL purred, patting the adoring fan on the noggin, "it's all about the koi clay."

"HA!! KOI CLAY, my foot!" shouted...

The luminescent one replies............

As luck would have it, the webfooooted one's cumbersome toes tangled in the extension cord, rendering moot any murderous intent.

"Someone get the man a chair! It appears he has an imprint of a....banjo...on the side of his head!"

Suddenly snapping out of his altogether befuddledness, Spike lunges toward MIL, grasping her dapper lapels in his fists and screaming, "They stole it all! They've turned her into a commercial pile of pink and green! Ye gods, man, it's ruined, I say!"

Whether out of anger from the gender misplacement or just because she was raised that way, MIL delivers a mighty slap to the side of Spike's face and declares...

Meanwhile, in Florida, PondmaninFL is kicked back by his little water hole in a lounge chair with his sunglasses on and a ice cold glass of orange juice. Wearing his shorts and t-shirt, he still complains about the 90°F temperatures but is still at ease knowing that his pond will never freeze over and that most of the plants will still be green in December.

Back up north, DMIL says,".....

"Excuse me? Sir?"

"Uhhh, do you deliver to GW? Yes? Great, 3 large pizzas to the large pond on the left. Thanks!"

His skin now nearing the shade of GW pink, he decides to...

Will the hairy legged, flipper wearing stranger come to our heros aid and ass im ip is eeth an yaw?
OR will the stranger just.........

"Ahhh, Mr. Scott. We finally meet. Since your jaw is hardly threatening to me now, I shall give it to you, however, you will listen to our demands."

The loud click-and-snap noise is absorbed into the leather-bound books lining the walls as the stranger returns Scott's jaw back to his face.

"You're welcome. You have just been repaired by the President of...."

Scott's important message was immediately dispersed to every ponder above the Mason Dixie line, and as soon as everyone read it, a peculiar sound could be heard all over the North. It sounded like...

The air was thick with an awful stench and a green ousing slimy sticky yucky, but sort of nice, sweet tasting stuff, dripping from every building.
It would seem that the north had been "Yucked over"!
Just when they figured they were safe from any evil doer, a dastardly prank had been pulled on them........ and we all know who perpetrated this cowardly deed............It was of course that yucking cowardly doer of many evils and addmitted nose picker .......

"Ah ha HA ha *urp* HA ha ha *pphhht* Ha! We have brain-washed the Southern Pondman In FL (SPIF for short)! Our mission is accom-"

A loud suction noise is heard throughout Pondland, Inc., as the P. of D.P.'s hair piece goes flying out the window.

A voice is heard from above. "Don't mind me, eh! Fall cleaning, doncha know!"

"And so...ummm...then! Yeah, then...where was I? Story?! What story?!" said...

There are some dark undercurrents in this forum, and they will drag everyone down, given the opportunity. A thread such as this one is just an open invitation to that.

It's not fun any more -- particularly to Scott, who deserves an apology. And this should come to an end.
Jeff

On with our compelling story.......while the rubber chicken wearing secret agent tried his best to stop choking with laughter and get down to the serious work of being a serious secret agent and doing all that serious stuff that being serious is supposed to be when you are being seriously serious.
Snatching the plunking banjo away from the out of tune plunking players hands, he threw it with all the strength he could muster, in the direction of the waiting Chinese 455 flying junk, there was a loud................

Homeland Security agents were immediately dispatched to determine the source of this great, dark disturbance in the force, and soon discovered it led to Ontario, so they...

Hmmmm. Obviously a misunderstanding in the communications systems. Something to do with the solar flares? The full moon? The Chinese? :-)

The Goosi fly back to the pond where they just witness the heron snatching Claude the koi and flying off with him to....

In the background could be heard the Southern version of...

[It may interest our interested readers that as a matter of interest, it was interesting to discover an interesting fact about our interesting hero's interests. Beside sing-alongs and musical accompaniments. He trained with the RCG Squadron in low lying flying exercises over the low lying countries low lying flying exercises areas, before becoming a secret British agent in the British Secret Agency, where all things British are secret, but they like to blab about every one else.
[Just poking fun, all you Brits out there. Hope your right Kassie, about them being thick skinned!!!];):)

Anyway back to the story.
The sing-along party was going along smashingly well,with everyone [*well nearly everyone]including the chicken, joining in, when suddenly they felt the ground shake....was it a tremor.....was it an earthquake?,.... ....... was it the breakfast prunes?...... no oh no! it was...........

Then glancing out of the Trump Towers penthouse window he spied a large object with frilly sails flying past at a slow speed.
There seemed to be people cooking with Chinese woks on an open fire and a guy with a chicken on his head, standing up front steering this dilapidated airbourne vessel in the direction of Central Park.
Could DMIL and our other fun loving adventure seeking nitwits be landing on the lake in Central Park? Are they paying a visit to the "Big Apple" for some RnR and a Broadway show or could it be that they have zeroed in on the secret hiding place of the dreaded.........

Looking at his watch he realised it was now ten minutes after mid-night, they had not found Trump Tower in time, so the wishes granted them by smiling Hillary, were null and void. Dismayed and filled with anger, the BSS agent,[who by the way was known as Jimmy Bind by the Secret Service fraternity]snatch his rubber chicken from DMIL head. Only then did he notice that drawn on the inside of the rubber clucker, was a map of Switzerland and a large "X" marked a spot near the center of the mountainous region of Herzogenbuchsee. [as the Swiss plumber had said to his apprentice on releasing a young womans big toe from the shower drain]
Back to the park and after loading the 455 flying junk with junk food and other non-essential items, they fired up the wok burner which doubled as a power supply to the main thrusters, then our gallant, but naive and really simple-head, but undaunted, seekers of fame and adventure [or a little win on the state lottery] took off into the moon lit sky.
Up up they went, onward ore' the bounding main at tree top level, [Jimmy Bind just liked to show of his low flying skills] toward more crazy adventures?
What could befall next us thought the DMIL who's head had not quite stopped smarting from the whiplash of the rubber chicken being yanked of her Yankee head by gimmie Jimmy the yanker,..................When suddenly the flying junks main thruster went silent, right over the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. "Oh NOOOOOO! Mr Bill," she screamed as the now silently gliding junk's nose descended into the dark cold waters of the ocean............

Owing to a large gas bubble that filled the hull of the slowly sinking vessel, [the gas being brought on by devouring the Brother Blue fish and veggie stew] the junk began to surface again much to the joy of all on board the stalwart craft.

Saying their good-byes to the glowing Brother Blue, it was all hands to the pumps, dry the firewood and be back on their journey to the land where they eat cheese and yodel, but not usually at the same time! Can be messy!

Engines running, sails set, woks steaming, our happy and still singing bunch of no-brained nomads, normalised nautical things on board and took off again into the blue clear sky.

But threatening storms and a cold supper, lay in wait over Ireland for this brave group.
Would they ever reach their goal, will they weather the storm, will that fickle hand of fate bring them pint of Guinness and a black puddin'bun or more trials and tribulations?

The ship lurched on, the skies once again darkened there was a flash of lightening and suddenly .........

"Yes" it's old Hibernia", replied the Bold Bind excitedly,looking out through his electronic pedal powered telescope "I can see the Guinness brewery in Saint James Gate from here, keep pedalling DMIL"
The flying junk was quickly made ready for landing, all items not required were thrown overboard. What was left of Brother Blues fish and veggie went first, then six hundred thousand copies of Bill Clinton's book "My Life", that had been secretly stowed on board by Hilary, rained down upon the fair city of Dublin.

Soon the landing was made within the courtyard of the famous brewery. A dark stout man stood there to welcome our group of thirsty wayfarers.
He must be the brewer they thought, him being a dark stout man, or maybe even the porter, that they had read about in the Brewers Digest Weekly. But as they came closer to the standing figure they realised it was none other than their Nemesis, the horrible, but somewhat hansome...........

Meanwhile there was a commotion out in front of the pub. "We've been brewing since 1759," bellowed the dark, stout man. "But now we have something special! New, Improved Guinness!"
The entire group burst out in giggles. This proved beyond a doubt that the man was....

All the time this was going on, fireworks and flash-pots were bursting and exploding all around the area.
[That would account for DMIL's reverie about the IRA,but who are now disbanded and dis-armed we are glad to report]

Fancy feet Flattley was soon joined by a bevy of beautiful bouncing short kilt clad females, who were deftly tapping out a rat-a-tat-tat-tat, with their dancing feet on the cobbles.

It was only then our groups leader, the bold Jimmy Bind realised the dancers taps were in Morse code.
By God! there was a message there he was soon translating it to the group " Get to h--- out of here before Twinkle Toes Flattley bores you to death about how wonderful he is" The message went on to warn our star struck foot tapping mouth agape fools, "That Flattley plans to take you all hostages until, he hopes, they will let him dance in Rivernet one more time".

Pretending to join in the dance the travellers skipped and tripped over the ancient cobbled courtyard, toward the every ready flying junk and leaped aboard,. Soon they were airbourne once again, sweating and panting from their lucky escape form the self proclaimed, Lord of the Dances grasp.

Setting course now, away from the Irish coastline and travelling in a NE direction, the trio and crew bunked down for the night, closing their eyes for a well earned rest. But only after downing the dozen pints of Guinness the third member of the group, [no one could remember who he/she was as he has been so quite since this adventure began ?] had managed to place carefully on board the flying junk just prior to take off.
What adventures would the morn bring to these brave hungover souls as their craft headed in the direction of Bonnie Scotland and the unknown............

meanwhile, "Many miles away something crawls from the slime at the Bottom of a dark Scottish lake..."

As the junk touched down onto the heather covered landing area, there was a bump and a muffled cry hear by all on board.
Looking over the junks rail there appeared before them a very red faced, kilted person, wearing a feathered bonnet and a pair of wellington boots. The travellers could not but notice, that few feet from this embarrassed looking wild-man, tethered to a large rock, an equally embarrassed looking sheep.

" Kin ye no look at whaur yir goin'", said the red faced kilted stranger."Ah wis jist ha'in' a whiz when yis near enuff tumilt mi on ma arse"! "Yooos kood hae kilt me an mi sheep thi gither, so yis kood", he snorted.
Then looking straight at our adventurers reluctant leader, the ruddy Scotsman fell to his knees " It's yooo,it's yooo I ken fine it's yooo,! "yooor Sean Connery"!
[It should be pointed out at this juncture, that indeed our hero did in fact greatly resemble this fellow Scotsman, the greatest portrayer of James Bond [007] and unofficial King of the Scots, Sean Connery]

"Yil hae to cum hame wi me and meet the wife an'the wee bairns", said their new found friend, who was obviously overcome with excitement, having just been bumped up the jacksie with a Chinese flying junk, driven by none other than the person whom he believed to be his royal master and saviour of Scotland from English domination and night after night after night of "Coronation Street" on the tele.

They all willingly set off for the nearest clachan, but all the time still wondering, what the hell this red faced, kilted and wellie wearing, wild-man, had in fact said to them?
And why on earth did that poor sheep look so nervous, thought DMIL?
Only time will tell................or will it?

..."Many miles away something crawls to the surface of a dark Scottish lake"...

The leader of the group and Clan Chief "Big Mac" MacDonald's oldest legitimate son and heir, "Wee Mac" MacDonald, stepped forward,knelt down on one knee before the trio.
"We're fit an' ready fur the march on Inglind yir majesty," he proclaimed to the astounded Jimmy Bind the British Secret Agent and dead ringer for Sean Connery, unofficial king of Scotland.
"We hiv waitit o'er twa hundrit years fir anither go at them b-------s,he added," Plus we want a go on yon big melaluminium wheelie thing they've bult in Lundin".

Will our friends give up on their planned secret but widely known about, trip to Switzerland and instead join in on the march on England and the capital, to settle old scores and have a wee ride on the Big Wheel?
Decisions, decisions, all the time it's decisions..............

not so "Many miles away Theres a shadow on the door Of a cottage on the shore Of a dark Scottish lake"...the shadow cast by the constant foggy weather appeared, creeping humongously in the mist...approaches the cottage where the trio has resided. SUDDENLY THERE IS A THUMP OUTSIDE AND A STRANGE DRAGGING SOUND....no one saw it approach b/c everyone had entered the little cottage. yes, even those with the blue faces. you see, they felt a kinship after seeing some blue stain in DMIL's hair...the SHADOW HAS NOW REACHED THE TOP OF THE COTTAGE, CLOSER, CLOSER, closer...inside, someone hears a sound at the door...the host approaches, reaches for the lever and is met on the other side with...

"Allooo chum, con ye get me a lift to the loc? me wive es callin me..."

Jimmy Bind of course, went first and bored everyone with his life story and dubious credentials.

Then it was the DMIL, whom it turned out was not a DMIL at all, but Detective Inspector Mikhail Pogostickavitch of the Moscow CID, who had been, in fact, hot on the trail of the third member of the trio, whom up to this point had not spoken nor divulged in any manner, information about him/her self to the other two companions or for that matter anyone else, other than the sheep.

Taking a firm hold on the, up till now, unidentified, third member of their group, Detective Inspector Mikhail Pogostickavitch, pulled the one piece face mask and skin tight fitting costume away, to reveal to all and sundry who were waiting there, with baited breath and quizzical looks on their startled faces, wondering what this uncovering may disclose..........

In a flash, there stood before them, unclothed and unashamed, but still smarting, from having all the body hair pulled off along with the snug fitting costume, was..................

The Detective, trying to explain why his ostrich chick was there said.....

The story went that they had fell madly in love with each other, when the met during an ITERPOL investigation, into a used chewing gum and slightly soiled toilet tissue recovery and laundering operation, being carried out by a yet undiscovered, group of desperate dry cleaners and pressers.

Well there was no room for love in the crime fighting/ spy business, so the Ostrich Chick had to be scrubbed off the laundering case.
Now they were back together and had been all these weeks. It had been torture for them both and our readers all these lonnnngggg weeks. But true love will always find a way!

Jimmy the self proclaimed leader of the group, snapped them all back to cruel reality. "There has to be a decision made and made quickly" he said. "A request has been asked of our services, now I ask you all, do we march on England or do we head on and complete our quest, what ever it is, in Switzerland ?"

Ballot boxes were set up all over the glen. Four dozen "Chaff Counters" were flown in from Florida USA, to assist with the vote tabulations.

Six weary weeks later, the winning choice was ready to be announced at the village pub at noon.

Would our group march with the clans to England or will they fly onto Switzerland and complete their mission...........

The junk sailed off across the sky, the trio sat back,relieved that they had once again managed to outwit, outplay, outlast and survive another potentially volatile situation and plus they all agreed, they could go for a ride on the "Big Wheelie Thing" another time.

Within a few hours they were crossing the coastline of Holland and locked on a course that would take them right into the heart of Germany.

It was just then that they heard the bleat coming from under a tarpaulin that was bunched up in the corner of the prominade deck. Jimmy stepped over to the ballooning tarpaulin and pulling it aside revealed the sheep standing there with a cute look on it's face.
"Now we are four",announced Jimmy, who had taken a shine to the wooly ovine, from that first moment they clapped eyes on each other in the heather covered glen.
He had even began sporting a medallion, that was inscribed with the words "I Love Ewe".
This eliminated any doubt in the other two companions minds, about just whom had smuggled the lanolin laden ruminant aboard the junk!
But now thoughts of weinersnitzel,steins of flowing lager, Oompah bands and lederhosen, filled their minds, so it was decided they should land for a quick snack, a couple of beers, a sing-along with the band and try on some new duds.

They soon dropped anchor outside the quaint little village of Uberdasreinbowbergen, and there, to their total surprise, was the villages, brass helmeted, postmaster, running toward them, waving what looked like a telegram in his outstretched hand.

The message in the telegram stated that..........

The DI, upset at loosing his main squeeze, along with some of the flying junks unhappy crew members, broke into the arms locker in the captains cabin and appeared on the promenade deck threateningly,brandishing either a left or right limb......mutiny was at hand so speak ......
"What's afoot"?, said our hero.
"A bigger calibre", was the reply from the crazed bunch of arm toting discontents that stood before him.
Would he be elbowed out of command or could he finger the leader and get a grasp of the problem.....
Only time will tell........ Switzerland and the truth awaited...............

suddenly, the villagers heard a low rumbling, buildings were shaking, and a rising pitch...they fleed for their lives thinking "AIR RAID!" BUT! our folks have heard a similar sound before...it was the lovesick nessie...their hearts melted and their brains went numb...what should they do?!

:) Mary

#101 and counting

THE END AGAIN

THE END!

Adrea

The flying junk, now loaded with beer, wieners and strudel [with Jimmy steering and now donning a brightly polished, brass, postmasters helmet], lifted eagerly into the air bound for the Swiss alps.

A few hours past. "We will land right there in the Canton of Lucerne", said Jimmy.
On hearing the word "Canton" the Chinese crew, all 24 of them, packed their bags and jumped over board thinking they were back home again in China, very glad to be away from these three lunatics who had commandeered their vessel.

The junk set down on the still, placid, calm, un-rippling surface of Lake Lucerne. "We will row from here on in", said Jimmy.
So with our three paddle-heads rowing, the sheep at the tiller, the flying junk now moved slowly and silently, not making any noise, across the lake toward the hideout of the evil Doctor Knoodleburger-Hanzoop, Bad Person and Acupuncturist.

On reaching the vaulted entrance to the sinister looking castle,they rang the door bell..... the door swung open.....and there stood........

The people milling about, were of course millers, who's job it was to mill the corn, that made the flour, that made the dough, that made the bread ...........

you guys!!! :)

don't happen to have a pair of overalls, do ya? :)

But I really don't mind the comparison... Steven's got it goin' on, huh? :)

Jeff, I was beginning to think you forgot how very well liked you are among the forum members. :)

As long as the score isn't something-love, I'll continue to watch. :p

Brenda

Brenda

strange game, the only way to win is not to play

Brenda

'Twas the week before Turkey Day, when all through the forum, not a creature was stirring, except for...

and who is this he sees in the distance?

Caffeinated Brenda skips off (ok, sand is difficult to skip in, so....Brenda stumbles off...) as FTM and Nessie stare, open-mouthed, at each other....

FTM (and her side-kick Nessie) finally just...