#legendary. hanna that was hysterical.

[dramatic-dolphin]

egyszer még gimiben csaptunk egy ilyen nagy szilveszteri bulit. éjfélkor valaki bekapcsolta a tévét és mindannyian részegen énekeltük a himnuszt. tipik gimis dolgok.

aztán a képernyőn megjelent áder jános (tudjátok, a köztársasági elnök) újévi beszédet tartani. ment mellette a hallássérülteknek jeltolmácsolás. néztük tök csöndben valamilyen furcsa oknál fogva, aztán az egyik lány megszólalt:

"ki az a pasas a weisz fanni mellett?"

[sohannabarberaesque]

Thus did The Bungle Brothers cross paths with The Old Redhead (as in Arthur Godfrey "himself")

Another episode of Arthur Godfrey's Talent Scouts ... another commercial break whereby Arthur Godfrey "himself," affectionately known otherwise as "The Old Redhead" and "The King Bee," ad-libs it for Lipton Instant Soups, as if insisting that soup weather was imminent all the more (and seems to drag on) until "Will my next Talent Scout come forward, please--Hokey Wolf!"

In admidst a mix of applause and cheap laughs worthy of the glory days of the old burly-q on the Gayety Circuit strides none other than the suavest of the lupine persuasion, setting aside Loopy DeLoop, called unto the Talent Scout's chair alongside Meneer Godfrey (and a somewhat leering grin could be discerned as well, but that could be the camera angle).

"Well, well, wellllll," saith Godfrey, "we have here a certain Hokey Wolf--"

"None other than, Mr. Godfrey!" in the finest Sgt. Bilko voice inflection known, with hints of second-rate burlesque baggy-pants.

"So, as I understand it, you and your companion ... I think his name is--"

"Ding-a-Ling, Mr. Godfrey; I usually call him just 'Ding' for convenience. My boon companion, and sometime cheerleader!"

"Now, as I understand it," so went The Old Redhead, "you're on a travelling circuit selling flavouring extracts to home bakers."

"Right, right, right you are, Mr. Godfrey! None other than Hokey Wolf's Excelsior Baking Extract and Excelsior Vanilla, as sold only at selected state fairs and pop-up kiosks at the tackiest of malls around the country ... including, if I may say so, Godfrey, the likes of the legendary Iowa State Fair--"

Whereupon Godfrey interjected: "Ahhhhh yes, the Iowa State Fair ... as immortalised in that play State Fair, as I understand it."

"How right you are, Godfrey; how right you are!!! Followed by a rather successful and attention-getting run at the MINNESOTA State Fair, selling out stock in no less than three days!! Is it any wonder housewives can't resist Excelsior baking extracts?!!"

(Rather blatant laughter from the audience, with Godfrey muttering under his breath whether such would be picked up by the legendary Applause Meter used to judge the winning acts every week.)

"Yes, the Minnesota State Fair ... I think I was there some years ago, encountering an old announcer buddy of mine, Cedric Adams by name--"

"And who thinks radio is flat and lifeless, considering all those--"

"I think I'd better get on with the act you've offered before me, uh--"

"Hokey; Hokey Wolf ... I have for your due consideration and perousal no less than two performing beagles, George and Joey Bungle, who I found outside Branson, Missouri--none other than!"

To which The King Bee dumbfoundedly responded, "Branson ... don't they have all those tacky music shows down there?"

"Well, Godfrey ... let's see what these Bungle Brothers can seriously attempt in the thespian arena!"

(Exchange of plesantaries and thanks before the introduction.)

*************

Strode thus unto the Talent Scouts stage no less than the myopically-lazy and borderline inept Joey and the dimunitively perfectionist George to audience applause which, by their reaching the microphone, turned to baggy-pants comedic laughter rather hysterical. Thus prompting George to respond "Why would they be laughing at US for, Joey?!"

"Beats me, George...." ("Rimshot" drum number, further laughs.)

"Did I ever tell you the Grand Canyon is just--"

"--Gorges?" (Further laughter)

"And Joey, what made you smile rather broadly at breakfast this morning?"

"Was it something in the coffee?"

(Overzealously thigh-slapper-type laughter for just under a minute and a half, prompting the King Bee to wave his hands and essentially go into another ad-libbed commercial of his for Lipton Tea, nearly mincing the words ... during which a stagehand, directed by secret hand cues from The Old Redhead, directs George and Joey off the stage to the Rogue's March.)

*************

Just outside the backstage door, with hints of a Major Cloudburst imminent:

"JOEY--!" saith the ever-irate-in-the-circumstances George.

"Yes, George?!!"

"Has it ever come across to you, in your sheer stupidity and ineptitude, that it was YOU who basically made us a joke in front of the nation's TV audience, including the Little Old Lady from Dubuque, of all places?"

"What Little Old Lady from Dubuque?" (Whereupon George takes Joey's nose and gives it a rather blatant "thwak" to get his attention.)

"Joey, I assume you know who I mean!!"

And as the first drops of what becomes a rather intense rainfall start falling, both Our Heroes, or close to them, run for the comfort of a second-rate diner, hoping for coffee and a cinnamon roll to ease the discomfort of another ineptly-laid-on attempt to seek fame and stardom.

In deference to the Thanksgiving Long Weekend in the United States, Fanfic Friday will be on hiatus next week. Look for another fresh and fascinating fanfic with your favourite Hanna-Barbera Funtastics in a fortnight's time (November 30th, to be exact).

[sohannabarberaesque]

Postcards from Snagglepuss: And so it's Florida bound from here on out

Having run into Crazy Claws, Comedic Ambassador of Wisconsin Dells, again in Chicago after he joined a motley little company of fellow characters on the Empire Builder at the Dells, we felt it best to begin what you could call a promotional drive to push the Waterpark Capital. Which, at the last minute, we decided to make more of a literature handout in small towns (and maybe some radio appearences in larger such) heading to Florida. Whether such will have the end result desired is anybody's guess.

So ... our little party of two, with the back of my Mini Cooper stuffed with Wisconsin Dells literature (never mind that it's just a single volume all-encompassing, the sort Crazy Claws would easily love to rip apart), left Chicago on our mission via I-94; the better to avoid the travesties of corporatised toll roads such as the Chicago Skyway and the Indiana Toll Road ... get off at Indiana Exit 34 (US 421) and decide to head south through a more realistic sort of Hoosierland that you wouldn't likely get on the Interstate. Two-lane roads, small towns, some semblance of rural friendliness said to be an Indiana trait--well, I assume you get the notion.

Wanatah ... La Crosse ... Lomax ... San Pierre ... Medaryville ... Monon... Monticello ... Delphi ... Roseville ... heck, pretty much any and every example of small-town Indiana along US 421 down to Indianapolis (or close to it), slowing down and passing through what remained of their downtowns ruined by Walmart in the next town of serious consequence, distributing Wisconsin Dells literature--even Crazy Claws leaving his autograph in the bargain.. And our explaining that we were heading down to Florida on a promotional tour seeking to avoid Interstates as much as possible.

Indianapolis ... check out any radio stations which may be interested in an interview ... one low-power hayburner we manage to attract for their midday show. And the calls get rather interesting as well, with Crazy Claws getting quip-heavy ("Who said Hoosiers and Badgers couldn't get together without a serious brawl?" as example). We arrange to get another load of brochures at a UPS Store location close to Monument Circle, the heart of Indianapolis (as in the Indiana Soldiers' and Sailors' Memorial), make arrangements for another pickup when he hit Cincinnati. Which, to us Hanna-Barberians, carries a sort of attachment to us--I'll let you figure it out.

Until the Queen City, then ... US 52 eastbound from Indianapolis: Fountaintown ... Morristown ... Gwynneville ... Rushville ... then detouring on Indiana 3 to Greensburg, famous for the tree growing in the tower of the Decatur County Courthouse. Giving us a photo opportunity, as well as plenty more Dells brochures to distribute ahead of Cincinnati by nightfall. Call up the legendary radio station WLW to see if we could get in a radio appearence to promote our little mission--only to get hysterical laughter from the receptionist, as well as advice to call back once we arrive in the Queen City. But still, a few more brochure giveaways in such bastions of Hoosierdom as Newpoint, Batesville, Penntown, Lawrenceville ... and a little south of St. Leon (where, know, we do make a giveaway at the town cafe/truck stop), down Indiana 1 to Lawrenceburg ... and the Ohio River.coming into sight along US 50 ...

And along US 50 do we make our way into Cincinnati. Yes, the same Cincinnati where a certain Maid Marian expressed she'd rather be in. Hopefully doing the Cincinnati Chili thing--which we two manage to pull off at a storefront chili joint close to that district they call "Over-The-Rhine." The old German quarter, I understand ... and for 3-Way Cincinnati chili at its finest. (Which, to the uninitiated, is spaghetti topped with beanless chili, in its turn topped with shredded cheese. The chili itself having just that touch of mild spiciness which both of us actually enjoyed. Luckily, we shared a giant platter, and at least a couple of waiters drew a comparison to that scene in Lady and the Tramp where the two share a platter of spaghetti. Quite cute, I will have to acknowledge.)

And when a waiter asked casually what we were doing out this way, we mentioned that we were spreading the word about Wisconsin Dells.

"WISCONSIN DELLS?!! THE WISCONSIN DELLS ...- AS IN THE WATERPARK CAPITAL OF THE WORLD?!!!"

To which Crazy Claws replied, "The one and only. One and the same, even."

Whereupon we sent a text back to the tourism agency in Wisconsin Dells to report on the campaign results for the first day, mentioning that Indiana communities we passed through were slightly bewildered at what we were doing. Even if it was "off the beaten path," to be honest about it.

Next time out, folks, we continue our misadventures in calling attention to the Dells in Cincinnati--and southbound.

[sohannabarberaesque]

Moth Mondays with the Funtastic World of Hanna-Barbera: Pixlee Trollsom per Trollkins

This time around, we find that impish tomboy daughter of Troll County Sheriff "Pudge" Trollsom relating an encounter with a local variant of the legendary Sasquatch which turned out to be as much unlikely in her response as it was interesting for how it came about to begin with:

It was last fall up in the hot-spring country around the Blue Troll Hills, which can get to be rather introllesting in their own right. Especially when you have modest little cabins to make camp in while taking the hot spring baths in rock pools; Trolls like me, being spirits of Nature in their own right, are rather fond of hot-spring bathing for assorted ailments and conditions, not to mention general trollaxation. In my own case, I was seeking relief from water-weight bloating and general vaginal discomfort that was making things a little uncomfortable at times. Twice a day, morning and evening, I would take these baths alongside my best buddy, Blitz Lumpkin--the slightly crazy one, yet can get to be introllesting in his own way.

It was just after my evening bath on about the third day of this trollcursion when, after making a run into the woods to relieve myself from the effects of my baths--it's what hot-spring bathing can do--a somewhat curious male Trollsquatch came along. (I suppose you know about the Sasquatch and the lore surrounding them; we Trolls call it "Trollsquatch".) Curious, and then some. You see, this male Trollsquatch looked a bit on the juvenile side, somewhat cheeky and, after some remarkable conversation made possible by another special gift Trolls like us have of conversing with other creatures, explained that he needed to "sow his wild oats," as it were, what with his just beginning to have "those feelings" of expressing his innermost need.

You guessed right--he wanted to mate with a Troll like yours truly, mainly to satisfy his desire to learn what mating felt like.

And rather than what you're accustomed to by way of tabloid stories about such encountering Sasquatch trypes getting hysterical or even frightened at the sight, or even the desires of such a creature to begin with, I felt slightly nervous at first appearence. But as we began conversing a little more, explaining that I was just a little ol' country Troll seeking some relief in the hot springs, any sense of unease began melting away somewhat. Especially when he sensed that "those feelings" started to be manifest between the legs, revealing a rather lively genitalia sensing that he just wanted to make love to learn about making love.

I have to acknowledge that his fur was a bit coarse and at turns smelly, but at any rate, not one for holding back any unease or guilt (and know, Trolls are rather casual and yet candid about sexual matters; it's just part of our natural role and place), the Trollsquatch walked me over to what he liked to call "his special place." Which, come to think of it, amounted to a sacred Trollsquatch mating ground (and in fact, the Trollsquatch explained as much), and upon arrival there--admittedly, I remained naked all this time, yet felt rather free and comfortable all the more--the male invited me to caress and touch him all the more.

In like fashion, he caressed me. Mind you, he avoided the rough stuff as a matter of course, yet something inside the Trollsquatch was telling yours truly to prepare for something utterly magical and wonderful. Which I was able to sense by how we were mutually caressing and touching so as to be ready for that magical trollsperience of trollsperiences.

And when the time came for the Trollsquatch to make himself known ... I'll skip all the details, but I can assure you that for a Troll like myself sensing that this particular Trollsquatch wanted some company, and handling those desires all the more calmly and sensibly, accepting his sensual desires felt rather good. In fact, that mating with a Trollsquatch actually felt rather wonderful. In fact, I chuckled at the sensation his desires unleashed in me, especially as the ejaculations were almost like tidal waves.

And when it was all over ... this Trollsquatch explained to me that such was probably the best mating experience he ever felt. I agreed with him there. And just to be on the safe side, I decided to take a modest little hot-spring dip soon after he and I parted ways. Blitz, for his part, admittedly felt a little stunned at my looking rather nonchalant, thinking nothing unusual happened as would make him jealous or outraged.

Come to think of it ... that encounter with a Trollsquatch who needed to discover sex himself may have actually been the best thing I ever needed, as if the hot-spring experience wasn't enough.

"... and that's the story from The Moth"

(The preceding is an independent fanfic feature having no official connexion or association with The Moth. For more information, please visit TheMoth.org. And tune in to The Moth Radio Hour weekends on your local public radio station; check your local radio listings for the day and time.)