The Adventures of Joseph Manthing, Esq.

This is something from another board in a galaxy far, far away and since Leebo would like to see it again I thought I'd give it to him. Right up the ol'....





Joseph Manthing, Esq., Cigar Snob's Snob
Cigar Detective

There he is, nose held high, index finger wrapped lightly around a cigar with pinky finger delicately extended, free hand placed strategically upon his hip with fingers pointing back and elbow out, each finger of Both hands decorated with finely etched golden rings. He walks lightly, his body turning from side to side with each step, lips pursed, the large, sensitive brown eyes slightly lidded as fine, blue smoke curls sensuously around his head and perfectly coifed hair. He is a vision; a wonder to behold. Other men shrink from his gaze and despair while their women clutch their hands together at their breasts and swoon.
He is, Monsieur Joseph Manthing, Esq., the cigar snob's snob.

Cutnshoot

Joseph Manthing, Esq., the Cigar Snob's Snob and part time Cigar Detective and his buxom assistant Beaux Lee have arrived in the sleepy town of Cutnshoot, Tennessee (not to be confused with the town of the same name in Texas) in search of the elusive "Yellow Cello Counterfeiter". This fiend is responsible for producing yellowed wrappers in which terribly young cigars are inserted and sold as "fine, aged, pre-embargo Cuban Cigars". Parking his aging but serviceable Ford Pinto at the curb, Joseph steps out into the street, his finely stitched Ostrich skin pointy toed boots gleaming in the hazy Tennessee sun.
"Let's get something to eat, Beaux, I am positively famished", Joseph said while checking his hair in the window of the finest culinary establishment in Cutnshoot. It's name, "EATS" was painted across the window and he had to stoop slightly for a better view of himself.
"In there?" Beaux said in disbelief while allowing her long blonde hair to fall fetchingly across one eye.
"Well...", Joseph began but was stopped abruptly as his small, and quite effeminate cell phone began to chirp gaily.
"Joseph Manthing, Esquire," he purred into the receiver, "At your..."
"Yeah, yeah, shut up! I've heard all that crap a thousand times, just shut up!," growled an angry voice.
"Is that you, Sir?" Joseph whined tremulously.
"It's Doc Rod, you whack do I sound like your mother? Where the hell are you, you've got to come back right away."
"Come back? We just arrived here (he pronounced the word he-ah) and we was just about to wrap ourselves around some breakfast", Joseph said in his best southern drawl which wasn't very good.
"Why're you talking that way? What the hell's wrong with you?" Doc Rod shouted into the phone.
"I'm undercover," Joseph whispered conspiratorily into the receiver, "I'm trying to blend."
"BLEND!" Doc Rod shouted, "You look like a damned fruit for Christ's sake. You'll be lucky if they don't kill you. Oh Jeez, where's my pills...where's the damned pills?"
"Sir, I'm sure I don't know where your pills might be. I..."
"I'm not talking to you, you nut job!", Doc Rod shouted, "You've got to come back to Arcadia right away. I've got a serious problem with my Humadorium."
"What's that?" Joseph whined.
"It's a room where I keep my cigars at 70 degrees and 70 percent humidity, but that's not important right now. I've been burgaled. Someone has broken into the Humadorium and stolen my last six cases of Swisher Sweets. I love those things but if anyone finds out where they came from, I'll be ruined and so will you. GET ME?"
"We'll leave right away, Sir. Right away",
"And bring that dingbat Beaux Lee with you. I've got something I need to show her." "Click."

Arcadia

"Where in hell have you been, Manthing?" Doc Rod growled into his intercom.
"Well, Sir, we haven't exactly been bad, well, not good either, we've..." Joseph began.
"Shut up you Putz! Where have you been?" Doc Rod continued to growl.
"Well, Sir. Tennessee and West Virginia mostly."
"What the hell were you doing in West Virginia? I told you to return here immediately ten days ago."
"Uh, Well...Sir...I was following a Tennessee State Trooper named Byron most of the time...and" "Let me get this straight, you bag of mush. You've been following a Tennessee police officer for nearly ten days?"
"That's right, Sir. His name was Byron, Sir."
"Okay, okay...Why were you following this...um...er...Byron person?"
"Well Sir, because he took Beaux Lee and ran away with her."
"Wait a minute!" Doc Rod screamed at the intercom, "Why the hell did he kidnap Beaux?"
"Ah, Sir, he didn't exactly kidnap her. After he finished writing me a ticket for speeding, he noticed Beaux was soaking wet, and well, he sort of took custody of her."
"You got a speeding ticket in a 1972 Ford Pinto? Why was Beaux wet, you indecipherable Knob?" Doc Rod screamed.
"We were low on cash, Sir, and...well...we passed this bar with a sign that said, Wet T..."
"Shut up you Twit, I'll kill you if you say another word. I don't want to know. Why didn't Beaux just get out of...uh...Byron's car?"
"She...seemed to be busy, Sir. I mean, most of the time I couldn't see her...you know...they seemed to be very busy...I..."
"YOU WHAT? I..." Doc Rod bellowed.
"Sir, could you just buzz us in? A crowd is beginning to gather out here and..."
"GET UP HERE IMMEDIATELY!"
Bzzzzzzzzt, Beaux Lee swung the door open.
"Do you think he's mad? He sounded mad. I think he's mad. Do you think he's..."
"Shut up you slut" Joseph hissed through gritted teeth.
Joseph and Beaux were shown into the questionably appointed condominium on the thirty first floor of the "Le Grand de la Dia" in an exclusive section of Arcadia.. The butler instructed them to remove their shoes and after ensuring that our fair duo did so, requested that they put them back on. It having been nearly two weeks since either of them had bathed this is not a terribly surprising development. Doc Rod was sitting forward at his desk as they entered, glaring at a computer screen and chomping busily on the severely ravaged remnant of a cigar. Behind him, on the door of his humidorium, a neon sign flashed "Doc Rods Digs" relentlessly in purple. Doc Rod, having acquired money late in his life, had spent his cash as only a person born to a lower station can. That is, lavishly and without discrimination. His tastes were bad, yes, but as with any other disgustingly rich lowbrow, none of his associates would ever say so. Thus, the "Doc Rods Digs" sign, the red chintz curtains, the lime green super shag rug, and the army surplus furniture remained undisturbed by any semblance of taste. His wife of one point five years was merely after his stash of cigars and tolerated the lack of...say...anything resembling continuity in the furnishing of the condo while doing her best to keep his med pump filled with morphine and a cigar in his mouth at all times. She often wondered what had kept him going all this time, but having considered this question at length, found no reasonable explanation for it. She was patient and sure that at some point, time would heal her particular wound.

To be continued...

TFF

ROFLMAO :sign:

I LOVE it!!

It's great when someone takes the time to put that together!!!

Thanks Neal, you newbie, welcome to CigarPass, get posting to get those total post numbers up :sign: :sign: :sign: :love:

LMAO :thumbs:

The Pad

"Uh Sir, we're here." Joseph said quietly.
"I know you're here, you hump. I let you in." Doc Rod hissed without looking away from the computer.
"Sir, about the Swishers..." Joseph began.
"Shut up, both of you." Doc Rod hissed again.
"But I didn't say any..." Beaux began.
"I said shut up." Doc Rod snapped.
He dragged his gaze from the screen and peered at them from beneath his dark, bushy eyebrows and through a blue haze of cigar smoke leaking from the corner of his mouth.
"The Swisher Caper has been solved in your absence. The little creep that burgaled them, Puro...something, tired of his wait and took them to my editors telling them that he had gotten them from my humidorium. Needless to say, without any proof , my editors laughed him out of their offices. After which, I had my butler, Matt, remove them from the dumpster behind the magazine building and bring my babies home. Case Closed. I have a new mission for you."
"We are at your service, Sir, as always, I find it extremely gratifying that you..." Joseph began in an ingratiating tone.
"Shut up you hump." Doc Rod growled.
"Yessir." Joseph squeaked and stood at attention.
"We have a serious problem developing in Georgia." Doc Rod began.
"Yessir, what is it, sir?"
"Well, it's a backward little state just below South Carolina, but that's not important now. There's somebody down there, calls himself a techno dweeb and goes by the name of SD Stack, who is asking questions about Gloria. I want this person found. I want him interrogated and I want him shaved."
"Gloria? Sir? Shaved?" Joseph sputtered.
"My cow you moron and yes interrogated and shaved. I think he's an undercover Customs Spook and I want him shaved, head to toe. If we can embarrass him enough, he'll forget all about Gloria, my little cigarillo. She is so upset by this prying little weasel that she hasn't eaten in days."
"Sir, Gloria is a stuffed dairy cow. She's dead. She's been dead for years. She..."
"SHE IS NOT DEAD, YOU HUMP! SHE'S RESTING!" Doc Rod howled, "Now get down to Georgia and take care of this Stack person. IMMEDIATELY!"
"Yessir. Right away, Sir. We'll just shower, change our clothes, have a bite to eat, and..."
"GET OUT" Doc Rod bellowed.
"Oh, and Beaux," Doc Rod said sweetly, "the tests came back negative so there's no need to let Mrs. Doc in on our..uh... "little secret", is there? I'll see you when your get back, Sweety."


Georgia


"Smell that?" Joseph bad asked.
"Smell what?" replied Beaux Lee.
"That. That. You don't smell that?" Joseph prompted shrilly.
"What on earth are you talking about JM?" Beaux asked in her most disarming tone.
"It smells like...like poopy," Joseph said, condescention dripping from his voice.
"Oh, that, this whole state smells like that. These people have never heard of indoor plumbing. It is an improvement on that Tamboril you smoked in South Carolina though", Beaux giggled.
The aging but serviceable 1972 Ford, Pinto shuddered to a stop in front of a double wide mobile home from the same year. It was planted smack in the middle of a full acre of bare dirt that not even a weed would challenge. Beaux and Joseph waited while the cloud of red dust which had caught up with and surrounded the Pinto, caught up with and surrounded the double wide (pronounced Dubba Wad in the Georgian vernacular) and then caught up with and surrounded the double wides back yard. Joseph pulled on the handle and the Pinto's door creaked open. His Gucci loafer stepped into the yard and promptly sunk into an inch of fine red dust.
"Aw shucks, I knew I should have worn my boots", he whined.
"Shut up JM, Doc Rod's right, you are a fruit." Beaux said.
"Hey! I have to take that from Doc Rod, but not from you, you trollop. I..."
"Shut up, JM, I won't tell you again."
Joseph Manthing shut up. Beaux was four inches taller than he was and uncommonly strong and he doubted he could win in a bare knuckle fight. Discretion is, he thought, the better part of embarrassment. He slammed the door and stepped to Beaux's side. They both peered at a small sign which was tacked to the siding of the mobile home next to a sagging, wood framed screen door.
"BARE NAKED LADIES" it read and penciled in beneath this statement was, "WWW.GETSUM.COM"
"Are you sure we're in the right place, Joseph? I don't think this is the kind of front that the U.S. Customs Service would use."
The door to the mobile home slid open and a small, very darkly complected man pushed open the screen. Thick round glasses perched on his ebony nose and dreadlocks rained down from the top of his head to his shoulders. The bones of these shoulders pushed pointedly at the ragged South Park t-shirt which clung to his rail thin body. He wore khaki shorts which had almost certainly been clean at some point in their history but that had been long, long ago. Dark stick legs with knobbed knees pointed severely down to a pair of the biggest feet Joseph had ever seen and which were housed in a pair of brand new, bright white, Nike running shoes.
"Ello Mon and lady, can I help yuh wid someting?" The voice was high and thin and resembled someone raking their fingernails across a blackboard.
"You'll be, SD Stack?" Joseph asked in disbelief.
"Oi, im sey dat im know me, but me no know im me tinks. Galang bout yuh business, you. No time, me."
"Sooo...." Beaux began smiling, "you are a Jewish Cajun Jamaican? Do I have the accent right?"
"Oh, dat girl got ears, she. I..."
The spindly Jamaican Cajon Jew was abruptly silenced when Beaux's right hand shot out to his throat, closed around it, and lifted the little person off the ground. The bright white Nike's danced in the air as Beaux walked him back into the mobile home.
"It's...not...my...fault...it's...not...my...fault...it's" the little Jamaican Cajun Jew croaked.
"Shut up, you" Beaux said viciously.
The interior of the double wide had no partitions for bedrooms, bathrooms and such. Battleship gray electronic equipment was stacked floor to ceiling along every inch of wall except for a two foot section in a far corner which held an exposed toilet with no seat.
"My God, do you live here? Where do you sleep?" the ever vigilant Joseph Manthing queried.
"Oonngg." replied the little person thought to be Stack emphatically.
"Uh, Beaux? You might want to let his feet touch the ground. He's no good to us throttled." Joseph observed, "And you, my dear, if you don't mind me saying so, are an uncommonly healthy woman."
The muscles rippled along Beaux Lee's arm as the little Jamaican Cajun Jew was lowered to the floor.
"Keep your personal remarks to yourself, Manthing, or you're next." Beaux hissed.
Freed from the vice like grasp of Beaux Lee, Stack backed himself into a corner away from his unexpected visitors. Ragged gasps for air shook his diminutive frame and explosive gusts of marijuana scented breath erupted from his sagging mouth. His still bulging, bloodshot eyes darted around the room as he sunk into the corner.
"It's the Columbians!" he shouted suddenly, "Columbian cigar smugglers. I'm just a prisoner here! They put this explosive bracelet around my ankle and said I have to run their porn site which is really just a front for their cigar smuggling operation. See?" he said pointing to the blinking red light on the ankle manacle. He seemed to wilt further after this outburst and to grow even smaller, if that was possible.
"He's lying," Beaux Lee said, "Nobody would smuggle Columbian cigars, who'd buy them? Besides, most of them are legal."
"I'm not lying", Stack shouted with renewed vigor, "They cut a deal with a guy that makes pre-aged yellow cello wrappers and he's buying the cigars from them and putting the cigars in them and selling them as Genuine, Dark and oily, Pre-embargo Cuban Cigars! And they're not Columbian cigars, they're Honduran and I seen the guy with my own eyes and...Oonng!"
"Beaux! If you keep snatching him by the neck like that you're going to hurt the little fellow." Joseph cried.
"Oonng!" Stack agreed.
"Why would anyone smuggle Honduran cigars into the states, Joseph? He's lying. They're legal for crying out loud, you don't have to smuggle them." Beaux said evenly as she lowered the ridiculous little Jamaican Cajun Jew to the ground and released her grip.
"Cause they are really bad cigars," Stack croaked, "and they're bringing in millions of them. They figure if they were to bring so many terrible cigars in legally Customs would red flag them and the jig would be up. They'd be discovered. They...Oonng!"
"Stop that Beaux, let him talk."
"Shut up Joseph. I'll handle this", Beaux said as she dropped Stack to the floor once again.
"You can't tell me to shut up you tramp", Joseph said angrily, "I'll have you...oonng."
"If you will be quiet, Joseph, I will let you down", Beaux said evenly as she held Joseph Manthing a full three inches above the floor.
"Oonng." Joseph agreed to Beaux Lee's suggestion.
"That is one strong lady", Stack muttered admiringly, "Kinda hairy though."
"Shut up, you little would be rastafarian or I'll strangle you both." Beaux growled.
Stack backed into his corner.
Beaux reached into her bra and slid out...a small leather folder flipping it open.
"US Customs Service", read the small gold badge, "Special Agent". The ID in the bottom half of the folder held the picture of a man with too long hair and the name "Bo Lee" in bold beneath it.
"But...but you're a woman," Joseph Manthing stuttered, "you and Doc Rod...you...eh...OH MY GOD!"
"For crying out loud, Joseph, I'm an undercover Customs Agent. Doc Rod and I never did anything, he just thinks we did. While he was going for the gold that night, I was shoving those little red pills of his down his throat. He was out before I was so stow it you fruit. I was assigned to investigate that damned cow, Gloria, and have been giving old Doc Rod enough rope to hang himself."
"For SIX years?" Joseph cried dubiously.
"Stow it, Manthing. Now, you little dweeb," Bo Lee growled rounding on the diminutive Stack, "Why were you asking about Gloria?" He/she reached behind her/his back and unsnapped her/his bra. She/he shrugged his/her yellow sundress off his/her shoulders and removed the bra.
"Oh My God", Joseph cried with incredulity, "You've removed your br.....breasts! You can't just remove your breasts like that, B...B...o...eaux, it's not decent."
Bo Lee held the bra (which was loaded with two, large, perfect, faux breasts) out to the completely disarmed Joseph Manthing as he, in turn, shrank away from them.
"You, are a man." Joseph whispered.
"She's a man", Stack agreed while tears welled in his eyes after watching what he believed was the woman of his dreams remove her breasts.
"Answer the question, you dreadlocked little creep! Why were you asking about Gloria? And why the Jamaican schtick?" Bo Lee demanded.
The muscles of his chest rolled beneath the dark, matted hair that had just been exposed there as he dropped the faux breasts to the floor. They "thumped" as they struck and both Joseph Manthing and Stack flinched as if they had been slapped.
"SPEAK! You twit." Bo Lee shouted.
"Uh...well...you know... uh...they've got me pushing porn here. I was just trying to keep folks around here from recognizing me.
"Uh..Bo," Joseph began, "we've been partners for six years..."
"Yeah, JM, what about it?"
"Well, you've been wearing woman's clothing the whole time and...well..."
"Well what?" Bo Lee growled, "I've been undercover."
"But...Beau...uh...Bo...its been SIX YEARS, I mean...I could see it for a couple months or so maybe even a year, but it's been SIX YEARS. You've been a woman for SIX YEARS."
"Well, what about it, Joseph? Spit it out." Bo Lee was becoming agitated.
"Well...it's just that...well...it isn't normal. I mean, you wear a dress for six months and it's...like...your job, but, you wear a dress for SIX YEARS and it's a lifestyle."
"All right, JM," Bo Lee growled, "So I like wearing women's clothes. They make me feel pretty and...well...sexy and maybe...sensual."
"OH MY GOD," Joseph moaned, "YOU'RE A TRANSVESTITE! You wear perfume for God's sake. OH MY GOD. You are a man. I...oonng!"
Hurts, don't it?" Stack said to Joseph as he hung from Bo Lee's arm. "I think you smell pretty good, man." he said to Bo Lee.
"Shut up, you," Bo Lee said to Stack, "And JM, if you say another word, I will cheerfully crush your windpipe. Okay?"
"Oonng." Joseph Manthing agreed.
"You guys are sooo cool." Stack gushed as Bo Lee put Joseph Manthing back on the floor. "I wanna go with you. Can I go with you? Those Columbians will kill me now. Can I go? This is so awesome. Can you get this thing off my leg? I really want to go. Really. Can I...oonng."
"Whataya think, JM? He's seen the cello guy. Should we take him? What about this ankle thingy?"
"The ankle charge is a fake," Joseph said authoritatively, "seen a hundred of them. The Columbians just don't want their marks running around free so they put these plastic, blinking GI Joe things on them and tell them it'll take their leg of if they go out the door. Not a problem. We'll pick up a hacksaw at the first hardware store and, bingo, problem solved. Now put him down before he passes out.
"Thisssss, is so cool," Stack breathed, "So, I can go, I can go? Oh, please say I can go. You guys are sooo cool. Please say I can go. You need me. I have to go. You have to take me. The Columbians will make me talk. Take me with you. You guys are soo...oonng."
"Jesus, Bo, you're gonna hurt the little guy." Joseph said while watching the huge white Nike running shoes dance above the ground.
"You really need not to talk anymore, okay?" Bo Lee asked the bulging eyes of SD Stack.
"Oonng." Stack agreed.
"We've got to get back to Cutnshoot and pick up the trail of the Yellow Cello Counterfeiter. I'd bet my faux breasts he's the guy the Columbians cut the deal with. We'll bring this toasty little dread head along since he's the only one that has ever seen this devious cello cheater. Grab his stash, JM, and let's roll."
"Oonng." Stack beamed happily.
"You sure this thing on his ankle is harmless, JM?" Bo Lee asked doubtfully.
"Absolutely safe," Joseph stated emphatically, "Seen a hundred of them. Dummies, every time. Let's Go."

to be continued...

ROFL :sign:

Funny stuff, keep it coming...

This chit is great! You got me rolling in the floor.

Georgia State Hospital


A heavy mist wound its way through the white stone columns, paused to sniff at three huddled figures on the top of the stair and moved on petulantly, miffed that it had to part to get around them. The mist was sure that it had the right of way in this circumstance and resolved to report it at the first opportunity.
High above the three huddled figures etched in the granite a the top of the portico were the words, "Georgia State Hospital", and beneath this someone had painted in black, dripping paint, "And Wascal's Antique Emporium". This venerable institution has seen better days but no one familiar with it can remember when.
"Don't touch me you little mongoose," a high, slightly tremulous voice said.
"Oh mon, I bet that hurts," another voice that sounded like a Jamaican who had grown up in Miami and spent an awful lot of time in the swamps of Louisiana, "I'm just trying to help you. Don't get all pissy."
"Help me? Help me? I wouldn't be walking like I was on ice if it wasn't for you. You yammering little freak," Beaux Lee, formerly Bo Lee, formerly Beaux Lee shrieked.
"Ooooh. I bet that hurts."
"I'm going to hurt you, Stack, now back off," Beaux squealed.
"Oiy, it's not my fault. I lost a toe. I didn't say dat ting was harmless. Joseph's did dat and you carried me out of dare like everyting was everyting. It was him," Stack whined pointing at Joseph Manthing in his wheelchair as the last of the disgruntled mist wafted away.
"First time I've been wrong in ages, dear boy," Joseph replied, "who, but the Russians, would put explosives in an ankle bracelet designed to discharge away from the limb it was intended to remove. Curious that," he said and puffed out his cheeks.
"Curious?" Beaux squeaked, "Curious? We could have all been killed, you pompous ass."
"Ah, but we weren't thanks to my quick thinking," Joseph drawled.
"You call throwing yourself on the ground and saying, Mommy, Mommy over and over quick thinking?" Beaux asked in disbelief.
"Well, it worked didn't it. I only lost a kneecap and Stack lost a toe and..."
"And I lost a testicle you idiot," Beaux shrieked.
"Not what I heard," Stack whispered to Joseph from behind the wheelchair, "I heard he...uh...she lost the whole package."
"What?" Joseph boomed. "You lost...everything... Bo... B...Beaux? All of it?"
"So! What about it?" Beaux said, venom dripping from the question.
"Doc Rod bringed your titties, Beaux, and de nice yellow sun dress you like," Stack said quietly while peaking around the arm of Joseph's wheelchair.
"OH MY GOD," Joseph bellowed.
"He did?" Beaux asked sweetly. "What a guy." She batted her eyes.
"He brought a Limousine too," Stack said, pointing to the street at Bottom the long row of marble steps.
"Stack, dear boy," Joseph murmured, "that may be a limousine where you are from but it is an Oldsmobile Custom Cruiser Station Wagon with a sunroof for everyone else. Take me over to the ramp and let's get down there."
"What about me? I can hardly walk," Beaux said angrily, "why'd they give you a wheelchair and make me walk?"
"Quite simply, Beaux, it is because one of my feet is damaged while yours are not. Besides it's not a wheelchair, it's a Piggly Wiggly shopping cart with a few modifications."
"You really are an idiot, Joseph," Beaux growled.
"Drop it right here on my lap, Beaux, we'll give you a ride," Joseph said grinning.
"I will not," Beaux shrieked.
"Fine. Suit yourself and walk down all those stairs. Let's go, Stack."
"Wait! Okay I'll do it but no funny stuff." Beaux said firmly.
"There. Comfy Beaux?" Joseph purred.
"Uh...Joseph, what's that in your pocket?" she asked nervously.
"Cell phone."
"Really?"
"No."
"It's always a disappointment to find you still breathing, Manthing," Doc Rod growled as the trio rolled up to the jet black station wagon.
"Why thank you sir, and may I say..."
"You may not!" Doc Rod growled again.
"Oh, well, er, um..." Joseph said emphatically.
"Weeeell, and how's my little Beaux fairing today. You do look fetching in that hospital gown, my dear. Turn around and let me get a look at you."
Beaux, with her arms outstretched, turned in an unsteady circle.
"Yo mon, a little drafty back dare, Ah'm tinkin'," Stack sniggered.
"Let me tie you off back there, my dear," Doc Rod purred.
"Don't even think about it you old coot. I am perfectly capable. Back off," Beaux hissed.
"Ah, playing hard to get, I like that," Doc Rod chuckled, "all right, everyone in the Limo. I'm driving us to the coast to hook up with my yacht. Then we're off to the tropics."
"This," Joseph began, "is no Limo."
"So, Manthing, you'd prefer to walk I suppose," Doc Rod said pointedly.
"Er, no, I umm, er..." Joseph replied defiantly.
"I can't sit down," Beaux said petulantly, "it hurts and I can't. I won't.
"There, there my dear. Stand in the floor of the backseat and stick your head through the sunroof. You'll be fine," Doc Rod said.
"I dunno, just how far is it to this yacht of yours? What about my hair? I don't think...
"Just get in, Beaux, and stop whining. We've all got our crosses to...Oooong."
"Beaux, put him down. We have no time for this," Doc Rod said evenly.
"Ooong," Joseph agreed.
"You bi..." Joseph began once he was earthbound again but unable to finish as Stack's hand clapped over his mouth.
"Uhhh ahh uhh uhhhinnn," he said in protest.
"Manthing," Doc Rod shouted, "shut up. For someone who graduated first in his class from Slick Slim's Bartending and Cigar College, you're not too bright. Get in the car."
"Slick Slim woulda been proud," Beaux giggled.
The Oldsmobile had gone only a block through downtown Atlanta when it stopped abruptly. Doors flew open and Doc Rod, Joseph and Stack piled from the car and promptly deposited their breakfasts in the street. The wet splattery sounds of partialy digested eggs and toast hitting the pavement was followed by dry, ragged hacking and heaving. The three of them straightened and turned toward the car.
"You are not..." Joseph began and heaved again.
"He's trying to say you're not..." Stack spun around and joined him.
"Where," Doc Rod growled wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "are your drawers?"
"No peeking," Beaux giggled, "they irritate my skin. It's not healed yet."
Doc Rod's reddened eyes bulged and he retched directly onto his shoes. Stack rummaged a beach towel out of the back of the car and handed it to Beaux.
"Wrap dis round you, Beaux, you made yo point," he said.

...

i'm illiterate

:sign:

Classic literature at it's best!

Sam

LMAO!!!!


This is becoming borderline gross

:sign: Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeey! I know some of those characters!! :sneaky:

Doc Rocks

After Doc Rod distributed Swisher Sweets to everyone our slightly disheveled and kinda smelly heroes continued their journey as he laid out his plans. They were to take his yacht down the coast as far as Miami and then turn left and sorta rightish till they got out past the 12 mile international boundary. From there they would make straight for Haiti or The Dominican Republic depending on how bad the GPS was acting up. Three weeks before, Doc Rod and Wifey had set out from the inlet in Ocean City, Maryland attempting to sail to the Bahamas. A week later, after triumphantly disembarking at the end of their voyage, they found the inhabitants looked distinctively familiar. Doc Rod and Wifey had never been to the Inner Harbor in Baltimore, MD so the trip was deemed a success and they spent the following week being roundly welcomed by 76 drunken Asians who had missed Florida by a hair.
Once in Port au Prince, they were to find a fellow known only as Mano el Mondo whose close friends were permitted to call Mano el Mondo. M&M would then direct them to a warehouse were it was said an amazing amount of fake, yellowed cello, Cuban/Columbian cigars were assembled and shipped. It was here, Doc Rod told them, that the Yellow Cello Bandit had put his homebase after being flushed out of Tennessee by Joseph and Beaux, months earlier.
"And," Doc Rod said finally, "we'll wing it from there. Questions?"
Joseph raised his hand.
"Yes, Joseph?" Doc Rod asked in disdain.
"This cigar you gave me is sweet," Joseph said.
"Why thank you, Joseph, they are some of my personal favorites. I..."
"No," Joseph interrupted, "I mean they are ‘sweet', like they were dipped in sugar water. Well, what I mean to say is, they are particularly nasty if you don't mind my saying so. We should be after the hump that made these things. I mean, at least you can smoke those counterfeit Cubans the Cello gentleman produces. These are..."
"Reach down and snatch him, Beaux," Doc Rod shouted through the sunroof.
"Ooong," Joseph continued.
"Oooh, I bet that hurts," Stack said delighted as he looked closely at Joseph's face turning purple.
Several minutes passed and Stack said, "He's kinda gettin' blue dare, Mr. Doc Rod, we din't bring a shovel wid us."
"Let him go, Beaux," Doc Rod shouted again.
"Now, Joseph, you were saying," Doc Rod began.
"Er, umm, nice, ahem, very nice, er..., " Joseph replied and turning toward the window fell resoundingly into one of his world famous snits.
"Ah, there she is. Isn't she beautiful?" Doc Rod said with reverence as he wheeled the Olds up to a molding and decrepit, "SS Doc Rocks".
"Which one?" Joseph began, "the one with the really tall masts?"
"Nope."
"The long one with the teak framed pilot house?" Joseph asked hopefully.
"Nope, next to it," Doc Rod said.
"Oh, the 40 foot Carver with the flying bridge," Joseph said relieved.
"Nope, other side," Doc Rod said.
"OH MY GOD," Joseph groaned.
"That's the one," Doc Rod said.

Brought back some ole' memories there Sammy, keep it comin'..... :thumbs:

Oh, by the way. I spoke with ole' Delarob and he said he might make a secret appearance.

He should come on over!!

El Capitan

Doc Rod's yacht did not inspire confidence, a 32' trawler that had seen its best days in the early 1960's. Rust weep reached toward the water from the rivets along the entire length, punctuated by old tires that had been lashed intermittently around the outside rail. The ancient teak decking was worn badly and several planks had puckered and sprung from their fittings. An enclosed pilot house with wrap around windows reminded one of a not terribly hygienic Cheshire Cat. An aging, tattered green awning reached from the pilot house to the stern and was mounted on poles along the way. There were two cabins forward in this venerable bucket of rust, a single berth captains quarters was the first and triple decker bunk in the second.
"Isn't she a beauty," Doc Rod admired.
"Oh My God," Joseph moaned.
"Beaux? Ask Manthing what he just said, please," Doc Rod requested.
"Ooong," Joseph reiterated.
"Doc Rod wants to know what you said," Beaux asked sweetly as Joseph dangled from the end of her arm held in place by her powerful fingers at his throat.
"Ooong," Joseph explained.
"He said it's a very nice boat, Doc Rod, Wishes he had a yacht like this," she translated.
"What I thought he said," Doc Rod smiled, "Okay, put him down and we'll go and meet my captain.
A great shaggy head emerged from below decks followed by a wide shaggy face. The huge head and face sprouted a wild array of black hair framing a pair of reddened eyes beneath great shaggy brows. All of these features were appeared to be held in place by a prodigious nose that had seemingly bent under the strain and pointed awkwardly to the left.
"Well now," the great shaggy head bellowed, "What's this then?"
The voice echoed out over the water and caused Stack to squeak and hide under a bench.
"Are you lubbers friendly or should I tenderize ya a might before I swallow you whole?" the great shaggy beast bellowed again, "Speak up you tramps, I'm hungry."
"Devon Cole! You old seadog, don't you know your own boss when you see him?" Doc Rod laughed.
"Avast there, Sir, I'll not be taking it kindly if you address me in a familiar manner such as that," Sam smiled, "I'm still the skipper on this tub, you old lubber, and a better man than you by a fathom out there," he gestured at the water on the sound and laughed sounding for all the world like a demented tuba.
"This," Doc Rod dragged Joseph forward, "is our crew, Joseph Manthing, Cigar Detective."
Captain Cole nodded.
"His assistant Beaux."
Captain Cole winked.
"And that little fellow under the bench is Stack."
Captain Cole spat on the deck near Stack, "Kinda on the puny side ain't ya?" he growled at Stack.
Stack squeaked again and scrambled into the stern stopping only because the boat stopped there.
"Hey. You can't say I'm puny, you big jerk," he said from the alleged safety of the back of the boat.
"No?" Captain Cole climbed the rest of the way onto the deck where he towered above our heroes.
"Well, er, uh," Stack said in his best imitation of Joseph Manthing, "Call me anything you want, really."
"Forget it my little friend, some of the best sailors I ever knowed was on the small side. Put ‘er there," he held his huge hand out toward Stack who crept slowly forward.
Stack extended his hand before him and felt the huge fingers clamp down around his own and, suddenly, he was flying and then landing in the water.
"Ah whant whim," gargled the flailing Stack.
Captain Cole fired the engine which coughed to life grudgingly and filled the air with a terrible grinding screech as volumes of blue smoke plumed abaft.
"Cast off the Bow and stern lines, gentleman and mam, we are getting under way," he roared above the din.
"Whoowwool," Stack protested continuing to pummel the water around him.
Doc Rod, Joseph and Beaux (and it was one of Beaux's more fetching poses) stood frozen, their mouths agape.
"Well!" the monster bellowed, "Why the hell are you just standing there? You," he pointed at Joseph, "into the bow and cast off that line, and you," he leaned toward Beaux and said softly, "be so kind as to cast off that stern line," he winked.
Beaux did.
"Doc Rod, Sir, there are cigars and a bottle in my cabin. Be kind to this old pirate and fetch ‘em up here so's we can start this voyage all right and proper."
Doc Rod grabbed a life ring with a rope attached, put two turns on a rail cleat and heaved it toward Stack who gargled his thanks. Doc Rod disappeared below deck and on his return topside found Joseph and Beaux staring out at the foamed water behind them. There was Stack, life ring around his waist, sending geysers of churned water into the air as he plowed through their wake with his face.

"Won't you help me sing? This song of freedom. It's all I ever had, redemption song, redemption song..." Bob Marley crooned from the speakers mounted at the back of the pilot house.
Captain Devon Cole cracked the seal on the Zacapa rum, dashed a little over the side, and drank deeply.

Fish

"Buffalo soldier, dreadlocked Rasta. They were da buffalo soldier, in de heart of America. Oy yoy yoy," Marley jammed into the bright afternoon..

So....we find our intrepid quint of heroes under way and approaching the passage of the Wassaw Sound of Georgia and into the greater Atlantic Ocean. Stack has been fished aboard and stumbles about, water squishing out of his Nike's.
"I got saltwater under my eyelids," he whines and pinching them in his fingers, pulls them out and shakes his head.
"Aye, but I'll lay that's the least of your problems before this voyage is done," Captain Cole grinned, "have a drink," he thrust the Rum at him.
Stack reached tentatively, snatched the bottle and drank. The Rum had been stored below and was warm to the touch, the liquid hot and spicey and he felt suddenly strangled and erupted in a fit of coughing.
"There now, that'll do for what ails ye," Captain Cole thundered and slapped him on the back hard enough to knock him, skidding, across the deck into the stern of the boat. He landed in a heap and looked up blinking.
"Hey. Heeey. The water's gone from under my eyelids. Hey. Heeey. You hit me," he stared angrily at Captain Cole.
"Aye, I did. Let's you and me hope I don't have to do it more than twice a day. My shoulder gives me trouble."
"You...I...err..uh..," Stack said defiantly but with a liberal dose of self preservation.
"Got any nines?" Doc Rod said hopefully.
"Go fish!" Joseph shouted gleefully.
"Hey! You guys gonna just sit there play da card while det man try an kill me?" Stack turned on them.
"You deserved it," Beaux said, "Got any sixes, Joseph?"
"Deserved it!" Stack shouted, "all I did was take a drink of Rum. He offered."
"Go fish," Joseph said deceptively.
"Damn Joseph, I coulda swore you had sixes in that hand," Beaux said, "He was being polite, Stack, be glad you're not swimming."
"Glad? Glad! That man tried to kill me. I'm going home." he said, miffed.
"Stack?" Doc Rod queried softly.
"What?"
"We're on a boat."
"So!"
"Well, we're on a boat in the middle of the Wassaw Sound."
"I don't care," Stack said slowly.
"We're on a boat, in the middle of the Wassaw Sound, fifty miles from land, on the water."
"Oh. Oh, okay, never mind," Stack said and went into a world class snit borrowed from Joseph Manthing for the occasion.
"Got any sixes, Doc? Ooong..." Joseph's voice stopped abruptly as Beaux closed his windpipe.
"You are cheating, Joseph." Beaux said evenly.
"Ooong," confessed Joseph.
"I don't like cheating unless I'm doing it. Are we clear?"
"Ooong," Joseph indicated it was very clear indeed.
"Now, I'm gonna put my card back and you are going to give me those damned sixes or I will hurt you," she said more evenly still.
"Ooong," Joseph nodded rapidly as the purple flush of his face deepened.

...

Poor little stack, won't somebody fish him outta the water


Spoke too quickly, thank you to whoever fished him out :thumbs:

Boy, Mr. Manthing gets choked a lot!


And that Stack guy is a real girly man!

Electric Love


Captain Cole cursed and banged about in the pilot house. The door slammed back against the bulkhead and he stalked onto the deck looking for something to abuse. His blazing eyes landed finally on Stack and he stepped toward him.
"Don't touch me. I'll scream," Stack trebled.
"Problem, Cole?" Doc Rod said over his shoulder.
"It's the damned GPS. Won't tell me where we are, were we're going, nothin'."
"I can fix it," Stack squeaked and squirmed further under a bench.
Doc's head turned slowly and he peered under the bench.
"Fix it?"he said, "you can fix it?"
"Well sure I can fix it. Whataya think the Columbians had me working their porn website for? I'm an idiot savant when it comes to electronics."
"Well..." Doc Rod began, "I bet that first part's right anyway. All right, if you fix it Captain Cole won't hit you or throw you in the water for the rest of the day. Let him try, Cole. He can't make it any worse. Try not to hurt him much while he's working, he's kinda skittish."
"Got any nines, Doc Rod?" Beaux asked.
"Damn, Beaux, I almost had you this time. Take ‘em and be damned you tramp."
Stack's long, effeminate fingers fairly flew over the keys on the *Global Positioning System. *(spelled out for those who have no idea what a GPS is and live in a damp, dark cave far from any human habitation and are archaic in their knowledge of technology and prefer sleeping in the dirt and disdaining soap and killing rabbits with a stick) The unit chirped and burbled as he massaged the long abused keys with his delicate fingers. Green, glowing numbers appeared on the small screen, disappeared, flashed and faded as quickly as a strobe. The machine, in its' rigidly defined semi-consciousness had never been treated this way. It felt the rough beginnings of coherence entering it's circuitry and decided to allow this odd little human with the immense feet to have his way with it. It continued to beep and burble as it fell into the throes of digital orgasm and suddenly the beeps and burbles joined and produced a strikingly accurate rendition of Bob Marley's, Is This Love, a song the little machine had been subjected to repeatedly since Captain Cole had won the Legend cd in a spirited game of "Slap Jack" where the loser had needed immediate medical attention and an ensuing amputation.
"What happened?" Captain Cole asked from behind him.
"I don't know. It just went off. No power, no nothin'," Stack said, puzzled.
"I'll check the fuses below," Captain Cole said and left.
The pilot house door slammed to and the little machine beeped once and flashed a message across its screen, "Back in ten minutes, you are a lovely man." The machines circuitry settled in on itself feeling tired and warm and fell into a post-coital nap. It's dreams are much too rude to render here.

"I don't wanna wait in vain for your love. I don't wanna wait in vain for your love. I don't wanna waaaait...in vain for your love," Marley and the Whalers crooned.

Pirate Poo


Doc Rod's yacht, Gloria, had motored through the night and dawn was breaking on the eastern horizon. Wind was out of the south and had kicked up a fair chop as they had moved out into the open ocean. All that was visible now was water and more water.
"Captain Cole, you might want to come up here," Doc Rod called down the ladder.
"Aye, Sir, I was just doing that very thing."
"What do you make of that," Doc asked pointing over the starboard rail.
Cole saw the yellow speck immediately and went into the pilot house to adjust course.
"It's a life raft, Doc, some lubber wrecked his weekend boat more than likely. We'll take a look. The raft was much farther away than Doc had anticipated and nearly 45 minutes had gone by before they got to it. In the mean time our valiant crew had risen from their bunks and made there somnolent way to the deck. Each had a steaming metal mug of the awful sludge that Captain Cole called coffee and were watching the raft work slowly up and over the rollers ahead of them.
"Don't spill any of that on you," Captain Cole instructed, "take the skin right off."
When the Gloria was fifty yards from raft, Captain Cole cut the engine and drifted slowly toward it. It was a large raft, streaked and spotted with blotches of black shining goo. Standing in middle of it was a bloated figure dressed in a ragged shirt, ragged shorts, black sneakers and a shredded straw hat. From under the disastrous hat hung sun bleached hair which reached his shoulders, for it was obviously a man (using the term loosely). He held a grungy, black blotched aluminum gaff at port arms and was kicking another ragged person who lay against the rafts' side. His companions straw hat, in somewhat better shape than the standers, was pulled down over the eyes. The figure did not move.
"Ahoy there," Captain Cole called, "are you in need of help?"
"We're taking yer yacht, mister. Just stand off and don't give us no trouble," the ragged little person said calmly.
"Are ye now?" Captain Cole laughed.
"Don't laugh at me, you git. I'll have your tongue for that," the little ragged person spat.
"Don't think that'll happen," Cole spat back, "taking me vessel are ye?"
"Yes. We are commandeering your yacht, so stand aside and nobody will get hurt."
"You think this is a yacht?" Joseph called over his mug of sludge, "You must think that...thing...you're riding in is a gunboat."
"Shut up, Manthing," Doc Rod said quietly.
"Who's that?" the little ragged person asked suspiciously.
"Joseph Manthing, Cigar Detective, at your service," Joseph said with a flourish.
"You sound like a fruit," the little ragged person spat again, "you one of those girly boys?"
"I..." Joseph began.
"Shut up, Manthing," commanded Doc Rod.
"How do you mean to board us?" Captain Cole chuckled.
"I have a gun and I will use it. I also got a secret weapon if I need," the little ragged person called back.
"Well I never, ya gotta give it to the corpulent creep," Captain Cole murmured to Doc Rod.
"And I have a really big boat," Captain Cole called back, "How'd it be if I fire her up and run your fat ass under?"
"You can't talk to me like that!" screamed the rotund ragged person as he hopped angrily on the thick plastic sheeting of the rafts bottom. He stabbed at the air with the gaff and kicked the reclining figure next to him, "Get up, we've got a fight."
The figure rolled to his side and pulled his hat further over his eyes.
"Be nice to me or I'll kill you all and take yer damned boat. Hand ‘er over," the puffed up ragged person said defiantly, "or I'll shoot you where you stand."
"Not bloody likely," Captain Cole called again, "You can't even see us unless we're at the rail."
"That's not fair!" the ragged man yelled, hopping furiously from one foot to the other and flailing the air with the grungy gaff.
"Aye, it isn't. How about we just throw you a line and you tie it off and we will tow you behind us?"
"You just want my boat, you bastard," the rotund ragged man screamed while waving the gaff aggressively in the air and nearly losing his balance. "You think I'm stupid?"
"Well...now that you ask," Beaux said sweetly, "Yes."
"Who's that?" the ragged man said, suspicious again.
"Beaux Lee, Joseph Manthing's assistant," Beaux replied.
"Hey! You're a man," the ragged man screeched, "in a dress!"
"Very perceptive," Beaux said derisively, "you win."
"Win what?" the ragged person said, seemingly calmed.
"A broken neck if you try to board this boat," Beaux spat.
"You're all a bunch of deviates!" the ragged person exploded, eyes bulging "nothin' but a fag ship. God, I hate to think what you've been doing, probably getting all naked with oil and flesh and rubbing and warm breath on necks and..." the ragged person trailed off as a tremor seemed to pass through his body. He wiped at the foamy spittle that had begun to foam around his mouth.
"If you do not surrender your boat, I will ram you with mine," he growled.
"That is not a boat," Joseph said derisively, "it is a raft, an old, poorly maintained, smelly raft."
"Who you calling smelly, you half a fag bastard? What the hell, you got nothing but fruits for a crew," he said angrily, "I'll kill you, I'll kill you all," the gaff swung erratically as he began to hop about again and losing his balance plunged the point into the soft side of the raft which began to hiss.
"You've holed my boat, you bastards, you'll pay for that," the ragged person screamed and snatching a can of tar-like stuff from beneath his reclining partner, began to daub it onto the hole which ceased hissing.
Joseph realized that the streaks and blotches of tar all over the raft were patches that this bloated idiot had put there after other, similar, gaff incidents. He chuckled to himself. There were dozens of them.
The little figure straightened suddenly, "Laugh? You're laughing at me? I have to kill you now," he said and reached into his waistband and drew a hand gun. He fired it empty at the rail as our heroes ducked down behind it. After a moment of silence, large clumps of what looked like mud the size of a fist began to rattle onto the deck.
"Kill you!" the wretched ragged person squealed, "Kill you all."
Captain Cole peered over the rail and saw that he little ragged person had a burlap sack and was grabbing more of the clumps out of it and heaving them as fast as he could. A window smashed in the pilot house and glass crashed onto the deck.
Joseph Manthing picked up the clump and peered closely at it. He sniffed at it and plucked off a bit to taste. He immediately spat the wad onto the deck and rubbed furiously at his mouth.
"It's cow****! He's throwing dried cowchips at us," he said and ran to the opposite rail and heaved up the awful coffee.
"That's it," Captain Cole said, went into the pilot house and fired the engine. He threw Gloria into gear and she shot forward barely missing the raft but swamping it and sending its two ragged passengers into the Atlantic.
"Swim, LD, swim, they tried to kill us," the bloated ragged person squealed, "Get my hat, get your hat, help me turn this...you bastards...I'll kill you all...you bastards...oh, my cowpies, gone, all gone...my cowpies, my cowpies, swim LD, swim, try to find my cowpies, my cowpies...come back, you cowards...I'll kill you all....just wait till I get my hands on you...look, LD, they're running away..."
"I can't believe you done this again, Poobrat, you really are an idiot, where's my snail jerky?"
"Dudes whacked," Stack said looking back, he stuck his index finger deep into his right nostril, "Got no manners."

Wanton Wires

The Gloria plowed on for two days and on the third found herself heading into a freshening wind from the south where a bank of dark nimbus clouds were building.
"Damn this infernal machine!" howled Captain Cole from the pilot house, "Stack!"
"What's the problem, Captain?" Stack said tentatively.
"You've broken this infernal machine is what the problem is!" Captain Cole howled again.
"It was already broke when I came aboard, Captain, sir. I fixed it," Stack said nervously.
"Aye, you fixed it. Fixed it for good. Now it tells me where I am but won't tell me how to get where I'm going," Captain Cole raged.
The screen on the little unit was blank when Stack looked at it.
"Did you try turning it on," Stack asked.
"Turn it on. Turn it on. Of course I turned the bloody thing on. Tell me you are not that stupid. Fix it! Now! I'm going for a drink."
The pilot house door slammed decisively as Captain Cole stomped out.
Stack flipped the "on" switch.
"Well hello, sailor," read the message on the little screen, "wanna get lucky?"
"Oh My God," Stack blushed.

...

ROFLMAO