A Rambling Cephalopod Narrative:

[Steve O'Shea]

.... and it slowly began to hover

 

[atticus_finch]

as it scrawled the answer...

42

 

[chrono_war01]

42 - the magical 42, as long as it has something connected to the number 42, it will be a best seller!

 

[Steve O'Shea]

Spielberg spun around in his chair, counting 1, 2, 3 .... 37, 38, 39, 40 cannisters on the shelves. There were only 40 reels of film. Where could the two missing reels be .... and what did they contain?

He spun around again, slightly dizzy from all this spinning, and was startled to see a green tentacle-like appendage slither out the door, behind a trail of ghastly green glowing goop.

 

[Squidman]

Larten spun around in his chair, counting reels of film which contained records of his studies. 1,2,3 .... 37, 38, 39, 40... Larten's thoughts trailed off as he saw the two extra reels of film sitting oddly out of place. "What is this?" Larten Inquired. He placed the reels into a video projector, turned down the lights, and pressed PLAY...

(Nice plot recovery, eh?)

 

[chrono_war01]

THen tv screen displayed "A Rampling Ceph - By TONMO.com"
'Eric!!!!!' Larten spun around on his chair, beside himself with rage.
' Of all the places to put your cartoon shows, you put it here! What is wrong with you! And where's the 42 reel of filim which I think exists!'

 

[Jean]

Well you see....there were these 4 guys, Eric's mentor, Eric, Dan and the cook Alberto who all went sailing one day in Dans boat "Albatross" and...........



j

 

[Squidman]

STOP!! (Okay, is this continuing thread going in a loop? Come on, let's add some action!)

Lights!
Camera!
ACTION!

 

[chrono_war01]

after describing what happens in the video, Eric ran off to find the 42nd reel of film, which he found under his pillow which was strangly, in a card board box marked The Kennel....
'Um...here..,' Eric siad in his dreamy voice before wandering off.
Larten played the reel of tape....

 

[spartacus]

....... "I'm gonna leave ol' Durham town" faded to silence. Roger Whittaker "Live & Spitting in Basingstoke" lightly penned on the reel in squid ink.
Larten sat ashen faced, like he'd witnessed his own death, an event worse than being invited night fishing with J. R. Hartley or was it Sir Steve O'Shea O.B.E, D.F.C.?
He didn't know, didn't care, his street cred. lay in tatters had anyone overheard....

 

[Squidman]

Had anyone overheard?

 

[Jean]

There was silence, it had been silent for millenia (well......at least since March 29 '05) it was dark, into the silence a dripping could be heard followed by a .............beep


In the dark Eric swallowed and called "Hello?"

The answer came back "Hello....Hello......llo....llo......llo, beep beeep beeeeeep"

Eric jumped back and fell over the anchor.....unseen in the darkness a tentacle gripped the railing, then another.....then another..........

 

[nanoteuthis]

.... then a monstrous eye, bulging menacingly like a tumescent matzo ball, rose slowly over the side of the creaking dinghy, slowly followed by an equally monstrous and tumescent-matzo-ball-like eye. The blasphemous unspeakable abomination whose bulk surrounded those huge, infernal, yet surprisingly fluffy and succulent visual receptors shook Eric's already weakened heart to the point of disintegration.

As the partially-digested brunch of sushi, eggs, mung beans, and an unhealthy dollop of deep-fried wasabi began to rise in Eric's gut, the hideous amorphous invertebrate sacrilege opened its rotting mucous beak and bellowed out in a sepulchral voice....

 

[Jean]

"HIDE ME ........There's a bunch of 10 year olds on a school trip coming!"

 

[nanoteuthis]

"O Ye Gods and Garlic Dumplings!" shrieked Eric in the unmitigated horror that only idiotic culinary interjections could express.

He looked past the writhing ghastly teuthiform draped on the rail and saw, approaching in the noxious mist, an ominous grey vessel with the cryptic inscription HELLO KITTY scrawled across her towering hull. From the prow of the spectral ship leered the obscene figurehead of a nightmare feline with grotesque long-lashed eyes, a bizarre and obviously ancient symbolic ribbon adorning the brow, and an expression whose ineffably blatant stupidity would drive even the manliest of Speight-swigging sea captains to hellish madness.

Worse still, across the creaking deck of the ghost-ship scurried herds of cackling, howling, shrunken creatures in an uncontrollable frenzy of unholy joy, chanting over and over in piping voices that would shatter a dog's eardrums: "WE'RE GONNA SEE A SQUIDDY-POO, WE'RE GONNA SEE A SQUIDDY-POO.... !!"

Eric could stand it no longer. He lurched back toward the open cabin door and screamed, "O'Shea, git outta those bluidy fishnet tights an' put on yer hip waders -- we're goin' in!"