Saturday, November 18, 2006
Louisa's Strange Anti-writer Encounter
Get out your crucifixes and stand back. Here comes the Anti-writes. I encountered a bumper crop of Twisted Linguistics today but, alas, one can use only so many. And use them I will.
an instand moment
died manily of
went to pots
Ahole was one of the Totip People. She had to cross a bridge one day and since it was the same bridge she ussualy used, she knew that a troll lived beneath it. She had never seen it, though, so she was not concerned. Besides, she was late and she wanted to be north of the bridge by sunset. She was a big-bottomed girl, and figured she was way too much for any old troll to take on. In an instand moment, however, all that would change.
Halfway across the bridge, Ahole exsperienced the troll for the first time.
"Who goes there?" the troll demanded.
"I am Travis," she stated boldly, striding forward.
"Halt!" the troll ordered. "You don't look like any Travis. Plus, Travises ride."
"Oh, did I say Travis? What a travesty. I meant to say, I am a cop."
"You don't look like any cop I ever saw," the troll observed.
"I'm an undercover woman."
"Yeah, I don't think so," the troll countered.
"All right, already. My name is Louisa Malarka, but everyone calls me Ahole," Ahole replied, suddenly so scared she lteraly wet herself. For an instand moment, she wished desperately for an outhouse.
And then the troll showed himself and his visage was more hideous than any imnages Ahole had imagined.
"Where are you going?" the troll inquired gruffly.
"Home," Ahole answered tremulously.
"Well," said the troll, "this is my space and that will be parently impossible until you pay the toll."
"Toll?!" cried Ahole. "I have no money!"
"Pish," said the troll. "I have no use for money. There are many ways in which to exact a toll. Let me see," he mused, pawing through a burlap bag clutered with tattered scraps of paper.
"I know," he said after consulting one of his ancient sticky notes. "Talk dirty to me and then I will let you pass."
"I know no dirty words," Ahole said demurely, suffering an immediate relaps of the previous unfortunate wetting episode and dousing her green jeans again, knowing that she was about to become troll bait.
"Oh, come now," the troll wheedled lasciviously. "Then how about you show me one of those plump, juicy knees."
"No!" Ahole protested, blushing furiously.
"Then, can you impresnate Lee J. Cobb?"
"Well, how about reciting some poetry for me?"
"I do not know any," Ahole said as she began to cry in earnest, fearing her end was near.
"Surely you know one short children's rhyme. Recite it. Just the foiirst line and you may go."
"I can't," sobbed Ahole.
"Aiiiiiiii!" yelled the troll, screeching like the proverbial banchies.
"Please stop that mobit keening," Ahole asked politely, quickly regaining her composure.
"I can't," said the troll. "Your poetic deficiency makes me feel so morbit."
"What," Ahole asked, "are you a fanaticts for poetry?"
"My late lamented father was a wandering poet," the troll said, "until he went to pots."
"What happened to him?" Ahole inquired.
"An unappreciative audience shot him in the groin with a potshot from a slingshot and he died manily of his wounds."
"Well, I'm sorry to hear it," Ahold commiserated.
"No one ever said that to me before," the troll said incredulously. "You may cross my bridge now, Louisa Ahole Malarka. I won't eat you up -- this time. Tiptoe on across and go home to your Totip People."
Miss Malarka moved faster than she had ever moved before and made it home in record time. She would never forget her encounter with the troll, for it was the worst fear poor Ahole had ever endored. She never went near that bridge again, but she did write a book about her experience and it can be found in Louisa's little library of anti-writing.