Posts filed under “Young Readers”
THE ADVENTURES OF SIR MONTAGUE BLASTOFF, INTERPLANETARY SPACE DRAGOON.
ANNOUNCER. And now Malt-O-Cod, the only malt food drink flavored with real cod-liver oil, proudly presents…
(Music: Fanfare)
ANNOUNCER. The Adventures of Sir Montague Blastoff, Interplanetary Space Dragoon!
(Music: Theme, in and under for…)
ANNOUNCER. Tonight we find Sir Montague busy with Form 267-G, Paperwork Reduction Documentation Checklist, when Colonel Wilhelmina Darling suddenly bursts through the door.
COL. DARLING. Monty! Oh, Monty! You’ll never guess what’s happened!
SIR MONTAGUE. Well, you certainly do look happy about it, whatever it is. I’d say it would have to be some ripping good news.
COL. DARLING. I’ll say it is! I just heard I’m being promoted to brigadier!
SIR MONTAGUE. Brigadier? Are you positively sure?
COL. DARLING. I just heard it from the station master! He just had a message from general headquarters on the communicatron that I was to report to HQ right away!
SIR MONTAGUE. Oh, dear me!
COL. DARLING. Why, Monty, aren’t you happy for me?
SIR MONTAGUE. But you know what this means, don’t you, Colonel?
COL. DARLING. I assume it means more responsibility and a higher pay grade. Why? Is it supposed to mean something else?
SIR MONTAGUE. Why, my dear, it means you’re being… Well, there’s no way to sugar-coat this, is there? It means you’re being written out of the series.
COL. DARLING. Written out? But—but no!
SIR MONTAGUE. Now, my dear, you knew something like this would come eventually.
COL. DARLING. But I thought I had a long time left! I mean—how could it happen to me? I’m only nineteen and ravishingly beautiful!
SIR MONTAGUE. True, you are, as you have been for the past thirty-four seasons. But youth is not always exempt from the inevitable debt of nature.
COL. DARLING. But—but what happens to people when they get…written out?
SIR MONTAGUE. Well, nobody knows, my dear. Some believe they go to a happy place where there are no more bad scripts to memorize and no more sponsors to kowtow to. Some Eastern religions believe they are reincarnated as characters on other radio dramas. And, of course, there are those who think that, after that, there’s, well…nothing.
COL. DARLING. I feel cold.
SIR MONTAGUE. Be brave, Wilhelmina. I shall always remember you and your fine bureaucratic mind fondly. And of course you will live on in reruns. I say, that’s something, isn’t it?
LOUDSPEAKER VOICE. Paging Colonel Wilhelmina Darling! Paging Colonel Wilhelmina Darling!
SIR MONTAGUE. It’s time, my dear.
COL. DARLING. But…but I don’t want to…
LOUDSPEAKER VOICE. Paging Colonel Wilhelmina Darling! Paging Colonel Wilhelmina Darling!
SIR MONTAGUE. You know what you must do.
COL. DARLING (sighing). Darling here.
LOUDSPEAKER VOICE. Oh, there you are. Listen, I’m awfully sorry about this, but you know how hard it is to understand people on the communicatron sometimes, and, well… I just got the papers from the facsimilator, and it turns out—I’m really sorry—that promotion wasn’t for you after all.
COL. DARLING. Not for me?
LOUDSPEAKER VOICE. No, it was for Colonel Gwendolina Barley. I just heard it wrong. I’m really sorry. I know you deserve that promotion more than some random character who doesn’t even have a speaking part.
COL. DARLING. Oh, that’s all right. Really it is.
LOUDSPEAKER VOICE. Well, you’re a very brave girl, and I’m sure you’ll get the promotion you deserve someday. Station master out.
COL. DARLING. Oh, Monty! That means I’m not being written out after all! I’m still your sidekick and occasional love interest!
SIR MONTAGUE. And that’s jolly reassuring. I wasn’t looking forward to breaking in another. Now, help us with this paperwork-reduction paperwork, will you, my dear?
(Music: Theme, in and under for…)
ANNOUNCER. Don’t miss next week’s exciting episode: Sir Montague Blastoff Fills Out a Purchase Order! Till then, remember that a day without Malt-O-Cod increases your chance of dying in an alpine avalanche by more than 18%. Don’t take chances with your growing body. Drink Malt-O-Cod every day. Malt-O-Cod is the only malt food drink with the rich, satisfying flavor of real cod-liver oil, now with the exclusive Sir Montague Blastoff rubber stamp in every package. It’s the malt food drink that’s brain food—Malt-O-Cod!
(Music: In full, then out.)
CAPTAIN PLEONASM MEETS PIPEFINGER.
Although no recordings of the old Captain Pleonasm radio serial have survived, a number of the original scripts were recently unearthed in the archives of the Northern Broadcasting Company.
ANNOUNCER. Malt-O-Cod, the delicious and nutritious malt food drink flavored with real cod-liver oil, presents…
(Music: Theme, up and under for…)
ANNOUNCER. The Thrilling and Exciting Adventures of Captain Pleonasm and His Faithful and Trustworthy Sidekick and Assistant, Interjection Boy! Now featuring the Malt-O-Cod Orchestra and Chorus, directed by Alban Berg.
(Music: In full.)
CHORUS. Don’t throw a fit or have a spasm:
It’s time for Captain Pleonasm!
He battles evil, and, forsooth,
He fights for justice and for truth!
He hates the bad and loves the good,
As self-respecting heroes should.
He conquers villains strange and odd,
And saves the world for Malt-O-Cod!
(Music: Fade.)
ANNOUNCER. As you recall, in last week’s episode, Captain Pleonasm and Interjection Boy had just arrived at the scene of a mysterious break-in at a plumbing-supplies store, when suddenly…
CAPT. PLEONASM. Look out, Interjection Boy! Take steps to evade an attack! An unknown assailant lurks in the shadows, taking advantage of the cover of darkness in an attempt to remain unseen!
INTERJECTION BOY. Jumpin’ Jebusites, Captain Pleonasm! He’s got a gun pointed at us!
PIPEFINGER. It’s just my finger.
CAPTAIN PLEONASM. Lo and behold! The figure speaks! From the unknown being in the darkness and shadow proceeds a voice that—
INTERJECTION BOY. Merciful malamutes, Captain Pleonasm, will you let him talk?
PIPEFINGER. I am pointing at you, Captain Pleonasm, because I have a warning for you.
INTERJECTION BOY. Margaret Morrison, mister, is that really your finger? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a finger that long.
PIPEFINGER. That is because I am Pipefinger, and from now on every plumbing-supply dealer in the tri-state area will live in terror of me!
INTERJECTION BOY. Golly gumdrops, Captain Pleonasm, it’s a new supervillain!
(Music: Stinger.)
CAPT. PLEONASM. Then what is your evil scheme, O long-fingered villain of the night? What dreadful fate have you plotted for me and my faithful and trustworthy sidekick and assistant, known to the world as Interjection Boy?
PIPEFINGER. I’ll tell you all about that soon enough, but first you have to hear my origin story. I didn’t lure you here just to do away with you before you could even hear my origin story. Now you must listen!
INTERJECTION BOY. Heck, that seems fair, Captain Pleonasm. The least we could do is listen to his tragic origin story.
PIPEFINGER. Once I was an ordinary plumber, no different from millions of other ordinary plumbers. But then, one day, I picked up a six-inch length of copper pipe. Noticing that there was a bit of putty stuck inside it, I pushed my finger in and tried to remove the debris. And my finger got stuck! It was sealed in there by the putty!
CAPTAIN PLEONASM. And what terrible and destructive powers has this unnatural junction of man and pipe given you? With what awesome abilities are you cursed?
PIPEFINGER. Well, I’ve got a pipe. On my finger.
INTERJECTION BOY. Well, natterin’ nabobs, Pipefinger, that doesn’t sound like much of a superpower.
PIPEFINGER. My right index finger! Do you have any idea how annoying that is?
INTERJECTION BOY. Gracious gallinules, Pipefinger, you mean your superpower is that you’re annoyed?
PIPEFINGER. All the time! And now I have come to wreak my revenge on all dealers in plumbing supplies!
(Music: Stinger.)
ANNOUNCER. Will Captain Pleonasm and Interjection Boy succumb to the dreadful fate prepared for them by Pipefinger, whatever it is? Will Pipefinger’s annoyance make serious inroads into the profits of the plumbing-supplies industry in the tri-state area? Don’t miss next week’s hair-raising, knuckle-whitening episode of the Thrilling and Exciting Adventures of Captain Pleonasm and His Faithful and Trustworthy Sidekick and Assistant, Interjection Boy!
(Music: Theme, in full and under for…)
ANNOUNCER. When Captain Pleonasm comes back after a long night of keeping the city’s plumbing-supplies emporia safe from supervillainy, what’s the first thing he reaches for? It’s Malt-O-Cod, the only malt beverage flavored with 100% real cod-liver oil. Kids, ask your moms for Malt-O-Cod, now with an official Captain Pleonasm pipe wrench in every package. (Use only as directed.) It’s the malt food drink that’s brain food—Malt-O-Cod.
(Music: In full, then out.)
From THE VIRTUOUS CHILD’S STORY-BOOK.
“MAMMA, I GAVE a penny to a poor man this morning. Was I a good boy for so doing?’
“It depends on the motive you had in view. Did you give it to him because you thought it would do him good?”
“Yes, mamma, I did; for I saw that he was miserable and unhappy, and when I passed him he held out his hat and begged for a penny so that he could buy a trifle to eat. So I thought of the penny I had in my pocket, and I said to myself, ‘Perhaps with my penny he can buy some food, and then he will not be so miserable.'”
“I am sorry to hear it, my dear boy. This is what you should have thought: ‘This man is poor and in dire need, and I possess the means whereby to sustain his life for another day. This possession gives me the power to place him forever in my debt, and to bind him by invisible chains to do my will in hopes of gaining the penny, which after all I may not give to him if I am not pleased with him. And with the profit I make from his servitude I may purchase the lives of multitudes of similar beggars, and gradually form myself an army of shuffling automatons whose very existence depends on my pleasure.'”
“Ah! mamma, I wish I had thought of that, but I am sure I did not intend to do wrong. You know, mamma, I love you so dearly, that I strive to please you in all things.”
“Yes, my dear, I know you love me, and that is because I hold your wretched little life in my hands, is it not? So think, dear child, when next you meet a beggar, what unimaginable power the single penny in your pocket gives you over the wretched lives of those less fortunate than yourself, and you will make me proud of you.”
A POPULAR NURSERY RHYME.
AS IT WAS first printed in Songs for Rotten Children, London, 1859.
Boucicault, Boucicault, where have you been?
I’ve been down to London to play for the queen.
Boucicault, Boucicault, what did you there?
I bored the poor woman out of her chair.
WHY THE OSPREY HAS NO XYLOPHONE.
IN OLDEN TIMES, our forefathers huddled around the fire and told the story of Why the Osprey Has No Xylophone. Now our forefathers are all dead, and serve them right. And this is the story they told:—
Many moons ago—Io, and Europa, and Charon, and Titan, and Ganymede, and Phobos, and Triton, and Callisto, and Oberon, and Tethys ago—the osprey was king of all the birds. At that remote time the avian world was governed as a constitutional monarchy, and the osprey’s duties were confined to opening shopping centers, signing letters of commendation, and posing for portraits on currency, which, in the days before printing, naturally took up most of a reigning monarch’s schedule.
One day the osprey told his prime minister, an ambitious young herring gull, “I should like to have a tulip.”
“Get it yourself,” replied the prime minister, who was positively mad with power.
So the osprey set out on an epic quest for a tulip. He traveled to the ends of the earth, slew monsters, ate at dreadful fast-food joints, and endured such hardships as no king before or since has ever endured. At length he came to a plateau in Anatolia that was carpeted from end to end with tulips, but he decided that tulips weren’t all they were cracked up to be and flew home disappointed.
On his return, he discovered that his throne had been declared vacant, and the former prime minister was now ruling as General Secretary of the People’s Revolutionary Council. “We don’t need kings anymore,” he explained. “But we do have an opening for a new registrar of deeds.”
Having tried out that position for a month, however, the osprey decided that if he never registered another deed it would be just peachy. He therefore went into business for himself selling collectible porcelain figurines to pigeons, who have an insatiable appetite for that sort of thing. Eventually he retired to a trailer park outside Sarasota, where as far as anyone knows he still resides today. And that, dear children, is why the osprey has no xylophone, but has a marimba instead.
THE FREE MAN.
From Dr. Boli’s Fables for Children Who Are Too Old to Believe in Fables.
–
ONCE A LITTLE girl was walking along in the cheerful summer forest when she came across a man who was tied to a tree by every sort of chain and shackle.
“Oh, you poor prisoner!” the little girl exclaimed. “I’ll run and get help for you immediately!”
“No, no, you misunderstand,” said the man, who was bound but not gagged, so that at least he could say anything he liked. “I am a completely free man.”
“You don’t look free to me,” said the little girl. “For one thing, you’re chained to the tree by that thing around your waist.”
“Oh, I put that chain there,” the man explained. “I wanted to be safe from falling down, so I chained myself to this tree, which as you can see is quite sturdy. This way I’ll never fall down and bump my head. No price is too high for security, you know.”
“But your legs are shackled together,” the little girl remarked.
“You’re very observant,” the man answered. “If my legs could move freely, they might slide apart, and I would start to slip down the tree, which would be very uncomfortable. So you see, since I’ve chained myself to the tree, it’s much more comfortable to have my legs shackled.”
“But your right arm is chained to this big branch with a bronze chain,” the little girl said.
“It’s gold,” the man replied.
“It looks like bronze to me,” the little girl said.
“I was assured that it was gold,” the man told her. “A very rich man came along with this beautiful gold chain and told me that, if I would let him chain my right arm with it, then I could admire his gold chain all the time, and I would never have to stop looking at it.”
“But your left hand is tied to the chain behind your back,” the little girl said.
“Yes,” the man agreed. “You see, I’m right-handed, so it’s not much use to me to have my left hand flailing about, is it?”
“I see,” the little girl said. “And you’re sure you don’t want me to go find someone to untie you?”
“Oh, no,” said the man. “I have chosen every one of my chains and shackles with absolute freedom. There is not a man on earth who is freer than I.”
So the little girl told the man that it had been pleasant talking with him, and the man wished her a very good day, and the little girl went on her way into the lovely green forest, thinking about what she had seen and heard.
“Well,” the little girl said to herself as she walked, “I suppose he seems happy enough. But still, I’m glad I’m not free. I don’t think I’d like it at all.”
THE ADVENTURES OF BACKSTORY MAN AND ANGST BOY.
ANNOUNCER. Malt-O-Cod, the delicious and nutritious malt food drink flavored with real cod-liver oil, presents…
(Music: Theme, up and under for…)
ANNOUNCER. The Adventures of Backstory Man and Angst Boy!
(Music: In full, then fade for…)
ANNOUNCER. As you recall, in our last episode, Backstory Man and Angst Boy had agreed to meet Doctor Lethargicus to discuss his demand for world domination beginning with a nationwide speed limit of fifteen miles per hour. But as they waited for Doctor Lethargicus to appear, suddenly a hidden panel swung open, and…
ANGST BOY. Now what are we going to do? We’re trapped in Doctor Lethargicus’ Web of Inactivity, and we can’t move our arms and legs! It’s like a metaphor for my adolescent life.
BACKSTORY MAN. This is all my fault. I was distracted by memories (which somehow appeared to me in sepia tones) of the time long ago when Doctor Lethargicus was just plain little Herbie, my long-lost younger brother.
ANGST BOY. But I should have known it was a trap! Oh, how can I call myself a sidekick when I can’t protect my mentor from even the most obvious nefarious plots?
BACKSTORY MAN. No, don’t blame yourself, Angst Boy. It is I who must shoulder the blame on this occasion. I have failed you, just as I failed young Herbie when he was your age. If only I had warned him about the dangers of reading Ayn Rand! But no, I thought it was merely a phase he would grow out of.
ANGST BOY. But sooner or later we have to fail, don’t we? I mean, is it even possible to go out heroing all the time without eventually meeting the villain you can’t defeat? And if it’s not possible, then why do we do it? Isn’t our whole body of work meaningless because of this one failure? Doesn’t the whole world know that eventually we have to fail? And is that why none of the cheerleaders at school will ever pay any attention to me?
BACKSTORY MAN. You remind me so much of Herbie when he was your age. He said just the same thing after he saved me from that speeding freight train when I was home from college and he was only sixteen. At least he said the part about the cheerleaders. I don’t remember the rest of what he said.
ANGST BOY. Then this is it. We might as well give up and admit that we’ll never live up to the standard that’s expected of us as heroes.
BACKSTORY MAN. No, Angst Boy. Never give up. That was the last thing my mother said to me before my parents mysteriously disappeared in the Bermuda Triangle, leaving me with no clue as to their whereabouts except monthly postcards with pictures of sand dollars and seagulls on them. And in honor of that last wish, I have taken a solemn oath never to give up on anything.
ANGST BOY. Aren’t you the one who doesn’t have a driver’s license because you said the test was too hard?
BACKSTORY MAN. Never give up on anything important. That’s my motto. It has to be important.
ANGST BOY. And here I am, sidekick to a hero who can’t drive. Is this what I was supposed to be by the time I was sixteen?
ANNOUNCER. Will Backstory Man and Angst Boy be stuck forever in Doctor Lethargicus’ Web of Inactivity? Will next week’s episode be stretched out with ultimately meaningless dialogue? Tune in next week at this same time to the Adventures of Backstory Man and Angst Boy!
(Music: Theme, up and under for…)
ANNOUNCER. Kids, have you had your Malt-O-Cod today? Your parents must be awfully negligent if they don’t make sure you’re well supplied with the rich, satisfying flavor of Malt-O-Cod every morning. Perhaps you ought to report them to the authorities. Visit the Malt-O-Cod Web site for the addresses of child protective services organizations in your area. And tell them Backstory Man and Angst Boy sent you!
(Music: In full, then out.)
CAPTAIN PLEONASM VS. MRS. WILLOUGHBY’S FOURTH-GRADE CIVICS CLASS.
Although no recordings of the old Captain Pleonasm radio serial have survived, a number of the original scripts were recently unearthed in the archives of the Northern Broadcasting Company.
ANNOUNCER. Malt-O-Cod, the delicious and nutritious malt food drink flavored with real cod-liver oil, presents…
(Music: Theme, up and under for…)
ANNOUNCER. The Thrilling and Exciting Adventures of Captain Pleonasm and His Faithful and Trustworthy Sidekick and Assistant, Interjection Boy!
(Music: In full, then fade for…)
ANNOUNCER. Our story begins today with Captain Pleonasm once again proudly engaging in his civic duty of helping the young people of America to stay on the straight and narrow path.
CAPT. PLEONASM. I do not recall this structure or building as being so small. When I was here, these rooms were vast and cavernous chambers. Artemus Ward Elementary was a Brobdingnagian palace of immense proportions. It is painfully and distressingly apparent that my arch-nemeses, the Editors of Doom, have been attacking this school with their Condense-O Ray.
INTERJECTION BOY. Waverin’ willets, Captain Pleaonasm! The last time you were here you were ten years old, and Mrs. Willoughby says you were the shortest kid in your class.
CAPT. PLEONASM. I fail to see the relevance of that information, or its application to the subject at hand.
INTERJECTION BOY. Gadzooks, Captain Pleonasm, I’m just saying that—Oh, look, there’s my little brother’s classroom now! And here comes Mrs. Willoughby.
CAPT. PLEONASM. What did you say your little brother’s name was again? By what appellation shall I address him?
INTERJECTION BOY. Argyle socks, Captain Pleonasm! I’ve told you about fifty times. His name is Interrogative Boy.
CAPT. PLEONASM. It still seems strange and suspicious, too odd to be a mere coincidence or unrelated concatenation of events, that your little brother has the very same and identical civics teacher that I had in fourth grade.
INTERJECTION BOY. Blitherin’ bandicoots, Captain Pleonasm! It’s not as strange as all that. You know Mrs. Willoughby has the job forever cause she knows where the bodies are buried.
MRS. WILLOUGHBY (approaching). Billy! How nice of you to come!
INTERJECTION BOY. Grievin’ ganders, Mrs. Willoughby! You mean his name was Billy?
MRS. WILLOUGHBY. Well, of course! He wasn’t always Captain Pleonasm, you know. Back in the fourth grade, he was just plain little Billy Pleonasm. Such a cute little boy! Not too bright, but heavens! what a vocabulary. Come in, come in! The class is very excited that you’re coming.
(Sound: chaotic elementary-school classroom.)
MRS.WILLOUGHBY. Settle down, boys and girls! We have a very special treat today. Captain Pleonasm is here to talk with us. That’s right—the famous Captain Pleonasm himself, and believe it or not, just a few decades ago he was a student in this very classroom, just like all of you! But now he’s a crusading hero with a lucrative Malt-O-Cod contract!
LITTLE GIRL. I wanted Superman.
LITTLE BOY. Or Batman.
INTERROGATIVE BOY. What are you doing here, big brother?
INTERJECTION BOY. Reekin’ ramps, little brother! I’m a sidekick! I’ve got to be by his side, no matter what danger he faces!
MRS. WILLOUHGBY. So now Captain Pleonasm is going to give us his very interesting presentation.
CAPT. PLEONASM. My aim and purpose, dear children, is to tell you that crime and lawbreaking do not pay. They are not remunerative. Nothing is to be gained by flouting the statutes of our fair Commonwealth. In the end, a life devoted to transgression of the criminal code will not materially increase your wealth.
INTERROGATIVE BOY (stage whisper).Why does he keep saying the same thing over and over again?
INTERJECTION BOY. (stage whisper) Merciful malamutes, Interrogative Boy! That’s his thing. It’s what he does.
MRS.WILLOUGHBY. Well, that’s very interesting, and I’m sure you could go on like this all afternoon. But why don’t we answer some questions now? Yes, Angela?
LITTLE GIRL. Why couldn’t we get Superman like Mrs. Fanshawe’s class did?
LITTLE BOY. Or Batman?
MRS.WILLOUGHBY. Mrs. Fanshawe’s class got Superman because the school could only afford Superman’s honorarium for one class, and Mrs. Fanshawe bribed the principal with cupcakes, which was a very naughty thing to do. Are there any real questions for Captain Pleonasm? Yes, Interrogative Boy?
INTERROGATIVE BOY. Why do you wear that dorky long underwear?
LITTLE GIRL. Yeah, instead of a cool cape like Superman?
LITTLE BOY. Or Batman?
ANNOUNCER. Is this the end for Captain Pleonasm’s dignity? Will he escape from Artemus Ward Elementary School with his pride intact? Don’t miss next week’s enthralling and riveting episode of the Thrilling and Exciting Adventures of Captain Pleonasm and His Faithful and Trustworthy Sidekick and Assistant, Interjection Boy!
(Music: In full, and under for…)
ANNOUNCER. Kids, have you pestered your moms for Malt-O-Cod today? Remember, Malt-O-Cod is the only malt food drink with the rich, satisfying flavor of real cod-liver oil, now with the official Captain Pleonasm comb and tissue paper in every box, so you can play along with the Captain Pleonasm theme. Start wearing down your parents’ resistance now!
(Music: In full, then out.)
CERTAIN LESS FAMILIAR RHYMES OF MOTHER GOOSE.
IN HONOR OF the forthcoming third anniversary of his Celebrated Magazine on the World-Wide Web, Dr. Boli is reprinting some of the most notable articles, stories, poems, and advertisements of the past three years.
–
The Flying Pig.
Hickory dickory dare,
The pig flew into O’Hare.
The man in brown got off, but oh!
His luggage went to Mexico.
–
A Song of Aspiration.
I won’t be my father’s Jack;
I won’t be my father’s Jill.
I will be an oilman’s wife
And have a full tank when I will.
Oh! One more mile,
One more mile,
See if you can push it
One more mile.
–
A Most Philosophical Ditty.
I do not like thee, Thomas Hobbes.
When I read thee, my head just throbs.
And so I say, between my sobs,
I do not like thee, Thomas Hobbes.
–
The Remarkably Theatrical Fowl.
Higgledy piggledy, my red hen,
She laid an egg in New Haven again.
Tsk tsk tsk and tut tut tut,
They hated her show in Connecticut.
–
An Agribusiness Lullaby.
Hush-a-bye baby, on the tree top,
When did a tree ever grow such a crop?
Try rooting a cutting of it, by all means,
And send your attorney to patent the genes.
–
A Woeful Riddle.
As I was going to Sewickley,
I met a man who sure looked sickly.
He had six wives around the state,
Six mortgage payments that were late;
And with each wife he had six kids.
No wonder he was on the skids!
His children threw unseemly fits;
His Frigidaire was on the fritz;
One wife ran off with a rodeo clown;
His BMW broke down.
Wives, cars, payments, kids, and fridge,
How long till he jumps off a bridge?
–
Cat, Queen, and Tabloid.
“Pussy-cat, pussy-cat,
Where have you been?”
“I’ve been up to London
To look at the Queen.”
“Pussy-cat, pussy-cat,
What have you done?”
“I just took some pictures
To sell to the Sun.”
THE ADVENTURES OF SIR MONTAGUE BLASTOFF, INTERPLANETARY SPACE DRAGOON.
IN HONOR OF the forthcoming third anniversary of his Celebrated Magazine on the World-Wide Web, Dr. Boli is reprinting some of the most notable articles, stories, poems, and advertisements of the past three years.
–
ANNOUNCER. And now Malt-O-Cod, the only malt food drink flavored with real cod-liver oil, proudly presents…
(Music: Fanfare)
ANNOUNCER. The Adventures of Sir Montague Blastoff, Interplanetary Space Dragoon!
(Music: Theme, in and under for…)
ANNOUNCER. Tonight we find Sir Montague busy as always, with Colonel Wilhelmina Darling by his side.
SIR MONTAGUE. I say, could you give us a hand with this?
COL. DARLING. What do you need, Monty?
SIR MONTAGUE. It’s these quarterly reports. I’ve been racking my brain trying to remember whether our battle with the Wombat People was before or after five in the evening. I wasn’t exactly watching the clock, you know.
COL. DARLING. Does it really matter?
SIR MONTAGUE. Well, of course it matters, my dear. If it was after five, then it goes on form 398-B, not A, and everyone must be paid time and a half overtime.
COL. DARLING. In that case, it was definitely after five.
SIR MONTAGUE. Are you quite sure? Wouldn’t want to get a thing like that wrong, you know.
COL. DARLING. I may be only nineteen and ravishingly beautiful, but I am also a colonel in the 58th Interplanetary Space Dragoons. My word is my bond.
SIR MONTAGUE. Very well, then. Now, when I rescued you from the wicked Viscount Van Allen Flogg, did you remember to file Form 8340-M, Escape from Fate Worse than Death?
COL. DARLING. Oh, Monty, can you doubt me after all our precious moments together?
SIR MONTAGUE. I’ll take that as a yes, then, which is jolly fortunate. Saves a rotten lot of paperwork if you did. Now, after we were lost for three weeks on the Dragon Sands of the planet Bingo and we had to eat our own boots, did you remember to fill out all the proper Disposition of Footwear forms when we got back?
COL. DARLING. You know I did, Monty. I’d do anything for you.
SIR MONTAGUE. And a fine thing, too. I like having someone I can jolly well rely on to take care of the old paperwork. “That Colonel Darling,” I always say to myself—”what a fine bureaucratic mind she has.”
COL. DARLING. But, Monty, don’t you ever think of me in any other way?
SIR MONTAGUE. Well, of course, you do make a dashed fine gin and tonic. Never could quite get the recipe right myself.
COL. DARLING. But, Monty, don’t you have—you know—feelings for me?
SIR MONTAGUE. Feelings?
COL. DARLING. I may be a colonel in the 58th Interplanetary Space Dragoons, but I am also nineteen and ravishingly beautiful. Surely you must have noticed that my heaving bosom swells with billows of love.
SIR MONTAGUE. I say! Do you mean to tell me you’re in love with me?
COL. DARLING. Always and forever, Monty! I’ve been in love with you since the moment you whisked me away from the death pits of the Ant-Lion People!
SIR MONTAGUE. Well, dash it all.
COL. DARLING (shocked and hurt). Why, Monty, how could you react that way?
SIR MONTAGUE. Well, it means another bally load of forms to fill out, that’s all. I say, could you give us a hand with them?
(Music: Theme, in and under for…)
ANNOUNCER. Don’t miss next week’s exciting episode: Sir Montague Blastoff vs. the Department of Motor Vehicles! Till then, remember to pester your parents for Malt-O-Cod every day. It’s the only malt food drink with the rich, satisfying flavor of real cod-liver oil, now with the exclusive Sir Montague Blastoff pocket financial calculator in every package. It’s the malt food drink that’s brain food—Malt-O-Cod!
(Music: In full, then out.)