Archive for December, 2013

Well it wasn’t Gandalf, though he does have a rather lengthy beard. Koufax hasn’t become troll-preserves and the troll still has his brains, so everything is good…except for my head of course.

I threw up again, not on the troll this time or on anyone else, which was good, for them, not for me; because let’s be honest, throwing up is never the most pleasant of experiences. At least I retched out in the Scrapyard and not in Wolfgang’s place; that’s Gandalf by the way.

“I am a very gracious host, if I do say so myself, not out of a sense arrogance mind you but rather I seek to emulate the old ways of treating ones’ guest; with a position of honor and fellowship.” Wolfgang/Gandalf holds out his giant hands, “but I must insist upon said guests wiping their feet before entering my abode and some unfortunately still carry the scent of the Scrapyard with them; that must be dealt with. This way my good friends.”

We’re led to a circular room, made entirely out of rock…wait how did they get all of that in here? The entire place is dug out of a giant trash heap and I find it rather unlikely that…

Splash! Sploosh!

“Well that’s one way to get clean.” The water drips off Bojangles’ long nose; but in truth everything on everyone is dripping. I’m rather surprised the entire crew was able to fit in here.

“Sorry for the sudden surprise, but I found this to be the only way to allay your problem.” Smiles Gandalf the Troll.

Koufax smoothes out his clothing, “but now we will drip all over your floors, I hope you don’t mind that…Mr.?”

“Boyle. Please call me Professor Boyle. The whole Wolfgang Amadeus Louis Newton Francis Boyle was a thing dreamt up by my adoptive father; not at all practical for common discourse. As for your clothes, this way ladies and gentlemen.”

His thundering steps lead us to the next room, composed of hundreds of fans.

“I invented this and the other room, took quite a few years to do so but I believe you’ll agree the results are rather superb.” Reaching for a rope, “you might want to hold onto any loose articles.”

Koufax raises a hand, “now wait just a minute—”

The hurricane of wind buffets captain, sky pirate, and ‘chosen one’ alike. Apple seeds fly, tri-corns flutter, skin stings, Offrey disappears, Beauregard falls. How can this thing be so powerful?

“What in the four winds was that!”

“I call it…a dryer. Go ahead, feel your clothes.” The troll professor makes his way over to Beauregard. “And I shall take a look at you; L gave you a rather nasty swipe.” Prof. Boyle may be old (his beard is white after all) but he carries Beauregard with no more problem than coach with his huge bag of soccer balls.

“I would be rather impressed that I am dry, if Professor Boyle’s contraption didn’t send me flying.” Stooping to gather his hat, Offrey hops out of the dryer-room. “Now my back is going to have that dreadful knot in it again (and it took a rather long time to get it out too).”

“It is rather neat.” I can’t help but be a little bit amazed as I pluck at my perfectly dried clothes; it’s like one of those high powered hand blowers in the public restrooms, except for everything, and you don’t even have to rub your hands together.

“Now where is my book on human physiology?” The Professor runs his meaty fingers along countless ancient

tomes, from one bookshelf to the next; good thing he is tall enough he doesn’t need a ladder. “Where is that blasted book!? Need a little more light.” Sunlight floods in as the Professor yanks on a lever; adjusting his glasses for one last search. “Ha! There it is! Should have guessed it would’ve been next to Shakespeare.”

We are all on the edge of our seats (if we were sitting that is, which we’re not), listening to Beauregard moaning about the pain. That tumble couldn’t have done him any good; we may have had our differences but I don’t want Beauregard to be in any serious trouble.

“I hate to tell you captain, but your man here has some broken ribs. There is nothing to be done but to immobilize them as best I can. After that the best thing to do is make sure he isn’t doing any work, we must keep those bones still.”

“That we can do Professor, but what about the pieces of metal I need to repair my ship?” Koufax scratches his head.

And guess what happens next? The required discourse about who I am and what we are doing; must we do this every time we meet someone? Probably. Oh and guess what else has to happen? We have to perform a quote “little task.” Sure…nothing here is little or simple, and now we don’t have Beauregard. At least I might be able to use my sword.

Most things don’t appreciate being puked on. You think if you already smelled like it, you wouldn’t mind so much, but you’d be wrong.


Now I understand what Donkey from the movie Shrek meant when he said “you almost burned the hair out of my nose.” Then again, it’s kind of hard to breathe.

Everything turns to jelly, heck that grip is going to turn me to jelly. I wish this was like The Hobbit, that these things turn to stone but the sun is out…so no luck there, fantastic. The troll looks like he could be made out of stone but that is as close as it’s going to get to turning into a statue.

“Drop him!”

Is that Koufax? Offrey? Have Johnny and Squirrel arrived? I…I can’t tell.

Only the troll’s face can I make out clearly, it’s like a pug’s, but without the flabby layers of skin and the bulging eyes. Oh crud, I’m never going to be able to look at my uncle’s dogs again. So hard to breathe.

I’d go into all the ‘life flashing before my eyes’ stuff, but we’ve been down this path before, I think I’ll need to start cutting out all the perilous scenes, one can only take so much of ‘ASCENDING ACTION, DESCENDING ACTION, ASENDING ACTION…’ I think you get the idea. But it’s not my fault, this is real…I think. Watch that all of this is some bizarre dream, and I wake up in my bed like in the movies. That would be my life, a bunch of pain all for nothing.

A blast of wonderfully scented breath snorts in my face, is he deciding whether or not to eat me? Or maybe trolls here don’t do that, I really hope they don’t but nothing here is what it seems; so finding out that I end up being troll sushi wouldn’t be the least bit surprising.

“Drop him smelly! I won’t warn you again.” It has to be Koufax, no one else sounds that confident in the face of death.

“I don’t smell, soft-flesh.” The troll’s voice thubs like a drum inside of a giant tire. “You stink of soap and flowers, I smell like a troll should, you humans all smell different.”

“What either of us smells like doesn’t matter; drop the boy.”

“Your guns and swords don’t give you right to treat us like we’re dumb!” A massive hand of stone thunders through the air, with Koufax like a pinwheel twirling goes; coat flapping, flying away from the danger.

“And your brute strength doesn’t give you the right to think me no more insignificant than a fly. This fly will not be swatted away!”

No one at this moment seems much concerned with me, I’m just Raggedy Ann over here (yes I’ve heard of the doll, you don’t have to be a hundred to know what Raggedy Ann is), in the hand of a giant, hygiene-challenged, troll. This is not going to do my head any good, I mean really, this is going to be pretty bad; if the G-force of a gyrating troll hadn’t knocked me out already. I seem to be unconscious a lot, that might be a problem for me later on in life.


They have Gandalf here? That’s a good thing, because the troll finally caught Koufax, but Koufax’s gun is only feet from the troll’s head; which sounds like a long distance but the troll’s arm is longer than me, so it’s not like he could really get any closer. Anyways I’m trying to make the setting sound stressful; because it is.

Alright Gandalf, do your ‘you shall not pass’ thing before Koufax gets turned jelly and I get troll brain splattered all over me.