August 2001 – Issue XLV
My apologies for the entirely
foreseen delayed arrival of this issue. If you want an excuse, well, how about
that Code Red worm? Yes, that will cover me nicely.
I have just returned from a
foreign scouting mission (I think I got away with that) to Canada, during which
I made several observations:
The Master Hunter
E-Mail: theMaster@RabidSquirrels.co.uk
Website: www.RabidSquirrels.co.uk
Wapsite: http://tagtag.com/rabid
The fight is hard, I know dear agents and in these hard times when your will is waning and spirits are low you need cheering up with ale, chips and fags but also with music, silly music of the kind supplied only by the 'Squirrel Hunters' a couple of fellow lunatics from Doncaster (yes the infamous Doncaster rabid squirrel hunters). You can find their mirth on www.peoplesound.com/artist/squirrelhunters (didn’t work for me, just search for ‘squirrel hunters’ from peoplesound – MH), keep up the good fight and shout loud for Harry... or something.
Yours, Tez of the 'Squirrel Hunters' and special Doncaster squirrel pagga agent, find any Squirrel hunter gigs on www.adulescents.co.uk (there aren't many) aaaarrraaggghhg must go squirrel attack imminent.
THE ASSASSINS EPISODE 2
I withdrew a blanket and picnic
basket and lay alongside them on the barren grass. Tossing a can of Sprite to Tuesday,
I leant forwards over the hamper, ensuring ample amounts of my vulnerable back
were showing. As expected, the next sound I heard (the previous one being a
field cricket) was an arrow zipping through the air like a fish in a waterfall.
Quicker than a golfer, I span on the spot and bit the arrow from the air.
Catching sight of my ambusher, I threw the arrow back, receiving a satisfying
scream.
The skirmish had begun. I turned
to Tuesday, who busy sampling the picnic, and cried "A little help here, please."
He looked at me, cake gleaming in his eyes, and nodded. We both reached for our
rapiers and saluted our enemy.
Special Agent Myself (our RSS
enemy counterpart) charged from behind a tree and introduced himself with a
flick of his gigantic broadsword. I acknowledged this by stabbing him in the
stomach, but the wily hyena had dodged just in time. Tuesday leapt for his
head, then leapt for Myself's head, but both attempts failed.
Looking behind me, I noticed
something terrible. "Tuesday, quick!" I exclaimed. That ant is making
off with my ham sandwich!" Tuesday threw himself into combat with the ant
while I fought back against Myself. This was quite cumbersome so I turned to
face him. Both myself (not Myself) and Tuesday were winning when; oh the thought
of it still makes me shudder. It was disastrous. It was terrifying. It was
unusual in England at this time of year. It was...
Continued next issue.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAhahahahHAHAHA!!!
etc...
My lack of contact for a substantial period of time has been
due to the nature of my existence for the past few weeks. I have been
gloriously reinstated as king over all lizard kind, my spectacular return to
form was aided substantially by the grape I was sent by the Master Hunter, and
I will be known forevermore as Eponymous the Magnificent. My name shall be
recorded in the annals of lizardry as the king that liberated the peoples and
won a resplendent victory over the hated Rabid Squirrels, and yet and at the
same time ruled his subjects with an iron will and a fist of steel. I am
undoubtedly the greatest monarch that ever lived!!!
I gained my kingdom back on a mild night in late May; about the twenty-ninth I
believe. It was stormy and terrible as well as being mild; mild is, of course a
relative term; and I had carefully planned my assault on the castle. I had a
crack team of Me, the Chameleon, some House Geckos, a Tuatara, seven Cobras,
two Crocodiles, three Komodos; the remnants of my once awesome bodyguard, a
Skink, a Mexican Beaded Lizard and three Gila Monsters. Those last ones are
poisonous. Very dangerous.
Anyway, we crept up to the walls of the castle and the house geckos scurried up the wall to go and disable the sentry. Thankfully the sentry was one of those who had remained loyal throughout, or so he said when the House Geckos overpowered him and threatened to throw him to the crocodiles. He was a Monitor of some sort I think. So our entry into the castle was relatively easy, after the geckos had worked out how to open the main gates; not the brightest of lizards, and quite fickle, but useful if you can manage to keep them on your side long enough. Once inside it was a simple matter of finding whether or not there were any squirrels inside, finding where the ringleaders were and then killing anyone and everyone who looked at me in a funny way. We sent the Tuatara on ahead as he was the best equipped for night time travel, however as we could all move at about the same speed as him anyway this had little effect.
After what seemed like an age, but was in fact an age, we reached the inner sanctum of my castle; thus far we had met very little opposition and were all in high spirits. That was soon to change though. Upon entering the Keep of the castle we were met by a volley of tennis and then a cascade of roman candles. We lit the fireworks and threw them back, whereupon they emitted a shower of sparks and bathed the great hall in pretty effervescence. During the ensuing commotion and uproar I fought my way to the centre of the proceedings, an oasis of calm that surrounded the creature that seemed to be in charge. It was not Lizard, Squirrel nor Human and to this day I do not know what it was. When it saw me arrive it said in a voice reminiscent of underground caves and damp darkness “I’ve been expecting you Mr. Biro”.
I replied “Eaurgh”, or at least made some sort of noise similar to that. It then told me that it was its birthday, and it thought I was pretty. I hit it with a passing Lace Monitor and it fell down, unconscious. I called one of my crocodiles over and fed the creature to it.
With their leader gone the usurpers were all but finished,
they kept on fighting well into the night, but I didn’t tell them I was leaving
early in the afternoon, so they spent much of their time and energy fighting
each other. I released the grape into their midst to add further confusion and
it perplexed them mightily. By morning there were only a handful of stragglers
left for me to execute. By lunchtime I was re-crowned king of all lizards! We
have been partying ever since and only now do I have the strength to type as
for the past fortnight I have been desperately hung over.
Eponymous Biro, once again, LIZARD KNIG.
Damn, I meant to say king, sod.
My undisputed majesty shall henceforth be known by all - I AM THE LIZARD KING!!!
I am the leader of Evil Squirrels Association. I was sent to inform you, that despite your pathetic attempts to deplete the squirrel society, Earth will still yet be conquered. First we will manipulate the minds of old people. They will love us and take us into their homes. After years of putting up with old people, the human race will see squirrels as tame and loving creatures. We will then be sold in pet shops for low costs. Everyone living on this planet will have at least one squirrel living as a family member. Then, at approximately 5:00 on the glorious date of November 16th, 2025, we will attack. Sorry. Keep your eyes open, boys... Got nuts?
Master Kristin
I would like to ffubmit an article in the Rabid Timef. My name iff Barffolomew Beaver. I am the leader of de ILB, Internafional League of Beavers. I haf caught wind of your affortment of ffayerf. Me and my mighty clan are very interefted in joining thif Rabid Fquirrel Flayerf. We are having loadf of trouble wiff dese damn dam wrecking fquirrels and we want it to ftop. We feel we will be a valuable player in your team, and are willing to offer our ferfefesin any way. We are alfo very clofe to talking the ILB (Internafional Leugue of Badgers) to join afwel. Bod our fpefies are known for our ftrend and will, and would be moft hapy to do anyding you afk.
Dank you, Barfolomew P.F.
I am forry if you have trouble underftanding me, I have trouble wid S and TH. I tend to pronounce S fe and TH de.
The Hamsters of Canada Will Help Us!!! I myself have just visited the leader of the hamsters of Canada and have secured their support. Although they were originally neutral, they broke their neutrality with them when King Fuzzball attacked them. The hamsters’ leader, one Emperor Bigfangs, has pledged the Canadian hamsters help, and has promised to try to use his influence to get other hamsters to help.
In other news, my partner and I have destroyed a contingent of rabid squirrels led by feared General Deathclaw. They had us surrounded, when rats came to our aids. With their surprise we pulled out our registered squirrel clippers (scissors), and we destroyed them. I had captured General Deathclaw, but he did not survive dissection in my lab. Hereby, my name will be Deathclawslayer.
Agent Deathclawslayer
This is Brooks, leader of the Rabid Squirrel Slayers force
of the mid western United States. I have good news. The squirrel forces here
are pulling back. We have been gaining more ground and the squirrels are being
to be discouraged. Casualties are at a low for our side. One of my men recently
hacked into the computer systems of one of the bigger squirrel head quarters.
It seems that they are doing testing to develop new weapons. We have attained
the blueprints for these weapons and their research notes about the weapons
testing. It's in code so it’s taking awhile for us to decipher it. Well that’s
all for now Sir.
->-
Sir I must report that I have made an example of one of King Fuzzball’s spies. I let loose my two faithful dogs and we trapped a rabid squirrel. I then began to interrogate him. He said that he would rather die than betray Fuzzball. He tried to use an experimental weapon but failed. I was unable to retrieve the weapon because the squirrel destroyed it. He then escaped for a moment but was easily taken by my faithful dogs and killed. I declared in a loud voice that he should be an example to other rabid squirrels that I am serious about my fight to rid the world of these pests.
Later that night my headquarters was attacked. Casualties
were high but we defended ourselves, and the squirrels pulled back to regroup.
Fuzzball has declared war on the Midwest territories that I command. This is
all I have to report for now.
Leader of the Mid Western Forces,
General Brooks S.
This is Agent Jupiter reporting sir (from an alternate
computer).
I took up the mission "Melt a Squirrel" with my good friend Dr.
Apollo at the University of Stenky Cheas. We captured a squirrel (we told the
football team that the first one to bring back a rabid squirrel got a
scholarship, and all we lost was a benchwarmer and a couple of waterboys), and
tried every poisonous gas known to man on it. Nothing seemed to work. It
seemed that they were impervious to every type of poison.
Then in walked Melissa Joans. She thought that this was
the cosmetology room (she's not too bright) and she was wearing her most
delicious perfume. The rabid squirrel was tied to a chair, and when it smelled
her perfume it started making a high pitch whining sound from it's
throat. Soon its eyes started bulging, and it's neck swelled up until it
was completely silent. Its throat got bigger and bigger, until it
exploded, sending blue and green chunks flying everywhere. Well, not on
us, we had ducked and covered, but Melissa was a giant blue and green
mess. She fainted, which saved us the trouble of cleaning her up. After we
left her on a park bench, we congratulated ourselves on finding a sure fire way
to kill the squirrels, shortly realising that we didn’t know what type of
perfume Melissa wears. We are constantly trying to coax it out of her, but
for some reason or another, she doesn’t want to speak with us. Women, who
can understand them?
Agent Jupiter
So, with the mild success of their last plan (entitled 'the Shady Lane Project'), and the unproved annihilation of all rabid squirrel minions, the Slayers had had a long day. But as I am sure someone once said, "there is no rest for the wicked". Fortunately the RSS are not wicked, so this does not apply. Or does it? The Master Hunter has been acting extremely strangely recently. For example, yesterday he [37] was found covered in jojoba juice, screaming "He oughtn't to have said that about the porridge!"
[38] Ghaleon drove back to the Counter-Terrorism department field office of the FBI, where he works as a Special Agent. He did an ING on the Master Hunter, and found out he fought in the Gulf War.
"What weird people", he said while looking up 00'Leary and Mr. Brooks also. Then he did an APB on Fuzzball, and talked to Mr. Shanks, his boss.
"It was unsuccessful, sir," he said. He got shot in the head by his boss, then pulled the bullet out of his cranium, and made a report. He then went back to his apartment complex, and got stabbed in the back by Sly Backstabber. He then got up and said, "Rosebud." [39] Sly Backstabber stabbed him again, and again, and he repeatedly said, "Rosebud" until Sly went away.
Ghaleon looked around and then realised why he had been repeatedly stabbed - it wasn't his apartment he was in at all, but Mr. Brooks' holiday home - that was why Sly Backstabber had been waiting for him. He decided to look into this further, why would one of the leaders of the Rabid Squirrels want one of the leaders of the RSS dead? The answer, after a moments thought, was obvious; Sly was having a secret affair with Mr. Brooks' guinea pig and wanted to stop this leaking out at all costs. Ghaleon knew he had to do something. He went home to bed. [40] Ghaleon then turned into a dragon, which in turn made him an Ex-Soldier Mercenary. He then decided to [42] eat his grandmother's foot. [43] "Yum!" he said, and then decided to get back to killing squirrels instead of some nutcase named Zofer or whatever that guy's name was.
He woke up with a shoe in his mouth. He then saw a squirrel
doing an Irish jig on his head. He was the one-hundredth American agent to
sleepwalk into the nearest Squirrel HQ, so he got to be their new double agent!
Unfortunately, he hates squirrels because they are Communist, and therefore no
one can get rich in their society, so he refused. Then they took more drastic
measures, and turn him into a rabid human! Unfortunately, that meant the Master
Hunter would have to make Ghaleon a non-rabid human in his laboratory, or the
MI-5, the CIA (which specialises in killing people, by the way), the FBI, and
some hicks with pitchforks would take away his rights as a law-enforcement
agency, and kill all the agents there. And Ghaleon knew where Fuzzball's
vulnerable spot in his head was, because he found data by the other double
agent on how to kill him. He then [44]
unwrapped his special anti-squirrel stick and unleashed its fury upon them.
They all looked perplexed and ran off, having not been hurt at all. Ghaleon
looked at the stick, "Needs some work" said he. So off he went to see
Gandalf the Wizard, personal friend of the master hunter and owner of a
nationwide chain of magic shops [46]
"Greetings, child," sighed Gandalf. He had a special talent at making
others seem inferior. "How may help you?"
"It's my weapon," said Ghaleon. "It needs a little magical
power." He handed the stick to Gandalf.
"Indeed," said the wizard. "This tool of battle is practically
useless."
Gandalf looked up, and noticed a red gleam in Ghaleon's eyes. Was he a rabid
human? There was no known cure for this phenomenon, so it would be a reasonable
assumption...
Gandalf locked Ghaleon in a small cage and called for backup. Along came [47] a physics jotter. "Do not be
alarmed", proclaimed the aforementioned physics book, "for I have a
warsteiner sticker on my front, and I once had a picture of a cock on my rear,
until it was scrubbed out (for fear of it being spotted by the head of the physics
dept.)" [48] The physics
jotter then proceeded to outline all the plans of the [49] Sludge monster. He then found out that Ghaleon lost all his
magic power by turning into a squirrel.
Gandalf the Wizard called Frodo Baggins on his cell phone. "Yo," he says, "can you bring a spider tail so I can heal this poor soul?" Gandalf then [50] prepared an enormous cauldron for the manufacture of Gandalf's Marvellous Medicine. First of all, into the pot went [51] Gandalf himself.
"Ey up grandad, by gum, that’s a trifle 'ot," came his near-death cry, before he jumped out of the pot, leaving behind a thread of his sock-material. This would later be proved to be the vital ingredient that would save the world, if not Shropshire [52] And talking of Shropshire, the next medicine ingredient was [53] pickle [54] nose. Gandalf then put in an Ent's nose, and then put Ghaleon in it. Ghaleon was then healed, but could not go swimming for another hour. [55]
What with this newfound cure for rabid humanism, the Slayers got a little excited. They all went out and got bitten by rabid squirrels specifically to try out the cure. It was all going so well, until [56] they discovered that Gandalf is a character from a book and realised that the cure was simply made up to trick all the members of RSS. [58] Or were they hallucinating due to infection of rabies? Were they infected with rabies at all - if Gandalf didn't make that potion, who did? And what was in it? Somebody, please, what is going on? [59]
The Magic Carrot came to the rescue. This organism appeared from [60] behind a potato bush and screamed,
"Boy, you guys are stupid!" then he force-fed us the cure for rabies
and proceeded to [61] stick it
up their backsides. Ghaleon then told the agents about how he killed twelve
six-foot tall squirrels with his bare hands. They laughed maniacally, and
opened fire on him. He ate all the bullets, and they then hit him over the head
with a mallet, and drove him back to his apartment. [62] Which had blown up during the night [67] to the size of a really big thing. Clearly the work of
squirrel super villains, a new device mayhap that causes the squirrels to grow
to a suspiciously large size.
The apartment exploded.
Obviously, then it is a weapon meant for the mass destruction of the RSS by swelling
them to super-mostly-human size!!! But while the agents were huge they could
step on squirrels, so that couldn't be right either. Hmmm... perhaps the
handiwork of some dastardly third party... but who could have done such a
thing? Who has the power and resources to commission an instrument that has
such powers? The answer was screamingly obvious. It could only be one group of
persons - and they are [68]
FOREIGNERS!!! [69] Yes, that's
right, there were foreigners afoot, and they were getting up to no good. The
agents of the RSS pondered this new development with some interest. Why would
foreigners want to kill them? Could it be because [70] the RSS are an equal rights, international society? No, that
couldn't be it. It must be because [71]
they do not wash their socks. [72]
Suddenly a great hue and cry was raised within the group - someone had remembered an obscure field report from Mr. Brooks many years ago, when he was but a lowly field agent - he discovered a weapon the squirrels had invented to remove socks at fifty paces and had lost almost his entire outfit (no, not his clothes, his company of soldiers) to this awesome and terrible device. Could it be that the foreigners were working with the Rabids, but secretly working against them behind their back? Or could there be a more simple explanation? Find out in next week’s... er... no... sorry... got sidetracked... [73]
The story continues: http://members.sitegadgets.com/Mr.Brooks/story.html
WAITER,
WAITER! THERE'S A SQUIRREL IN MY SOUP!
AN
EXCELLENT CHOICE, SIR.
(c) 2001 Rabid
Publications