Miffling in the Meadow

A Jabberwocky story

 

 

            It was a luverly day.  Sidney slithered his long shineous and scaly tail lover the cool green grass and signed in udder contentedness.

            “O, tis such a luverly day,” Sidney exclamored, briefing in the greeny air through his big nostrums.  Sidney, you see, was a dragon.

            Please, do not become an alarm or call the dragon-control policies.  Because Sidney was the fredliest, kindest and nicest dragon who dwelted on the isle of Briton Isle.  He was so gud and never harmed anybuddy.  And he was the onliest dragon lefted on this isle of Briton Isle.  All his brudder dragons had been fatally stuck by silly tin men who talked funny, so Sidney was all alone in Briton as far as dragons come and go.   And he was so verily, verily gud.  Sidney got all fluppy with mush-mush when he snuffled florals and viewed georgeous sceneries such as sunsits and evening stares.  He was so, so kindly that he never but never galumphed upon anthills, and always but always brushed the pesky flies gently but gently from his nose.  Such a gud, kind dragon.

            But nearbye in a ye olde castle, one of those silly tin men (who were called knighters by people who were in the no) was at that very minute preparing to crumb and do feroz rattle with Goode Sidney:  because this knighter coverted glory and because he wanted to squirmish with Sidney, the verily last dragon of the isle of Briton Isle, and because he was a crocker clod.  This knighter was culled as Mastam Pit --  Sir Mastam Pit, that is.  He was corporal and his forehead was disturbingly nudist.  Oooooh, he was a fiendish fiend, a meunstrous meunster, a ghoulish ghoul  --  besides being verily gung-ho-ho and quiet crackers.

            Sir Mastam Pit had a squirey whose name was Luchwaldammitanywhey who was a Welsh typo, and this verily same squirey was 2 foots, nine hinges short. Luchwaldammitanywhey curried Sir Mastam Pit’s lancer, and let me tell you, that was nut easy, Luchwaldammitanywhey being only 2 foots, nine hinges short, and the lancer measuring whey out to 9 foots tall.

            Sir Mastam Pit had a horsey too that he rode upon when he happenchanced on a busline none.  The beastie’s name was Lionel and he was, soddenly, a neurotic;  after all, it was indeedly frusstrafing to be a horsey named  Lionel.  His identity was throwing a crisis.  Beside which, this neurotic Lionel was a black horsey with lavender paisley print, which I dunt mind telling you, did nothing to leasten his neurotic condition.

            So on this particularly luverly day, Luchwaldammitanywhey was helping Sir Mastam Pit onto his mountie Lionel who was rorging ferozly like a lionel should but since Lionel wasn’t a lionel, it was all rudder ridiculous, you see.  As Sir Mastam Pit was in full amour (the tin part, you know), some minor and some major difficulty was ensconced in mountaining Lionel who was not being very co-op and luridly being intently stupid about the untired affair.

            “Hi nif, Luchwaldammitanywhey, Hi rally gutta go stick that bloody dragon for to garnish some glory!”

            Lionel rorged again and Sir Mastam Pit fell offers again. Luchwaldammitanywhey soddenly became beet red in the contemplate; he skiffled to the front of Lionel and with his little squirey boot, boomped him on the horsey shin.

            “Cot it ut, Lionel,” Luchwaldammitanywhey snoffered ludely.  “Youse be a gud ‘orsey and sottle doon!  We gutta get the guv ‘ere to the bloody olde meadow sews ‘e can stick that buggery olde dragon beknownst as Sidney!”

            Sir Mastam Pit mushroomed with pleasure and became so fluppy with proud that his tin visor kabanged shut and could not be lofted.  Still Luchwaldammitanywhey managered to mountain Sir Mastam Pit onto Lionel. Luchwaldammitanywhey wiped the sweaty from his little forehead and straggled to pick up the nine foot lancer as Sir Mastam Pit coxed Lionel towards the castle’s drawingbridge over the moot.

            As they crusted the drawingbridge, Sir Mastam Pit trutted along with diginity as Luchwaldammitanywhey galumphed behindhand with the nine foots lancer.  The knighter’s helmet was trashed with orange plumes that bunched jauntily as Lionel plugged along, and his amour criked and squicked, making a little knight music as they made their way to the meadow.  Occasionupon, Lionel rorffled, but when he did, Luchwaldammitanywhey would skuffle to his shine bone and kick with mightness (at least, all the mightness that a 2 foots, nine hinges short squirey could mustard).

            In time they happened into the meadow where the grass was cool, wildflowers grew and Sidney loungered quitely.

            “HO  --  ye olde wickedly dragon!  Rogue " blackguard!” yellowed Sir Mastam Pit at Sidney who was miffling at daisies, all dreamy-eyed and rompled.  Sidney did not hear him.  Sir Mastam again yellowed ferozly at Sidney.

            Above all this in a persimmion tree sat two humblebees, surveiling the sceneries below with index interests.  These humblebees were named Humbert and Xerxes.

            “That olde Sir Mastam Pit hain’t soch a gud chap, Hi nif!”  exclamored Humbert.

            “Righto!”  Xerxes rorkled, mitting his whiffer. “Ye olde Sidney’s a gud mate, ‘e his, ‘umbert.  maebye we should oughta ‘elp hour gud mate Sidney who juice ‘appens t’be the lastest dragon on this ‘ere hisle hiland of Briton Hisle, ‘umbert.”

            “Smashing ideer, Xerxes mate!  Hi’ll tike Luchwaldammitanywhey, you tike ye olde Sir Mastam Pit!  We’ll shrew ‘em, we willis!”

            “Righto, ‘umbert!”

            With that, Humbert and Xerxes humblebeed down on Luchwaldammitanywhey (who was, if you rememory, was only 2 foot, nine hinges short) and Sir Mastam Pit.  They did not buffer Lionel because he looked farely feroz himself and it was also “Be Gud to Amammals” week.  But, ooohhhh, did Luchwaldammitanywhey and Sir Mastam Pit ever get wheetpoodled!

            Our vanillins yellowed and rorged in udder argony.  Sidney noticed naught, and continued to snuffle and miffle at daisies.  Soon Sir Mastam Pit and Luchwaldammitanywhey took to flying into the woodsies.  Lionel was fluppy with happy to be ridded of the pair of rogues, and he began to gubble green grassy contently.

            Humbert and Xerxes returned to their persimmion tree and surveyed the sceneries with the hair of valedictorians.

            “Hi nif, Xerxes, olde mate!  Those bloody buggers won’t come buckle now, will they?”  inqueried Humbert.

            “Hi shoulder oughta nif nut!”  surplussed Xerxes.  “They dunna ‘ave the spine to come buckle, ‘umbert!”

            Below them, Sidney miffled at daisies, getting closer to Lionel who was gubbling green grassy.  Soddenly Sidney looked up and sawred the black horsey with the lavender paisley print.  Sidney blinkered.  He blinkered again.  Then he whumpered in sodden grief and galumphed to the edge of the meadow " where there was a cliffie, and he threw his whole self into the briney foam below.  Sidney thought he had gone crackers when he saw Lionel. And he ended it all.

            Quiet crocker.

            Then the meadow was sprayed with DDT by a band of itineranting mimes, and that was the crocker demise of Humbert and Xerxes.

            Quiet crocker.

            Then that neurotic Lionel gubbled up some poison toadstoolies and inflamely did dead away.

            Quiet crocker.

            It had been such a luverly day.

Reviews

[Jason Katz]

I am at a loss for words. Just wonderful, plain and simple.
Unique. One of a kind. Humorous. Touching. Over-the-top amazing, in that there is really nothing quite like it (well, that is written as well as this). It is fairly easy to dumb down and create words, but to do it as well as you did is an art, a skill that few possess. Incredible. A breath of fresh air.

[annie lee]

Thank you so much. Lots of people don't understand that this is just fun, just to read by yourself and laugh. I love it, and I started writing pieces like this after I read some stuff John Lennon that had this air to it. That was 50 years ago. Thank you so much.

[dw817]

⊰ℛℛ⊱
Umm ... There is an emoticon I need here. o.O much better ...
Wow - at first I was going to note spelling and grammar issues but then realized quite quickly that it was deliberate to add a unique style to the story. :)

As for the plot - hmm - meadow sprayed with DDT by itinerant mimes, I think you had a good time in here, Annie. It's a little difficult for me to read cause I'm more familiar with people who deliberately misspell words with inappropriate meaning looking for a confrontation in their comments by critics - clearly none here.

Shame about Lionel, sounded like a good faithful friend of a compatriot and horse. Toffed by a tainted toadstool. :)

[annie lee]

Thanks. This is Jabberwocky such as appears in "Alice in Wonderland." The ones I write are clearly not written to be read aloud, as your wonderful story, but enjoyed alone in a cozy spot with a nice little glass of Prosecco. Mine are just gigglers. I love words and language, and when I get to play with those, I am very happy. Thanks for reading.

[dw817]

Late in Barrier I introduce Petrov Mayelkonyvich from Russia. I give him a strong Russian accent doing some research into writing accents to give stories a foreign flair. You might enjoy penning some. Here was what I finally wrote down in my book,

Petrov came forward again and stroked my hair almost lovingly. I was now quietly breathing in and out of the mask normally, the fight completely out of me. "Zho diyishoos, no ? Cand haf yoo vaykeeng oop now, cand vay, yeetle voolfcup." he said with that thick Russian accent again. I only moaned sleepily in reply.

[annie lee]

Accents can be really difficult to do, but I have done it a couple of times. I see you are opting for phonetic sounds -- which I think should work well.

[dw817]

To be sincere, your words were so phonetic above I was actually reading them out loud and smiling how they sounded. :)