Brag
10-14-09, 06:37 AM
The clatter of footsteps approached. Sensing danger, Balz pointed at the upright piano against the wall. “We must gather around that instrument of beauty,” he said in a calm tone and sat on the piano bench.
Haji Babajimbuna entered the room followed by a mob or Arabs waving scimitars. “Ah, we have the usual suspects,”
“I’m not usual,” Balz protested.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m playing the piano.”
Babajimbuna placed his arms akimbo. “And what are you playing, Mr. Balz?”
Balz gestured as if introducing the piano to the crowd. “Listen, I call this piece As Hoochie-woochie Goes By. It’s the main aria of my opera Casablanca Hoochie-woochie.”
“You don’t have a hoochie woochie license.”
“Why do I need a license?”
“You’ve put a hoochie-woochie sign on your house. You must pay me one hundred and forty two dinars.”
“That’s desert robbery,” Balz exclaimed.
“Not too much,” Jimbuna gestured at his men. “Ali Baba and his forty Desert Constables must be paid.”
“I thought Ali Baba was the head of the forty thieves.”
“He is.”
“But he is supposed to be in Baghdad.”
“That was 600 years ago. You have heard of continental drift, haven’t you?”
“I have an idea,” Balz said. “I came here to create progress and economic development. I’ll sign up Ali Baba and the forty thieves—“
“Desert Constables,” Jimbuna interjected.
“I’ll sign them up as my pirate crew.”
Jimbuna turned to a chubby man wearing sunglasses. “What do you think of that?”
“What would we steal?”
“Ashtrays made in Birmingham,” Balz said. “Souvenir Indian elephants made in Birmingham, Chinese Buddhas made in Birmingham and mucho gold.”
“We have an ashtray shortage,” Jimbuna said.
“I’ve never seen an ashtray,” Ali Baba sighed. “I want to see British ferangs use ashtrays.”
Balz realized he had dealt a winning hand and smiled. “In Baghdad, you can watch British officers using ashtrays while you slip bombs under café tables.”
“That sounds like fun,” Ali Baba said. “My cousin, Aladin the Lamp Rubber needs a job, too.”
“We’ll steal some lamps to keep him busy.” Balz shook his head. What are you guys doing here, you should be in Baghdad.”
“We are refugees from the Brits who want to steal our desert,” Ali Baba complained.
“What you need is a hero like myself to liberate Arabia from the colonial yoke of oppressive imperial rule and replace it with hoochie woochie. We will advance to Baghdad.”
“Really?” Babajimbuna asked.
“Yes, it will be called Balzghdad after I am done there. All Iraqis will stop and admire me. Balz sang, “Oh, meet me in Balzghdad, you hoochie woochie,”
The future pirates picked up the tune and marched out of the Armenian’s house singing the Balzghdad hoochie woochie.
Even with Balz’s dynamic presence, life in the ancient port of Sur continued at the same serene pace it has crept through the ages.
Balz was happy to have picked Sur as his base and have made contact with German intelligence. By keeping two squadrons of homing pigeons, Babu al Babu Dutch communicated with the German naval attaché in Tehran, who in turn had radio contact with Berlin.
Balz and Babajimbuna sat on one of the Arab trader’s magic carpets watching the workers sew planks together on what was to become Balz’s two masted pirate ship. Babajimbuna passed the mouthpiece of the hookah pipe they were smoking and Balz took a deep, satisfying drag. Now that Birdnard was working on some mission given by the German spy Babu al Babu Dutch, he could relax. Birdnard would be crapping on British ships involved in shipping.
“When are we going to fly on this thing?” Balz patted the carpet.
“Tomorrow,” Babajimbuna answered.
“You’ve said that yesterday.”
“No, I’ve said tomorrow.”
“You’ve said tomorrow yesterday.”
“I can’t say what I haven’t said tomorrow.”
“What I’ve said was you have said yesterday—Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow is not yesterday. Yesterday comes before tomorrow and tomorrow after yesterday. But then, tomorrow vanishes.”
“That’s because it is called today.”
Baba Jimbuna shook his head. Yesterday today was tomorrow and tomorrow today will be yesterday.”
Omar, the shipbuilder come over, interrupting the deeply profound conversation. “Observe how we use the best coconut fibers to sew the planks together and we use the best teak and mahogany from India to make you the best ship that has ever sailed from here to the faraway lands of Sind.”
“When will it be ready?” Balz asked.
“Tomorrow.” Omar said.
“Tomorrow, tomorrow, everyone says tomorrow.” Balz scooped a fistful of sand and let it pour back on the ground.
“Tomorrow it will no longer be tomorrow and today your ship is not ready.” Omar sat on the magic carpet and took a drag from the hookah pipe. “Trouble with sailors, they want their ships finished, they don’t understand the beauty of an unfinished ship. Unfinished ships don’t sink.”
“Truer words never been said,” Babajimbuna pointed at the ribs not yet fully covered by planks.
A big schplot of albatross poop landed on the carpet.
“You dirty bird.” Balz waved his fist at Birdnard who circled the harbor.
Bernard squacked back, “Message from Berlin.” He landed and showed a folded paper tied to his leg.
http://img87.imageshack.us/img87/9053/dancewithpiratevi9.gif
Haji Babajimbuna entered the room followed by a mob or Arabs waving scimitars. “Ah, we have the usual suspects,”
“I’m not usual,” Balz protested.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m playing the piano.”
Babajimbuna placed his arms akimbo. “And what are you playing, Mr. Balz?”
Balz gestured as if introducing the piano to the crowd. “Listen, I call this piece As Hoochie-woochie Goes By. It’s the main aria of my opera Casablanca Hoochie-woochie.”
“You don’t have a hoochie woochie license.”
“Why do I need a license?”
“You’ve put a hoochie-woochie sign on your house. You must pay me one hundred and forty two dinars.”
“That’s desert robbery,” Balz exclaimed.
“Not too much,” Jimbuna gestured at his men. “Ali Baba and his forty Desert Constables must be paid.”
“I thought Ali Baba was the head of the forty thieves.”
“He is.”
“But he is supposed to be in Baghdad.”
“That was 600 years ago. You have heard of continental drift, haven’t you?”
“I have an idea,” Balz said. “I came here to create progress and economic development. I’ll sign up Ali Baba and the forty thieves—“
“Desert Constables,” Jimbuna interjected.
“I’ll sign them up as my pirate crew.”
Jimbuna turned to a chubby man wearing sunglasses. “What do you think of that?”
“What would we steal?”
“Ashtrays made in Birmingham,” Balz said. “Souvenir Indian elephants made in Birmingham, Chinese Buddhas made in Birmingham and mucho gold.”
“We have an ashtray shortage,” Jimbuna said.
“I’ve never seen an ashtray,” Ali Baba sighed. “I want to see British ferangs use ashtrays.”
Balz realized he had dealt a winning hand and smiled. “In Baghdad, you can watch British officers using ashtrays while you slip bombs under café tables.”
“That sounds like fun,” Ali Baba said. “My cousin, Aladin the Lamp Rubber needs a job, too.”
“We’ll steal some lamps to keep him busy.” Balz shook his head. What are you guys doing here, you should be in Baghdad.”
“We are refugees from the Brits who want to steal our desert,” Ali Baba complained.
“What you need is a hero like myself to liberate Arabia from the colonial yoke of oppressive imperial rule and replace it with hoochie woochie. We will advance to Baghdad.”
“Really?” Babajimbuna asked.
“Yes, it will be called Balzghdad after I am done there. All Iraqis will stop and admire me. Balz sang, “Oh, meet me in Balzghdad, you hoochie woochie,”
The future pirates picked up the tune and marched out of the Armenian’s house singing the Balzghdad hoochie woochie.
Even with Balz’s dynamic presence, life in the ancient port of Sur continued at the same serene pace it has crept through the ages.
Balz was happy to have picked Sur as his base and have made contact with German intelligence. By keeping two squadrons of homing pigeons, Babu al Babu Dutch communicated with the German naval attaché in Tehran, who in turn had radio contact with Berlin.
Balz and Babajimbuna sat on one of the Arab trader’s magic carpets watching the workers sew planks together on what was to become Balz’s two masted pirate ship. Babajimbuna passed the mouthpiece of the hookah pipe they were smoking and Balz took a deep, satisfying drag. Now that Birdnard was working on some mission given by the German spy Babu al Babu Dutch, he could relax. Birdnard would be crapping on British ships involved in shipping.
“When are we going to fly on this thing?” Balz patted the carpet.
“Tomorrow,” Babajimbuna answered.
“You’ve said that yesterday.”
“No, I’ve said tomorrow.”
“You’ve said tomorrow yesterday.”
“I can’t say what I haven’t said tomorrow.”
“What I’ve said was you have said yesterday—Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow is not yesterday. Yesterday comes before tomorrow and tomorrow after yesterday. But then, tomorrow vanishes.”
“That’s because it is called today.”
Baba Jimbuna shook his head. Yesterday today was tomorrow and tomorrow today will be yesterday.”
Omar, the shipbuilder come over, interrupting the deeply profound conversation. “Observe how we use the best coconut fibers to sew the planks together and we use the best teak and mahogany from India to make you the best ship that has ever sailed from here to the faraway lands of Sind.”
“When will it be ready?” Balz asked.
“Tomorrow.” Omar said.
“Tomorrow, tomorrow, everyone says tomorrow.” Balz scooped a fistful of sand and let it pour back on the ground.
“Tomorrow it will no longer be tomorrow and today your ship is not ready.” Omar sat on the magic carpet and took a drag from the hookah pipe. “Trouble with sailors, they want their ships finished, they don’t understand the beauty of an unfinished ship. Unfinished ships don’t sink.”
“Truer words never been said,” Babajimbuna pointed at the ribs not yet fully covered by planks.
A big schplot of albatross poop landed on the carpet.
“You dirty bird.” Balz waved his fist at Birdnard who circled the harbor.
Bernard squacked back, “Message from Berlin.” He landed and showed a folded paper tied to his leg.
http://img87.imageshack.us/img87/9053/dancewithpiratevi9.gif