The Reunification of the Entish Bow - Discussion

[Mister Underhill]

TO: Doctor Squatter, Esq., Bungalow Three, Surfside, Barbados

FROM: Doctor Underhill (Field Marshall, ret.), Bungalow Seven, Surfside, Barbados

RE: Another success


My Dear Squatter,

Congratulations on your latest achievement in the translation of Deeproot's magnum opus. I have received a note from an independent research team in Bern. Their analysis of the events of the past thirty odd hours indicates that you have successfully conflated fiction, satire, mediated reality, and actual reality into so tangled a self-referential web that it will take scholars and fanboys decades of intensive research, discussion, and debate to unravel its strands.

We are one step closer to our dream of a utopian future powered solely by Travest-o-technology©.

I'm certain you will also be interested in the attached video-still forwarded to me by the boys in our lab at Travest-o-Corp-Wolvercote. It shows our advanced industrial prototype safely* venting overload from a spike event that occurred yesterday, roughly between 12:10:00 and 12:40:00 GMT.

I shall be by the hot-tub if you wish to join me in celebration. Just follow the sound of popping champagne corks and the smell of Hawaiin Tropic suntan oil.

Yours &tc.,

Dr. Underhill

ATTACHMENT:




*In any case it would have been safe if some bumbling idiots had not failed to paint a "DO NOT WALK" warning on the floor behind the exhaust port as is plainly indicated in our design schematic. Apparently HR is quietly seeking a new junior lab technician for the Wolvercote facility as of this morning. I'll say no more in respect of a legal action which I am informed may be impending.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Dear Sirs,

I would like to take this opportunity to complain of the serious health damage inflicted upon me by the reading of your report. I do not know in which field of learning your doctorate was aquired, but I could have used a medical doctor to stich up my sides after your account had me in stitches. It is reported that a healer will arrive soon; perhaps her ministrations will soothe my ailment.

Respectfully,
Lady Estelyn, Chief Loremistress of Minas Tirith

[Mithadan]

*Grrralph enters a crypt-like cavern, waving away the dust that hovers in the air before him. Cobwebs hang from the stone ceiling and rubble and powdered stone cover the uneven floor. Needs a sweeping, he muses before continuing on towards the dressing room doors which line the far wall. He knocks at first one, then another and still another. No answer.

"Hallloooo!" he cries. But the only response is a sudden flurry of bat wings. A portal opens to his left and a ghostly hand emerges, beckoning to him with a crooked finger. "We have been waiting for you," intones an unearthly voice. "Come.... Elvenhome awaits..."

He staggers back and begins pounding again upon the dressing room doors. Behind him, Mantoes emerges from the glowing portal and moves towards him followed by an officious looking Elf carrying a clipboard. "Tsk, tsk," clucks the Elf. "Well overdue. Shall we take him Boss?"

Mantoes raises his arm and reaches towards Grrralph. He opens his mouth to speak even as the wraith rattles the doorknob of another dressing room. What will Mantoes say...?

[Kuruharan]

Kuruharan sticks his head out of his (newly discovered) dressing room where he had been quietly moldering.

“huh…wha…” he said in one of his more articulate utterances of recent memory. Then he caught sight of Mantoes. He suddenly sprang into action.

“Greetings Muddled-mirth’s answer to the Grim Reaper! I see that by some oversight you are lacking in the appropriate equipment for a being in your occupation. If you’ll just step in here I’ll show you my line of scythes, and if that does not interest you, I have a wondrous selection of rakes to peruse.”

“But…I…” stammered Mantoes as Kuruharan shoved him into the dressing room. As soon as he was through the door, Kuruharan slammed it shut on him. Then he went over to speak to Grralph.

“Salutations on your return. I have been waiting eagerly to see if we manage to escape from the Seventh Age in one piece, or with an augmentation of characters. Alas, there seems to be a bit of a contract dispute over reasonable compensation. It appears that the RPG has garnered more money at the box office than originally anticipated and certain members are demanding a larger cut. I naturally have no idea who!” *wink*wink*

“By the way, I notice that Daffy resurrectum est!”

Kuruharan suddenly pulls out a bag.

“I’m sure I have some souvenirs from where ever it was you went to sell you…”

[Bêthberry]

My post will be up by tomorrow, returning the Itship to the Third Age.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Alas, I shall be away from Friday to Monday, so I can't post after Bb gets us back. Who volunteers to take the Itship into the Shire - oops, I mean 'Mire'?

[Bêthberry]

The mis--or missing--adventures of the Tweeship in the Seventh Age raise serious questions about the authorship of Twentieth Century manuscripts by the scribe T. It appears that a manuscript by several hands did once exist which recounted a science fiction time travel journey into alternate times despite T's misgivings about such a genre. Perhaps the manuscript changed his mind about such matters.

This apocryphal text recounts a shocking evidence of the desecration of barrows in times more barbarous than our own. However, it includes other more shocking acts of demolition. Character assassination is indulged in freely. Heretical recontextualising of mythological deities abounds. Automobiles exert the utmost acts of defilement, of air, of roadways, of bodies.

But most shockingly, this REB text leads to the conjecture that certain of T's texts, which remain in unpublished manuscripts, might actually have been inspired by these rough, crude, primitive precursor texts of the wanton Third or Fourth Age. The Marquette University manuscript known as The Bovardium Fragments owes a striking resemblance to these documents of the Reunification of the Entish Bow. Certainly there T goes much farther in the final destruction of Oxford than anything the REB writers dared to imagine, although his hand no doubt is far lighter, nay, even flippant, than theirs. However, we must not conjecture too strongly about the sub-creational tendencies of the REB documents. Certainly they maintain a reasonable correspondence with historical sites of Oxford. The Trailer Trash art installation by itself remains the single most profound example of how art imitates life. Compare it with the Headington Shark to determine for yourself the much richer context of signifiers in the REB documents than in the Council Regulation Minutes.

One final note. The REB documents continue to develop the harmonies and musical themes of popular music and rock and roll, but this latest document extends the reach by suggesting just wherein Emu's great theme stands in relation to these later themes. The references are too numerous to mention here but no doubt they will give scholars in ages to come a most profitable expenditure of time and research skills in the recovery of source materials.

~ ~ ~

Humblest apologies to Pimpi for casting such vile aspersions on her size and to SpM for confusing those two very different facial features, the Eye and the Nostril. I overlooked the later by a hair. All errors will be corrected tomorrow.

To Mithadan, for your very funny remonstrances about Latino stereotypes, many thanks. It kept me chucking for many a day.

Dear REBers, many thanks for your indulgence about my delay in setting up the final act of this cameo and for allowing me the fun of joining briefly in the mayhem. I should probably confess here that I think On Fairy Stories is one of Tolkien's most brilliant works.

And now, on to Mirth from The Mire... Just remember to keep it clean, eh?

Bethberry