The Awakening *or* The Perils of Ginger *or* Something Else

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
21

“Have no fear, you are safe from my digging impliment”
“But how did you hear that? It was an aside outside of the story framework?”
“Oh, was it?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
“Well?”
“What?”
“What do you have to say?”
“Oh. Oh yeah! Ginger, I am your brother…”
“My brother? Too bad, I was going to suggest we make out while Manne is still unconscious. Now we can’t. It would be oogy.”
“No, I’m not your brother.”
“But you said you were.”
“No I didn’t. Do you see those elipses? The dot dot dot? That means I wasn’t finished talking yet.”
“Oh. Go on then.”
“Thank you. I am your brother’s roommate’s friend’s cousin.”
“Are you finished now?”
“Yes.”
“So what does that have to do with anything?”
“I just thought I’d let you know we are in no way related. In case you want to make out.”
“No, not now. I’m not in the mood. And why are you here, anyway?”
“I have a message for you.”
“OK, shoot.”
“I can’t, I only have a shovel.”
“What’s your message then?”
“I want you. I need you. Ginger, I must have you. You are the only woman that can fulfill my needs.”
“We’ve been though this. I’m not in the mood.”
“No, that’s the message. It’s from Bob. He needs you to protect the Mystical Elephant of Atlantis.”
“Like, in Georgia?”
“No, that’s Atlanta. I said Atlantis. You are descended from the Royal Family of Atlantis.”
“No, I’m decended from some chick from Iceland.”
“Nuh-uh. There’s no such place as Iceland. It’s just what we call Atlantis, so people don’t think we’re kooks.”
“Like now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.”

“OK. This dialog stuff is tiring. Can we just get on with it?”

The Mysterious Guy with the Shovel told sweet Ginger that she is an Atlantian Princess with Magical Powers. B’wana Bob needs her to meet him at the Lost Tomb of B’elli B’uuttonn to use her powers to protect the Mystical Elephant of Atlantis from the Nazis.

So that’s where we are now.

Where will we go next?

Only the Shadow knows! Bwa-hahahaha!!!

Wait, that’s wrong. No Shadow here.

Only you can prevent forest fires!

(That’s wrong too, but I’m leaving it for now.)
-Rue.

22

Meanwhile, in the far away land of Alberta, the tribal elders, guardians of the Sacred Root[sup]TM[/sup], are gathering…

23

“Who had the cheese sandwich on rye?”
“I wanted pumpernickel.”
“Ham? Is there ham?”
“That’s not horseradish is it? I don’t like horseradish.”
“Mmmmm… good turkey sandwich…”

And the Tribal Elders had their lunch and went home. Untill next week, when they gather again. They plan to built a soapbox racer.
-Rue.

24

Good Heavens, Rue. Why on earth would the Keepers of the Sacred Root keep Horseradish when there is perfectly wonderful Ginger around? :wink:

Having escaped a whap across the head with the sh… digging implement, Ginger goes off to meet B’wana Bob {who appears to be conspicuously absent in these proceedings} at the Lost Tomb of B’elli B’uuttonn. To, of course, use her powers to protect the Mystical Elephant of Atlantis from the Nazis. Notice that at this time she has not made out with the Mysterious Guy with the Shovel. She’s got morals now, upon finding that she is an Atlantean Princess with Magical Powers. She sure hopes that Manne is there, 'cause it’s been awhile…

Meanwhile, she wonders where her dear Numpty boy Pierre has been. She is craving banana chocolate chip bread and needs her shoes polished. In short, in need of coddling, and oh my Lord isn’t she turning out to be high-maintenance?

25

Running out (OK, stumbling out, you’re happy now ?) of the Legionnaire Long House, the oldest of the elders recalled them
“Wait, we haven’t done our weekly business !”

“And what would that be, O Mike from Canmore ?”

“Well, you know… the strangers… trying to steal our Sacred Root[sup]TM[/sup] !”

“OK, that does it. Last week it was aliens trying to impregnate your poodle, the week before that, Nazis trying to poison the firewater supply and the week before that accountants trying to audit the Chief’s daughter pet gerbil. Now, if we do what you ask, will you leave us alone ?”

“Well, unh, yeah [sub]although there was Nazis last week[/sub].”

“Good, so what do you want us to do ?”

“I want to summon She-Who-Controls-The-Giant-Spiders.”

“Oh, that ! Why didn’t you say so ? We haven’t seen the little tyke in a while. Sure we’ll do it [sub]quick, get the butterfly net ready[/sub]”

“Then let us begin the incantation, EEEEEK ! A SPIDER ! KILLIT, KILLIT, KILLIT…”

26

“I must go to the Lost Tomb of B’elli B’uuttonn.”
“But Ginger, you cannot leave me.”
Have no fear, Manne, I will return to you. I will always return to my Manne Ettobah."
“That’s OK then. Have a nice trip.”
“Has anyone seen my plane?”
“Over here Ginger.”
“And you would be…”
“Your pilot, Lewis Gunn. Just tell me where you want to go.”
“The Lost Tomb of B’elli B’uuttonn. Haven’t you been reading along?”
“Which way is that?”
“North. No, from here it’s south.”
“It makes no difference, I can go either way. This is a biplane.”

Ginger and her pilot, Lewis flew off to the Lost Tomb of B’elli B’uuttonn. They had to stop a few of times. Four times to refuel, one for Ginger to “powder her nose” and once to wash down the bug she swallowed. That took a lot of tequila, let me tell you.

Finally they made it to the Lost Tomb of B’elli B’uuttonn. (I have this “copied” so all I have to do is hit “command-V” and it pops right up. Lost Tomb of B’elli B’uuttonn, Lost Tomb of B’elli B’uuttonn, Lost Tomb of B’elli B’uuttonn. It takes no time at all.) There they meet B’wana Bob. Or so it seems…

“Oh Bob, it’s so good to see you.”
“Ginger, my apple blossom, my creme-cicle, my pistachio chip ice cream cup…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get the picture. You’re madly in love with me. Just like everyone else.”
“There are others? I will kill them with my bare hands!”
“Not now. What do you need me for?”
“We could go behind those rocks and…”
“Other than that.”
“You must open the Lost Tomb of B’elli B’uuttonn with your magic. It’s a musical magic so there you go.”
“I have to sing?”
“Good God no!”
“What?”
“I mean the sweet tones of your dulcet voice would be too much for my poor mortal heart to bear.”
“Better. So what do I need to do?”
“I have this…”
“Quit rooting around in your pants, I already told you…”
“No, no, no, I’m just looking for… Ah! Here it is!”
“A kazoo?”
“Not just a kazoo, The Kazoo of Truth!”
“The Kazoo of Truth. Keen. Are you sure though?”
“Yeah. Right on the side here it says “Veritas”. See?”
“That would mean “truth” then?”
“Sure. Why not?”

Ginger took the Kazoo of Truth and let rip a rockin’ rendition of “Rollin’ on the River”, and the Lost Tomb of B’elli B’uuttonn opened. Magically.

“Ha! You fool! You fell right into my trap!”
“Bob no! You are my friend! You are good!”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Ginger-lass. I am not Bob!” (rrrriiiippppp! And off comes the face of Bob, to reviel… the face of Bob!) I am Bob’s Evil Twin! Bert!"
“But you look just like Bob.”
“That’s the “twin” part of “Evil Twin”. But as you can see I have the goatee. That’s how you can tell i"m the evil one.”
“Van Dyke.”
“What?”
“Van Dyke, not goatee. You have the moustache too. That makes it a “Van Dyke”. Not a “goatee”. Doofus.”
“Oh. But I’m still evil. Eeeeeviiillll!”
“Where’s Bob, then?”
“Oh, he’s tied up behind that rock over there.”
“Mmmff mmfff hhhmf” came from behind the rock.
“But what is your plan? Tell me, what is your plan?”
Will Ginger learn Bert’s plan?
Will Bob get loose?
Where the hell is Lewis, with all this going on? Huh? Tell me that. Where’s Lewis?

All this and more in our next installment of…
The Awakening!
-Rue.

27

Rue, baby. Research, my love.

28

Now I have to look up all your old flames? It’s not enough I’m carrying this thread almost single handedly? (By the way, thanks Cartooniverse, thinksnow, and detop.) (I’d thank Lady Juliet too, but really dear, you didn’t add much to the storyline now, didya?)

I can’t even take a few, just a few dramatic licences for a cheap gag? Man, this is getting to be, like, work.

Oh well.

On to the next riveting chapter of

The Awakening
or
The Perils of Ginger!!!

29

“My plan? You want to know my plan?”
“Yes. Yes I do.”
“Maybe this is just a ploy to stall for time. Is that it?”
“Maybe. I’m not saying till I hear your plan.”
“OK. My Plan. By: Bert Iglabsnert.”
“Iglabsnert?”
“Yeah. Why do you think Bob goes by “B’wana”?”
“Oh. Carry on.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You are too kind.”
“Yes, I know.”
“And yowza! Do you fill out your sweater.”
“Bert?”
“Yes?”
“Your plan?”
“Oh. Yeah. My plan. I want to take over the World.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah.”
“Not much of a plan.”
“But I got you to come to me and open the Lost Tomb.”
“I thought that was because of the Nazis.”
“There are no Nazis.”
“None?”
“Nope. It was all just me. From the start. Me, me, me. Pretty darned clever, huh?”
“Clever Bert? You might want to look behind you.”
“Oh yeah, like I’m soooo stupid I’d fall for that…”
crunch
“Take that Bert!”
“Oh Bob! I never thought you’d get here. Wow, you really wallopped him a good one with that stick.”
“I was a little pissed off.”
“Not really pissed off…”
“Not now Lewis.”
“Oh Bob, let him speak. What do you mean Lewis?”
“Well, you know I’d been drinking a lot of coffee on the flight, and then I was nowhere to be found while Bert was fooling you into opening the Tomb? Well, that was when I found Bob.”
“Oh,” said Ginger.
“Yeah, “Oh”,” said Bob.
“Sorry,” said Lewis.
“What do we do with Bert now?” asked Bob.
“I know,” said Ginger. And she dragged… she started to drag Bert into the Tomb, but he was real heavy. So she had Lewis drag him in. Then with a few bars of “Mmmmm… Bop” on the Kazoo of Truth, she closed up the Lost Tomb of B’elli B’uuttonn.
“He’s trapped in there,” said the ever-observant Bob.
“Yup. We’ll get some help and come back and take Evil Twin Bert into custody. Eventually,” said Ginger. “But first… A song!”
“Hooray!” cried Bob and Lewis together.
-Rue.

30

<Just then, something occurred to Bob.>
“Something just occurred to me.”
“What,” inquired the ravenously beautiful Canadian. Not that she was really hungry or rapacious, though perhaps a bit insatiable, just that she was really really hot. Attractive hot, not temperature hot.
“Well,” began Bob, “it seems to me that my Evil Twin Brother[sup]TM[/sup] wanted to open the Lost Tomb of B’elli B’uuttonn, right?”
“Ye…esss,” was the hesitant and not yet understanding reply.
“And we just opened it and put him in there, right?”
“Ye…esss.”
“Well, how, exactly, is this bad for him?”
“…”
“Hmmm?”
“…Oh, shi…!”

31

Through the incredibly thick, yet accoustically transparent doors of the Lost Tomb (which, it seems, everyone knows where the heck it is, so it’s not really “Lost” in any real sense) comes a voice.
“Bwa-hahahahaha!” (Which sounded more like [sub]“Bwa-hahahahaha!”[/sub] But I don’t want the coding to be any more difficult than it has to be. C’mon, this is just some light fiction. It ain’t Tolstoy. Maybe Roger Tolstoy, but not the famous one.)

“Bwa-hahahahaha! They fell for my Plan. It was such a good plan, I like to think of it capitalized. Definitely a Plan. Maybe The Plan. Naw, it wasn’t that good. Just the Plan. And it worked! Bwa-hahahaha! The Mystical Elephant of Atlantis is at last in my grasp! Ow! Crap! That has a sharp point there! Have to be more careful. The Mystical Elephant is in my metaphorical grasp and completely in my control! Bwa-hahahahaha! cough, cough, choke, sputter Man the dust in here will kill ya.”

An eery blue glow came from under the massive Lost Tomb doors. If it was an Erie glow, it would be a sort of icky green, and be glowing between Ohio and Canada. We are now nowhere near either Ohio nor Canada, so you know it couldn’t be an Erie glow. It was definitely eery. If it was more nest-like it could have been aerie, but it wasn’t.

“What should we do?” cried B’wana Bob in a surprisingly girly voice.
“Get ahold of yourself man!”
“Now Lewis? Is this really the place? I mean you two could see me. It would be embarassing.”
“I think he means stop screaming like a little girl.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. Well, what should we do now? There. Was that calm enough for you?”
“Yeah, that was better,” admitted Ginger.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. I still have the Kazoo of Truth. I could try using it again. What could it hurt?”
“Bert, if we’re lucky.”
“You don’t like your Evil Twin much, do you Bob?”
“No, no I don’t”
“OK, here goes nothin’!”

It was more a medley than a single song. It started out with “Dancing Queen” and segued into “What if God Were One of Us” and slid over into a Blues standard, swinging up into a Gospel number and winding up with “Pop Goes the Weasel” finishing off with “Shave and a Haircut”. As the last echo died the stalwart three stood and listened. (That would be Ginger, Bob and Lewis. The stalwart three. They could be doughty, but that just sounds bad. It’s not bad at all, it just sounds it.)

“No!” screamed Bert through the really odd doors. “No! No, no, no! Stay away! Stay back! The horror! The spiders! Help Save me! Save m…”

“What now?” asked Lewis.
“I dunno,” said Ginger. “I do know I’m not openning those doors for a very long time.”
“Me either.”
“Not me. Nuh-uh.”
“Let’s get back to the plane. We’ll go home now. I wonder what Pierre is up to?” said Ginger.
“Wait,” said Lewis. “There are three of us.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s a biplane.”
“Again, yeah?”
“A two seated biplane.”
“That’s OK, Bob can sit in my seat.”
“Where will you sit, Ginger?” Lewis was curious.
“Oh, I’ll think of something…” She looked at Bob, and they both wagged their eyebrows at each other.
What about Manne?
What about the guy with the sh… digging impliment?
What about Pierre?
What about Dawn?
What about those Canadian guys, the tribal elders?

Who cares?

I mean it. Who cares? If no one cares, I guess we’re finished here. We don’t have to be. But we can be. It’s all up to you.
-Rue.

32

Well, I care. I wanna know about the other folks. I need closure.

One thing, though: in my present state, I couldn’t have a “surprisingly girly voice” if you kicked me in the ding-ding. I’ve got the whole gravelly-congested-scratchy voice thing going in these days. Give me a week or two, then perhaps…‘course, don’t go a’kickin’ me or you’re gonna get hurt: Ginger won’t stand for that sort of treatment of me and my 2,000 parts.

33

think, look around you. Real slow. I’ll wait.

Hmmm hmm hm hmmm hmmm hummm… (That would be me humming while I wait for you to look around.)

That should be about long enough. OK. Do you see a Lost Tomb of B’elli B’uuttonn anywhere around you?

No? So this is just a made-up story? Like fiction? (If you said “yes”, either A) You’re a smart-assed wisenhiemer, or 2. You need your meds adjusted. Just a tip.)

Hey everybody! *thinksnow would NEVER EVER scream like a little girl. He’s a manly he-man kinda guy. Even in the face of eery blue glows.

First Ginger busts my chops, and now you. Sheesh.

And back to the story…

Ppprrrtt… f’nerrrrrrrktktkt… perfft…
“What the hell is that? Bob, did you have too much bean dip?” asked the sultry Ginger.
“No, I think it’s the engine!” (He was just talking loud over the engine noise. No girly screams should be inferred. If he said “Eeeek! I think it’s the engine!” then you would be free to infer away.)
“Hey Lewis! Is that the engine?”
“What?”
“The engine!”
“I can’t hear you! The engine is making a really bad noise!”
“Can you put us down somewhere?”
“What?”
“Put us down!”
“You have no taste in clothes!”
“The plane! Land the plane!”
“I can’t talk now! I’m trying to land the plane!”

Lewis, the expert pilot that he is, looks frantically for a safe place to land the plane. Unforyunately, they are over a swamp or a jungle or something. The point is there’s a certain derth of landing options. Closing his eyes and holding his breath, Lewis puts the plane in a dive, hoping to bust throught the forest cover and pull up before he plants them all into the ground. Kids! Don’t try this at home! (If you have a plane that is.)

“Hold on, we’re going down!”
“Not in this seat! There’s no room!”
“No Ginger, the plane is going down!”
“Oh! That’s not good, is it?!”
“No!”

And the three crashed deep in the swamp. Or forest. They crashed anyway.

What will happen next?
-Rue.

34

Rue, I enjoy the bold new direction you’re taking the story.

Although, I have to tell you, me playing bouncy with B’wanna Bob in the back seat of a bi-plane is rather out of character. What about Manne? The tribal elders? The guy with the sh… digging implement? And where oh where is my dear Pierre?

35

Bursting through the forest canopy like a biplane out of control, the biplane that at that moment was completely out of control burst through the forest canopy. Leave and branched whipped by our heros’ heads. If any of the three were truely heros.

Ginger has a certain hero aura about her, but that could just be Lee® Press-On Aura™. It’s probably the real thing, but they are doing wonders with acrylic these days.

B’wana Bob is kinda hero-esque, but that could just be good lighting. He did scream like a girl that one time. But it was only one time. Capt. Kirk probably screamed like a girl a lot, but they editted that out like they did the shots of his huge ass. CGI hero-ocity.

Lewis isn’t a hero. He could be redshirted at any time. Who would miss him? He hasn’t even hit on Ginger yet. Or Bob for that matter. I worry about Lewis.

The plane careened closer and closer to Mother Earth, like a baby searching for a teat to suckle. Except, man, can you imagine the size of a teat a whole planet would have? Bigger than volcanoes. So let’s just change that metaphore. It’s not a very good one anyway.

The plane careened closer and closer to Mother Earth, like an out of control biplane about to crash into a swamp.

“Hold on to something! We’re going to crash!”
“Thanks for the tip, Lewis!”
“Bob! I don’t think that’s what Lewis had in mind when he said to hold on to something!”
“Is this better?!”
“Yeah! That’ll do!”
“In the event of a water landing, we’re all screwed! ‘Cause that just means we crashed into the swamp! And there ain’t nothin’ on this crate that’ll float for long!”
“Thanks for the tip, Lewis!”
“Don’t mention it!”
“Too late, I already did!”
The engine was sputtering, trees were flashing by, the green water was getting closer. There was a scream from the plane, but in all the confusion no one knew who the screamer was.

And the plane hit.

kerrrr-splashh!! Spllloooosh! gurgle-gurgle, ssssspishhhhhh…

“Is everyone OK?”
“I’m better than OK, I’m fabulous.”
“Yes Ginger, but I meant is anyone hurt?”
“Oh. No, we seem to be alright back here. Bob, honey, you can let go of that now.”
“You sure?”
“For now. We might have to assume crash positions again later.”
The three crashees realized the swamp was strangely quiet. Slowly they realized they were surrounded by eyes. 112 eyes.

Now you may assume that meant they were surrounded by 56 people. You’d be wrong, but you could assume that. There were 57 people surrounding them. You know how your Mom tells you ot to run with scissors? It’ll put your eye out? Well, it will. OK, that’s 113 eyes.

Not so fast, Mr. Math-whiz. (Or Ms Math-whiz, as the case may be.) You should always learn from the pain of your friends. If all your friends jumped off a bridge, you don’t have to too. “Oh, nothing will happen to me. Only other people get their eyes poked out running with scissors.”

After the “Mr. Smarty-pants I can Run With Scissors If I Want To No Matter What Happened Last Time” Incident, no one runs with scissors anymore.

57 people and 112 eyes. We won’t count their teeth or ears.

“We’re surrounded,” whispered Bob. Even though they were surrounded and the surrounders knew where they were, Bob still whispered. You just have to. It’s a rule in situations like this. If you ever crash into a swamp and are surrounded by 57 people, always whisper. That way they won’t know how many of you there are in the mangled, twisted wreckage of a biplane. They could think there’s hundreds of you in there, and then they (the surrounders) will just wander off, leaving you alone.
“Natives?” asked Ginger.
“No. Pirates.” Lewis just knew that. From the eyes, I guess. “And, no, we are not near Pittsburgh.” Lewis has been around these people too long.

“Come out of the plane with your hands up!” called the head surrounding pirate.
“Then what will you do with us?” asked Ginger. It never hurts to ask.
“Take you to our Pirate King.”

The Stalwart Three climbed out of the plane and the pirates took them to the Pirate King.

“Pierre!” exclaimed Ginger when she saw the Pirate King. “I didn’t know you were royalty! And my boots need polishing. This swamp is murder on a good shiney boot.”
“Yes, fair Ginger, I am the Pirate King.”
“How did that happen?” asked Bob.
“When Dawn and I ran off with the Citroen to hurl to our destinies, after many riveting adventures, we wound up here.”
“You were in construction?” asked Bob.
“What?”
“You said you had adventures riveting. I just figured that meant you were in construction.”
“It’s a figure of speach. It means my adventures were really interesting.”
“Oh.”
“Where was I? Oh yeah. I wound up here. I beat the old Pirate King in a contest of might. Now I am King. Pretty cool, huh?”
"Yeah, " agreed Lewis. “Where’s Dawn?”
“She’s shopping for clothes. A Pirate Queen has a certain standard to live up to.”
“Oh, OK. So what are you going to do with us?”
What will Pierre, the Pirate King do with them?
I have no idea. At least they didn’t all die in a fiery plane crash.
Maybe something will come to me for the next exciting adventure of
The Awakening
or
The Perils of Ginger!

Or someone else could pound out a plot twist and take me off the hook. It wouldn’t hurt my feelings at all.
-Rue.

36

Oh! My darling Pierre is the Pirate King! And shacked up with a nobody named Dawn…

My boots still need polishing.

37

From the fringes of the Pirate Camp (You’d think they’d be on ships wouldn’t you? Pirates are just famous for their ships. This is at the Pirate Camp. Sort of a Club Med for pirates. When they are between tours of scourging the Seven Seas and need some downtime, they come here.) came a horrible ruckus. A furore, if you will. A scream could be heard. Then it’d be quiet for a few minutes. Then another scream. They were getting closer.

“What’s that?” asked Bob. He didn’t have so much as a quiver in his voice. He wasn’t afraid, he was just asking foe information.
“I don’t know,” said Pierre, the Pirate King.
Now they could hear more.

kanngg
“Ow!”
thud

It got closer still

“…shovel?”
kanngg
“Ow!”
thud

And closer still.

“It’s a shovel.”
kanngg
“Ow!”
thud

Finally the cause of the commotion found our group, Ginger, Bob, Lewis and Pierre. It’s like a rule or something, if there’s a strange man around, he’ll find our lovely Ginger.

“Hey! You there! What’s this?” demanded the strange Guy with a Digging Impliment.
“It’s a shovel.” answered Pierre
whooosh
kanngg
“Ow! What’d ya hit me with your shovel for?”
whooosh
kanngg
“You don’t learn too fast? Do you?”
“What do you want?” cried Pierre quietly. He cried quietly because he was all wound up and wanted to know, but he had a really bad headache from being smashed on the head with a sh… digging impliment. Twice.
“I heard the Pirate King knows where the Old Indian is. Are you the Pirate King?”
“No!” Pierre wasn’t too bright, but he had good hunches sometimes.
“Yes you are.” Bob didn’t like Pierre much.
“Oh you are, are you? What’s this in my hand?”
“A sh… No! No, no, no! I am the Pirate King now. You want the old Pirate King. He left.”
“Where to?”
“Morracco.”
“Then I am on the Road to Morracco. Anyone want to come?”
“Oh yes!” squeeled Ginger.
“Do you want to go to Morracco with that Guy,” clarified Bob.
“Oh. No thanks.”
“I’ll go. I don’t have much to do with this storyline since my plane crashed.”
“It was my plane. You were just the pilot.”
“Whatever. I’ll go to Morrocco with you Guy.”
“OK. What’s this?”
“A digging impliment.”
“Good job. Can you cook?”
“Yeah, some.”
“Good enough. Morracco, here we come.”

And Lewis and the Guy left for Morracco.

“What about us?” asked Ginger.
“What about you?” asked Pierre.
“What is she doing here?” asked Dawn.
“She and her friend were just leaving.” answered Pierre. “It’s good to have you back dear. Did the shopping go well?”
“I’ll tell you when she’s out of here.” Dawn remembered how Pierre felt about Ginger and wasn’t taking any chances. She’s a Pirate Queen now, and doesn’t want that Gravy Boat to sail.

Pierre gave Ginger and Bob a ride home on one of his fastest pirate ships. They were home in no time. (It was a super-futuristic pirate ship. It could sail at the speed of light.)

When they got back to the Pluperfect Non-Pariel Emporium and Plantain Shoppe, they found Manne with his head in his hands. He wasn’t decapitated. He was just sad.

“Manne, what’s wrong?” asked Ginger. She’s really very caring.
“Space aliens. They came and stole the Sub-Plasmic Comfribulator.”
“Well then chaps, it’s off to the Galactic Patrol Headquarters with us!” That Ginger always knows what to do.

And so ends this chapter of
The Perils of Ginger!

Come back later and we’ll see what gets cooked up. Flan, I hope.
-Rue.

38

Uh.
What kinda Flan? Because I really don’t like strawberry.

39

The make strawberry flan? Really? Man, I’m hanging out in the wrong circles. The only flan I know about is the carmel covered jobby.

But let us turn our attention to:
The Further Perils of Ginger
or
Ginger, Queen of the Spaceways!

Ginger, B’wana Bob and manly Manne stolled nonchallantly into the smoking bowels of the ruined Pluperfect Non-Pariel Emporium and Plantain Shoppe. This really tells you something about these three. How many people do you know that can stroll nonchallantly through smoking bowels? These three can.

They came to the Top Secret hanger of Ginger’s pink space cruiser. The space cruiser was pink, it doesn’t cruise through pink space. Her space cruiser was the Gas Giant. They went aboard and cranked up the systems. All the way to eleven.

“I must say, who goes there?”
“It’s just us, PrissBot. Me and Bob and Manne.”
“Dweedle dweep boop broooooo.”
“Knock it off, Arty. You know you have a voice unit.”
“Sorry. When you look like a Shop-Vac®, people expect it from you.”
“Well, just quit it. OK?”
“OK.”
“Crank up the systems, we have to track down the space aliens who stole the Sub-Plastic dealy.”
“Sub-Plasmic Comfribulator.”
“Manne?”
“Yes Ginger?”
“Shut up.”
“Yes Ginger.”
“Ginger, if I may?”
“Yes PrissBot, what is it?”
“The systems are all cranked up. We might have better luck tracking the culprits if we were to, I dunno, actually take off. Rather than staying down here in your secret hanger, chatting.”
“Why, that’s a wonderful idea. Aaaaa-waaaaayyyy we go!”

Ginger expertly piloted the Gas Giant out of the secret hanger and into orbit. That’s not really so hard. You just go “up”.

“Ginger!”
“Call be “Captain”, will you?”
“OK. Captain!”
“Yes Bob?”
“I have the warp trail of the rouge Sub-Plasmic Comfribulator stealers.”
“Set a course and let’s follow them!”
They set their course and followed the warp trail.
“The trail ends here.”
“Then take us out of warp Mr. Bob.”
“Yes Captain.”
“But not in the middle of this asteroid belt! What the hell were you thinking?”
“The charts says there should be a planet here, not some asteroid belt!”
“A friendly planet?”
“Yeah.”
“And now there’s an asteroid belt here?”
“Yeah.”
“Crap.”
“What?”
“Just be looking for a small moon. OK?”
“Like that one?”
“Yeah. Thanks Manne.”
“No problem.”
“Wrong. Big problem. That’s no moon. That’s a space station.”
“Not…”
“Yes. The Rogue Space Station of The Instigator!”
“Captain!”
“Yes PrissBot?”
“They have us in…”
“A tractor beam, perchance?”
“Yeah, how did you know?”
“I’m psychic.”
“Really?”
“No.”

Ginger and the crew of the Gas Giant* are pulled into the gaping maw of The Rogue Space Station of The Instigator. What could happen next?

Tune in next time for the next exciting chapter of:
The Further Perils of Ginger
or
Ginger, Queen of the Spaceways!
-Rue.

40

ker-klump, ker-klump, ker-klump The really shiney black plastic boots rang against the deck plating.

“Instigator, I think they might be hiding in secret hidden compartments under the floor.”
[sub]“Crap! They know where we are!”[/sub]
[sub]“Shut up Manne! You’ll give us away!”[/sub]
“No, I think you’re wrong.”
“Why are you winking at me like that? Are you hitting on me? That’s sexual harrasment you know. I could report you.”
“No, you idiot. I don’t think there’s anyone in this spaceship. I’m lulling them into a false sense of security. I guess we should just leave it parked in our hanger bay unguarded. We should leave now.”

ker-klump, ker-klump, ker-klump The really shiney black plastic boots rang against the deck plating as the Instigator left. With her idiot henchman.

“Man, that was close! We were almost caught.”
“Yes, a little too close.”
“Do you think it’s a trap Gin… I mean Captain?”
“It very well could be, Bob. We’ll have to be careful.”
“What’s the plan?”
“We sneak out into The Rogue Space Station and search for the Sub-Plasmic Comfribulator. We find it, come back and run away.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“OK, let’s go. PrissBot, you and Arty try to tap into the big computer that runs this place and see what you can find. I’m sure your software is compatable.”
“Right-O Captain.”

The three Earth-people crept about The Rogue Space Station without getting caught. Once a security patrol almost found them, but they cleverly hid in a closet. They made their way to the most highly secure part of the whole Space Station. There, in a big room with a lot of lights, they found their prize. The Sub-Plasmic Comfribulator. It was on a little table in the middle of the room with a spotlight right over it.

Manne reached out to take it.
“Stop right there!” It was the Instigator herself. gasp! (Sorry, I got excited.)
Just then there was an announcement over the ship’s intercom.
Call for the Instigator. Instigator there’s a call for you. Instigator to the white Courtesy Phone. Call for the Instigator.
“Wait right here, I have to take this. It might be important.” and she left the room.

“Run!”
“But Ginger, she said for us to wait…”
“And I said run you ninny!”
“Oh. There is that. Where to?”
“Back to the ship! Now!”

The three ran back to the Gas Giant with the Sub-Plastic dealy.
“Sub-Plasmic Comfribulator.”
Shut up, Manne.
“OK.”

Escape seemed in their grasp. Or was it?

That’s all for this really short installment of:
Ginger, Queen of the Spaceways!
-Rue.