Rue, I’m green with envy.
You’re a master story teller. Can we have one more?
We promise we’ll go to sleep right after.
Love the goats Gruff! It’s funnier than an illustrated version we have, where the biggest goat is all decked out in leather. When reading the book, instead of clop-clopping him across the bridge, I sort do the music that they played on The Flintstones when Rock Quarry walked across the room. (BOOM boppa BOOM boppa BOOM) 
Thanks Rue!!
Uncle Rue, these were all masterpieces! You’ve brightened my training-tainted day! I remain your loyalest fan!
Here - have a muffin!
Whoah, Rue. I’ve always been impressed by your mad skills…so now it’s time to tell you:
You have mad skills.
Thanks, dude.
Yay Rue! Figures the boards come up on the days I’m serving Jury Duty. What was that about a watched pot?
Glad to get a double dose to make up for lost time, you’re the best Rue.
Yaaaaaay! And since I found this thread right before I sign off for the night I got to read them as real bedtime stories!
Thanks, Unca Rue!
Zap!
Rue, I love you.
There! I said it!
Astrogirl is going to be upset, sure… but once she sees how happy we are togther, she’ll get over it, I’m sure!
Can we name our first-born after her? It might help…
Astroboy (No, I’m not ignoring everyone else. Hi Everybody! See?) maybe you should bring Astrogirl along. Yeah, we’ll be happy and all, but wouldn’t it be nice to have someone around to get us drinks?
I’m just thinking of her. Really. Trying to make her transition a little easier.
Now, back to the stories…
-Rue.
Once upon a time, a long time ago there was this guy. He was an inventor. He invented all kinds of things. Paper cups, the propeller beanie, corn dogs and tweed were all invented by this guy. His name was Daedalus and he was famous for inventing things.
The thing about being an inventor in those days was that everyone wanted you to come work for them. They’d steal a good inventor right out from under the nose of his employer. So when you had yourself a good inventor, you kept a close eye on him. Or her as the case may be.
While Daedalus was busy inventing useful things, his employer, King Kawappi invented something pretty useful too. He invented “Protective Custody”. That meant that even though Daedalus wasn’t technically in jail, he wasn’t exactly free either.
After a while, Daedalus had enough of the whole “Protective Custody” gig and decided to make a break for it. He and his only son, Icarus, gathered up some inventing tools and ran away into the woods. This wasn’t a real huge improvement, because not only did the two now not get fed a couple of times a day, they really weren’t going anywhere. See, the kingdom was on an island. They were stuck.
Did I mention that Daedalus was an inventor and he took his inventing tools with him? He invented some wings. Yeah, wings were around for a really long time. But these were wings that would let people fly. With these wings Daedalus and Icarus could fly over the sea to land and be free. At least until someone else decided Daedalus was a really good inventor and “Protective Custody” could be arranged.
“Dad…”
“Yes son?”
“Are you sure these things will work?”
“Yes son.”
“Then why am I the one to try them out and not you?”
“I told you, we only had enough feathers for a small set of wings. Just your size. You’ll escape and bring me back more feathers and I’ll make bigger wings for me.”
“Oh. Dad?”
“What?”
“Instead of me bringing back more feathers, why don’t I bring back a boat or something?”
“Who’s the inventor around here? You or me?”
“You are.”
“OK then, we’ll do things my way.”
“Yes sir.”
So Icarus strapped on his father’s wings and jumped off the cliff. He did it! He was flying! It felt like flying amyway. He felt real light. And the wind was whistling through his hair. Of course real flying involves a greater horizontal element than ol’ Ic was pulling off. What he was doing, rather than flying, was pretty much plummeting.
“Well, that didn’t go according to plan,” said Daedalus. Then he returned himself to “Protective Custody”. Sometimes it’s nice to be safe. Especially when you’re working on a long range catapult and trying to invent the parachute.
Uncle Rue, story guy.
The next two stories are related in some way. See if you can tell what the connection is. It’s subtle, so pay attention.
-Rue.
n the jungle, the mighty jungle the lion roars in pain.
In the jungle, the nervous jungle the lion roars in pain.
Deeeeeeeeeee de de de de ee ee ee we um umma waaaaaaaay…
Only one creature in the whole jungle was brave enough to investigate. That was a small mouse. Her name was Mia. That’s a pretty name for a mouse. Isn’t it? Mia crept through the foliage, cautiously, as only a mouse can. Creep, creep, creep she crept up on the yowling lion.
“Hey! Ya wanna keep it down? Some of us are trying to sleep!”
“But my foot hurts oh so much!”
“Well, wadda ya want me to do about it ya big baby?”
“I dunno. Look at it? See what’s wrong? Fix it maybe?”
“Why would I do that? You’d just eat me.”
“No way! I give you my word of honor as a lion that I won’t eat you.”
“You word of honor?”
“Yeah.”
“OK. But then after I check you out and fix you up, you have to be my friend and pull my ass out of a jam sometime.”
“It’s a deal.”
“OK then.”
Mia crept up to the lion and checked his paw. Why there was a thorn stuck in it. A big thorn. No wonder it hurt so much. Mia grabbed the thorn and pulled with all her mouse might. She pulled and pulled and tugged and heaved.
“Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to boot on your paw.”
“It’s OK. As long as you get the thorn out.”
So Mia went back to pulling on the thorn. It was pretty loose and it was slippery now, so it popped right out of the lions paw.
“There. Is that better?”
“Oh yes. Much better,” the lion said with a wicked gleam in his eye. Then he flexed his paw and popped out his claws.
“Crap,” said Mia.
Not much for last words, but she was just a mouse. A mouse that forgot lions are lying bastards that will eat their own young and have no sense of honor, no matter what you see in cartoons.
Uncle Rue, story guy.
Once there were two mice. They were related in some distant mouse way. For simplicity’s sake, we’ll say they were cousins. One cousin lived the urban life of a City Mouse. The other abided in the bucolic style of a Country Mouse. Still, they were mice. Like it makes a big difference where they live. Traps are traps and mice are mice.
This story could end about here, with two sharp snaps. But it doesn’t. Maybe it should, I don’t know, but there’s more so you can keep reading if you want. I won’t stop you.
So these two cousin mice were IM’ing each other. (Mice in Fairy Tales can have little mouse computers with T-1 lines and spend all day IM’ing each other when they’re not surfing for mouse porn. Stories are like that.)
SitEmouz: You know, we’re really quite alike.
BigStudRatBoy (Country Mouse had issues): Yes we are. Maybe we should visit each other.
SitEmouz: Sure! Sounds great!
BigStudRatBoy: How about next weekend?
SitEmouz: Next weekend is good. C U then! ;^) (City Mouse had issues too.)
So the next weekend rolls around, the way weekends eventually do. City Mouse was sitting in his swank uptown mouse hole waiting for his cousin. Country Mouse was sitting in his rustic rural mouse hole waiting for his cousin. And they waited. And waited.
Their next IM session went something like this:
BigStudRatBoy: Where were you? I thought we were meeting up last weekend.
SitEmouz: I know! Where were U? I had some good pate.
BigStudRatBoy: So you thought I was supposed to go see you?
SitEmouz: Weren’t U?
BigStudRatBoy: No, you were supposed to come here.
SitEmouz: No! U were supposed to come HERE!
BigStudRatBoy: Why! Aren’t we silly mice!
SitEmouz: LOL!
BigStudRatBoy: Now that we have that all straightened out, let’s get it right this weekend.
SitEmouz: OK
As you can see, both mice were rather stupid. The next weekend rolled around and both mice hopped a ride to go see the other one. The Country Mouse stowed away on the produce truck to the city. Oddly, it was carrying turnips. So when he got to the city, he really did just “fall off the turnip truck”. The City Mouse rode out on a garbage truck that was illegally dumping in the field right across from Country Mouse’s home.
When Country mouse tried to cross the street to get to City Mouse’s home, he was run over by a taxi. When City Mouse tried to get across the field to Country Mouse’s home, he was eaten by a feral cat. Maybe they should have just gotten snapped by traps in their own homes. It would have been less travelng.
Uncle Rue, story guy.
Oh-oh-oh-oh waves hand wildly I know! I know the answer!
Both of 'em have dead mouses?
While that is technically correct Kat, it’s not what I was looking for.
Half credit, but a “good job” since no one else even wants to guess.
-Rue.
mice are stupid?
I’m going to come out of my cave - or rather my hermetically sealed fallout shelter - and chip in becuase this is just too funny to pass up.
Er… both of the stories have nine sections seperated by line spaces?
Both involve mice going long distances to meet their untimely ends?
Brahe
-now the unlurker!
Wow, lookit that. I got another lurker to de-lurk. That’s about what, six of them. (Not just in this thread of course, that would be my whole career as a Doper.) Good golly, I’m like a service, enriching the Boards wherever I go. Or something.
I’ll give you all a hint. I disguised the connection as a spelling error. Two of them. (Even though, with a spelling error you might be thinking “Oh that’s just Rue. He can’t spell anyway.” This time I did it on purpose for your fun and excitement.)
Also, is there any stories you want to hear? I do requests.
-Rue.
Unca Rue, will you tell us a story about the little boy who was eaten by a grue? I think it was because he had a stone in his shoe; he didn’t know what to do, and as he sat there eating beef stew, his torch went out when the cold wind blew.
(For the unenlightened among us, a grue is a creature that eats unwise computer adventurers who wander around in the dark without a light source.)
You know me better than you thought you did.
Once there was a boy named Drew.
He had a stone in his shoe.
This made him blue.
He sat and cried “Boo hoo hoo hoo!”
“Whatever shall I do?”
“Maybe eat my stew?”
He ate in the dark,
for his torch went out
when the cold wind blew.
He did not notice the approach of the Grue.
It ate him in the dark,
did the Grue.
It ate blue Drew, with the stone in his shoe
before he could finish his stew.
Who knew
you had to be wary of the Grue?
His sister Sue.
That’s who.
(That’s all for you
mrblue
92)
Rue