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Author Topic: Boasting Challenge  (Read 31388 times)
Sir Nikolas of Vendigroth
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« Reply #125 on: August 14, 2008, 06:30:21 pm »

Heh. I remember the manly man thread. I like Prof. George's example, though. It'd be nice if the thread could follow his precedent.
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A.G.Morgan
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« Reply #126 on: August 16, 2008, 04:48:03 am »

Well it wasn't so much introduced them to tea drinking, as much as drinking it with whiskey.

See, me and my friend, Mr. Patel, were up in the mountains looking for the beast with a party of Gurkhas and Tibetan guides lookin' for the Yeti.
Now I like my tea, but not as much as he did. And it was gettin' cold up there, I mean triple ply undies cold. So, one night we was makin' camp under an overhang and we couldn't keep the hot tea hot long enough to drink it. So I put half a flask of real Indian (American Indian that is) Territory Moonshine Whiskey into the cold pot.
It was a hit with the party. I woulda shared my whole supply with them but I got an idea. We'd found some track that day and figured the critter's territory covered the mountain. So we brewed up the rest of the tea and added equal parts whiskey into the pot. Then set it out as bait.
Turns out Yetis can't hold their liquor. We found him not far from where we left the tea, conversing in Cantonese with a very confused mountain goat.

We helped him limp back to our camp so he could sleep it of. But he didn't want to lie down and Mr. Patel wanted to celebrate. So I broke out the rest of my store and we had a little party right there on the mountain. When we woke next morning, the Yeti was gone.

But I found a photo of him and Mr. Patel dancing what looks like a waltz, so the trip wasn't a total loss.

What about the time YOU escaped from the Tower of London and crossed the channel to France in your underwear?
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Obadiah Askew
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« Reply #127 on: August 19, 2008, 08:04:01 am »

Jack Roughshod spits lightning and belches thunder.

His toe nail clippings are used as rail-road spikes.

He cuts diamonds with his beard.

He Drinks lava and his urine is bottled and sold as Powerthirst.

One day long ago, Jack farted. this is what came to be known ad the Big Bang.

The Rock of Gibraltar is Jack's kidney stone. (it passed after he won a drinking contest with Death, but that's a different story)

Ayers Rock was a pebble in Jack's boot.

Jack eats live bullet ants for breakfast.
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elShoggotho
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« Reply #128 on: August 19, 2008, 08:16:28 am »

Never mind Sean McHam, who ate three cows for breakfast before inspiring the development of better automatic weapons later that day, rapidly spitting bone splinters at advancing Zulus! He never shaved, always broke the razors by simply SHOWING them his majestic beard! Allegedly, he brought down an advancing army, simply by performing a pelvic thrust in its general direction!
« Last Edit: August 20, 2008, 05:55:35 am by elShoggotho » Logged
Samuel
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« Reply #129 on: August 19, 2008, 01:39:05 pm »

pfft, I somewhat doubt this McHam fellow could hold a candle to Morgan Wyatt.

Wyatt managed to destroy an entire strain of smallpox by yelling at it.

he also could not go into buildings, for the buildings he entered exploded, as buildings could not contain the manliness.

Wyatt once slept with an entire convent of nuns, and sired the grandfathers of Vin Diesel and Mr. T.
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elShoggotho
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« Reply #130 on: August 19, 2008, 02:59:06 pm »

Quite a convoluted story beginning in Whitechapel in the year 1888. Due to certain circumstances, I was mistaken for Jack the Ripper and locked up there, waiting for trial and possible execution. Luckily, I had a little bit of special ribbon tape with me. Aluminium and iron oxide ground fine, bound in sulfur and combined with a strip of magnesia. In the dead of the night, I burned my way through the window grate, but realised my mistake soon enough - I had no rope, and even strips of blanket didn't reach all the way down. I had to tear up my clothes to add to the strips.

So I was outside and just wanted to get out of the city, out of the country and as far away as I could. In my desperation I produced a Leatherman multitool a posteriori and proceeded to salvage that abandoned cart, particularly the springs. In the end, London saw a brief attack of Springheel Jack, but it wasn't reported due to indecency.

I ended up appropriating a small steamer, which thankfully had a full underwear drawer. Technically I wasn't crossing the channel in my own underwear. The French also looked quite shocked when I arrived, only clad in oversized bloomers.

So how about YOUR story how you managed to escape Dr. Tötenkopf, armed with nothing but a toothpick?
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Zepherius
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« Reply #131 on: August 21, 2008, 03:46:27 pm »

Well now, this was when Dr. Tötenkopf was the talk of all of Dresden -a revolutionary mind, it was exclaimed, Saxony's greatest son. Well having met the man, I would call that a tad generous. Clever, I'll grant you, but he had the most hideous teeth, and more than a little something about his manner that left you quite unsettled. I wasn't the only one who fancied him unbalanced and dangerous, not least of all his competitors, so there'd been a plan to make away with a set of his newest papers, and on the way get a glimpse of what exactly he was working on.

Well, I won't bore you with the science, or indeed the rather ingenious means of my breaking in and acquiring the papers, but to cut a long story short, things transpired in a less than satisfactory manner, and I found myself locked up in chamber off the Doctor's Laboratory. At this point I am pleased to say I got an exceedingly good look at Tötenkopf's work, and I never wish to again, for, residing in this little dungeon with me was an insect, something akin to members of the Scarabaeidae family, bigger than a rhino. It was obviously angered by my presence, and while I never had time to examine its diet I was in no mood to try my chances. It charged for me, and I defended myself with the first thing I found in my pocket: a good old-fashioned wooden toothpick.

After a few lucky dodges, I successfully wedged it between the thing's mouthparts, only to have it snap and be completely ingested. Right at that moment, however, it's demeanor changed completely. I now suspect that the composition of that tiny sliver of birchwood was like nothing it had tasted before. The creature became most amenable to my being there, and during the following hours, in which I assume it was meant that I should be ground to a pulp by the beast, I befriended it to a certain extent, entertaining it with dance and humming a few music hall pieces of the time. The creature eventually, however, sensed my desire to leave, and demonstrated at that moment the sheer futility of Tötenkopf's locks and defences.

I am not sure if it was my riding out the front door of Tötenkopf Mansion on the back of the eventually named S. Megalithicus, or the Doctor's subsequent public raving in the middle of the city parade that most dented his standing with the people of Dresden. Certainly, it was less than a month later that he relocated to the abandoned castle thirty miles North, where he still is, I believe.

Now then, you simply must recount to me the story of that time you convinced the entire court of Emperor Mutsuhito you were the most wanted man in the British Empire.
« Last Edit: August 21, 2008, 03:57:01 pm by Zepherius » Logged

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« Reply #132 on: August 21, 2008, 04:35:56 pm »

Aaah, now there’s a story to be told. Japan, Meiji Restoration, late 1869 as it goes.

The Duke of Edinburgh had recently been received by the Meiji Emperor, and as I recall the visit had gone well. I myself was in that general direction on a fact-finding mission, combining a long held desire to visit the Orient en vacances with some field study of kappa legends, as I believed we may have had an infestation in the ornamental gardens here.

Anyhow, to move the tale on, I had the misfortune to be drinking sake of an evening in a not-terribly pleasant establishment when in my minor stupour I stumbled into a young gentleman, causing him to spill his drink over a rather large fellow involved in some kind gambling. Cross words were passed, and both fellows were very obvious in their intention to visit violence upon my person.

In order to put them off their vendetta, as it were, I tried to indicate that I was the most dangerous man in the Empire. At this both men stepped away, and the next thing I knew I was being dragged towards Edo palace by a contingent from the new Japanese Army.

Once there I was rushed into an audience with the Meiji Emperor, who explained in flawless English that I’d identified myself as the most ‘wanted’ man in the Empire, and that if this was true I was likely to be held until the British could send someone to drag me back home in irons.

Thinking on my feet, rather quickly I might say, I was able to bluster that I wasn’t ‘wanted’ as in a criminal way, but rather ‘in demand’ from a spiritualist point of view, as an expert on the occult and folklore. To back up this claim, I present the Emperor with a vial of kappa head water (collected from a specimen as he spilt it when reciprocating a low bow) and explained that this could be used to prevent the little blighters from entering the palace and stealing all of the Emperor’s doorknobs.

Fortunately, this was enough to placate the Emperor, who put me under his personal protection for the remainder of my visit.


Now, what about the time you helped a terrified urchin defeat a clockwork goliath, using only a small mandarin orange?
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« Reply #133 on: August 21, 2008, 05:02:23 pm »

Cor! Well the trick of that one is why in all Bristol was this one clockwork goliath (I use the term loosely. Stories often grow in the telling, and though this thing was surely seven or eight feet in height and no less than thirty stone, to call it a goliath would be stretching. Later in my European excursion, I happened upon what they called an Elephant made of wood, leather and iron that was truly this creations better.) so determined to make the end of this urchin.

See, this was quite some years ago and what most fail to realize was that at this time, most automata still required manual operation. The odd thing about this particular device was that its pilot was, in fact, a dwarf. Said dwarf had been reqruited by the engineer responsible, I should imagine, because his size made him convenient. He was housed within a snug little compartment within the 'back' of what I shall henceforth refer to as 'the Suit' for lack of knowledge on prototype name. (It should be noted that it was in fact a prototype, as no others were ever made. More on this later, friend.) He was quite well hidden and protected, which is why you remember hearing about this breakthrough in unmanned robotic activity coming from the southwest, there, sure. It was a bit of a scam. Everyone knows better than to ask for the schematics or see inside an engineers latest creation, so none guessed at the little man responsible for its pilotage!

Now, as I was saying, the dwarf had been snubbed by the urchin. Something about the shame of being called 'half-squat' by a girl of six. Cor, and wasn't she a firecracker, she was! Reminded me of my cousin, so naturally I couldn't let her tarry with this mechanized mosntrosity on her own. Luckily, I'd heard it in a pub the particulars of this device, and so myself and dear Jane hatched a plan with what we had on us - nothing but a particularly delicious sort of fruit she'd, ah, bought from a stand up the road before the dwarf recognised her. Have you ever been squirted in the eye by lemon juice? Quite painful. I have it on good authority that the juice from such is actually a sort of weak acid. Now this orange fruit, straight from the orient, was quite similar but several dozen times more potent, despite its sweet flavor.

We made a bit of a show, enraging the dwarf in his Suit, causing him to chase us around a corner, where I had been waiting with Jane in my arms. I lifted her up to the view-port of the device, a thin slit in the mask of its 'face' from which the dwarf percieved the world, and she squeezed the fruit, squirting him in the eyes! Well his little dwarf feet must have kicked something because one leg started moving faster than the other, he went in a circle, hit a wall (which I later got quite the berrating about from a potters wife about the whole business. I had to bribe her with... well, I was rather impovrished, so we just made a run for it. I later learned that Jane used the distraction to lift a few coins, which bought us a good fry up for breakfast, which did wonders for my hangover.) and fell to the ground!

This brings us to why there were no other editions of this model: The device suffered from something I've heard called 'turtling,' where something falls on its back and cannot right itself. Eventually, its automata status was discovered, as the dwarf freed himself. I understand the robotic community is rather split on whether the dwarf in the machine was cheating or brilliant.

Do you recall mentioning your first spouse getting abducted by some sort of religious sect? Or was it savages? I can never recall. You've remarried since, haven't you? It's been too long.
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I've shovelled up the gypsum and it neigh 'on makes you choke
I've stood knee deep cyanide, got sick with a caustic burn
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Zepherius
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« Reply #134 on: August 21, 2008, 06:23:43 pm »

(It's like the Rowley Birkin club in here Grin)
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Captain Brandsson
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« Reply #135 on: August 21, 2008, 07:30:34 pm »

I am so glad I started this thread!  Thank you all!
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- Maximilian
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« Reply #136 on: August 21, 2008, 08:41:04 pm »

I am Canadian.
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« Reply #137 on: August 21, 2008, 08:48:01 pm »

I am Canadian.

Epic Failure. Tongue
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Ella Kremper
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« Reply #138 on: August 21, 2008, 09:17:48 pm »

Ah, yes, Wetherby and the Cult of Scrotuma, that was a pretty penny and ended up in many of the major tabloids and page 32 of the Times, no doubt about it!

He was distinctly a chap of hope - I was hoping I would soon be rid of him.

Although I must correct you in the incident, when you say he was abducted by a religious sect, it was rather that dear old Wetherby took the pacifistic but violent vegetarian nation of Scrotuma by utter surprise when he arrived on their turf in the old Bentley, you know, the one with the automatic pistols flanking the wing mirrors and the afterburner powered by chocolate. He'd managed to acquire this via sponsorship by one Mr Cadbury - they were dear old friends before Wetherby's timely demise.

Now, do you have enough brandy there? Good. As I was saying. Wetherby had arrived to this secluded isle off the north of what was Caledonia and he was in a rather foul mood - having paused for dinner at several Large Caterer restaurants on the way, I can't imagine why, and the chief of police informed me afterwards that he had approached the leader of the Scrotuma carrying a large briefcase, it's contents, I'm sure, denoting what a wonderful chap Wetherby was, despite the colossal personality problem and tendency to yell out "YOU ARE GOING TO GET SOME YOU FLEET STREET YOBBOS!" whilst waving a very large hatchet whenever he saw somebody wearing a bowler hat.

The leader of the Scrotuma, did I mention? Ah yes, he was an English graduate from Magdalen at Oxford and thus had decided to don said bowler hat that day, because it was a particularly important day in the Scrotuma Religious calendar - the Saint of Bowler Hats' feast day. Of course, it was not Wetherby's fault that he had hurled himself at the leader with his trusty hatchet that yours truly had given him one Christmas - a wholly unexpected present for the both of us - the poor soul is so sensitive to certain things, but he had made the mistake of touching the brim of the Holy Hat of Bowls, and nipped it a tad. Mind you, Wetherby has a wonderful eye and I am certain that if it was not for the old war wound he would have owned his own chain of millinery bespoke services in Hammersmith.

The leader of the Scrotuma, for some reason, was not too pleased with this, so he hacked off Wetherby's head. And other dangly bits, I believe, with the Divine Blade of Twat-Slaying.

Oh, how I do tattle on, do tell me of the time you absconded with the Crown Princess of Vulgaria using a pair of socks and a mildly moist scourer!
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Sir Nikolas of Vendigroth
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« Reply #139 on: August 21, 2008, 09:20:36 pm »

I thought you were dead?
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Dr cornelius quack
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« Reply #140 on: August 21, 2008, 09:51:55 pm »

Well,the upshot of it was that it turns out that she was a chap.
But I was very, very drunk at the time.

By the way, did you ever get to the bottom of that business with the Walrus in your fishpond?



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« Reply #141 on: August 21, 2008, 09:58:03 pm »

Well,the upshot of it was that it turns out that she was a chap.
But I was very, very drunk at the time.


The wedding night must have been a surprise... for both of you!
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Sir Nikolas of Vendigroth
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« Reply #142 on: August 21, 2008, 10:07:28 pm »

The Walrus you say?

Well, it was the summer of 1885, and air traffic, as we know, was at a peak that year.

Now, y'see, it turns out that some rich twit in London was assembling an aquarium, and he'd heard that sailors had mistaken wlaruses for mermaids - Hah! -

Mind you, I suppose they ARE at sea for eleven out of twelve months...

So this twit in london'd contracted the crew of an airship to go to the pole and find him a walrus, telling them in no uncertain terms to "Resist the maiden's charms on the return journey." I don't think they had any difficulty.

So that obviously got the walrus, and took it to his house in Whitechapel. I'd have given all of Mad Uncle Splort's estate to have seen the look on his face when he opened the crate, but I digress.

He demanded that the airmen take the poor beast back and release it, but refused flat-out to pay for the cost. Airmen being frugal types decided not to waste the time or the fuel, and to dispose of the beast over the side, right over my carp pond.

I couldn't let the monster stay in my pond, it was eyeing up my prize Koi, so I immediately telegraphed Her Majesty's Royal Mail, and had them collect it, examine the shipping address and..."Return to Sender"

But enough of that, why not regale us with the tale of how you managed to end up naked in the King of the Congo's bedroom?

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« Reply #143 on: August 21, 2008, 10:17:50 pm »

He told me he was the "Queen of the Congo!"

To divert attention from my embarrassing incident, I would very much like to hear once again the ripping yarn as to how you rescued the fair Princess of Bergen from the belly of the deadly Worm-Dragon of Svalbard using only your fantastic collection of Dutch mustache trimmers and a parakeet.
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elShoggotho
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« Reply #144 on: August 22, 2008, 02:30:00 am »

Actually he had a run-in with Biff McLargehuge, manliest man alive. He barely survived.

See, Biff can catch whole herds of cattle with his chest hair lasso. He can also crush mountains with his manly chin. He actually shaves that way, to keep his magnificent mutton chops in shape. You know the Krakatoa incident? That was Biff, mistaking the volcano for a regular mountain and rushing in for the shave.
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fireheart storm
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« Reply #145 on: August 24, 2008, 06:41:33 pm »

The Worm-Dragon of Svalbard you say?  Yes, I do remember it quite well.   I was showing the Princess my collection of Dutch Mustache trimmers as she had invited me to tea to show me her new parakeet, when suddenly the Worm dove from the clear sky and ate the Princess in one clean gulp!  Now I was rather shocked and had to gather my wits, because he was eyeing me for a second course, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy being eaten by anything, much less a Worm-Dragon.  But I digress.
I thought quickly and had the parakeet recite the princess’s history lessons, which swiftly put the Worm to death (I covered my ear as to not be bored to death as well, how both Princess and Parakeet survive the lessons I’ll never know) 

Then I ever so delicately cut open the Worms belly, and much to my surprise not only rescued the princess but her recently missing fiancée as well! As a reward she gave me a rather stunning gown of hers that I had always fancied.  Not a bad days work for a Miss, is it?

Now will you delight us with your tale of how you stopped an air ship from crashing with only a set of spectacles, a bit of silk string and hat?
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elShoggotho
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« Reply #146 on: August 24, 2008, 06:55:12 pm »

That was rather simple. It was back in my days as an airship crewman in the Bavarian air navy. Ludwig's greatest pride, the Prinz Luitpold, was on her maiden voyage, when she suddenly started to sink. After a quick survey, we found out that she was leaking helium. Well, I had to climb the envelope and sew the leak shut with finest airship silk. She was still sinking, even after dropping all available ballast, so I took a piece of coal from the boiler and hung it into the envelope. I placed the spectacles in exactly the right angle to focus the sunlight on the coal, which didn't catch fire, thanks to all the helium! The additional lift provided by the hot helium left the crew slightly overheated, but safe. I will not elaborate our state of clothing when we finally arrived. Only my hat saved some shreds of dignity.

Now how about your daring adventure high above the clouds, when only a fake moustache and a length of rope stood between you and the air-kraken?
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Albrecht
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« Reply #147 on: August 24, 2008, 07:19:34 pm »

Oh yes, that one...
You know it was quite funny because we actually had a fancy-dress party on board the new Zeppelin luxury liner Aurora Borealis, my good friend Baron von Zitzewitz and me were just enjoying a glass of fine cognac outside on one of the balconies, when all of a sudden this really massive air-kraken cow burst out off the clouds and headed right towards our Zeppelin. The Baron, for what reason I cannot say, had only recently attended a lecture by the famed Prof. d'Apcher in Nantes and remebered that there was something which could deter air-kraken cows in the mating season. So he rushed inside and while running ripped off his fake mustache (he was impersonating an Arab prince) and disappeared into the kitchen. The air-kraken was barely 60 feet from the balcony and heading towards me when the Baron returned, his fake mustachee all soggy and wet with something that smelled vaguely of Worcester sauce and cologne. He handed it to me and said:
"Now it is your turn my good friend, you are more of a swashbuckler than I will ever be. Take this mustache and place it in the air-krakens beak."

Since  I was all that stood between the Aurora Borealis and doom I drew my dress uniform saber, cut one of the ropes which hang ther for decorative reasons, wrapped it around my arm, grabbed the mustache and threw myself towards the air-kraken.
I could see its massive eyes, its tentacles moved around me like vines in the garden of an insane elder god, the beak, twice as long as I am tall came ever closer, I hurled the mustache into the gapping maw and could already see myself being swallowed whole, when suddenly there was a massive gulping sound, the tentacles rushed past me again, this time in the opposite direction. Within the blink of an eye, the air-kraken had dived back into the clouds and was not seen again. I was hurled back in by the good Baron, we finished our cognac and went back inside to join the Polonais.
Oh yes, what an exciting day in deed.
But I entirely forgot to ask the Baron about what the substance on the mustache actually was.

So how about the thing you told me once when you had to fight the Steam-Lions of the Congo with nothing but a parasol and assorted small change?
« Last Edit: August 24, 2008, 07:21:56 pm by Albrecht » Logged

A.G.Morgan
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« Reply #148 on: August 24, 2008, 09:48:58 pm »

Curse you Fireheart Storm! I had just finished composing a rather lengthy reply to the the question of the Worm-dragon story, and here you've gone and posted a story about some other Worm-dragon of Svalbard.

And as to the Steam Lions, I was chaperoning a young couple on a picnic at the request of the girl's father who was a friend of mine that I owed a favor to (I don't pretend to understand these strange European customs, but I went along with it anyway). I had foolishly agreed to the governess's demand that I dress formally and leave my usual tools and weapons behind, taking only a small derringer.

When the Steam Lions attacked the little pistol was completely useless. Fortunately I had made the parasol. So its frame was built out of solid steel. I was able to use the curved handle to pry panels over the control works and toss some coins into the clockwork.

'Course that was the easy part. gettin' on the back of the things in the first place was a fine chase, but then staying on was almost as bad as breaking horses. I'd not recommend takin' it up as a hobby.

Now I heard a story about an attempt to rob the First Bank of San Fransisco with an earthquake machine, an invasion of sea lions, and a mechanical roadrunner. You wouldn't know anything about that would you, pilgrim?
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Albrecht
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« Reply #149 on: August 25, 2008, 06:27:25 pm »

Yes "attempt" is the right word. In short, it failed because of an over-elaborate, over-ambitious plan involving a number of excellent, intricate and groundbraking inventions which proved to be a bit of a hindrance if all used at once.

So the dramatis personae were:
Doctor Skarovic of Laibach (Lublijana), mad but utterly brilliant scientist whom I should bump into several years later
Viktor Radic, trusted servant and henchmen
Max Vanderbilt, sacked ex-vice-secretary of said bank.

The whole idea was actually Vanderbilts idea and he had heard about the Doctor being a lodger at the Grand Bay Hotel in downtown San Fransisco. So, filled with rage about being sacked for "minor" embezzlement he visited the Doctor at his lodgings and convinced him to rob the bank for getting 1/3 of the share (2/3 would go to Vanderbilt).
The Doctor being quite mad but bubbling with ingenuity immediately drew up a plan involving:
a) an earthquake machine (to break the walls)
b) a sea-lion mesmerization and control device (the sea-lions wereto distract the police in the pursuit that was sure to follow)
c) a mechanical roadrunner (the reasons for that one are still not entirely clear)

Within less than two weeks the mad Doctor a, with the help o his trusted sidekick, assembled the machine, the mesmerization device and the roadrunner. The initial testrun went well, up to a point...

The abandoned house where everything was constructed  started shaking violently under the effects of the earth-quake-inducer, the sea lions assembled in the yard behind the house, which was close to the shore anyway, and the roadrunner happily picked away in the garden.
Just in this moment a board in the ceiling came loose due to the violent vibration and by a pure chance cut the power supply.
The confused sea-lions flodded the house, trampled everything, the roadrunner escaped, not to be seen since and the police arrived, apprehending a equally confused Vanderbilt who told his story to an astonished Thomas Wilcox, reporter for the San Fransisco Tribune, who told me.
The Doctor and Radic escaped together with the sea-lions.

Well, that's the long and the short of it.

But what was that I heard about this incident with the Grand Prince of Russia, a mechanical chambermaid, two cups of exquisite macha tea and a japanese gunboat?
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