Brutus The Croc Gets A Proper Lunch

Three pieces of business to tend to before I get things started today. First, over at our group blog Writers of Mass Distraction, a few days ago I wrote a blog about characters changing priorities and taking things seriously during the course of a book or film. Have a look, and by all means, tell me what you think! 

Second, take a look over at Lyn Fuchs' Sacred Ground Travel Magazine blog, where today I'm writing about the Niagara Falls region. And leave a comment!

Finally, if you're not already following The Desert Rocks blog (and why aren't you?), go have a look there today for Norma's guest blog on technology and writing. You'll pick up a few things and have fun!

And with that, I return to several characters without a book who have appeared in these blogs from time to time. And they've been joined by another of their kind, poor wretches doomed to wander cyberspace forever without a book to call their own. They're all together, Down Under, taking a river cruise, out to see one of the local critters....

Australia; the Adelaide River. A riverboat works its way down the river in the early summer heat, the passengers aboard screened from the sun by a roof over their heads. The pilot is a local, an Aussie by the unusual name of Jake Chemiserouge. He's dressed casually- shorts and a ballcap- with a rather bright red t-shirt. His passengers are four in total today, here to come see a crocodile named Brutus, a three legged eighteen foot long brute of a croc who's become something of a tourist attraction. They're all dressed for the conditions, as casual as possible- though at least one of them seems uncomfortable. She'd much rather be doing something else, as it turns out. She's Mary Ducky, the financial guru and con artist who's wanted by Interpol for numerous scams and thefts of millions of dollars. These days she's lying low, trying to evade the authorities. With her is the demolitions expert Contessa Evangelista Francesca Nicolette Viola Divinna, all too often given to destroying things that she wasn't cleared to destroy. Also present is the perennial blowhard Keith Jarrett, the man who thinks he's the wisest of all human beings. The author of such dubious works such as I Know Everything So Bask In My Eternal Wisdom, Duck And Cover The Buddhists Are Coming To Kill Us All, Gosh I'm So Smart, How To Cure Ebola, Mother Teresa: Tyrannical Despot of India, Bonaparte: A Man Of Humility and the forthcoming Keith Jarrett: Last Best Hope Of Earth seems to be full of himself, as usual. These three passengers know each other well. The fourth is known to Jarrett. Jerry Wallace, aka Jerry The Miser, is the author of Bargain Hunting And Other Pointless Pursuits. Chemiserouge turns to his passengers.


Chemiserouge: Isn't it lovely? Just the best stretch of river in the Territory, by crikey!

Mary: Must you speak with that accent?

Chemiserouge: What accent, Sheila?

Contessa: Now, Mary, be nice to the local man. I don't mind it myself. You know, when I was last here in Australia, my company was hired to do some work in Sydney. I thought at the time that we ought to get that unsightly Opera House out of the way, so I had my people set the charges, but as it turns out, the locals weren't all that enthusiastic about having it blown up. Oh, well, even if they have horrible tastes in architecture, there's nothing wrong with the accent.

Keith: So, Jake, tell us... that's a bit of an odd name.

Chemiserouge: My family name? By crikey, mate, it might be, but the Chemiserouge family come by it honestly. Not like we went and flogged it off some other family. No, my dad came in from France, mate. All the Chemiserouges come from there. By crikey, we've got some history, let me tell you. A Chemiserouge was the very first man to die back in the First World War. That was my great-great-great-great uncle Louis. And it was the same in the second one. First soldier to die in the French army in 1939 was my great-great-great uncle Pierre Chemiserouge. He was wearing his lucky red shirt, he was. Just like me. Oh, these things happen. Did you know there was a Chemiserouge in the crew on the Titanic? And the Lusitania? Come to think of it, one met his end on the Empress of Ireland too. And the Edmund Fitzgerald. And Pierre Chemiserouge did have a cousin, Fritz Chemiserouge, who was a crew member on the Hindenburg when it had that unfortunate accident. Just like the family tradition, he wore a lucky red shirt too.

Mary: Did it ever occur to any of them that those red shirts might not be so lucky? Maybe you should be wearing gold shirts. Or blue shirts.

Keith: You know, in chapter 743 of my epic tome I Know Everything, So Bask In My Eternal Wisdom, I write what I think, in my usual humble way, is the definitive treatise on the subject of luck.

Jerry: Do you have to keep doing that?

Keith: Doing what?

Contessa: Passing yourself off as a guru.

Keith: But I am a guru. A genius. People adore listening to me talk. Besides, you continue to spend your time telling people you're a Contessa, and insisting they first address you by all sorts of names.

Contessa: I am a Contessa, and you will address me properly as Contessa Evangelista Francesca Nicolette Viola Divinna.

Chemiserouge: Look, by crikey, no need to big-note, blue, or burl. No spitting the dummy or giving a gobful.

Jerry: What does that even mean?

Mary: He's using Australian slang.

Chemiserouge: Well, I am Australian, Sheila.

Mary: My name isn't Sheila, so stop saying that. Why did I agree to come on this trip?

Contessa: You're hiding out from the arrest warrants in place against you, that's why.

Mary: Yes, yes. I know. Honestly, you steal a few million dollars here and there from unsuspecting dupes and marks who deserve to get taken for everything you can get, and all of a sudden, you're being called a criminal.

Jerry: I'm just glad that someone else paid. Otherwise, I'd have refused to come. Or I might have hidden myself in one of the wheelwells of the plane. It's only an eighteen hour flight. Surely a human being can survive exposure at thirty five thousand feet for that long? I've done that with my in-laws to save money on a cross country flight. Granted, it wasn't easy to explain that to my wife when her mom and dad were pulled out of the wheel well, frozen to death. Still, saving hundreds of dollars is worth the risk.

Mary: How is it that anyone wanted to marry you?

Jerry: Look, I'll have you know that living cheap is a good thing, from time to time. It saves lots and lots of money, which you can bank away, and continue to live cheaply...

Mary: My point, sir, is that you're living like such a cheapskate that you don't enjoy life. You killed your in-laws by being cheap, and while I suppose I can appreciate the notion of killing in-laws if they're idiots, ending their lives because you're too cheap to buy their air fare is really, really bad form. I'm assuming you gave them a cheap funeral too.

Jerry: Cardboard boxes. No headstone. Those things are just extravagances, after all, and it's not like they care.

Mary: You're an idiot.

Chemiserouge: If we're all done throwing a wobbly?

Contessa: Throwing a what?

Keith: He means getting mad. In chapter 6789 of my epic tome I Know Everything, So...

Mary: Oh, will you shut up?

Chemiserouge: I was just going to say that Brutus ought to be hereabouts. I'm going to put some kangaroo meat out on the line and feed the croc, by crikey! This is what you all paid to come out to see, after all.

Chemiserouge turns off the boat engine and starts to rig a pole with meat from a bucket.

Contessa: That used to be a kangaroo?

Chemiserouge: Yes, until he went walkabout and ran right into the front end of a truck, by crikey!

He holds the pole out over the water.

Chemiserouge: Here, Brutus! Come get your lunch, boy! Here, Brutus!

Suddenly the water beside the boat erupts, and the top half of a two ton three legged croc bursts out of nowhere. Chemiserouge yells in panic, and Brutus drags him under, into the depths of the river. Everyone is silent for a long time. Finally, Mary Ducky speaks.

Mary: I told him red shirts aren't lucky.

The Mountie And The Con Artist Take Off Their Knickers

Before I get things started today, I thought I'd let you know that over in our joint blog, Basking In The Afterglow, my partner in crime and I under our alter egos of Scarlett and James, have been doing several of these Underwear Challenges. Come on over, have a look, and if you're not already following us, you must do so post haste. Just a word of advice: you might want to avoid reading with kids or the uptight around. It gets a bit racy. And by a bit, I mean a lot.

We've done four of them, the first as our alter egos, and the other three with characters in our collaborative work in progress, Same Time Tomorrow. Here are the links:

Taking Off Our Underwear

Chloe and Gabriel
Dana Butler
Olivia and Rachel

Now then, to the business at hand. Today I'm returning to the underwear challenge, bringing two of my characters without a book, RCMP Inspector Lars Ulrich and con artist Mary Ducky, together to take the quiz.

Thank you both for coming today, please... make yourselves comfortable.


Lars: I hope this won't take long. I have a detachment to run.

Mary: And I have a group of investors to swindle.

Lars: What was that?

Mary: Nothing! Nothing, nothing at all. Did I say that out loud?

Shall we get to it?


Mary: Oh, yes, most certainly.

1. What do you call your underwear/undergarments? Do you have any commonly used nicknames for them?

Mary: Well, I usually call them panties. They're often silk, made by the finest tailors in Paris. You know, when you're as good as I am in stealing money from the unsuspecting, you can afford to buy the finest things in life.

Lars: RCMP Logistics Issuance Item #45. Boxers, if you must know. We all get them. They've got these silouhettes of Mounties on horseback printed all over them.

Mary: Oh, could I see?

Lars: Miss Ducky, you should know that there are warrants out for your arrest by Interpol, and as soon as we're done here, I'm taking you in.

Mary: In that case, Mr. Kendall? Would you mind taking your time with the questions? I'd really rather delay as long as I can until I can figure out a way to make my escape.

Lars: You said that out loud.

Mary: I did?

2. Have you ever had that supposedly common dream of being in a crowded place in only your underwear?

Mary: Yes, of course I have. You know, it just so happens that I was giving a seminar in a dream once, and there I was, in a bra and panties, going on about the Mary Ducky Financial Protocol. The audience members were speechless as I strode back and forth on stage. I had thought of using the technique in my actual stage scam... er, stage speeches. Sorry about that, must have been a Freudian slip.


Lars: A Freudian slip?

Mary: Look, the simple fact of the matter is that you're making me nervous, Mr. Mountie, with all this talk about arrests and warrants. Why don't you go ahead and answer his question?

Lars: Yes, only once. I dreamed I was on stage during a Mountie graduation ceremony in my RCMP Logistics Issuance Item #45. And my hat. And nothing else.

Mary: I wouldn't have minded seeing that.

3. What is the worst thing you can think of to make underwear out of?

Mary: Subpoena papers. I'm allergic to legal proceedings. I really prefer to avoid them altogether.


Lars: Birchbark, if you must know.

4. If you were a pair of panties, what colour would you be?

Lars: Red. Just like the dress uniform jacket. And with a gold trim. But why would I be a pair of panties?


Mary: I would have to be emerald green. The colour of money, baby. My favourite, favourite colour in the whole world. You know, when it's just me and the money alone together at night, well, the things we get to doing... Is there a clinical term for someone who goes to their happy place when they feel the soft brushing of money against their naked body?


Lars: Yes. Weirdo.


I would have to agree with Lars on that one.

5. Have you ever thrown your underwear at a rock star or other celebrity? If so, which one(s)? If not, which one(s) WOULD you throw your underwear at, given the opportunity?

Mary: I once threw my panties at the Enron board. Long story.


Lars: Mr. Kendall, I'll ask you this question, son. What the hell kind of questions are these?


Just the kind of questions that need to be answered.


Lars: Oh, I see, I see. Yes, well... if I could throw my Issuance Item #45s at anyone, it would have to be Kim Campbell.


The former Prime Minister?


Lars: Yes, well, there was that picture of her behind legal robes, baring her shoulders... let's just say it left quite the impression.


Mary: You have heard of the expression too much information?

6. You're out of clean underwear. What do you do?

Mary: I don't run out of panties. I've got plenty of them, so I never run out.

Lars: Do an emergency wash in a nearby creek or stream. You know, when you're out on the trail of a suspect in the far north for a couple of weeks at a time, you learn how to improvise. Oh, sure, it might mean you're naked while waiting for the clothes to dry, but it's not as if there's anyone out there in that vast, trackless wilderness. Aside from the bears.

Mary: I'm sorry, I'm getting distracted by the thought of a naked Mountie. Can we carry on?

7. Are you old enough to remember Underroos? If so, did you have any? Which ones?

Lars: Dudley Do-Right. I'm from a multiple generation family of Mounties.


Mary: No, I can't say I did have them. My mother raised me with certain standards, and something like Underroos would be beneath us. You have to look classy so that the wealthy accept you when you're fleecing them for every penny you can get.


Lars: You said that out loud.


Mary: I did? Forget I said that. Can I strike that from the record?

8. If you could have any message printed on your underwear, what would it be?

Mary: Money, money, money, money, money. 

Lars: Well, I'm not sure. My Issuance Item #45s already have the horses and riders on them. How about if I could have Damn it, I am not that Lars Ulrich printed on them?

9. How many bloggers does it take to put panties on a goat?

Lars: Son, tell me, what kind of question is that supposed to be? You don't mistreat goats like that. You leave them alone. Everyone knows that. Putting panties on a goat would just get the animal mad at you, and that's something you don't want to get mad at you.

Mary: Can the goat with panties be used as a distraction to buy you time to flee from angry investors?

Lars: Are we done now?

Yes, we are.

Lars: Good. Mary Ducky, I'm placing you under arr...

Mary: *pointing* Isn't that the anchor for Access Hollywood over there?

Lars: *turning* Where?

*Mary sprints away and out the door.*

I think she just scarpered on you.


Lars: *turning* Damn it!

At least she didn't ask you if you were with Metallica.

Later that night, Mary tried a Mountie tunic on for size....

Never Get Between A Con Artist And Her Mark

This is the first of three blogs in the tradition of my In Character blogs. In these cases, these are characters without a book, existing only in the blogosphere (for the moment). Today I'm introducing you to a new one, Mary Ducky. Some of you may have come across a certain individual at Book Marketing Network who's been mass spamming multiple discussion groups with pure spam. Well, Mary Ducky is my version of Fraulein Spammerhaus. Just watch your billfold around Mary. She's something of a thief.....

Incidentally, I could see Kyra Sedgwick playing this character...

****


Well, hello and greetings, all of you. I'm Mary Ducky, in case you didn't already know, and welcome to the first annual Mary Ducky Motivational Seminar.

Now, in case there are any of you who haven't yet paid your non refundable entry fees, my staff are circulating just to check and see. And just as an aside, two big guys named Milo and Brutus are waiting out back if you're trying to slip away without paying. That's a joke, by the way. Hah!

You know, I've been in this business a long time, and I've accomplished a great deal. And today I'm going to show you how you too can become a Mary Ducky Certified Financial Guru.*  Oh, and by *, I must tell you the offer is not valid in the Virgin Islands and West Virginia. Don't ask, it's a really long story, and my attornies have advised me to skip over that entire unfortunate affair.

I've made a lot of money as I've gone along, and you can too. For a modest investment of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars today, I will see to it that you make a return on your money of four hundred percent by next month. That's a whole lot of bananas. And speaking of bananas, I'd really appreciate it if you just forget anything you might have heard about federal prosecutors talking about me and using that nasty term Ponzi scheme. I promise you, that was all a big misunderstanding, and it'll all be straightened out as soon as I can bribe the right judges and officials... oh. Did I say that out loud?

That was a joke, really.

You know, my family's been the subject of false charges and slander going back all the way to my great-great-great-great grandmother Mary Margaret Ducky, who was accused of pilfering the Donner Party Widows & Orphans Relief Fund. Well, you know, it was always said in our family that those widows and orphans didn't really need that money anyway. They'd managed to get through the winter living off the dead as it was.

Where was I? Oh, yes. The Mary Ducky Financial Scam... oh, sorry about that, must have been a Freudian slip. The Mary Ducky Financial Scheme... you know, come to think of it, even that sounds disreputable. How about this? The Mary Ducky Financial Protocol is a proven way of increasing your financial worth and wealth. For a further seven hundred and fifty thousand dollar investment today, you'll have access to me for a full week at a relaxing Caribbean resort. Imagine that! Some friendly financial seminars during the morning, swimming in the ocean in the afternoon, and fine dining and entertaining by the sea. And if that's not tempting enough, for one million five hundred thousand, you'll get a full month with me. Isn't that splendid?

I know, you've heard nasty rumors about me, and I'm here to deny everything. Any rumors of me being Bernard Madoff's silent partner are lies, vicious slander spread by my competitors. I'm the most trustworthy financial consultant since the days of Stickyfingers Lonergan. Oh... maybe I shouldn't have used his nickname. Ignore that last remark. In fact, let's just reverse course to my mentioning the million five hundred thousand that you'll be paying me for a whole month of my sage advice and counsel.

You know, when you're as financially adept as I am, you realize there's a point in life when you want to give back. When you want to help society advance itself. I've talked to many a senior citizen to get them to sign over their pension in trust to me about what sacrifice really means. And you know, as I've got their money in my hands, I just get so... so, well, the best way to describe it is almost as if I'm... being pleasured. Come to think of it, it's possible for money to give you an orgasm. I know I've had them more then a few times thanks to that lovely, lovely scent of greenbacks... Just me and the money, baby... that's all I need to go to my happy place.

Oh, maybe that's too personal for me to say. Well, in that case... what? Ladies and gentlemen, I'm just hearing from my staff that those nasty SEC people have arrived and want to talk to me. You know, you engage in what some people would call insider trading and fraudulent investing a time or two, and... did I say that out loud?

At any rate, I'll be right back. Just as soon as I can. I'd really appreciate it if you'd delay those nasty SEC agents. That would be just peachy. It's all a big misunderstanding, that's all.

Oh, and while you've been sitting here, my staff has managed to access your financial records and cleaned you out.

Did I say that out loud?