|MiSTed: The Tale of Fatty Raccoon, Chapter XIX (1 / 1) [message #406343]
||Thu, 11 March 2021 17:33
Registered: September 2012
TOM: Xixi of Ix.
> FATTY GROWS EVEN FATTER
CROW: [ As Fatty ] 'I thought we were dumping the fat jokes!'
> When Fatty Raccoon's burned feet were well once more,
MIKE: Ah, continuity again. Serial adventures.
> the very
> first night he left his mother's house he went straight to the
> loggers' camp.
CROW: [ As Fatty ] 'I swear if they're doing Monty Python routines I'm giving them all dysentery.'
> He did not wait long after dark, because he was afraid
> that some of his neighbors might have found
TOM: That sweet Moon that Farmer Green's son was leaving out.
> that there were good
> things to eat about the camp. And Fatty wanted them all.
MIKE: Fatty's a big fan of Queen.
> To his delight, there were goodies almost without end. He
> nosed about, picking up potato peelings, and bits of bacon.
CROW: Pumpkin scraps.
TOM: Remaindered butter.
MIKE: Irregular porks.
TOM: Off-brand onions.
CROW: Second-hand hash browns.
MIKE: Good-as-new eggs.
> perhaps the best of all was a piece of cornbread, which Fatty fairly
MIKE: Fairly. He gave the cornbread a chance to get away.
> And then he found a box half-full of something---scraps that
> tasted like apples, only they were not round like apples,
TOM: Ah yes, 'Fool's Apples'.
> and they
> were quite dry, instead of being juicy.
CROW: Then there's the spikes they eject and the wailing of the doomed they emit, but otherwise? Great stuff.
> But Fatty liked them; and he
> ate them all, down to the smallest bit.
MIKE: Animals are famous for liking to eat strange and painfully dry foods.
> He was thirsty, then. So he went down to the brook,
CROW: Raccoons are natural problem-solvers.
> which ran
> close by the camp. The loggers had cut a hole through the ice,
TOM: [ As the author ] Uh --- did I mention it's winter? ... Because it's winter.
> so they
> could get water.
MIKE: [ As the author ] Oh and, uh, maybe I didn't say before but the loggers are all French-Canadian but *not* Catholic. Not sure it's important, just think you should know.
> And Fatty crept close to the edge of the hole and
CROW: [ As the author ] Oh yeah, also remember the animals all wear clown hats, that's going to be really important next chapter.
> He drank a great deal of water, because he was very thirsty.
TOM: [ As the author ] Sorry, one last thing, they're all robots who don't know they're in a band.
> And when he had finished he sat down on the ice for a time. He did not
> care to stir about just then.
CROW: Lucky thing he's at one of those newfangled self-stirring rivers.
> And he did not think he would ever want
> anything to eat again.
MIKE: What's a 'fangle' and what makes a fangle 'new'?
TOM: Um ...
> At last Fatty Raccoon rose to his feet. He felt very queer. There
> was a strange, tight feeling about his stomach.
MIKE: [ As Fatty ] 'Am I being strangled by a boa constrictor --- *again*?'
> And his sides were no
> longer thin. They stuck out just as they had before winter came---only
> more so.
CROW: Raccoon with attached porch.
> And what alarmed Fatty was this: his sides seemed to be
> sticking out more and more all the time.
TOM: [ As Fatty ] 'I keep seeing this happen to cartoon characters but never dreamed it could happen to me!'
> He wondered what he had been eating. Those dry things that
> tasted like apples---he wondered what they were.
CROW: Bad luck of Fatty that this was the summer of the apple-flavored self-inflating life-raft fad.
> Now, there was some printing on the outside of the box which
> held those queer, spongy, flat things.
MIKE: Oh yeah, there it is on the label: 'Queer, Spongy, Flat Things to Inflate Your Raccoon', should have expected that.
> Of course, Fatty Raccoon could not
TOM: Of course?
> so the printing did him no good at all. But if you had seen the
> box, and if you are old enough to read,
CROW: Arthur Scott Bailey pandering to his audience here.
> you would have known that the
> printing said: EVAPORATED APPLES
TOM: E ... Evaporated apples?
CROW: Consolidated grapes!
MIKE: Abbreviated radishes!
CROW: Imaginary corn!
TOM: Dark matter potatoes!
> Now, evaporated apples are nothing more or less than dried
MIKE: To the lay audience, anyway.
> The cook of the loggers' camp used them to make apple pies.
TOM: Not to get in good with condensed teachers?
> And first, before making his pies, he always soaked them in water so
> they would swell.
CROW: [ As Logger ] 'How do the apples look?'
MIKE: [ As cook ] 'Swell!'
CROW: [ As Logger ] 'So they're ready to go!'
> Now you see what made Fatty Raccoon feel so queer and
TOM: He missed out on apple pie?
> He had first eaten his dried apples.
CROW: Okay, okay wait, let me write this down.
> And then he had
> soaked them,
CROW: All right, keep laying out the clues, I'll figure it out.
> by drinking out of the brook.
MIKE: Brook water? What's wrong with *real* water?
> It was no wonder that his
> sides stuck out, for the apples that he had bolted were swelling and
> puffing him out until he felt that he should burst.
TOM: So evaporated apples take revenge. Got it.
> In fact, the
> wonder of it was that he was able to get through his mother's doorway,
> when he reached home.
MIKE: Not because of the fatness, because he was out after curfew.
> But he did it, though it cost him a few groans. And he
> frightened his mother, too.
CROW: Mrs Raccoon is a long-suffering character this book.
> "I only hope you're not poisoned," she said, when Fatty told
> her what he had been doing.
TOM: Oh, c'mon, where would humans even *get* poison from? Be realistic!
> And that remark frightened Fatty more than ever.
CROW: [ As Fatty ] 'Poissoned? I didn't even *see* any fish!'
MIKE: [ As Mom ] 'No, I ... you know, I'll let this one go.'
> he was never going to feel any better.
TOM: This is me whenever I have *anything*.
> Poor Mrs. Raccoon was much worried all the rest of the night.
MIKE: Wonder what Fatty's siblings are up to tonight ... ah well.
> when morning came she knew that Fatty was out of danger.
> She knew it
> because of something he said.
MIKE: Oh, classic Fatty line coming in.
> It was this:
TOM: He's gonna say it? He's gonna say it!
> "Oh, dear! I wish I had something to eat!"
[ ALL go wild as a sitcom audience, cheering and clapping. ]
[ To be concluded ... ]
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