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Dear Colonel,
I am quite sick of your prejudice against us, Canadians. We have been most loyal to the Empire ever since the begining of British rule! We are like Britons, just with a little too much Yankee influence (and perhaps French, but let's not talk about that).
Your truly.
Alexander "Griffin", Frenchman-in-denial.
____
Wonderful AAR you have there Dutchie, keep up the good work!
I am quite sick of your prejudice against us, Canadians. We have been most loyal to the Empire ever since the begining of British rule! We are like Britons, just with a little too much Yankee influence (and perhaps French, but let's not talk about that).
Your truly.
Alexander "Griffin", Frenchman-in-denial.
____
Wonderful AAR you have there Dutchie, keep up the good work!
Are you still accepting fan-submitted stories? If so, I had an idea about SYnDieS in AMerIcA!
I mean, some high-class, intelligent American folks discussing SYnDieS.
If so, I'll post soon!
- Lighthearter
I mean, some high-class, intelligent American folks discussing SYnDieS.
If so, I'll post soon!
- Lighthearter
"Some more reports and requests I see. Good."
"Sir Addict, Sir Tim. The fact that there are Frenchies in Canada is a closely guarded secret at the toplevel of government. I am afraid good Sir Neville wouldn't survive the news. Also, remember that Frenchmen are unbritish by definition."
"Sigh, another ungrateful Canadian. We send the best of the best from Old Blighty to those frozen forests, teach them to read and write. We even accept that some of them speak that undignified dialect popular in Quebec (if thats even a name. And what do we get? Please let us rule ourselves. Please let us lead our armies because our men fight for you. Please let us do whats natural between a man and his elk. Poppycock.
We are all that stand between you an total and utter barbarism! Before you know it you will write harbour as harbor, or call biscuits crackers!.
Yours Truly, Col. Blimp, Esq."
"Ah, an intelligence report from our American cousins is always welcome. In contrary what everyone thinks I kind of like those chaps. There a bit like my handicapped little cousin Nigel. They try so hard to be civilized its kind of endearing."
Tell him that this type of Frenchman desperately tries to become British.
"Sir Addict, Sir Tim. The fact that there are Frenchies in Canada is a closely guarded secret at the toplevel of government. I am afraid good Sir Neville wouldn't survive the news. Also, remember that Frenchmen are unbritish by definition."
"Sigh, another ungrateful Canadian. We send the best of the best from Old Blighty to those frozen forests, teach them to read and write. We even accept that some of them speak that undignified dialect popular in Quebec (if thats even a name. And what do we get? Please let us rule ourselves. Please let us lead our armies because our men fight for you. Please let us do whats natural between a man and his elk. Poppycock.
We are all that stand between you an total and utter barbarism! Before you know it you will write harbour as harbor, or call biscuits crackers!.
Yours Truly, Col. Blimp, Esq."
Are you still accepting fan-submitted stories? If so, I had an idea about SYnDieS in AMerIcA!
I mean, some high-class, intelligent American folks discussing SYnDieS.
If so, I'll post soon!
- Lighthearter
"Ah, an intelligence report from our American cousins is always welcome. In contrary what everyone thinks I kind of like those chaps. There a bit like my handicapped little cousin Nigel. They try so hard to be civilized its kind of endearing."
SYnDiEs in AMeRIcA!!!
President Hoover stood behind the platform in Chicago, Illinois. He took a quick peek out at the assembled crowd. The Combined Syndicalists of North America were waiting patiently to hear from the president. Hoover was here to try and sooth them, as they believed that the government was deliberately squashing their view. Well, Hoover was an excellently tolerant man as long as the opposition agreed with him. That made him a remarkable nice man - in his opinion.
"Douglas, what do you think of this rally? We might need to make some promises that we won't want to keep."
Douglas MacArthur shook his head.
"Americans don't make promises they can't keep - just ones we won't. There is a distinction. Now, Long's followers out there -"
"Douglas, we talked about this. Those are Jack Reed's Syndicalists."
"SyNdIEs?!?!?"
MacArthur's pupils expanded to fill his entire eyes and he began to twitch and shake. Hoover stepped back, his own eyes widening.
"Douglas, my friend, calm down . . . ."
"SyNDiEs!! SYnDieS! KILL SYnDIes!!"
"Douglas! Have you been taking those pills that charmingly deranged British traveling salesman Chamberlain left for you?"
"SyNDieS!!"
"I'll take that as a 'no'. George, the medical kit, at once!"
"Yes, Mr. President!" George Patton yelled, grabbing the wooden box from the wall and passing it to Hoover.
"Good man!" Hoover slammed the box on MacArthur's head. The general passed out with a whimper of "SyNDieS . . . SYnDiES . . . ."
"Thank goodness that's over Mr. President. He could really have gotten into a rage there."
"Yes, well now we can get on with the address to the Syndicalists . . . ."
"SYnDIeS!!" MacArthur's eye's snapped open wide and he jumped up, eyeballs rotating independently of each other."SyNDiEs!!"
"Hit him again George!"
Thud.
"SyNdiES?"
Thud thud thud.
"SyNdIeS . . . whee! Flying angel monkeys . . . flying sYNdIe angel monkeys . . . ."
Thud.
MacArthur collapsed into a chair, his head spinning crazily in all directions.
"Do I hit him again?"
"Best to be safe. Do it."
Patton raised the medical kit over his head to bash it onto MacArthur's cranium. The other US general looked up and saw Patton with a box raised high and about to bash him with it.
"Hello mommy."
Thud.
"Pretty unicorn . . . SYnDie unicorn . . . good night mommy . . . ."
Thud.
John "Jack" Reed leaned around the corner to see what all the anti-SyNDiE screaming had been about. He saw General Patton standing over the unconscious body of General Douglas MacArthur with a bent and dented medical kit and the President looking on with a satisfied expression.
"Oh, Hello Reed. Uhmm . . . this doesn't look good, does it?"
This concludes SYnDieS in AmErICa! (For now, at least)
"SYnDIeS!!"
President Hoover stood behind the platform in Chicago, Illinois. He took a quick peek out at the assembled crowd. The Combined Syndicalists of North America were waiting patiently to hear from the president. Hoover was here to try and sooth them, as they believed that the government was deliberately squashing their view. Well, Hoover was an excellently tolerant man as long as the opposition agreed with him. That made him a remarkable nice man - in his opinion.
"Douglas, what do you think of this rally? We might need to make some promises that we won't want to keep."
Douglas MacArthur shook his head.
"Americans don't make promises they can't keep - just ones we won't. There is a distinction. Now, Long's followers out there -"
"Douglas, we talked about this. Those are Jack Reed's Syndicalists."
"SyNdIEs?!?!?"
MacArthur's pupils expanded to fill his entire eyes and he began to twitch and shake. Hoover stepped back, his own eyes widening.
"Douglas, my friend, calm down . . . ."
"SyNDiEs!! SYnDieS! KILL SYnDIes!!"
"Douglas! Have you been taking those pills that charmingly deranged British traveling salesman Chamberlain left for you?"
"SyNDieS!!"
"I'll take that as a 'no'. George, the medical kit, at once!"
"Yes, Mr. President!" George Patton yelled, grabbing the wooden box from the wall and passing it to Hoover.
"Good man!" Hoover slammed the box on MacArthur's head. The general passed out with a whimper of "SyNDieS . . . SYnDiES . . . ."
"Thank goodness that's over Mr. President. He could really have gotten into a rage there."
"Yes, well now we can get on with the address to the Syndicalists . . . ."
"SYnDIeS!!" MacArthur's eye's snapped open wide and he jumped up, eyeballs rotating independently of each other."SyNDiEs!!"
"Hit him again George!"
Thud.
"SyNdiES?"
Thud thud thud.
"SyNdIeS . . . whee! Flying angel monkeys . . . flying sYNdIe angel monkeys . . . ."
Thud.
MacArthur collapsed into a chair, his head spinning crazily in all directions.
"Do I hit him again?"
"Best to be safe. Do it."
Patton raised the medical kit over his head to bash it onto MacArthur's cranium. The other US general looked up and saw Patton with a box raised high and about to bash him with it.
"Hello mommy."
Thud.
"Pretty unicorn . . . SYnDie unicorn . . . good night mommy . . . ."
Thud.
John "Jack" Reed leaned around the corner to see what all the anti-SyNDiE screaming had been about. He saw General Patton standing over the unconscious body of General Douglas MacArthur with a bent and dented medical kit and the President looking on with a satisfied expression.
"Oh, Hello Reed. Uhmm . . . this doesn't look good, does it?"
This concludes SYnDieS in AmErICa! (For now, at least)
"SYnDIeS!!"
Can anyone imagine a Chambie-MacArtie meeting?
“SYnDiEs!!!!”
"SyNdIEs?!?!?"
“SYnDiEs!!!!”
"SyNdIEs!!!!"
“SYnDiEs, syNdIeS!!!!”
"SyNdIEs SYndIEs SYNdieS!!!!!"
“SYnDiEs SyNdIEs SYndIEs SYNdieS!!!!!”
"KILL THE SyNdIEs!!!! KILL THEM ALL!!!!"
“KILL THE SYnDiEs!!!! SyNdI the KiLLYEs!!!!! KyLliE MiNoGUe!!!!!!”
"What?"
“You, Barbarian monkeys, you don't know the proper way to kill a SyNdiEz, as the Bushido comands. Do you want to know how we kill the SYNdieZ In NihoN, do you, furry Barbarian ones?”
“KILL THE SYnDiEs!!!!”
"SyNdIEs? SYndIE LAupEr???"
Thud.
“uh?”
“He was talking too much nonsene, you see...”
“SYnDiEs!!!!”
"SyNdIEs?!?!?"
“SYnDiEs!!!!”
"SyNdIEs!!!!"
“SYnDiEs, syNdIeS!!!!”
"SyNdIEs SYndIEs SYNdieS!!!!!"
“SYnDiEs SyNdIEs SYndIEs SYNdieS!!!!!”
"KILL THE SyNdIEs!!!! KILL THEM ALL!!!!"
“KILL THE SYnDiEs!!!! SyNdI the KiLLYEs!!!!! KyLliE MiNoGUe!!!!!!”
"What?"
“You, Barbarian monkeys, you don't know the proper way to kill a SyNdiEz, as the Bushido comands. Do you want to know how we kill the SYNdieZ In NihoN, do you, furry Barbarian ones?”
“KILL THE SYnDiEs!!!!”
"SyNdIEs? SYndIE LAupEr???"
Thud.
“uh?”
“He was talking too much nonsene, you see...”
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Someone said something about SyNDiEzZ??! FUUUUU
.
I predict that until the end of this AAR, there shall be at least 7 SynDiEz-like characters.
.
I predict that until the end of this AAR, there shall be at least 7 SynDiEz-like characters.
Brilliant AAR. Just read through it, chuckling many a time. Looking forward to the next update.
Looks lke even inmy absence Sir Neville loves to spew anti-SyNDiE sentiments. I thank Lighthearter and Kurt_Steiner for their great contributions .
I hope to have an update from my handthis week.
.I hope to have an update from my handthis week.
Dunno, but I'm leaving right now for AuStRAliA to sort her out inmediately.
Looks lke even inmy absence Sir Neville loves to spew anti-SyNDiE sentiments. I thank Lighthearter and Kurt_Steiner for their great contributions
Glad to help
I couldn't resist...
Just a sign of life from the Colonel and the chaps. Their adventure in Madrid will be published soon. I'm just horribly busy with my paper at the moment. Keeping three AARs updates is just a bit too much for me at the moment. Hope to have the update by the end of the week though.
If you don't mind, I'll do some kind of "meanwhile" chapter to keep the people busy. May I?
MEANWHILE IN DUTCHSYLVANIA
'HONEY WHERE ARE MY KEYS'
'In Princess Eugenie last I checked...'
'GoD DAMN WILHEMINA! Enough! She's cute!'
'Hendricus, you're ancient, she's out of your league!'
'HONEY WHERE ARE MY KEYS'
'In Princess Eugenie last I checked...'
'GoD DAMN WILHEMINA! Enough! She's cute!'
'Hendricus, you're ancient, she's out of your league!'
Somewhere in the exotic Catalonia...
Three figures walk towards a little village. There is snow everywhere, and captain Mainwaring is slightly angry.
"Never, never again I'll let George to take care of the maps... Silly me..."
-Erm, uhm, er, sorry, sir...
"Talking about the devil...."
-Yes, George?
-I think I really know where we are, sir.
-Like the thousand times before you thought that you knew where we where but, in fact, you didn't? You mean that?
-Yes, sir! There is a sign there which reads "Camprodon". So it must be a name of a place.
-Or some kind of doom... That names sounds uncannily threatening, you know...
-Syndies?
-None here, sir Neville, don't worry.
-No Syndies Syndies?
-George, he needs another sip at his... I mean the other medicine, leave the hammer alone.
After a while, our three gallant heroes find a boarding house and, still covered by the snow, they enter into the room.
-Redéu! -a man shouts- Collons! Això es el Yeti, ponlomenus!
-Mmmh... London, we have a problem -captain Mainwaring thinks-. Anyone here speaks English?
Silence and only silence...
-By the corset of Sharon Stone... George, we must be quite close to the end of the world, a remote area, far away from any civilzed city... here..., wait!
An old man is looking at them, his eyes piercing at them, his gaze going through them. He looks as ancient as the cliffs of Dover.
-Well, let's see if I that old man speaks any civilized language.
Thus captain Mainwaring approaches the old man, sighs, and...
-Good morning, old man! My... My balls, what can I say... Good morning? Nothing... Bonjour? No? Gutten Morgen? Buenos días?
A fart comes out of the old man.
-Well... let's try... he seems to recognize the Spanish language... Buenos días? Está very far away la ciudad de Madrid? Fush... George, dou you speak Spanish?
-No, sir! Mommy doesn't let me talk with savages, you know!
-Oh gosh...
The old man keep his eyes fixed on the horizon.
-Old man... Where are we? ¿Dónde estar mi? A train station? Tren? Me querer ir a Madrid... Madrid...
Then the man answers:
-Caminare.
-Oh... Any idea where is the next village? El próximo pueblo? Tempo Strada? Deine Mutter ist eine Kartoffel?
-Camina.
-Caffettiera? I'm hungry. J'ai fam. Paella? Macarrones? Bread? Wine? That's hard... La plume de ma tante... Menjada, dinar, spesa d'albergo, tutti frutti? El perro de San Roque no tiene rabo?
-Marxa.
Mainwaring, of course, was a good Englishman, but that's was too much for him, so he lost his temper.
-To hell with him! George, pack your things and get sir Nev moving, we're getting out of here! -he said, moving to George with an angered face and waving his arms- That's a f*...
-Follow the street and turn to the left when you arrive to the bridge, then, walk for an hour and ten minutes and you'll find the train station. Turn to the left and not to the right, because to the right there is a deep ravine, and I don't think you can fly, you Barbarian monkey...
-What the fuss?!?!?! And why the heck are you answering me now, and now the very first time I asked you?
-I had to see which was your pace when walking, you silly foreigner, to tell you how long it would take you to arrive to the train station. Oh, the tourists...
-Bugger...
Three figures walk towards a little village. There is snow everywhere, and captain Mainwaring is slightly angry.
"Never, never again I'll let George to take care of the maps... Silly me..."
-Erm, uhm, er, sorry, sir...
"Talking about the devil...."
-Yes, George?
-I think I really know where we are, sir.
-Like the thousand times before you thought that you knew where we where but, in fact, you didn't? You mean that?
-Yes, sir! There is a sign there which reads "Camprodon". So it must be a name of a place.
-Or some kind of doom... That names sounds uncannily threatening, you know...
-Syndies?
-None here, sir Neville, don't worry.
-No Syndies Syndies?
-George, he needs another sip at his... I mean the other medicine, leave the hammer alone.
After a while, our three gallant heroes find a boarding house and, still covered by the snow, they enter into the room.
-Redéu! -a man shouts- Collons! Això es el Yeti, ponlomenus!
-Mmmh... London, we have a problem -captain Mainwaring thinks-. Anyone here speaks English?
Silence and only silence...
-By the corset of Sharon Stone... George, we must be quite close to the end of the world, a remote area, far away from any civilzed city... here..., wait!
An old man is looking at them, his eyes piercing at them, his gaze going through them. He looks as ancient as the cliffs of Dover.
-Well, let's see if I that old man speaks any civilized language.
Thus captain Mainwaring approaches the old man, sighs, and...
-Good morning, old man! My... My balls, what can I say... Good morning? Nothing... Bonjour? No? Gutten Morgen? Buenos días?
A fart comes out of the old man.
-Well... let's try... he seems to recognize the Spanish language... Buenos días? Está very far away la ciudad de Madrid? Fush... George, dou you speak Spanish?
-No, sir! Mommy doesn't let me talk with savages, you know!
-Oh gosh...
The old man keep his eyes fixed on the horizon.
-Old man... Where are we? ¿Dónde estar mi? A train station? Tren? Me querer ir a Madrid... Madrid...
Then the man answers:
-Caminare.
-Oh... Any idea where is the next village? El próximo pueblo? Tempo Strada? Deine Mutter ist eine Kartoffel?
-Camina.
-Caffettiera? I'm hungry. J'ai fam. Paella? Macarrones? Bread? Wine? That's hard... La plume de ma tante... Menjada, dinar, spesa d'albergo, tutti frutti? El perro de San Roque no tiene rabo?
-Marxa.
Mainwaring, of course, was a good Englishman, but that's was too much for him, so he lost his temper.
-To hell with him! George, pack your things and get sir Nev moving, we're getting out of here! -he said, moving to George with an angered face and waving his arms- That's a f*...
-Follow the street and turn to the left when you arrive to the bridge, then, walk for an hour and ten minutes and you'll find the train station. Turn to the left and not to the right, because to the right there is a deep ravine, and I don't think you can fly, you Barbarian monkey...
-What the fuss?!?!?! And why the heck are you answering me now, and now the very first time I asked you?
-I had to see which was your pace when walking, you silly foreigner, to tell you how long it would take you to arrive to the train station. Oh, the tourists...
-Bugger...
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