The continuing saga of Rodney's Rodneys

[birdman]

the Continuing Saga Of Rodney's Rodneys

(In appreciation of Giles,Giles & Fripp)






I posted this game at another forum. (Some replies are not my own.) You see , the game didn't take well and there were few "joiners". I hope to do better here.


.......



















Rodney Rodneys was a sad 8 year old wot still used a bumbo chair. When , one day,.....











He fell to his death after his bungee-chord snapped on a bridge.







But, as the dreadful and depressing Rodney Rodneys was quick to realize, it had been but a dream as the long,long night before he had fallen asleep reading Ambrose Bierce's short story, Occurence at Owl Creek Bridge.








Rodney's depthless, pointless life was swiftly becoming too much a burden when, of a sudden one grey , sun-blotched day, he discovered adult magazines.









These adult magazines were filled with coupons and deal listings of tasteless furniture from IKEA, his mind could not comprehend why any adult would read these magazines. Rodney began his search for the greatest, yet affordable furniture from that day on.



























But after a couple of days, he could not resist IKEA and longer. Having skill with tools, he was pleasantly surprised to find the opportunity to build the furniture himself, and got all sorts of great ideas for Swedish prog band names from the IKEA products.











While building a stool to sit on while playing guitar, because 'tis the only way to play guitar, he stumbled on a small termite. Rodney instantly befriended this termite and pondered on their future lives together.





................................


Please continue.

[birdman]

Rodney thought that it might be a little strange that his only friend was a termite, but he didn't care. He named the termite Cygnus, because he had heard that word somewhere in a prog song before.

"We shall make a pwog concept lp on the theme of furniture!" exclaimed the (oddly) exhuberant Rodney to his new friend whom he had named Gregor Samsa-Cygnus. Samsa-Cygnus made a small moue of disapproval to which Rodney responded, " But many a pwog band has extolled furniture in the past- think of Renaissance"Carpet of the Sun",Genesis "Musical Box",Kansas "Lamplight Symphony " & "Closet Chronicles",Hawkwind "Comfy Chair",FM "sofa Back", Procol "TV Ceasar"!


"Feck the furniture!", the termite shrilled, blowing a mephitic fhart.. "If you had any sack between your legs you would have noticed those magazines contained something of much more interest than raffish furniture coupons."

Spunky (Fingers) Nomates ran the seedy "book"store next the community abbatoir and he was casually thumbing thru the coffeetable edition of the Necronomicon (careful not to cut his webbed hand on the razor-sharp page edges) when in walked our lad, Rodney Rodneys.

"Good smutmerchant-sir, it has just been brought to my understanding the true import of these adult magazines which your emporium doth proffer the public - and I am of mind to purchase more of these piccy books, especially those in which the rubbing of body parts along with exclaimations of "Frabjous Joy!" are made prominent."

Spunky merely turned another page , fharted this time with such potency as to rival the concentration of hydrogen sulfide one would expect in Dante's seventh level,and pointed to the "copulation porn" section which was between "cow-udder titter" and "cunnilingus" sections.
Spunky rarely spoke on account of all seven shades of speech being beat out of him by repeated violent cycle-bouts of prolonged buggery endured when still a child.

But Rodney was momentarily distracted by the sudden appearance of the entire St. Louis Cardinals starting rotation on the street outside the store; apparently having been banished from the MLB for being too good.

And not even momentarily because to Rodney Rodney's sensibilities sports and sportstalk were for stadia-ized lowclass chaff born of booze, licking lead paint, degrees in spraying supermarket vegetables and contraception that somehow went awry. He was fully aware that such "humanity" went hand-in-hand with being so azoic on the culture front as to believe in the merits of a Canadian crapband called Rush - also stadia fodder.


But this has nothiong to do with what is still to be:

[birdman]

You could not in truth claim our lad Rodney to be a bad-looking bloke:



However, he was rather most slow on the uptake.

[birdman]

You could say that Rodney had it coming when one day he decided to take his adult magazine to his elementary school, Our Lady Of Prostitutes.

Rodney and one Gerald Bostock were the only males in the otherwise all-female (Japanese school girls in strikingly amoral black & white uniform - because that is the way the schoolmistresses desired it.) school.



The Japanese school girls - in uniform - blushing and giggling in a most delightful covert manner, would meekly taunt him when he passed by , asking him why he always walked with his hands in his long, long pockets.



But one day Rodney, while listening to "2112" on the radio, had a sudden epiphany, realizing that hey, Rush is actually a pretty good band after all! He sold all his adult magazines and used the money to buy Rush's complete discography.


Well, we DID say Rodney Rodneys was rather dim.

[birdman]

Regardless, one morning whilst walking the promenade with his termite on a leash (Gerard de Nerval-with-his-pet-lobster-style) Gregor Samsa-Cygnus caught word of Rodney's immense faux pas and rebuked him so severely that Rodney burned all his Rush filth and went back to blissful affection for regular filth.

[birdman]

It was down to mischievious Spunky Nomates (paper and pencil) tutelage that Rodney was fed the misleading maxim that Japanese schoolgirls ( unlike all other females altogether) fostered a deep-rooted admiration for all things Prog, especially bona fida Prog Cognescenti of the first water.

Rodney's bone was galvanated into persuading Rodney's brain to learn all it could on the demanding subject.

First thing Rodney did was venture to the hallowed halls of Progressive Ears prog forum.
He had the sense ,even at this early stage to stay away from Progarchives Forum ,since their concept of protoprog was ludicrous.

[birdman]

Meekly at first, Rodney probed deeper into the posts. He began to cultivate precious knowledge of things progtastic - and psychedelic as well!
And with this came Shame - shame that he had actually allowed himself to be befouled - to follow vile devices like Rush. This PA forum had furnished him with multiple choice - to loosen the bandages of bad musical taste that fetters many a small mind. It had never occurred to him that such worlds were possible; that there was a dreadful concourse of Evil out there seeking to prolong the unnatural existance of Bad Musical Taste and swell its vile ranks.

At once he forgot about furniture, about Japanese schoolgirls, about a former life even. He allowed the main current of these new energies to flow, to run into his soul keying up interests in the best possible way.

He began to follow the posts of certain favorites: a certain Eternal messanger, a strangely-appellated Scrotum Scissor, an eloquent Baribrotzer, a scribe of the Italian magic runes - one TheH, a Freak of Space....

[birdman]

At first Cygnus derided Rodney's new Vision - his abandonment of of Adult Magazine and the sad-but-wonderful sphere of wankery.
But Rodney's new vigour and drive had, in short time, effect even on the dour termite.

Cygnus - amazed at himself - soon found himself at Rodney's side, pencil in mandible (or whatever), scratching his ass, pondering what would be THEIR first post to The Forum.

Then the dual (vintage) lightbulbs lit over the heads of the two embarkers-on -fresh-horizon.
They had made their subject decision.
It would be..

[birdman]

PRODUCTION MUSIC lps THAT COULD BE OF INTEREST TO PROGGERS!

[birdman]

There was a great battle of prog minds going on.

The bone of contention was Silvano Chimenti's 1970 lp hight "Droga":

"Rodney, thou Great Twit!", shrilled the termite, red-faced with fury.
"True it is that the "Droga" lp , in the manner of Library records, shared coverart with others; but, I can assure you that nowise was this a Library record proper and as such cannot be considered contender for Our First Post. (Thou dropsied limmer.) Now, be good to yourself and allow thine porkchop-mind a wee rest. Thou wilt be all the fresher for a timely kip of the serenes."

Just then young, dapper Gerald Bostock sauntered in , nastily questioning: "Well, well, well. Is it true what I have heard about you two?"

And then he dropped ....the bombshell.

[birdman]

Horror of horrors!
Gerald had made it his mission to do Cygnus and Our Lad Rodney one better.

Whilst they were lost to contemplation of their progforum opus; their imminent dramatic entry to the world of prog forum posting the underestimated Bostock of the pudgy frame had underhandedly stitched together some raggamuffin cabal of pretend scratchers , which is to say, prog DJs!

[birdman]

At this, Rodney but farted.

But Cygnus was all in a dither. (Tither?)
He rubbed Voltarine into his joints, took up his four-legged cane and proceeded to repeatedly strike the connnving Bostock to the ground.
"Thou pumpernickelled prolapse. Thou eructation, thou burning pyuria! Thou seekest one-upmanship on OUR ASS, dost thou? Inform me now this instant, varlet, whence the venue..WHEN? We shall make our post to PA forum POSTHASTE and thus rub ash-black upon thy Brasso-shine. The moment shall be OURS - not thine!"

[birdman]

"It is DONE, assholes." , the dread words bubbled past the gore that was once Bostock's face. "We have MADE THE VIDEO. We have colluded against you to ....." (spit) " .....to stream one of the worse transgressions persons may be held accountable for : a Mars Volta scratch-dub session!"

[birdman]

"Fie!", lamented the defeated termite. "Fie, fie, fie! We are undone, my friend, Rodney. This indeed is heavy wizardry and t'will be no mere doddle to overcome.
I am afeard we must shamble off in ignominy, our tails betwix our legs. The Bostock has beaten us at our own game!"



As Rodney shambled off before the broken termite, Gregor Samsa Cygnus, raising an eyebrow, took note and counselled Rodney: "Take heart ,Rodders. One day...one day The True Prog shall have its day. Till then...till then...errr...wipe your tail, my friend. That was no mere fart - thou hast beshat thyself. S'truth if I cannot nigh count the grains of pig-corn."




Gerald Bostock, supine on the ground, half-way pummeled into the earth, smiled wryly and pronounced: " Ash is usually grey - NOT BLACK, you cretin."

And was dead.