Miscellaneous/Toby/Kidnapped & Jedi...070327
What a warm sunny spring day...yawn! It makes me want to doze off! The breeze blows puffy clouds and ... on the horizon of the coral shore, stumping through the sand, is the old peg legged pirate, Long John Silver ‘imself. Avast ye furry swab, move that worthless frame for a real sailor to pass. Who Me? Furry yes, but not a swab (whatever that means!) Long John, you’re drunk again and you couldn’t navigate this beach much less the bounding main (whatever that is), says I. Aye Tobster, but never underestimate the power of one who ‘as ‘is sea legs even on the dry land, for ‘e can set ye on a course to Davy Jones Locker, he exclaimed through teeth both sparse in number and amply coated with barnacle-like scum up to the gums. Long John, you don’t know what goes on on shore any more than Davy Jones does, says I. That’s where yer scrapin’ shallow waters, Tob, I keeps me eye on the important stuff by readin’ battery magazines durin’ me watches. And, none of that pansy material in computer electronic Acrobat formats, Nope! I takes my readin’ in a real pirate’s way in magazines which I takes from their pockets after the throats of me friends ‘ave been slit clean says he! (Isn’t that just like a pirate? He doesn’t even pay for his own subscription!) He smiled that merciless bad teeth grin and spat a huge wad of brownish green crud into the sand, near enough to cause a crawly creature to skrunch up into a protective ball.
But John, says I, you are living in the 19th Century. If you got BD in Acrobat form, you could use the Acrobat Find Tool (use the binocular icon) in the toolbar to locate all occurrences of a particular subject of interest to you. You would not have to flip through every page to make sure you didn’t miss an important item.
The corners of Blackhearted John’s mouth curled downward in sour anger. Jim, me boy. John, this is my dream, I am Toby remember? Toby, Shmoby whatever the devil yer name is, yer too smart fer yer own fur, he exclaimed as he began to draw the shiny steel of his blade from its place on his tattered belt. Smarty landlubbers, the likes of ye, do best when yer ‘ead is three feet from yer neck. I could tell he was very unhappy with me and planned to end his displeasure with my demise. The glint of the edge of his sword flashed in the sunbeams as he hobbled on one peg leg and a scurvy foot through the sand toward me.
Almost hypnotized by the gleaming metal, I realized this was my dream, not his, so I drew my Clint Eastwood 357 Magnum and blew him out to the water... Bang! The report of a distant backfire jolted me back out of slumber. Where was I? Oh yes, safe in my own sunny yard. I had just reduced the number of possible readers by one, but then, what were the chances of his placing advertising with me?
Tail wags \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ /, TOBY
Hi Readers! It’s another of those sunny warm days just right for a nap in the lawn. Yawn...I’m dreaming of zipping along with my buds on the flight deck of the Millennium Falcon. In another galaxy far, far away I am known to them as Toby-wan Kenoby, the Jedi Dog, or just ‘Tob’ for short. Suddenly, Han exclaims, “Guys, we are coming up on Tatooni. Remember that’s where they have that cantina full of really colorful characters. Maybe we should stop in for libations!” It didn’t take Chewy long to set us down, and we soon found ourselves in that more than just colorful, but dangerous hangout for a variety of galactic beings.
Attending the long bar, was my old friend, Butch. Hey, I thought, he is supposed to be working the Pink Palace on Earth, but then this is my dream and I guess any events are possible. After warm introductions and greetings, Butch hands Chewie something with a subtle green glow and just a bit of a cloud emanating from the surface. Han orders a beer, but the thing has tiny yellow balls which float to the surface and emit a small pop as they disappear. Me? I get my standard shot of milk. At least that doesn’t have any fireworks. “ How is it going?” I ask Butch. He replies, “Never a dull moment Tob, and the experiences never seem to become ordinary.” “How’s that?” I ask as a basketball-size creature brushes by me with a four foot neck topped by a baseball - size head with eyes evenly distributed around the periphery. This guy is most likely not having an easy time of getting a date, I surmise.
Butch goes on, “Just yesterday there comes in a plain old hydrogen atom and nestles forlornly up to the bar. ‘How’s it going?’ I make the mistake to ask and woefully the atom replies” “Really bad; I just lost my electron.” Butch says, “Then I ask him - Are you sure?” “I’m positive!” “the electron says...”
Chewie makes one of those deep nasal groans as only a Wookie can, and I realize Butch has been in this dream too long already. But he continues, “ Tob, I’ve got to build the image of this Cantina. You know, attract some creatures with class and maybe without blasters. Got any ideas?”
“ Butch,” I replied, “ Use the force! You really need to get some visibility with both Batteries Digest Newsletter and the BD Website. It’s got class clientele from every known civilization in the universe and interest is big and growing. Now we all know that information in space is limited to light speed, but the Web content is always there propagating to every galaxy 24/9. (There are nine days a week on Tattoni.) Then those thousands of dedicated monthly Newsletters sent only to readers who request copies, can be crammed into a sideband of the hyperchannel which starships use to get to places like Kessel in less than twelve timeparts. That means that intergalactic readers get their latest issue on the first day of each space month. Is there any question why such distribution coupled with great content slanted to the business reader has this publication growing?”
“Great,” says Butch. “What’s the cost?” I quickly replied, “Less than your margin on drinks sold in one hour each year.” “And you think it will get me some great image and clientele?” I confidently state, “No doubt, Butch, you will be so popular that you will put rugs on the floor and add a room out back for a pool table.” “Hold on, Tob, I only ask for a little bit of respect,” he replies.
Well, Butch is on his way to integallactic respect and we are back on the Falcon making the jump to hyperspace. Going to new places is fun, but that push from the hyperdrive gives me a case of diarrhea every time. I’m going to curl up by Chewie’s furry leg. “Night all...” Bang, the wind slams the screen door open and closed bringing me back to the real world of fluffy clouds on this beautiful earth day in my own back yard
Tail wags \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ /, TOBY