Wednesday, May 18, 2005

Street Day

It's Cawnpore Day down at The American Street. Neddie contributes a squib on the amazing parallels between the recent riots in Afghanistan and the Indian Mutiny of 1859. Well, no, not amazing, in point of fact. Entirely bloody predictable, actually.

At left: Later in life, Colonel Sir Nedram Twistleton-Smythe Jingo, Bart., OBE, QC, D. Litt., cigar ash smeared liberally on his shirtfront, would awaken suddenly from his afternoon nap in the conservatory and lash out at the nearest servant-girl with his Molucca cane, shouting, "That's how we did it at Lucknow, you Pandy bint!" This was particularly puzzling because Sir Nedram spent the entirety of the Mutiny claiming his impetigo exempted him from service overseas.

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

Are you sure that isn't Harry Flashman?

Neddie said...

Not at all sure, old boy. Tell you what, let's send Lakshmibai, the Ranee of Jhansi, in there in a diaphanous sari. If he's got her by the poonts and is rogering away before you can say damn your eyes, I think we'll have our man.

H. Rumbold, Master Barber said...

An admirable experiment. You hit it out of the park, Neddie. However, the history of Colonel Sir Nedram Twistleton-Smythe Jingo, Bart., OBE, QC, D. Litt. bears looking into, particularly if the Twistleton line is linked to Frederick Altamont Cornwallis Twistleton, Earl of Ickenham, who as you surely know was a fizzer in his own right.

On the Gitmo front, I can't help wondering if the interrogators had in mind the origins of the Batman persona - Most criminals are simple superstitious souls- let's shock and awe them with a Bat Costume! Naked pyramids, dog leashes, menstrual blood, Qur'ans in toilets all follow so easily.

Neddie said...

Cousin Pongo is a bit of a punk rocker. I'll tell him you popped in and said toodle-pip.

I'll go to my grave insisting, though, that the greatest of all Eggs, Beans and Crumpets was Gussie Fink-Nottle, whose disquisition on newts reduced me to quivering, teary jelly somewhere in 1982.

With Frank Gorshen dead, one is free to use the following dialogue, transplanted to a Gitmo interrogation-hut:

"Riddle me this, Batman! Three men on a boat have between them four cigarettes but no matches. How do they smoke?"

"Simple, Riddler! They throw one of the cigarettes overboard, and make the boat A CIGARETTE LIGHTER!"

Thank you very much. Gratuities gratefully accepted.