The troop sat in a circle, ears pricked as they paid attention to the scoutmaster.
"There is a story long ago that involved another scout troop when they were out in the wilderness, foraging supplies for their camp. It was getting dark, and they were in foreign territory that looked unfriendly and rather scarce on readily available food. But the troop perservered and managed to find water, and survived on their remaining rations, and managed to gather a few fruits. For three days they camped out in the wilderness, waiting to earn their badge after a week's camping out."
The scouts ooohed their admiration.
"Then on the fourth day, a scout brought back meat. Part of a cooked chicken. This worried the scoutmaster, although the rest of the troop cheered because four days of dry rations and fruits left a lot to be desired in their diet. A few things worried the scoutmaster, where did the cooked chicken come from, who else was staying in the wilderness for the scoutmaster saw no sign of any other life around, and if there were others out here did the trooper steal from them."
"So the scoutmaster questioned the little one, and the scout reported that he found it in a metal cave."
"A metal cave?" asked Frank.
"Yes. Specifically, an iron cave."
"Did he mean a mining cave where there's iron, scoutmaster?" asked Nancy.
"Very sharp of you, Nancy, but no. What the scout meant was a cave made of iron. As it was late already, the scoutmaster told the little one to bring him to the cave the following day."
"On the fifth day, while the rest of the scouting party went on with their duties at camp, the scoutmaster and the scout headed to the place where the cave was to be found. Instead of having to go through the woods, the scout led the scoutmaster through the grasslands further away from the camping site, until they reached the stone grounds that lie past the edge of the grasslands."
"And lo and behold, there stood the iron cave."
The scouts aaahed their amazement.
"Now, here's what happened...the reason why this story is told around campfires."
All the little scouts leaned forward, as the scoutmaster's voice dropped to a whisper.
"The scout had already told the scoutmaster that he found the chicken hooked up on a wall near the back of the cave. There was nobody else in the cave, and the cave did not have an inhabited feel, so the scout assumed that someone else must have brought the chicken to the cave to eat, and not being able to finish it, left the rest in the cave."
"Left it hooked up on a wall?" blurted Joe incredulously, eyes wide.
"The very same question the scoutmaster asked! However, standing outside of the cave, the two of them could smell roast pork coming from inside the cave. Very mysterious. The scoutmaster looked in and, would you know it, he saw a slab of pork hanging on a hook at the far wall of the cave! He told the little one to wait outside while he went in to investigate."
"He inspected each wall near the mouth of the cave, then moved deeper into the cave tunnel. There was no sign of anyone staying in the cave, no tracks at all, no scent...the scoutmaster arrived at the slab of pork. He touched the pork..."
The scoutmaster's voice here was barely a whisper.
"When BANG!"
Some scouts squeaked in surprise.
"The cave mouth started falling in! The little one got a shock of his life as the scoutmaster was trapped! "Go get the others! Don't try to do this yourself, in case you get hurt!" ordered the trapped scoutmaster. The frightened scout rushed off to gather the rest of the troop, and assembled outside the iron cave. Tried as they might, they did not have equipment that could pry an opening big enough for the scoutmaster to escape."
"The troop stayed by the iron cave all night, sharing the pork and thinking of ways to rescue their trapped leader. But the scouts were not strong enough and soon they were all tired out, and slept."
"They did not sleep for long, however, because all of them were woken up by the sound of something approaching. Something large. The earth shook and there was a loud whistling heard in the air. The scoutmaster, concerned for his troop's safety, ordered them to hide. The troop did so quickly, but it was too dark to see what it was. All they could see was the iron cave suddenly rising up and floating in midair, the blocked entrance angled upwards."
"And then, as the whistling sound stopped, a waterfall of boiling hot water rained down into the cave, billowing steam rising from the entrance."
The eyes of the scouts listening grew wide and some gasped in shock.
"The little scouts ran in fear, the sound of their scoutmaster's dying shrieks following them as they fled the grasslands, back to their camp to gather their belongings, then running for their lives."
"Scoutmaster, is it true?"
"This was a long time ago. The story has been told from generation to generation, as a lesson to be learned: when foraging for food, use the knowledge you've learn and do not simply pick food where it does not naturally belong. As for the troop members, all of them emerged from that incident with hair as white as snow. Their families believed their story, for apparently even from their homes they could hear the final screams of the poor scoutmaster. None dare return to that place, and all were warned against going there."
---
Too late, a forager remembered this story told in his younger scouting days...
The king stood and looked out from the battlements, his commander to his right, his court magus to his left. Below him, armies numbering in tens of thousands march towards his castle, seeking his destruction and to claim his land under their banner.
The land shook in tempo to the marching.
"Magus."
"Sire."
"As you can see, the invaders outnumber us over ten to one. Our men, even the stoutest of hearts, cannot hope to hold out for long in this war."
The commander's lips, pressed together in a grim smile.
"I do not wish to lose a single man, magus. I ask for your assistance now because you are the only factor that may help turn the tide of this war in our favour. The enemy has no magic-users, all have been recalled back by your magic-user's Council."
"The Council will not partake in war and wanton destruction. I am allowed to stay with you because of my reputation for nonviolence, and because I am not learned in any form of destructive magic."
"So will you cannot help us?"
"Why are you still here then, magus?!" barked the commander, unkindly.
"I can, sire. That is why I am here, good commander."
"War will soon be upon us. Their troops will soon be within firing range of our arrows. And that would put us in their firing range too. We cannot stay here long," the commander commented. "Whatever spell you may have up your sleeve, you'd best do it soon."
"I've already made preparations."
Two servants appeared carrying a bucket filled with water and ice.
"And it is time to begin. Stand behind me, please."
The king stood slightly behind the mage, and the commander behind the king. The magus took off his shoes and stepped into the bucket, with a sharp intake of breath at the coldness of the water.
A wave of the arms. Gestures. Some, in fact, were very suggestive and explicit. The king raised an eyebrow. Are magic-users sworn to celibacy? he wondered.
"They are coming!" growled the commander.
"Yes, they are..." muttered the magus.
Then, a silent shockwave! The king tottered. The commander jerked and blushed. One of the servants who stood too close to the trio moaned and fainted.
In front of them, out on the battlefield, legion after legion collapsed, prostrate and twitching as if they were in terrible pain. Some of those in the front lines could be seen holding on to their groinal regions, as if they had been kicked in the valuables. Collective moans and groans rose up to the battlements.
Beneath the magus, the water had sizzled and evaporated into steam, leaving the bucket empty.
"Wha...what just happened?" faltered the king.
"I thought you said you have no destructive spells, magus. It looks as if you had dealt a mighty blow to everyone out there."
"While I may be adverse to doing harm and violence, commander, I understand that you will have your duty to do. You should bring your forces to subdue the enemy in whatever way you see fit now, while they are rendered incapable of anything else."
"Yes, commander, get your forces out there," panted the king, straightening up. "Remember that our prisons aren't very big, though, commander, to house all who are out there now."
"Understood, sire." The commander took his leave. The king turned back to the magus.
"What I felt definitely did not feel injurious in any way, magus. I suppose I did stand a little too close to you. What did your spell actually do, magus?"
"Every one of them out there, sire, is experiencing intense multiple orgasms that will last for about an hour."
"By the gods!"
In a sleepy village somewhere in India, there lived five venerable old men. This little village consisted of nothing more than a few houses built near a train stop, and there was no need for any vehicles.
These five men were not blind at birth, but the long years have slowly eroded their sight, leaving them with only memories of their past. But the five old men did not mind, and cherished each other's company as people with similar ailings would find consolation in one another. It became their daily ritual to walk around the village and sit on a rough stone bench near a stream and the railway where they will listen to the sounds that whisper past.
They would play guessing games, when it came to sounds and smells that were new to them, and kept scores among each other when one guessed correctly.
Everyone in the village knew these five men, and their routine of walking around the village and sitting on the bench before heading home. Everyone would greet these five men if they happen to meet the five men on their way, and would step aside to let the men pass first. In their little village nothing much changes, and if there were, no one would disturb the path the five men took.
Only once, a boy named Apu decided to be cheeky and stood quietly in the path of the five old men, wondering what would happen. The story of how one of the five men, without breaking his leisurely stride, confidently swung his walking stick and struck Apu on the side of his head was still told around the village by mothers to teach their children manners.
"Oh, did you hear? Apu has returned to the village."
"He should now be a young man. Didn't he go to the city to work? Why is he back here?"
"He is now making moves, I think."
"What?"
"I think you mean movies. I heard it is a kind of moving pictures with sound."
"Really? He's become a painter then? And he has come back here to paint?"
"Then who are all the people that has come with him? And a lot of noise, too, they make!"
"And they brought animals!"
"Animals? Here? What kind of picture is Apu painting? Our village with animals?"
And the five men laughed. The way they talked, it was like a man with five heads. No names were needed, the chatter was constantly flowing without pause.
"My amah heard him say that he was doing a prawn movie."
"Prawn movie? What is a prawn?"
"I do not know. But this prawn movie involves a lot of people it seems."
"Yes. This city people, I can hear them from across the village, they are so loud."
"Yes! And they have very weird uninhibited ways," -Here the old man's voice goes down to a whisper- "Do you know, last night one couple were down by the stream, the man shouts, 'Action!' and then the woman starts singing as if her maidenhead was being taken!"
"Aiyoyo! What a very obedient wife to entertain her husband with such kind of singing! But by the stream?"
At this point the five old men sensed that their path was blocked. It so happens that the filming crew had brought along a horse and dogs, and this horse had somehow escaped and is now standing in front of the five men. One old man slowly walks forward.
"I think it is an animal that Apu's friends have brought along with him. Shall we guess what it is?"
He reaches out and touches the horse's leg.
"It feels like a small tree trunk."
Another walks and touches the horse's stomach.
"No, it does not feel like a tree. It feels like a water pouch."
A third grasped the tail.
"It is a creature that brushes things!"
The fourth groped.
"Aiyoyo! It is a naked giant we are touching! His lingam is at the level of my face!"
At this point the horse, nervous at all the attention, reared up, neighed, trampled the four men and charged for the fifth. The fifth man spun and ran at the noise and the frightened cries of his friends being crushed and ran smack into a wall. And then was pinned by the horse trained for a beastiality porn movie.
---
Moral of the story? Who said that there was a moral to the story?
"Yo! Will you be going to the Games Cafe anytime this week?"
"Oh hey! What's up?"
"Just figurin', could you help get me the Battlestar Galactica series?"
"Ahhh..."
"Unless you don't want your copy anymore...."
"I'm holding on to mine, thanks."
"Well dad wants to watch, so I'm looking to get him a set."
And with that, Andy found himself paying a visit to his local friendly disctributor in Toon Doctor's Mail Park to grab seasons 2 and 3 of Battlestar Galactica, as requested by Corey.
Sure, he could have just passed his copy of Battlestar Galactica over to Corey first, then buy new ones again later but he wanted to see if there was any new stuff the disctributor may have gotten. It has been quite a while since his last visit anyway.
Andy knows he's a bit fickle when it comes to buying stuff from his disctributor. On the one hand, there were many shows and titles that Andy was interested in watching, but given Andy's usually-packed schedule he does not have much time to sit down for a movie. Juggling his timetable meant that something else would be facing some down time so that Andy could allocate a bit of TV time.
The first thing Andy does when he steps into the store is to grab Battlestar Galactica off the shelves and place them on the counter for the disctributor so that they could pack that ready. Then it was time for Andy to prowl the store for anything else.
It may not be a big store, just your average shoplot, but there's a lot of material to cover.
There's the folder of latest shows released. This folder Andy flips through quickly and, unless it was a show he knows he is not going to be able to watch on the big screen or is dying to catch he passes it by, thinking to wait for a copy that is closer to the original content like featurettes and commentries and deleted scenes - stuff that's usually missing when a copy first comes out.
Once done with latest shows, he flips through every folder of shows - all arranged alphabetically. He's looking ofr shows to add to The List - a list of shows that he is interesting in buying, but no urgency to get them just yet. Shows on The List would be bought when Andy decides to splurge and shop in bulk - he gets one free show for every five that he buys.
Nope. There was nothing new to add to The List.
Not finding anything new of interest, he heads on to the next section - discs with multiple shows on a disc. Here he looks through for shows that aren't commonly popular - somehow the disctributor had decided to lump together shows from BBC or documentaries or even the odd television serials together with the multi-show DVDs. He was hoping to find the Miss Marple tv series in that pile, but no luck this time.
Well, there's always next time.
Back to the shelves of popular tv series. Oh look, a classy box set of Sex And The City with all seasons from one to sex six. Hmmm, he would never finish that anytime soon. The L Word. House - he liked House, watched a few episodes at the beginning when it was showing on telly, but never being able to follow it weekly he's stopped watching. Heroes - he ought to remember to get the rest of the episodes from his friend who downloaded the new seasons. Star Trek - whoa look at the number of seasons! No way he was going to try and start watching back an old series like that.
Hmmm. He has been browsing for an hour already, and it was getting late. Since he is already getting a couple of seasons of Battlestar Galactica, he wonders if the disctributor would sweeten the deal.
"Hi, so, how much will the stuff I want cost?""Oh, these ah? Let's see...a hundred and twenty."
"Hmmm...got any better deals?"
"Ahhhhh boss for this tv series the prices are already fixed prices one. Cannot give cheaper already."
Unfazed, Andy heads back to the shelves of tv serials and picks out Monty Phyton's Flying Circus.
"Throw this in?"
"Errr one hundred and eighty. This one six discs, sorry ya boss still cannot give cheaper. Tell you what, you add this set I give you one free D9 movie ok?"
"Nah, it's ok. I'll just take the Battlestar Galactica for now."
"Anything else for you, boss? 'Special' movies maybe?"
The disctributor nodded his head towards the little room under the staircase as he said this. Andy had noticed the room before, in his previous visits. Sometimes the room was open and lit, sometimes it was shut. Initially Andy figured it to be a broom cupboard but it turns out that the disctributor stored stuff in there for less-than-innocent minds.
"Nah, it's okay. I'm also tired already, thanks."
Not to mention I could ask for them from friends who'd already downloaded them for free online if I was interested, he thought.
And with that he paid up and left.
Janvier has always been dagger-eyed by some people because they take a look at his waistline and turn green. While it happens to be his favourite colour, Janvier doesn't think green on the face would be healthy - especially for him when others may do more than just shoot daggers with their eyes.
Certainly he does appreciate the fact that he doesn't need to buy new clothing because he doesn't come across the feeling that his clothes are getting tighter. Although he would also admit that in the past he'd never really had a penchant for clothes shopping so most of what he has are M or free size tees, and comfortable cargoes and jeans.
So he's been told that he's blessed, especially sometimes when they see him eat. What they don't realize is that, Janvier was cursed e'er since he was young.
See, in the early formative years Janvier was walking one day through the lalang (weed) field beside his house to get to the main road, he came across what looked like a bundle of clothes on the small path. As he walked past it, the bundle groaned like an old man, and Janvier jumped. The lalang was as tall as Janvier, at some parts even taller than him (of course, Janvier was still a wee thing then and was still growing up) and anyone could possibly hide undetected in the lalang.
Janvier too a quick look around him, didn't see anyone, and was about to head on when he heard the sound of an old man clearing his throat. Janvier decided that it was probably the wind carrying the sound of some old man, when he heard someone call out, "Boy, help me boy."
Understand, that this was in the early 1990s, when Janvier was still in school being bombarded by Pendidikan Moral and sex offenders weren't too much of a commonplace threat.
Janvier wondered whether the voice was referring to him, but he didn't call out in reply. That would have been like something out of an Enid Blyton book, and somehow Janvier would have felt like an idiot calling out, "Yes, who's there?"
Thinking that the voice likely originated from out of the lalang patch, Janvier turned and was about to walk on when the voice called out again, "Boy, stop! Help me, please! I'm down here!" and the bundle of clothes started shuffling towards him.
Sex offenders may not have been a commonplace threat at that time but snakes in a lalang field definitely were.
Janvier was out of the lalang field in seconds, and he could still hear the voice going moaning sadly.
"Boy, please help me find my badminton racquet...I need my badminton racquet."
Probably his lack of imagination meant that Janvier never thought of the possibility of a ghost. But the voice pleaded so pathetically that Janvier hesitated, and in that instant he saw the handle of a badminton racquet sticking out between blades of lalang. He reached out for the handle and pulled out a badminton racquet - an old wooden badminton racquet, made all the more heavier because it was still in a badminton frame (a wooden square frame clamped about the paddly end of the racquet protecting the racquet).
Armed with the racquet, he walked back into the lalang and reached the bundle of clothes. Not knowing why he did it, Janvier tossed the racquet onto the bundle.
"Thank you, boy! You've found my racquet!"
Janvier refrained from saying how that sounded like a cliched textbook reply, and merely shrugged and said, "Er, no problem," to the bundle of clothes when a tall white stranger dressed in tennis togs walked out from another part of the lalang and picked up the racquet.
"As a reward for finding my racquet, I will grant you a special gift, boy," said the stranger who turns out to be the owner of the voice.
"Er, who are you?" Janvier asks while biting back from adding, "And why do you speak like from some fairytale script?"
"My name is Marre," the stranger says and smiles brightly, showing rows of pearly white that would have put the Darlie face to shame. "Mussel Marre," he quickly added when he saw Janvier's face with an eyebrow raised up in a look of utter skepticism.
"Sounds like a girl's name."
"No it isn't."
"But it does."
"Look, do you want a reward or not?"
"Um, what is it? If it's big and heavy I won't be able to carry it."
"I will give you the power to get ripped, have perfect pecs and chiselled rock-hard 6-pack abs with the least amount of exercise!"
"Er, what are those?"
"It means that if you do regular exercise, you will get all that."
"Errr...exercise ah?" There was an uncertain look on Janvier's face. "This thing you're offering doesn't really sound fun too..."
"You utterly lazy thing! Fine! That you refuse this gift, we'll give you something then! Take the Hardgainer's Way Of Life! May what you eat burn off as you metabolise even faster!"
The stranger than bashes Janvier's head with the racquet, but by dint of good luck only the strings hit him and so the racquet bounced off.
When the stars finally cleared, all Janvier could see was a pile of clothes. Wondering what he was doing standing in the middle of the lalang patch when anytime a snake might just slither out, he quickly headed out and went for lunch, all thoughts about the incident forgotten.
Too late, a forager remembered this story told in his younger scouting days...
