More Archeology!

[Dréu Gavárþic'h]

Azul Ladinitschen!

I have a wonderful present for all of you! I don't know if anyone else has seen this...but for the benefit of all:

The Gavártgic'h Archeology Team Presents... "Talossan Writings" (some are in English, some in el glhetg) in two posts, because Witt can't handle more than 25 kb per post!


El Vôl dal Casoár
By El Metrefiéir Mac'hînd

Cacs� cretzo�r apiareva av�nt noi
'N cud�sch d�n la m�
Sieu caveglh tirat ar�c
Sieu labr�s �pneschti �n acest vridi s� invit�nd
Sieu brust�s farc�nds �nder 'n camis� bian��
�s cadasc� �ormon� Taloss�n cur�eva
Com'iens� fi�v� disf�nad�
T�u lirat q� els caso�es non povent volar
M�s cr�u, q� aceast�-ci trovadra 'n v�j
Schi a s�peva q�t l'atenda aici!

English Translation:

The Flight of the Emu
By the Naughty Poet

What a creature appeared before us
A book in her hand
Her hair pulled back
Her lips open, in that smile so inviting
Her breasts surging under a white shirt
And every Talossan hormone flowed
Like an aroused river
I've read that emus can't fly
But I think this one would find a way
If she knew what's waiting for her here!
_________________________________________

The Brothers Asbad
by Dixh�t Curg�


1

"Moron!"---"Knucklehead!"---"Yella Berber scum!"---The two thoroughly pissed-off young men had been shouting to each other for a couple of hours, on-off. The younger, Ahmed, had made a remark about his brother's difficulties in the area of beaker-building. Marico, the older and the more easily provoked, was literally on his toes the next second. Although the tribe had had nineteen years to get accustomed to his name, still no one could understand his parents's decision. Now the brothers had used up their whole vocabulary, and went separate ways, although Ahmed needed support because of his hurting feet.



Old Mudha, the tribal elder whose first name everyone knew, but never used because they couldn't care less, was used to the quarrels between the brothers. So much so that he considered doing something about it. Meanwhile, in the home of mother and father Asbad, Marico and Ahmed received a severe reprimand. Ahmed, being extremely traumatic in most areas, was placed in the darkest room in the house. Marico was told to practice his abilities at beaker-building, which he hated more than anything. They had been doing whatever they were supposed to do for a while, when the message came that Old Mudha had something to say to the tribe.

He sat in his large chair when they came to him. Large, because he was lazy and very fat. He was the old, lazy and fat Mudha. "Ahmed, Marico", he mumbled. "The way I see it, you're no good to the tribe. I know, you're young, but the fact of the matter is, you're not well thought of by most of the others. You've been going on like this for years, nothing has helped. We've had patience with you, but now I feel it has run out. I've decided what to do". The old man stopped and looked for a long time at the Asbad's, then at the boys. "You're out".

The brothers's jaws dropped below their knees, which, to make matters worse, were already shaking like jelly. Mr. Asbad, ordinarily equipped with a short fuse, restrained himself out of respect of the old man. "Surely you can't mean this, Mudha", he said. "They haven't been well-behaved, but if they're kicked out, I'm certain they'll meet a fate a lot worse than they deserve. Where would they go? When the other tribes hear of your decision, they won't even come near the boys. Who knows what'll happen to them?"

Mudha was highly respected by the other tribes, his words were considered law by most. "Alright," said the elder, "I'll give you a second chance this way: go with Moffad the trader and his people across the big ocean. Help them with their work, then when they go back, you stay. When Moffad returns, you can come home. If you're still alive, of course". The brothers accepted, although with slight hesitation. Especially from Ahmed, who felt one of his traumas coming. There was nothing he hated more than boats! Except of course darkness, cows, small rooms, open air and some other stuff he wanted to forget as quickly as possible. Marico had less to worry about, he did not expect to build any beakers while on the ocean. His biggest problem was going away, as he had never been away from the tribe. Oh well, you had to start some time.

2

Moffad had already planned to sail the next day, two extra passengers was no hassle as long as they could take care of themselves. He had been across several times and knew where he would place them when they arrived in the New World. "As far as possible from where I'm going", he thought. But, after some consideration, he decided that was cruel. What had they ever done to him?

The boys were ready to go aboard, with all necessary things packed and placed in the boat. Mr and Mrs Asbad had come to say goodbye to Ahmed and Marico. "When you get over there, son, you'll have plenty of time to learn how to make proper beakers", Mr Asbad said. "Just remember they are supposed to be shaped like bells, not like common rocks. The general idea is that you should be able to hold them, you know". Marico had resented his father a long time, but now he was really starting to piss him off. If what was wanted of him were perfect beakers, he might as well just not come back at all. As far as he was concerned, his father was morally defunct. Ahmed, on the other hand, had stiffened completely at the sight of the boat and the open ocean. This would be a LONG journey.

All goodbyes had been said, all obscenities had been kept secure well within the individual beaker-builder. The boats had been pushed off into the ocean, the brothers Asbad had been assigned to the main vessel commanded by Captain Moffad. All was well, except for Ahmed, who was sitting as low as he could. Although he hadn't been in the water, he was surprisingly wet. But Ahmed could do and say whatever he wanted, they were on their way to the New World.

Nothing much happened during the travel, except for the occasional panic attack. Ahmed stayed as close to the middle of the boat as possible, while Marico tried to stay calm and not be too irritating. One thing was to get thrown out of the tribe, to get thrown out of the boat was something completely different. Just to make sure nothing happened, the brothers stayed away from each other as much as possible.

They were more than just a little surprised when they were told which way they were taking. Although they didn't know the way to the New World themselves, they had assumed it was all just a left turn and sail until they hit something. It turned out they were slightly off target. Captain Moffad informed them they would go north, then in through a river so that they got through to where they were going without having to walk too much. It was cold as hell (the ancient Berbers had some strange notions on temperatures in places they had never been), but there was nothing the Asbads could do.

3

They finally ended up with solid ground under their feet after crossing a large lake. So this was where they would stay until Moffad came back the next time? The journey had taken a long time, longer than any of them cared to remember, and the thought of having to wait for at least twice that time didn't appeal to them. Moffad and his people went off to trade, but the brothers didn't care much for that, so they stayed by the edge of the lake. There were some rations in the boats, and they would have to learn how to hunt in the area around the lake eventually, so why not right away?

Ahmed was slightly scared to be on his own in a terrain he had never seen before. What dangerous creatures lurked around? Would those big huge birds that Moffad had talked about suddenly turn up and take him away as an early dinner? "Anything that would take me away from my misery", he thought. "It's best to walk in my brother's footsteps, if something should get close, he's the better choice. Oh let me go back home, deep in the jungles with my parents."

They actually mastered the art of foreign-soil hunting far better than anything they had tried to do previously. "We hosed those creatures well, didn't we?", asked Marico. He didn't expect an answer, because Ahmed had no idea what a hose was. Of course, there weren't that many animals to kill around where they were, mostly multileggular oogloids, and no one could survive on that. When Moffad had finished the trading, the brothers had already become so familiar with the area that they were confident they would be able to survive until he came back. The captain came over to the Asbad brothers to say goodbye. "Now, take care of yourself while we're away, we'll get back to you before you know it! And Marico, get on with the beakers, your father told me he expected you to be an expert when you came home", Moffad said.

That was the last straw. Although Marico didn't tell anyone, he had already decided he wasn't going back. He could just as well stay here and not make beakers, as go home and not make beakers. Here he wouldn't have to put up with his father or any of the other tribe members that used to call him names. But where would he stay? The easiest would be to stay where he was, but he didn't like climate. He wanted the weather to be as warm as possible, after all that was what he was used to.

Ahmed also had his doubts. Scared of the ocean as he was, he wasn't sure if he would be able to take the trip another time. Here he had ground on his feet and the lake, although large, did at least have a shore on the other side. He could practice to make large amounts of water seem less intimidating, so that he perhaps sometime in the future would return. He did not believe he would be able to go with Moffad the next time around. But he knew he could hunt, he would be able to survive in this place.

For a few weeks after Moffad had left, Marico stayed with his brother by the lake. They had their daily quarrels, but never more than a half-hour's worth of hate. Rabbances occurred, but they were more seldom than before. The brothers seemed to manage where they were, but Marico had his plans in the back of his mind. He soon left Ahmed to himself by the lake, with a promise that he would try to return in the future. He took his stuff, said goodbye and walked away, in a southerly direction.

But that's another story.

Dixh�t Curg� is a young man of reasonable height with a reputation for backing underdogs (and in most cases losers). He was recently made aware of his Berber ancestry. After being given this fact and a new name, he decided to research the history of the ancient Berbers. Among these old and wrinkled people he discovered the fates of two brothers. Their story is the one you've just read. Curg� feels that he's got all that he can out of the story about the brothers Asbad and is asking for a replacement. He has been heard saying: "If someone wants to continue the story, they're welcome to it. In any case, I'm off." Dixh�t Curg� is still about, working on other projects. What they are, no one knows but the man himself.
___________________________________________________

Talossan Summers
by Chirisch Cavéir

god in his goodness
hadn't contemplated
for all of our wisdom
can be negotiated
certain supercedents
dreading altogether
underneath a blanket
of over-clouded weather
gone is all my wishing
gone are all my songs
gone and left me waiting
waiting isn't wrong
i haven't had enough
of Talossan summers yet
but certain supercedents
make my eyes regret
undaunted by their words
unthreaten'd by their face
unknowing i am seen
and their sturdy race
sometimes i wish they'd go
and leave my kind alone
but they won't end their words
or their angry tone
i want and wish and hope
that my patience will hold out
but my anger is rising
and my head fills up with doubt
perhaps Talossan summers
will supercede this hate
but not yet have i been there
will my spirit have to wait
_________________________________________________

Madison's Garden Party
by Albrec'ht Stolfi
to the tune of The Cardigans' Gordon's Gardenparty"


you in red, green suit
said the Clark was very huge
you vote, I vote p�r
for Dabrowski's RZ103
we were chatting oh so nice
had to break up several fights
Gruber, Erni, Gari��ir
well I believe they all were there
having the time of their lives

you had Rose's lime
mixed with rootbeer, how divine!
people eating their
tacos in the Vuode sun
give me one!
________________________________________________

El Secr�t dal Felicit�
loosely translated by Albrec'ht Stolfi
from the original, Green Day's "Time Of Your Life"

'n altreu marqeu sviars�nd, bifurcaziun
el t�mp te tira �s te mostra t� vej nun
facetz aceast� emprov�-ci �s non as'chetz
Non c'� 'n quesziun m�s 'n le�� da t� t�mps
c'� qualse'cos� �nprainun�av�l
m�s i�envej c'� �a
c'� �a el secr�t dal felicit�
pr�ndetz t� photeux �s las d�as �n t� c�ps
fermetz � clefeu �a toct d�n 'n vell impr�sch
tisch�ts da soven�n�� s�r la coraziun
��aoben valora �a? Valora ben p� nun.
c'� qualse'cos� �nprainun�av�l
m�s i�envej c'� �a
c'� �a el secr�t dal felicit�
_____________________________________________

Divine Berber
By Albrec'ht Stolfi
to the tune of The Breeders' "Divine Hammer"

I'm just looking
just looking for a guy in brown
he disappeared right here
he just seems to wander
I'm just looking for the Divine Berber
One Divine Berber
One Divine Berber

I'm just looking for one Divine Berber
I'd talk to him all day
oh the Berber says "Azul!"
"A-zul!"
I'm just looking for the Divine Berber

One Divine Berber
One Divine Berber

I'm just looking for a faith
waiting to be followed
the Berbers know no fear
they just seem to wander
I'm just looking for the Divine Berber

One Divine Berber
Divine Berber
____________________________________________

Fillout
By Albrec'ht Stolfi
to the tune of Green Day's "Burnout"


I declared independence from
the USA and boy has it been fun
'twas an independent room
My hair is falling, time sure flies
whatever happened to that hunky guy?
It's been a blow to my sex life

I'm not growing up
I'm just filling out
and I've dialed a line to
watch my weight again

Apathy is common here
just as long as we all vote PC
'cept for good ol' Mad Maxime

I've lived inside the Regipäts
for all my life and sure it's been so great
hell, who needs the USA?
___________________________________________________

Haxh
by Albrec'ht Stolfi
to the tune of Sheryl Crow's "Home"


I woke up this morning
and now I understand
what it means to live so far
from your land
Afraid I'll never go there
no money for the plane
my wallet's always empty
and my life is pretty lame

wanna haxh
haxh

I found you on the web
when I was seventeen
now I'm 32
and still it seems I'll never visit you

I made a promise
said it everyday
but I'm working at McDonald's
and it's not enough to pay

for a haxh
haxh

I'd like to visit Maricopa
and slowdance underneath the stars
I'd like to watch the sun come up
in a cestoûr's arms

on a haxh

I'm going crazy
a little everyday
cause everything I wanted
is five thousand miles away

I woke this morning
with a weight upon my heart
my head is full of questions
'bout the February Clark
________________________________________

On a Plane
by Albrec'ht Stolfi
to the tune of Nirvana's "On A Plain"


I started out
selling my car
and then my house
and later my wife
I love the päts
better than you
you know it's true
but what can I do
The greatest day
I ever had
was when I bought
a ticket to haxh
I love the päts
better than you
you know it's true
but what can I do

I'm on a plane
I'm on my way

I just couldn't get
sleep on that night
thinking about
the 6 AM flight
I love the päts
better than you
you know it's true
but what can I do

Put on my clothes
packed all my bags
had just enough
to pay for a cab
I love the päts
better than you
you know it's true
but what can I do

I'm on a plane
I'm on my way

This is what I've waited for
couldn't have ever wanted more
guess my life will finally pay
oh boy what a happy day

Anxiety
has got me again
I'm nervous as hell
I'm gettin real tense
I love the päts
better than you
you know it's true
but what can I do

One more hour
till I arrive
and then after
I'll never go home
I love the päts
better than you
you know it's true
but what can I do

I'm on a plane
I'm on my way
_______________________________________

We Three (Rosalez, Andrew, Dave Kuenn)
By Albrec'ht Stolfi
to the tune of Brenda Lee's "We Three (My Echo, My Shadow, and Me)"

We three
we're all alone
living in your memory
Rosalez
Andrew
Dave Kuenn
We three
there's not a doubt
that we were bad company
Rosalez
Andrew
Dave Kuenn

Remember the big fights
about equal gay rights with Jahn
we all walk alike
we all talk alike
we're always so boring, *yawn*

We three
we make fun of you
you're all a bunch of geeks
Rosalez
Andrew
Dave Kuenn

We three
we're all alone
living in your memory
Rosalez
Andrew
Dave Kuenn
__________________________

I'm Maxime
By Albrec'ht Stolfi
to the tune of Smashing Pumpkins' "By Starlight"


I'm Maxime, du Ziu
I promise I be the
one and only
I'm leader d'RCT
I drive the PC, out of mind
where will we goes?
et o� irons-nous?
soon, je dis, we'll know
and are you like Maxime?
c'est I, c'est I, come join RCT
the vice, the vice president's Stolfi
c'est I, c'est I, are you just like me?

and in this song
I like you sing along
it not too long...
I'm Maxime, I think you
are crazy but I am also too
my wish is RCT
win all seats in Ziu

And do you really know
who I really am?
and do you really know me?
c'est vrai
________________________________

Spiritalossa
by Dixh�t Curg�


Your cue
ration
Your due
ration
No damnation
Come pair
double
triple up
cuddle or fight
But be fair
Be here
___________________________

A Lost Heart
by Darkman

Honor gone,
Trust forsaken,
Revere stripped, flogged, and beaten.
Love relinquished,
Love un-mastered,
Life dissipated from here to beyond

A casualty
A question
A concept left undiscovered.

Truth
Penalty
Death
Life

Thus has spoken the blundering mind.
A heart once sought has now been lost.
_____________________________________________

Meditation on a F*rt
After eating too many Bean Burritoes at the Tacoe Bell
by Ceváglh Scurznicol

My guts are a-rumble
My stomach doth shout
A gas bastinadoe
Yearns to get out
I rush to my flat
Take out my key
Open doors madly
Thinking "Hurry!"

I hie to the jakes
And sit on the pot
O could my back point
North to the Scot

As the Protestant
bows to the Pope
I sit and I wot
To escape there's no hope

Of escaping the blast
To go forth from my cheeks
To stink up my privy
for fifty-nine weeks

With a great �b�
to rush out the back
And suffer mine nostrils
to get an attack

I hope my landlady
Is as deaf as a post
Or prays with her beads
Or is cooking a roast

Too busy to notice
the noise in this room
I would that I were
Dead in my tomb

Yet after the sound
And the fury increases
A grand dissipation
The stench quickly ceases

The noise goes away
without bidding farewell
Did it go to Rome?
Or (the like thing) to Hell?

To where does it leave?
For Poland? Peru?
For other "P" nations?
Whither go you?

I pour down the water
Then throw in some herbs
Go back to conjuncting
My Arabick verbs.
__________________________________

Reading the Lines
by Darkman


Alone in the cold again,
Sitting awake watching, reading,
Never to leave a post.
Small bugs scurry about me,
I watch with amazement,
How their small life tries to mimic mine.

These days go by with little action
My heart knows I am still small,
As look up, to see them staring at me?
______________________________________

The Silent Cry
by Darkman


A soul untouched reaches forth,
A straining against the empty vastness,
A single hand out stretched,
Longing for the answer
One of many,
One the same.
Stand up!
Stand out!

Answering the cry
A helping hand out to uplift
A bridge across the emptiness
A soul is reached

One of many,
Who Dreams to stand alone.
______________________________________

[Dréu Gavárþic'h]

Odium to the Tyrant
by Darkman


Hate, pure and simple
Hate, free and unfettered
Hate, unmasked and unhidden
Odium the Tyrant sits on his throne
His commandments come forth
Causing many to stumble
Many to fall away

Hate, despise and dislike
Hate, controlled and inward
Hate, the looking glass of the soul.
_________________________________________

A Wall? Whose Wall?
by Darkman


The rhythmic beat
As the walls go up
A hasty defense,
As the walls go up
The cry goes out!
As the walls go up.
The enemy draws near
As the walls go up.

"Faster" the people cry!
As the walls go up.
Fear darts across their eye.
As the walls go up.

"Ha, Ha," the people brace.
As the walls stand firm
The enemy posts at the gate
As the walls stand firm.

The enemy makes camp,
As the wall stands firm.
The enemy settles in,
As the walls stand firm.

Two sides to every wall.
Walls within, to keep without,
Walls without, to keep within.
Whose wall? Our wall? Their wall?
_________________________________

Je Suis Neant, Sans Ailes
by Mximo Carbon�l


Hirondelle revient printemps de ma vie
Hirondelle, tu me manque d�sesp�r�ment
Je m�arr�te, je regarde ma vie devenu n�ant
Revient donc �me de mon �ternelle survie.
Au printemps de la vie, d�but des malheurs,
Hirondelle tu te perches sur la haute cime
Et de ta beaut� parfaitement sublime
Me comble du plus complet bonheur

Jeune, et sans exep�rience est ma cruel,
D�un coup d�ailes, elle me quitte vers leurs leurres,
L�hiver depuis s�empare de mon coeur
Mon coeur craque, mon coeur gel

Je meurs de grand froid sans elle
Hirondelle de tous mes espoirs,
Hirondelle de mes r�ves de gloire
Hirondelle redonne moi des ailes.

Je regarde le bleu vide du ciel
La mort dans l�hiver de mon n�ant
L�hiver de ma mort d�enfant
Je reste neige sans elle.
____________________________________________

A Torrid Tale Of Ticklish Talossans
by Dixh�t Curg�

That mirrored ceiling had to go. What did this guy do, with such a pimpish image? I didn't really care, I was getting rid of it. Here I buy a house just a few minutes away from my previous one, never expecting to find such things in a neighbourhood like this. Thankfully there wasn't any rubber accessories hidden in the closet.


I'd moved from Juneau Avenue to Oakland Avenue, but that didn't mean my old friends didn't turn up sometimes. Just as I thought of it, Jimmy came, my slightly emptyheaded pal from Juneau. That wasn't his real name, of course. I'm just protecting him by changing it.



"Where you wanna go, Kenny?" Of course that's not my real name. Not that it mattered to Jimmy. He would know how to open a door if he was lucky. "Well, I know", he said. "There's a place not far from here I've heard about. I believe the name was Brubaker's. Sounds like a nice place."



I had to correct him, of course. Not the first time either. Brubaker's had been out of business for some time, and it wasn't the kind of place I would want to be seen in anyway. That it had been able to start business in this area in the first place surprised me. Only people who didn't know when to stop frequented the place. I could only imagine that the short distance to the UWM made some of the interminably short of cash students come to look for cheap drinks.



They found them. They found the adjacent houses useful as well, at least the things left outside them. One of the locals had told me about it. He was apparently connected to the UWM himself, and had felt their presence first hand. Anyway, I saw no reason to go to a bar before 2pm, I had to get myself some breakfast.



Having finished my breakfast, I asked Jimmy, who still waited outside, how he could suggest such an activity at that time of day. I had after all my principle of not going to a bar before 3pm, unless I had had my breakfast before noon. In any case, home was my castle and also my bar, so I usually had a hell of a party before going out. At 3pm.



So I asked him, "Don't you know what other people talk about these days, are you morally defunct? Haven't you heard about traditional family values?" I myself had tried to suppress it as well as I could, but it just wouldn't go away. "Family values, you say?" Jimmy seemed to be thinking hard, I could actually hear it. "Nah, haven't thought about it much, and it'll probably be some time before I get to it, 'cause my parents are still alive. In any case, my older brother would probably be in charge of the distribution, unless they've set up a will, that is."



Ah, Bud, the older brother. He allegedly had more going for him in the braincell department than Jimmy. But because he had a constant problem with loss of memory, he had a hard time finding them. Such a waste. But he was still carrying the family brain.



If we were going out today, I had to get back early. It was my weekly TV "Conceptually Built Females Night" and I wasn't going to miss it. Of course every night is "Conceptually Built Females Night", but this was the big one. There's nothing like sitting back in your TV-chair and watch young women with non-moving big ones jumping about in bathing suits. Man-made, but certainly not organic.



So I asked the zombie waiting outside (he still tried to figure out how to open the door), "Do you have any idea where Bud's going tonight?". His whole face brightened, he had been asked a question he knew the answer to. "He told me he was going to Grecian Delight later on. Don't know when, but it's at least three or four hours from now. Wanna meet up with him?" Yeah, right. I only wanted to know in advance so that I could control what I was getting into. To be in the company of one of the brothers was just fine, you knew you were on top of the situation. The two of them together was the nightmare scenario. They could of course meet up, but I didn't want to be around when that happened.



So we went to Landmark Lanes instead, getting some exercise. On the way we met Conrad Kunstnersson, a deadbeat decendant of Swedish immigrants with no fixed anything. We just called him Con. We started out with a couple of rounds of dart. This was Con's game, he won every single round. I came close once, but when I was about to throw my last dart, Jimmy, who was looking over my shoulder, sneezed and hit me just below my left ear. The dart hit the wall. Con, being the competitive bastard that he is, refused a rethrow.



I wanted to try some bowling. I thought I had a better chance at that, depending on how the smokeclouds moved, and how bad my opponents were. The clients didn't care for the cigarettes that afternoon, so I had to depend on Jimmy and Con. I just had to make sure that Jimmy won at least one round, preferably the last one. If he did, he'd be so happy that he'd pay for all of us. Hell, he'd hand out money to strangers.



I had to depend on some luck, though. I had a slight case of tinnitus, although that didn't matter. But my case of less than perfect hearing in my left ear did. Because of it, I had a problem keeping the balance, taking a step to the side from time to time. It also meant that I had an incredibly unreliable bowling technique. Especially on those occasions when I went to the bowling alley in the afternoon, right after having my daytime one-man party. When I got one of those steps just before I released the ball, the result was usually an incredible screwball that, almost without exception, missed all the cones. That screwball was worldfamous in the neighbourhood.



This was the night that my screwball worked about every other time. My first three frames went like this: 0/spare, 0/spare, 0/spare. A mixed blessing for sure. While I was impressing myself with my halfway success, Con sat beside me gloating at the sight of his three consecutive strikes. Next to him sat Jimmy, fairly satisfied with his score of twenty-three, while trying to tie his shoes. I ended up at 171, while Con got 208 and Jimmy finished at a staggering 115.



Con won the next two rounds, while I was graciously handed the one after that. Knowing that Jimmy's wallet usually wasn't full enough to cover more than another round, I let Con in on my scheme. Seeing the obvious advantages, he agreed. So while I went for my screwball, my partner in scheme did his straight-shot-at-the-edge-of-the-lane routine. Jimmy did the impossible and beat us both. By that I mean he managed to hit less cones than both of us put together. I had limited funds myself, so I elected to end it all instead of having another go at Jimmy's wallet.



So where would we go from there? We all had limited funds left, so the possibilities were few. Jimmy had, by way of Bud's foul language mouth, heard about a "secret" club that sounded interesting. Only problem was, we had to take off from our tiny home planet called neighbourhood. Jimmy talked about a place called The Safehouse, located not far from City Hall. And so we went on our way. There we were, just across from the opera house, or to be exact, inside a tiny room across from the opera house.



A woman sat behind a desk asking for the password. None of us knew it, but we had a go anyway. Jimmy went first, with a sort of empty look on his face. He said something, we couldn't understand what, and she let him in! No doubt about it, this had to be easy. There we stood, Con and I, trying to come up with the password. Then the woman asked us to perform some strange ritual for her. She promised us that we would get in if we did it. Well, both of us with slim wallets and none of us really inclined to perform some monkey dance in front of a woman. With her would be OK, but we had better things to do. So we went home to my place to watch the babes on TV.



Mitch was onscreen and guided us through the evening. I sat there wishing that he'd understand how it was; he's no actor, and should get out of the way of the professionals. He should do something that he has a talent for. Music, for instance. Anyway, the things proceeded as they were supposed to. They did not move, I swear. But everything has to come to an end. Like legs. Con put on his shoes and walked home, while I sat alone and wondered when I would get rid of that mirrored ceiling.



Apparently, Jimmy's quest to get lucky ended just that way. He got lucky. At The Safehouse he encountered a woman (with some major psychosis, at least by my estimation. She also had, by Jimmy's estimation, a major bod) who claimed she was Moneypenny. She had said that she had waited for a long time, but now the time had come; she wanted to spend a night together with James. Jimmy was hesitant at first, but then he had got his head into gear. Lucky bastard.
___________________________________

Pick-up Lines
By Albrec'ht Stolfi
Translated by Tomás Gariçéir

1. Say, you're The Emu, right? Well, you sure look like her!

Sal�t, t� isch la Caso�r, oi? Nu, t� la resembl�s ben!

2. I'd vote p�r for you anytime!

Votadr�u "p�r" p�r dt� i�enf�ts!

3. If John Jahn saw you right now, he'd turn bi!

Schi John Jahn te vidadra m�mten�mt, o zevenadra tuadastreu!

4. Wanna go watch Manos- The Hands of Fate?

Volt-t� ir� � risguardar "Manos, Las M�ns Dal Zestzin�"?

(Director's note: perhaps not as 'Tanglish', but probably a more successful line would be "Wanna go and NOT watch 'Manos - The Hands of Fate?' Then again, who knows?)

5. Who needs Gloria Estefan when we've got you?

Qi fost tir� Gloria Estefan qu�nd q� noi te tiennent?

6. Wanna feel *my* steel-hard firmness?

Volt-t� tocar *va* fermit� sid�ir?

[Aspra Roseta Laira]

What literature! Perhaps a review is in order for the Talossan Voice?

BTW, can you provide some history about the Gavártgic'h Archeology Team? Perhaps I missed some threads. Are these texts recovered from somewhere or new literature?

Aspra

[Dréu Gavárþic'h]

Sure Aspra,

The Gavártgic'h Archeology Team was founded late last night when I was prowling around the archives of Talossa.com (the Kingdom's old website, now the Republic's website) and happened to come upon this stuff. Why I say "more archeology" is that about a week or two ago Ieremiác'h Ventrútx gave us a nice christmas present of old archived stuff that barely anyone had except ben:

talossa.proboards32.com/index.cgi?board=general&action=display&thread=1198343763&page=1

I think a review is definitely in order! Perhaps that could be your assignment

[Owen Edwards]

This is why we need an organized library project. Dreu, you and I might have to introduce that to the Hopper if I make no further progress via consultation in the near future.

[Sir C. M. Siervicül]

Those are from the old site of the Cézembrian Arts Centre. You missed my favourite, though, which is Queghlâs. Also, all the characters with diacritic turned out as �s. I have clean versions of all of them. But you've pasted them with English names intact, etc., and I'm not sure their authors would appreciate that.

[Dréu Gavárþic'h]

Only two people have their names in English. I didin't post Queglhâs because we already have it on the KoT.net literature page. I'll edit out their names. Sir Cresti, can you send me those clean versions? you know my email...

[Dréu Gavárþic'h]

Also, do we have a Talossan name for J short?

[Sir C. M. Siervicül]

alexandreu said:

Also, do we have a Talossan name for J short?

Not officially. For his first name, he goes by Ceváglh (literally, bluejay). GV's retroactive Talossan names list gives Ceváglh Scurznicol. The acute accent is unnecessary, NS.

[Magniloqueu Épiqeu da Lhiun]

Does anyone have the “clear” versions, and can they post them here, or better yet, on the Wiki? Are they from a compilation, anthology…?