normal talk after the firefighters had left. ‘What a mess.’
‘You did?’ Dr Trifle said, also in normal talk. ‘I thought you sent me off to buy a toilet plunger.’
‘What a disaster,’ Selby thought. ‘And it’s all because of this poncy Ralph guy. I hate him already and I haven’t even met him yet.’
‘Quick!’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘That’s Ralph coming up the path right now! Mind your language.’
‘Oh no, here we go again,’ Selby thought.
‘Greetings and salutations, cousin Raphael,’ Mrs Trifle said, shaking the man’s hand.
‘Welcome to our humble abode, Professor Bagsby-Gormless,’ Dr Trifle said.
‘G’day,’ the man said, ‘how ya goin’? Forget the professor stuff. Just call me Ralph, okay? Crikey! What happened to your kitchen? What a shemozzle!’
‘It was a rather devastating conflagration,’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘A what? A fire? Gee you guys talk funny. Stone the crows! Does everybody in Bogusville talk like you lot?’
‘Well no, not really,’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘Thank goodness for that!’ Ralph laughed. ‘I came here to study the way people talk in Australian country towns these days. That’s what I’m an expert in. Fair dinks, guys, I love that country sense of humour. You really had me goin’.’
Selby watched as the Trifles’ blushes slowly turned to smiles.
‘What’s the little guy’s name?’ Ralph asked, looking at Selby.
‘That’s Selby,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘He’s our only pet. We think of him as one of the family.’
‘He looks like a cool little dude,’ Ralph said, giving Selby a pat. ‘Oh, by the way, guys, where’s your dunny?’
‘I love this guy,’ Selby thought. ‘He talks my kind of talk. Of course, he’s never going to find that out.’
All of which brings us to the conclusion, the culmination, the termination of this tale. Or in other words:
THE END
CONFLAGRATION!
by Selby Trifle
Allow me a delineation Of
a tricky situation:
A sudden olfactory sensation
Roused me from my meditation
Preliminary examination
Brought about my consternation
As I assessed the situation
A utensil used in preparation
Of a Christmas cake formation
Was all consumed by conflagration
Although unsure of its causation
I acted without hesitation
Out of moral obligation
To bring about its termination
I grabbed the phone in trepidation
Pressed it with my digitation
And quickly rang the fire station
Now I’m consumed with jubilation.
A translation of the preceding confabulation:
FIRE!
also by Selby Trifle
Once while I was sitting, thinking
I smelled something burning, stinking
The Christmas cake was pouring smoke
So I quickly rang the fire blokes.
Paw note: If you read the previous story, ‘Selby’s Play on Words’, you’ll know what this is all about.
S
SECRET AGENT SELBY
Blake Romano lay on the floor struggling against the chains that tore at his wrists and ankles. Around him stood the soldiers of the Army of the Sword of Midas. They poked him with the muzzles of their Federboa 39E Special Issue Service weapons, their hideous laughter ringing in his ears.
Selby had almost finished reading
Escape Into Doom
. ‘I hate those guys!’ he thought, as he turned the second-last page. ‘They’re going to be really sorry when Blake gets free!’
General Fridas Monsolet stormed into the cell and raised his hand for silence.
‘You have finally run out of luck, Mr Romano,’ he said. ‘No one can stop us now.’
‘That’s what you think!’ Selby thought. ‘Blake is the smartest, bravest secret agent ever! He’s too smart for you!’
‘Evil like yours can never win,’ Blake spat through clenched teeth. ‘Sooner or later you will make a slip. And when you do, your days will be over.’
‘Do not make me laugh, Mr Romano,’ Monsolet sneered.
The nightmare of that day played itself out in Blake’s brain like a cheap movie: the kidnapping; the hijacking of the Supernova Star Fighter, the five-star hotel, swimming with Istvana, the
‘You did?’ Dr Trifle said, also in normal talk. ‘I thought you sent me off to buy a toilet plunger.’
‘What a disaster,’ Selby thought. ‘And it’s all because of this poncy Ralph guy. I hate him already and I haven’t even met him yet.’
‘Quick!’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘That’s Ralph coming up the path right now! Mind your language.’
‘Oh no, here we go again,’ Selby thought.
‘Greetings and salutations, cousin Raphael,’ Mrs Trifle said, shaking the man’s hand.
‘Welcome to our humble abode, Professor Bagsby-Gormless,’ Dr Trifle said.
‘G’day,’ the man said, ‘how ya goin’? Forget the professor stuff. Just call me Ralph, okay? Crikey! What happened to your kitchen? What a shemozzle!’
‘It was a rather devastating conflagration,’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘A what? A fire? Gee you guys talk funny. Stone the crows! Does everybody in Bogusville talk like you lot?’
‘Well no, not really,’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘Thank goodness for that!’ Ralph laughed. ‘I came here to study the way people talk in Australian country towns these days. That’s what I’m an expert in. Fair dinks, guys, I love that country sense of humour. You really had me goin’.’
Selby watched as the Trifles’ blushes slowly turned to smiles.
‘What’s the little guy’s name?’ Ralph asked, looking at Selby.
‘That’s Selby,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘He’s our only pet. We think of him as one of the family.’
‘He looks like a cool little dude,’ Ralph said, giving Selby a pat. ‘Oh, by the way, guys, where’s your dunny?’
‘I love this guy,’ Selby thought. ‘He talks my kind of talk. Of course, he’s never going to find that out.’
All of which brings us to the conclusion, the culmination, the termination of this tale. Or in other words:
THE END
CONFLAGRATION!
by Selby Trifle
Allow me a delineation Of
a tricky situation:
A sudden olfactory sensation
Roused me from my meditation
Preliminary examination
Brought about my consternation
As I assessed the situation
A utensil used in preparation
Of a Christmas cake formation
Was all consumed by conflagration
Although unsure of its causation
I acted without hesitation
Out of moral obligation
To bring about its termination
I grabbed the phone in trepidation
Pressed it with my digitation
And quickly rang the fire station
Now I’m consumed with jubilation.
A translation of the preceding confabulation:
FIRE!
also by Selby Trifle
Once while I was sitting, thinking
I smelled something burning, stinking
The Christmas cake was pouring smoke
So I quickly rang the fire blokes.
Paw note: If you read the previous story, ‘Selby’s Play on Words’, you’ll know what this is all about.
S
SECRET AGENT SELBY
Blake Romano lay on the floor struggling against the chains that tore at his wrists and ankles. Around him stood the soldiers of the Army of the Sword of Midas. They poked him with the muzzles of their Federboa 39E Special Issue Service weapons, their hideous laughter ringing in his ears.
Selby had almost finished reading
Escape Into Doom
. ‘I hate those guys!’ he thought, as he turned the second-last page. ‘They’re going to be really sorry when Blake gets free!’
General Fridas Monsolet stormed into the cell and raised his hand for silence.
‘You have finally run out of luck, Mr Romano,’ he said. ‘No one can stop us now.’
‘That’s what you think!’ Selby thought. ‘Blake is the smartest, bravest secret agent ever! He’s too smart for you!’
‘Evil like yours can never win,’ Blake spat through clenched teeth. ‘Sooner or later you will make a slip. And when you do, your days will be over.’
‘Do not make me laugh, Mr Romano,’ Monsolet sneered.
The nightmare of that day played itself out in Blake’s brain like a cheap movie: the kidnapping; the hijacking of the Supernova Star Fighter, the five-star hotel, swimming with Istvana, the
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