Topic Generator: Weary Temperatures

Father Jabberwock looked up to the sky and frowned. Another day of weary temperatures. Even the Bandersnatch had refrained from galumphing on the wab.

“Bandu when can we again chump over the wab?” asked his son Goggle.

“The wab choogles and plungles my son, there is no chumping, it is too hot for such froogs.”

“Then I will go for a walk with with my tove.”

“But stay away from the groobles. They glonk in these temperatures. If only it would ploog to cool down the grimmles.”

“I don’t think so Bandu, plooging comes with a wonkle sky. Come tove, splice your crumbles and be ready for a walk.”

The tove was sweltering from his plugs and hoped for a wade in the wab, but there was no trickle or a promise of plundergloo. He pulled at the lead and moaned.”

“Come tove, we will go to the tum tum tree for a blink of plog.

At once the tove was glomping on his crumbles in anticipation of a cooling sip of plog. Suddenly they could hear and feel the vibrations of a trimmle of momraths who were also searching for plog. Goggle felt sorry for the Jabberwocky creatures. There had been no plog since the sky decided to stay red. If only the sky-blue-pink would return to the Kingdom of Jabberwock. It was then Goggle had a jabberwock idea. We will go to the King Momrath and ask if he will chongle with the sky.

The tove galoshed with his eyes and shed a klinkle: perhaps there was a spark of hope, but the tove knew that speaking with King Momrath could be a wangleful task. Momraths can be oblugerous when asked for something, especially if they were a King.

The Momrath was curled in the root of a chubby tree, making snoogle noises.

“Hello Momrath” spoke Goggle.

“Go wayno” was the answer. No zittle for klobs.”

“Manko sky-blue-pink?” Goggle choobed.

The Momrath opened one of its four eyes and took a closer grom.

“Jabberwock son, when shlipping not time for sky-blue-pink.”

“But the wab is chugging and plunging, we cannot chump and my tove is quite slinked.”

“Then take a momrath with you, momraths are always chumping.”

“I know, but without toves, momraths have no plungle to snoogle.”

“No plungle to snuggle! “Galumphle, trigonchu, wonki blog.”

The chubby tree shook its trunkle and a shower of floogs tumbled onto the roots, striking the momrath. There was a silent hummbie for a while of dangles and the Momrath spoke:

“Let there be sky-blue-pink and there was a juggle and a ling. There was sky-blue-pink and it began to plog, it galoshed with plog, trundled with plog. There was almost too much plog.

The Jabberwocky father came galumphing over wab and floog over the borogoves. 

“Halloo, Hallay, sky blue pink. Weary temperature galooshed. Goggle was this your chumple?”

“Not quite Bandu, King Momrath decided to change the plunge to snooggle and spoke the maggle words of Blog.”

“How did you do it?”

“Fairly obvious Bandu. The momrath saw that there was no plungle to snooggle.”

“Of course my clever son and now the country of Jabberwocky was covered with a sky-blue-pink sky and the weary temperatures disintigrated to a level of Jabberwocky gloog.

“Yes” thought Goggle “it is quite simple when you know how” and his tove licked Goggle’s 15 fingers in recognition of the success.

Three Letter Words

Write an entire post without using three-letter words.

“Hello Jabberwocky, will we have problems with this strange prompt?”

“A Jabberwocky jumps wongleplogs when such plaggles need requirement. Plank a thought worth some trumbles. We cannot join wanten quongles trunking down a query that will be jongled.”

“Jabberwocky your gift of vorpility is applaudable. I am indebted to your knowledge of the threeletterless words in your language. Please explain more.”

“We Jabberwocky invented the quantumlessness of three letter speech. It lies in possibilities of jumble thoughts. Speaking to my friend the bandersnatch, we concluded that the usage of three letters in speech is überflüssig (German Jabberwocky), is unwanted in a tongue using clicks of kribble being brillig and choogle.”

“Jabberwocky we will be indebted to these clear explanations of thought patterns unknown to us mere humans. Will there be a chance in breaking this language barrier between us.”

“Definitely, where there is a quoogle there is a mankule as said in chumples from lost tongues of an older country, lingering in the quads and crinkles of a forgotten tongueless thought. Just take a stangle at a frimfram with nothing hanging on a side. It will be chongled with a backs fringing on a tovey wilderness. You understand a quaggy. maxim frend of mine, that wishes to remain unnamed, clanked some words of wisdom in my ears, purporting to be related to a burbling bulgy wood, nonetheless remaining frabjous, even quantymired by advocats of beamish thoughts.”

“Jabberwock, will there be a chance in a humanisation of the Jabberwock world of speech, a mesapotamious breed of words with thoughts melting into a chwaggle of winkelpods digging hammelwigs.”

*Definately, we must conkentle with brillig masters of Jabberwocky doctrine, manglewing choral from abolishment, even truncantle champig #ç<}ø¬µ~~∫ from ªƒß∂[.”

“Excuse me Jabberwock, these last words were congested in a flummox of quilgies.”

“Oh, that must be the reason that Jabberwockle language tends to broach on an unclassified subject of blongle from time to time. However, we endeavour to breen a possibility of grading letters with signs to a common denominator on a basis of planglebogs, seeming on a miggle of planktuous troogs, circumfering on a vorpal sword.”

“Jabberwock, a vorpal sword is again mentioned. Does this mean that battles will occur between crims together with crams on a colloquial basis.”

“No, this would be an extreme pland of chumblethought. Think of a lonesome mogule somewhere on a balsic plang, no future, no wanton galumph, oh calloo callay my mother would quing. There would be balmy toves on complete wabs with no room allowed to quinck or quilk.”

“This would be a catastrophe. Would there be a solution to this state of affairs.”

“Speaking jabberwockle, definitely. Time would be needed to formulate a mixture of blang with an emphasis on ways of choog. I have often wandered the paths of klieg chunkling on the cupbles of chong, with no positive results, except to obliterate usage of flong.”

“Obliterate usage of flong? This would mean the ending of total compatible ventures on a comprehensive basis, a return to brillig times of a momrath.”

“This is what we wish to achieve of course. Momraths must return to the borogoves, without this completion of an inevitable, Jabberwock have no meaning to their joggle ways, their quest on the outgrabing of this species would be alternated.”

“Mr. Jabberwock, I would like to give thanks on this memorable occasion of your visit to a television studio. I believe it is a first time on human television.”

“I am pleased to be here human, especially to commemorate these ogle times of conguruent words containing three letters. We abolished this in Jabberwocky voluquent language some eons past. We found it to be excrescent, boguverous, even plankle, although many Jabberwocky were of a different opinon. They were glogged with a broken choog, notwithstanding a loggie of chugs. I think it better to postpone this level of discussion to a second meeting, when we will clang problems of snicker-snacks.”

“”Snicker-snack? I am surprised Jabberwock, I thought they were obliterated in a last triumvirate of Jabberwocky parliament.”

“We will allow that to remain suspended over the binsles.”

WordPress Daily Prompt: Just a Dream 2

You’re having a nightmare, and have to choose between three doors. Pick one, and tell us about what you find on the other side.

There are doors and doors. Some doors are square, some rectangular and some open into a dark dismal path of no return. You can dream of these doors, knowing that when you open one there might be a monster behind it. There was a dream once with a tangly wiggly frumerous dankly of cubletigated frigerous chumbles. Yes, behind the door a Jabberwock was lurking, spoiling the drudgerous thoughts of an innocent sleeping victim. I called upon the bandersnatch who killed the jabberwock with one swipe of its fladdly blade. With what? Yes reader and fellow bloggers, there was no vorpal sword to help. The slithy toves were using it to open the next door. And so I progressed to the next door.

The handle was slippery, as if a slimy hand had tried to open the door. I looked and found it was my hand and remembered I should not eat jello before trying to open doors in dreams. It could become very complicated. A hand gave me a damp cloth to wipe off the slime from my hands and the door handle. A hand? I took a closer look as this hand was very cold and sharp. It was a bony hand, with two fingers missing. Where was I, I did not like this dream, but now I could turn the slimy door handle. There was a shriek, a hollow laugh, and something moved across the hairs on my head. I shivered, it was a friendly spider. He was friendly because he moved on and did not stay. There was a distant rumble, a severed head tumbled to the ground on the rails. I found myself in the ghost train of the international union of ghost drivers.

“Hello” said a voice “would you like to go for a ride? I can only sell you a one way ticket, but it is the best way to go, illuminated by the fires of hell and the cauldron of unknown destinations. You will love it.”

“Huh, I am not sure.”

“You are not sure, you have to be sure. It is not everyone that can take this eternal ride. The last human that joined us is still travelling, he loves it, especially the downhill run.”

“It goes down?”

“Yes it goes up and down, we have to keep it interesting otherwise people would not join us. We are only charging two souls today, special price, two for one.”

“Two for one what?”

“Do not ask, the seat is still warm, I just have to clean it first of all. Blood stains are not a good encouragement for our guests.”

“I think I made a mistake. Sorry to bother you, where is the door out?”

“We don’t do doors out usually, but you can try this one” and he pointed to a trapdoor between the rails. “You must be quick, the next train is coming down the track soon.”

I decided to grab the chance when I could and pulled the ring in the door. This was not such a good idea, it was the third door and I felt myself falling into an endless space. This time there was no return, it was the third door, and according to the dreamland special from WordPress it was my last choice. With a squelch I landed on a table. My WordPress t-shirt was ruined, covered in brown stains. At least it was not blood. I took a taste and found it to be chocolate flavoured. I had an omen of something evil, a recurring nightmare that had been following me for some time.

I hear metallic peals of laughter, I saw reflections in the dark. This was the end of a horror trip. Gleaming pairs of artificial eyes were staring, and there was a murmur which was becoming louder. Voices were calling in unison

“We love chocolate cake, we love chocolate cake, we love Angloswiss chocolate cake.”

I realised this door lead to the infinite torture. Someone put the lights on and they stared in my direction: it was the Wordy den, the place that no-one goes in their right mind. I left and returned to the ghost train, but the driver was holding his bony hand out for a soul. In the meanwhile I could not remember where I had put my soul, and so I took shelter in Jabberwocky, but it was brillig and I was pelted with momraths and jujub tree fruit. Then I awoke.

I was back to the present day, still trying to think what I should write for a repeat prompt I once wrote on 20th December 2012 where I was being chased by a slimy fish

Do you ever have a déjà vue with these prompts?

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WordPress Daily Prompt: Call me Ishmael 2 - Jabberwocky is back in town

Take the first sentence from your favorite book and make it the first sentence of your post.

As I did this one before and chose my favourite book, I have now chosen a favourite poem. Jabberwocky by Lewis Carrol. I just added a few new verses after the first verse.

’Twas brillig and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wab

All mimsy were the borogroves

And the mome raths outgrab"

Morphing and chumping it left the nest

The Jabberwock son was now at its best

“The grunging and plonking makes noise in my glugs

Let me go skitting on the frond of the slugs”

And so it was that Jabberwock flewed

A prambly bit blogged to let it be mewed

“Oh galumph and galore” it sighed as it crimmed

Twas time for a hollow and jocking was frimmed

“Let me go prompting the day and the glum

Oh lack of conplunching and where is my mum?”

A Jabberwock shedding the blings of despair

The vorpal mother was nowhere to share

And then it was heard, the galumphing and spread

Oh joy and contorts the fringly bird said

I peer the wonks and waggy to see

From the tops of the slongy mum Jabberwockee

Flammble flumble with tears in its blings

The Jabberwock klompled and wagged with its shtings

Twas a happy day, oh glee and calum

A Jabberwock wrinkly with many a yum

No longer alone, it frumbled the mother

Rescued from bandersnatch and frumerous cluther

And lo ’twas not finished, the wonk was abad

Who came flooding through trees, the Jabberwock dad

And so it was flanged and boggled with yoom

The family Jabberwock again in a choom

So let us be glee and donnered with laugh

No time for a grandle of miserkepaf

And see what was more, a Jabberwock tribe

Oh Jabberwock see what a glumferous vibe

Jabberwocks are many, come seldom so nifty

Jabberwock son had sisters, just fifty

If you go to the woods, do not fringle or grimp

Take a sandwich of mangrove with a flask of some slimp

Give to the jabberwock they will take it with frong

Just rest by a jujub tree, sing them a song

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Weekly Writing Challenge: The Death of a Jabberwock

If you’re not moved by any of these stories, write about inspiration in general.Where do you find it? Who is your muse?

Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”

He took his vorpal sword in hand;
Long time the manxome foe he sought
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

I do not really do inspiration. I write for the fun of writing. I do not have a muse, I am I, me and myself, but I can be fascinated by something. I read a lot, some books I love, others are ok and there might be something that stays. How can anyone be inspired by a nonsense poem, Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll, but I am.

The thought of a slithy tove , finding its way through the murkiness of a wabe. Not only did it squirm, worm its way along, but it was gyring and gimbling. Imagine the moment of inspiration of this strange animal. It was not slimy, but slithy. Naturally there was an obstacle in the way, not an oak tree, or even a hawthorne, no, it was a borogove. We all know how a borogove can be an interference. If you take a walk in a wabe and your path if blocked by something indefinable, something large and above all mimsy, then it can destroy your honest intentions. You are now attacked by a mome rath outgrabing, its vines entwining your legs, and bringing you to a fall. Oh the problems when on a Jabberwock hunt.

You are warned by your father to beware, there is a Jabberwock hiding in the undergrowth. It might even be riding a slithy tove, but no problem. If you have a vorpal sword in your hand, this is a protection against all Jabberwocks as well as a Jubjub bird and the indelible, horrific, frumious Bandersnatch. It might even be that the Jabberwock has sharpened his teeth and claws, they bite and scratch, hanging onto your armoured clothing.

The Jabberwock is a crafty foe, even manxome and is not something to be taken on the light shoulder. The hunter was tired carrying such a heavy vorpal sword and decided to rest. Did he lean on the trunk of an oak tree? No, he was a clever hunter. He thought about the problem. The Tumtum tree gave him protection and relaxation whilst dealing with the trouble and was food for the brain. A Jabberwock is not something to be taken on the light shoulder.

Suddenly it appeared charging out of the tulgey forest, his eyes glowing red and he could smell its whiff of burbling. Jabberwocks tend to burble with nauseating side effects.  They cannot hide, they smell, especially when moving. Our hero did not hesitate, it was now or never and so he thrust with his vorpal sword, up and down, from side to side. Vorpal swords are the best thrusting weapons you can have. Our hero was so sure of himself, he did not even decapitate the monster, he knew it was dead and there was no point. He did not need a head as proof of the slaughter, his clothes were covered in green blood. He immediately returned to his father in a galumphing gallop. The success of the mission was sure.  “At last” said the father, he was ecstatic. The son had killed the Jabberwock. He did not know whether to laugh or cry, such happiness. No longer would the wood be threatened by the Jabberwock. In the meanwhile the Jubjub bird flew to the Bandersnatch and grimpled in his ear of the passing of the Jabberwock..

The Bandersnatch was grinnged, champly plonked by the news, and fraggled to a momrath, hoping for help. Without a Jabberwock there was no hope. The Bandersnatch and the Momrath searched for a Kloggle. It was the only chance. The Kloggles had gone, they were plamed by the abscence of a Jabberwock. Many years later a baby Jabberwock was found in the Wabe. He was clonking and bleething,. A Kloggle returned and found the baby Jabberwock , so he drew his vorpal sword and ……… - to be continued?

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