The Not So Secret Society

[Cubinoid]

Turns off the blow torch slowly, puts the skewer down thoughtfully, and turns his head to look at Mr. Strange in the eye.

"You mean...the Not So Secret Alternative Menu?"

*Raises an eyebrow*

[Ulysses Reynolds]

*Ah.... so whos getting eaten first. Ms. Adler? Cubinoid?*

*I'm in the mood for human   *

[Sir Henry]

"I may be able to help there. During my time in the South Pacific I learned several recipes for long pig. Though the best by far required steeping the meat in a marinade for several hours first.

"Would anyone like a nice long relaxing soak in this bathful of brandy and soy sauce? Just push the bay leaves and bouquet garni down to the tap end..."

[Fairley B. Strange]

Well, I wouldnt advise looking in my direction - apart from being rather stringy, I''ve probably got enough lead in various parts of me to taint any ''long-pig'' on the menu planner... although, if anybody else wants to use the same excuse, I''m quite prepared to share a few more bits around ...

*in the ensuing moment of reflection, the sound of the hammer on his 'Gentleman's pump-action walking-cane'' being cocked can be clearly heard *

Does anybody else have any menu suggestions?

[Fairley B. Strange]

*stands around, tensing his grip on the cane*

What? Nobody has any better ideas? Seriously... not a one?

*shrugs and eases down the hammer*

Oh alright, I suppose we could eat Miss Adler... in a purely platonic sense, of course.

[Cubinoid]

"I'll not have that! No! There is some fine Brie in the larder...with water biscuits. Please! You can't all be that hungry! Remember that the secr...erm...the not at all secret banquet is tonight - you'll ruin your appetite. You were invited...?"

[Sir Henry]

"Well, it would be a shame for this bath to go to waste... Would anyone care to join me in a little aperitif?"
And so saying, Sir Henry unsheathes his sword stick again, unscrews the tip and uses it as an oversized straw to start draining the bath.

[Fairley B. Strange]

Invited? To the not-so-secret Dinner? Of course not - one can't possibly crash a party properly if one is actually invited. It's just not done... So I take it you''re all also not-quite-invited..?

*skewers a wedge of brie on a shiny stiletto and experimentally dips it in the bath of marinade*

Well, I'll try anything once... in fact, Im sure that''s already carved on my tombstone somewhere...

[Ulysses Reynolds]

*Oh it is see your just a clone one of thousands we had you killed years ago by a delightful chap in athree piece suit with one of those new fangled 9mm's.*

*I will say this, you sure did love the taste of his lead as he shot load after load of it into you. You definitely tried it. Can't say that you liked it.*

[Fairley B. Strange]

   *staggers to his feet, his clothing a tattered, wine-stained mess*

Ohmigawd, my head...

  * checks the auto-chronometer on the wall, and groggily struggles to perform a simple calculation*

B-gger! Twennysix minus four is... is... Blimey! Almost three weeks... bl--dy h-ll - What on earth was in that d-shed cheese?

  [burp]

Grrr... I suppose it was safer eating the calamari-critter...

[walkthebassline]

*raises his head slowly*

"Ugh...where am I? What's going on? Where are the balloons?"

[Banfili]

Been a bit quiet here lately - what's wrong, did you all kill each other off??

[Sir Henry]

No, the secret president changed the secret password to the secret clubhouse. But won't tell us what it is because 'it's a secret'.

Most of us hung around for a while, hoping to sneak in with the next single malt delivery, but when it started raining we wandered off in search of a well-stocked pub with a real log fire. You can find us by the trail of burnt out '80's retro theme pubs'. It appears that Mr. MacGuire can't tell the difference between a fake gas log-effect fire and the real thing.

At least we've been keeping warm.