The Herring Voices
Frothing at the Mouth: We've Really Got to Stop Eating Paste Edition
June 25-27, 1999
Da Table of Contents
Do Not Read ThisThis is Herring Voices, the newsletter of the sometimes mightyish House Red Herring (name and device lost twice by the herald-types) of the Society of Creative Anachronism, Inc. Herring Voices is not available to the general SCAdian public, although copies sometimes find their way into strange places and non-Herrings have reportedly read it without feeling any ill effects (unless they have a nervous stomach where bad jokes and/or non-period pseudo-literature are concerned). It is possible that if you are given a copy of this newsletter that Herring collective is observing you for possible future voluntary assimilation. Remember, you cannot run or hide from your ridiculous side... it is a part of you and you must become one with it to achieve harmony in the universe... or not.
It is resoundingly obvious that Herring Voices is not a corporate publication of the SCA, Inc., and does not come within a bent herring's throw of delineating SCA policies. Actually, if the corporation knew about us, they'd probably hurl.
!! SPOON !!
Top Ten Herring Hobbies
The Seth Song
(filked to the tune of London Bridge)Seth has fallen off the bridge
Off the bridge, off the bridge
Seth has fallen off the bridge
My fair lady.
Build it back 6 feet across
Why, six feet is not enough
We Asked House Red Herring... "What's the worst pick-up line someone has used on your persona?"
Dear Cecilia: An Advice Column for Herrings, by a HerringDear Cecilia,
I'm having trouble dealing with the fact that my oarsmen keep asking for personal days. First Snorri has cramps, then Illugi is feeling bloated and keeps crying every time he sees a wave that reminds him of his woman back home. What can I do to stop this disturbing trend before it becomes an epidemic?
Sounds like your crew is having hormonal problems. The humane way to deal with it would be to allow them personal time to rest and take care of themselves. Frankly, I've heard that oarsmen don't work to their full potential during certain phases of the moon. After consulting my Miss Manners Guide to Viking Culture, however, it seems that the Viking way to approach this is to crack your whip loudly and declare, "the next one to gripe gets tossed to the fishies!"
My fins ache all of the time, especially when I'm typing this darned newsletter. I'm concerned and wonder what it could be -- the chirurgeons are stumped.
Worried in Woad
Every time I read this newsletter I get a terrible haddock. What do you think this is caused by?
Herring Survival Kit
(More commonly known as "Wet Dream" by Kip Adotta)It was April the 41st, being a quadruple leap year. I was driving in downtown Atlantis. My Barracuda was in the shop, so I was in a rented Stingray, and it was over-heating. So, I pulled into a Shell station. They said I'd blown a seal. I said, "Fix the damned thing, and leave my private life out of it, okay pal?"
While they were doing that, I walked over to a place called the Oyster Bar. A real dive, but I knew the owner. He used to play for the Dolphins. I said, "Hi Gil!" You have to yell, he's hard of herring.
Gil was also down on his luck. Fact is, he was barely keeping his head below water. I bellied up to the sandbar. He poured me the usual Rusty Snail, hold the grunion, shaken, not stirred. With a peanut butter and jellyfish sandwich on the side, heavy on the Mako. I slipped him a fin on porpoise. I was eeling good! I even dropped a sand-dollar in the box for Jerry's squids for the Halibut.
Well, the place was crowded. We were packed in like sardines. They were all there to listen to the Big Band sound of Tommy Dorsal. What sole. Tommy was rocking the place with a very popular tuna "Salmon-chanted Evening." And the stage was surrounded by screaming groupers, probably there to see the bass player.
One of them was this cute little yellow-tail, and she's giving me the eye! So I figure this is my chance for a little fun. You know, a piece of Pisces. But she said things I just couldn't fathom. She was too deep. She seemed to be under a lot of pressure. Boy, could she Drink! She drank like a... well, she drank a lot. I said, "What's your sign?" She said, "Aquarium." I said, "Great! Lets get tanked!!"
I invited her up to my place for a little midnight bait. I said, "Come on, baby, it'll only take a few minnows." She threw me that same old line, "Not tonight. I got a haddock." And she wasn't kidding, either, 'cause in came the biggest, meanest looking haddock I'd ever seen come down the pike. He was covered with mussels. He came over to me and said, "Listen, shrimp, don't ya come trolling around here." What a crab! This guy was steamed. I could see the anchor in his eyes. I turned to him. I said, "Abalone. You're just being shellfish."
Well, I knew there was going to be trouble, and so did Gil, 'cause he was already on the phone to the Cods. The haddock hits me with a sucker punch. I catch him with a left hook. He eels over. It was a fluke. But there he was, lying on the deck, flat as a mackerel. Kelpless. I said, "Forget the Cods, Gil. This guy's gonna need a sturgeon."
Well, the yellow-tail was impressed with the way I landed her boyfriend. She came over to me. She said, "Hey, big boy, you're really a game fish. What's your name?" I said, "Marlin."
Well, from then on we had a whale of a time. I took her to dinner. I took her to dance. I bought her a bouquet of flounders. And then I went home with her. And what did I get for my trouble? A case of the clams.
UnclassifiedsFOUND: By one wondering Scottsman, a once prize goat. Leather collar with bell. Answers to "Hey you There!" And "stop moving you wee beastie. Much more aggressive than a sheep.
WANTED: Gardener to plant thistles along coast of Scotland. It doesn't so much slow the Vikings, as it does supply amusement for us Scotts! We may not wear pants, but we know to avoid the thistles!
To Sell Or Trade: One Partially used Claymore. May be of use to the Englishman that contains the used portion, or at least his family.
WANTED: Peace, goodwill and harmony amongst his fellow man, chaos brings mankind to the brink of... OHHH! Look, a fight! Let's go watch!
WANTED: Twelve sled dogs of large stature to pull sled/wagon. Must have much tolerance for loudly exclaimed complaints and verbal lashing. Present slave men unable to stand the abuse any longer -- am hoping that dogs will fare better. Please respond to my sister, Skallagrim the Frenzied, at longboat on the horizon. Raven-Dagnan
FOR SALE: Twelve hard-used slave men. Minimal hobbling, and some slight verbal ability left. Still have a few good years left. Will give a discount to right buyer. Raven-Dagnan
WANTED: A ride to the train station. I've lost my train of thought. Ivana the Oblivious
The ice is breaking up and the summer raiding season is just around the corner. Do you have the sails to see you across the swan road and back again? Come on down to Honest Arinbjorn's Longhouse of Longships, where our motto is "Never let a customer go!" and we'll find the perfect ship for your purse. Credit against your future loot is available at reasonable rates.
Down on your luck? Need a few silvers but all your world is copper? Need to buy the little lady a new wardrobe from the Continent but you can't afford to go? Have no fear, Vinny Hrafngoarthingnagensson is here. Solve both your problems at once by working a short stint on my merchant voyage to France this summer! I'll give you some coin now, and while you're on shore leave you can pick up something in the local shops among the Franks. Once you're home again, you'll collect the rest of your wages and return to the wife with new clothes and a fat purse! Hurry in, the offer is limited.
Lost: 1 arm, left, complete with claw. Reward available. Great sentimental value; part of heirloom set. Misplaced at big party up at the shield-hall. If found, please return to no. 11 Fenway in Moor-on-the-March. Ask for Grennie.
Lost: 1 eye, left. Dropped during climbing accident somewhere near Yggdrasil. Free trip to Valhalla for safe return. If found, bring to the Bifrost Bridge and ask for Gramps.
Lost: Ring, golden. Plain band, nicked and worn, no particular markings or stones. Sentimental value only. Return to Siggy at Walkyrie-on-the-Rhine for your just reward.
ESTATE SALE: One Viking longship, slightly singed. One owner from new, barely used, only 500 leagues on oars. Still under warranty. Needs new sail, and part of rowing crew. Bloodstains will wash out. Contact Duncan the Fierce at ''Duncan's House o' Booty", The Highlands.
FREE TO GOOD HOME: One 5-yr-old boy, toilet trained, computer literate, large vocabulary, boundless energy (equivalent to a 3-1/2 foot tornado). NOTE: This is a temporary arrangement -- just until my hair grows back. (It might be a particularly suitable position for a bald person.) Ivana the Oblivious
FOR SALE: One set of armour, slightly scratched, all pieces included. Needs good sanding and a wash. Only one hole. Visor can be replaced. Contact family of Harold Hardrada, Britannia.
TO LET: One island, romantic and picturesque, lovely fog, many places for adventure. Semi-detached with quiet neighbours to East interested in archery, and exciting, vibrant neighbours to the north. Close to wool and wine shops, just a short sail away. Contact William (Duke) of Normandy.
Wanted: Oarsmen trainer whose methods closely match my own. Must provide own whip and torture implements. Must be willing to work nights and weekends so that I can get some sleep. Skallagrim the less-frenzied-than usual.
Wanted: information that will lead to the return of my longship. Some dumb Scot took it while I was in labour. What we know: the Scot must have hot-wired my oarsmen because I know I did not leave them unlocked. He apparently is known by several aliases, especially as... something that reminds me of doughnuts... SKAL