Notes From All Over or Blitzkrieg on the Loose
(London, FNA) -- Yes, well . . . here we are . . . on the loose in old
London town. The first stop on the infamous ferret tour of the world.
Smuggling a ferret through English Customs proved to be ridiculously easy.
The main reason for the ease in the great ferret smuggle is, of course, in
extreme politeness of the English Customs Guards. Strolling from the
baggage claims area with Blitzkrieg safely tucked away under my vest, shirt,
and undershirt and snoring contentedly, I noticed the walrus mustachioed
Customs Agent beckoning me to his station. For a few incredulous moments I
stood thunderstruck -- the mustachioed agent looked exactly like the
Schwepps Tonic man! I had wondered what had happened to him when Schwepps
dumped him from their advertising campaign. (Note: here is a little
traveling tip for ferret smugglers -- if you want the little fur-clad
torpedo to ball into a contented stupor, I suggest an airline mini-bottle of
vodka. Just unscrew the twist off cap and let the fanged wonder suck up the
contents. Within minutes you will have a boozy, bleary-eyed ferret looking
for a place to sleep it off.) Smiling brightly, I stepped up to the Customs
desk.
"Good morning, sir." I looked around suspiciously, not being accustomed to
being addressed in such a manner. The only other passengers in sight were
two elderly ladies with blue hair and not likely to be mistaken as a man by
anyone.
"Good morning yourself." I countered.
"Will you be declaring anything today, sir?"
"Uh, you mean like Prince Charles is an idiot?" I asked stalling for time to
think.
"No, sir." The Schwepps man answered. "That little tidbit of information is
considered public knowledge -- has been for quite some time now, I might
add." Schwepps smiled at me hopefully. I smiled back. Blitzkrieg belched.
"Pardon me, sir?
"Why?" I always believe in asking simple questions when confronted by
low-ranking members of officialdom. I believe it's best to save the really
confusing ones for the higher-ranking members of officialdom.
"You made a sound, sir." Schwepps smiled again.
"Ah! That sound!"
"Yes, sir."
"Gas." I explained helpfully. "I always get gas when I fly."
"Pity, sir." Schwepps smiled again, by now he was eager to get me through
his station with undue haste. "Anything to declare in your luggage, sir?"
"Ah! In my luggage! No. I have nothing in my luggage to declare." I said
truthfully and opened my bags helpfully. "A few socks, some undershorts and
other odds and ends." Schwepps sighed and dutifully poked around and smiled
again.
"Everything looks in order, sir." Schwepps smiled weakly and rocked back and
forth again. "Are you sure you have nothing to declare?"
"Nothing but the ferret in my undershirt." It is sometimes advantageous to
tell the truth no matter how ridiculous it sounds -- no one will believe it.
"Ferret in your undershirt." Schwepps made a coughing sound, which I took as
a droll English chuckle. "Very good one, that, sir! I must remember to
tell my mates." Schwepps smiled and waved me on. "Enjoy your stay in
England, Sir."
I smiled again and grabbed my bags as quickly as I could. The remainder of
the trip into London was fairly uneventful due to the fact that Blitzkrieg
was still passed out. Check-in at the Phitzwilly-Near-The-Thames Regal Arms
Hotel in Pall Mall was also fairly uneventful (unless you count the numerous
grunts, snorts, and belches let out by the boozy tummy warmer under my
shirt). Neither I nor the desk clerk did, since I pretended innocence and
the clerk remembered me well from past trips there. I am fairly good at
looking innocent and the clerk has, after many years of dealing with me in
various states of sobriety and lack thereof, become used to hearing strange
noises erupting from me.
Once entrenched in my favorite suite, I was a bit concerned over where to
place the unconscious Blitzkrieg. Normally, when I am as far gone as he
was, I prefer sleeping with my chin propped on the edge of the toilet seat --
this position saves staggering around the room trying to find the way to the
porcelain throne. However, after draping the boozed up carpet panzer over
the toilet seat, I immediately saw the fallacy of that position in relation
to ferrets. I have now determined through observation that when drunk, a
ferret's bones turn to the same consistency as overcooked linguine -- that
is, they go absolutely limp. Blitzkrieg slowly slid from his perch and into
the water filled bowl where he curled up contentedly blowing bubbles from
both ends. Deciding that leaving him sleep off a vodka-induced stupor
inside a toilet bowl was probably not in his best interests, I fished him
out and laid him out in the shower where he continued to blow bubbles from
both ends for the next ten minutes. I have to admit that the sound of the
bubbles reminded me of an old-fashioned coffee percolator happily perking
away on a frosty morning. I only wished he'd kept at it a little longer --
the sound was lulling me to sleep. Some of you are old enough to remember
the sound -- perka-perka-perka, perka-perka-perka . . .
Just about the time I was drifting off to sleep, happy and content that I'd
managed to fool Customs and smuggle the carpet panzer into jolly old
England, I was struck by a disturbing thought. Smuggling a ferret past the
Royal Customs agent wasn't such a big deal after all -- the English will
believe anything they're told. You don't believe me? Think about it.
These are the same folks who bought -- Elizabeth I, the Virgin Queen (yeah,
right! Ever wonder exactly WHY Raleigh lost his head?); Chamberlin's little
"Peace in our time" speech on his return from Munich (Hitler: "I swear Mr.
Prime Minister, no more invading countries for me! Do I look like the kind
of guy who would want to start a world war?" Chamberlin: "Of course not,
dear fellow! By the way, would you have any Polish sausage?" Hitler: "I'll
get you some. I know a great deli in Warsaw."); and of course the
Charles-Dianna "Wedding of the Century" where they both lived happily ever
after. I didn't sleep a wink the rest of the night.
[Posted in FML issue 1658]
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