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Me Am Hulk
27-05-2004, 04:58
***PRE-EMPTIVE APOLOGY*** To all the Spanish Speaking fans out there who read this, I humbly ask not to take offense at the character from Spain in this fic. Don't think of the character as having a heavy accent. Rather, see the character as someone who takes great delight in mangling the English language.

OH! You Pretty Things!
By Me Am Hulk
HYDE PARK - LONDON, ENGLAND - 1968

Helena Katina felt out of place – as usual – among the caterwauling mass of hippies in the vast public park. She was sitting cross legged on a Sherpa mat next to Lionel, her boyfriend of way
too many years. She gazed with half lidded jade eyes as Lionel attacked his sunburst-chassis acoustic guitar with reckless strokes. She grit her teeth as he grated out the lyrics for the Stones’ “Street Fighting Man.” For the past fifteen minutes, Lionel would bungle up the chords and the first line to the second verse, backtrack and start from the first verse, only to snag himself on the second verse AGAIN. Stones riffs are so easy to learn, Helena mused, even a bloody caveman could work them out. But not dear Lionel… oh no.

“Ah said Hey…” Lionel growled like Jagger while he abused the guitar, “said the… TIME … is right… for a Paaaaal-ace… Re… Rev… Revo-lu… looooo… looosh… um, Rev-o-lu-shuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnn… Yeah, that’s it! Re-vo-luuuuuuuuuu-tionnnnn!” He grinned at

Helena, who indulged him with a sweet smile even as she thought, “Good GOD your singing is atrocious! Now PLEASE get onto the next line!”

As she feared though, Lionel kept struggling with that bloody line. Ruining his already awful voice in the process. “Said HEY, the time is RIGHT fo’ a PAL-ace RE-vo-LUUUUU-tion… er, LUUUUUU-shoooooooooooooooonnnnnnnnn…”

Helena decided it was time to be gracious to her boyfriend. She clasped his shoulder and sang in a sensuous voice that did not fit with the song: “But where I live the game to play is compromise so-luuuuuuuuu-tion…”

Lionel regarded her with a blank face for three beats, then said “Yeh, I’m getting ‘round to that, love.”

The smile slowly melted from Helena’s face. Sweet Heaven, she prayed silently, tell me he’s NOT going all the way back to the first line of the first verse!
Her worst fears were soon confirmed. “Ev’rywhere, ah HEAR the SOUND of POUNDING, MARCHING feet…. boy – eeeeeeeeeee!” Lionel – damn his ears and throat – took the song right from the top.

Helena let loose a sigh, making it as musical and theatrical as possible so Lionel would think she was cooing over his rusty pipes. She rustled her globe of curls and lay back on her Sherpa mat. She scanned the blue skies idly, took a breath, and fixed her ears on any sound in the park that would deliver her from Lionel’s Jagger-isms. All her acute ears could pick up though were ragged abuses of the Beatles-Stones-Hendrix-Dylan catalogs.

“Let… let me, uh… let me take you down, ‘cos I’m going to…”

“Pa-ra-chute Wo-maaaaannnn… Land on me to-niiiiiiiight…”

“Let me stand next to your fire… no, that’s not it…”

“Johnniesinthebasementmixinupthemedicineimonthep avementthinkinboutdagubuhmintmaninatrenchcoat… got a bad… cough… FUCK! Johnniesinthebasementthinkin- NO! Johnniesinthabackdoormaaaaaan…”

“One million chimps with typewriters and not a bloody one can write ‘Hamlet’,” Helena murmured with a groan. She resigned herself to falling asleep for an hour or so when a bold voice in a high register pushed its way through the cacophony. It grew louder, meaning the singer grew closer. Helena propped herself on her elbows and scanned the entire park, seeking the source of the voice which grew louder and closer.

Her eyes fixed on a bizarre sight. Just a few feet away, a slim diminutive creature weaved through the obstacle course of stringy-haired vagabonds. The creature’s dark hair was in a neatly trimmed mop-top, wore sunglasses, a penciled-in moustache and what looked like the pinstripe vest, shirt, tie and pants of a business suit. The fetching thing pressed its figngers in its ears,sang in a mellifluous, girlish voice that contrasted with the butch outfit. The lyrics were Spanish:

Dulce esta el sueno mano a mano / Mas dulce esta el sueno corazon a mismo!*

“Sweet is the sleep of hand to hand, sweeter still the sleep of heart to heart,” Lena murmured. To her surprise, the singing Spaniard leapt over a couple snogging in the grass, and got in the face of her boyfriend, Lionel. The Spaniard’s voice took on an adversarial rasp.
“Oye! Hey joo, meester! Do us de favor, ZHAAT UP!”


*Translated from Sumerian Hymn

forre
27-05-2004, 14:16
Just checking I don't see double because at the moment there are two identical threads.

Me Am Hulk
01-06-2004, 04:22
Part II - El Hispagnolo (O La Hispagnola?)

By Me Am Hulk

HYDE PARK - LONDON, ENGLAND - 1968

“Oye! Hey joo, meester! Do us de favor, ZHAAT UP!”
Helena took in the whole scene: Lionel gawking at the comely androgyne leaning over him. The boyish girl (or was it girlish boy?) whipped off his (her?) sunglasses and gave Lionel such a contemptuous glare that – were it heat - could have burned through his skull. Lionel got his composure and shot back in his typical uninspired manner.
“’Ere! I don’t know what you’re on about…”
“I tell you vat I’m o-an about. I haf walked t’rough thees entire jardin per-oper, I haf suffered many, MAN-ee awful boices dat seeng en ingles worse dan I speek eet, and I haf made thees judgemente: Joo are de BOORST of de seen-gers en todo de Ingleterra, joo are de slope… no, de SLOPPIEST tocadero de la guitarra and I weesh for you to ZHAAT JOO MOUT’!”
Helena clamped her lips tightly together to stifle her laughter. Lionel jumped up to his feet to meet the irate Spaniard’s challenge. “De BOORST? Listen ‘ere, you dodgy spic! I’d lay one on you if I even knew what ‘boorst’ means!”
Arms crossed, the Spaniard and sneered at Lionel. “Joo ingles and joor clumsy facking lengua. I say joo are de WOO-URST! Opposite ahv ‘best,’ zanzo, joor guitarra zhould be r-r-r-r-REVOKED from zhoo! Joo do not deserve such a fine instrumente! On “r-r-r-r-revoked” the small Spaniard –with unbelievable speed and dexterity – undid the guitar strap around Lionel’s shoulder and snatched the guitar away from him!
“Fucking hell!” Lionel shrieked as he cocked his fist and swung at the Spaniard. Helena yelped at her boyfriend’s display of violence, but the Spaniard proved to be swifter. The Spaniard ducked, sidestepped Lionel’s fist, and darted off with the body of the guitar cradled in one arm. “Facking animale,” she called out over her shoulder, “dees instrumente muy elegante ees no joors no longer! Eet es liberated fram joor embrace! " With that, she raced away from Lionel.
“Bloody dago wanker!” Lionel roared while taking off after the Spaniard. “Get back he—" Lionel stumbled over another would-be musician playing “Paint it Black” (very badly) and landed face first on the grass.
Helena sprang to her feet, “I’ll get it back, Lionel,” she called over her shoulder with a giggle in her voice as she parted her skirt and sprinted after the Spaniard. Helena was a track runner while in university, so it was no great task to gain on the fugitive as her sea green skirt trailed behind her like a large streamer. She gracefully bounded over benches and half-naked snogging couples even as the Spaniard dodged and weaved around them. At the edge of the park, Helena closed the distance. She scooped up the smaller runner as a mother retrieving an errant runaway child and restrained her quarry by the waist.
“No, no, NO!” The Spaniard exclaimed. “Joo do not understand! I beel NOT relinqueesh dees chitarra da gamba to dat smelly beast!” Helena’s captive kept kicking his (her?) legs. “I per-a-form a poob-lic service!”
“I know,” Helena giggled, “and I wish to thank you for your service.” she concluded with a warm affectionate voice. “You must promise me that you won’t run off when I set you down.”
“Set me down,” the Spaniard wailed with an operatic flair.
“Promise me!” Helena insisted with a playful air. She felt the Spainard’s weight sag in her arms.
“Si, si si,” the Spaniard sighed, “mi palabra es bono.”
“Good.” Helena cooed and gently set the Spaniard down. The Spaniard was true to the vow and did not run away, but held the guitar away from Helena as though it were the Spaniard’s child.
“Do not ask me to re-toorn dees to dat hombre ingles quien es muy feo. I cannot permit him to a-boose dees lahvley device any more dan he has.”
“’Ugly Englishman?’” Helena asked, “You mean Lionel… OH BUGGER! Here he comes!” Over her shoulder, Helena saw her boyfriend stomping towards their general direction, though he seemed not to have seen them yet. In a fraction of a second, Helena had switched allegiances. She took the Spaniard by the shoulder and hurried her over to a large hedge in the park. They ducked behind it. As she crouched down behind the hedge, Helena cursed the massive globe of orange hair on her scalp. It would be a dead giveaway if she peeked out from their hiding place. She turned to the Spaniard, “Da me la guitarra,” she said, “abre los ojos para Lionel!”
“Lye-Oh-Nell?” The Spaniard asked while handing over the instrument.
“Lionel! El ragazzo zanzo!” Helena elaborated.
“Ah! Si, si… de brainless hippie… I keep eye peeled.” The Spaniard – whose hair was not a big, red beacon – peeked round the hedgerow.
The Spaniard saw Lionel about twenty paces away. His fists were clenched and his lip was curled into a cruel snarl. He stopped, looked about the park every which way except the hedge, and marched on.
The Spaniard stifled a girlish giggle and crawled over to Helena. “So stoo-peed! He look all de round but here! Why hyoo haf heem para su novio?
“He’s not my boyfriend any longer,” Helena smiled as she handed back the guitar, “thanks to your divine intervention.”
- Ha! De nada senora! The Spaniard exclaimed, patting the guitar. “I do two good deed for de day!”
Helena extended her hand. “Introductions are in order, I am Helena Katina.”
The Spaniard accepted Helena's hand and kissed it softly. “Mmm…” (s)he purred, - Me llamo Juliano, Juliano de los Lobos!
Juliano? Helena wondered, Looks about my age, and with a girlish voice like that, "he" couldn't possibly be MALE. Helena examined Juliano’s face: A penciled in moustache and not a hint of stubble on “his” chin. “Surely,” she stammered, “you mean ‘Juliana.’”
Juliano harrumphed. “He” straightened her posture, puffed out her chest and thumped it heroically, “I say my name is Juliano! Eet ees my loins dat are inverted, NOT my name!”
With “his” chest pressed forward, Helena could make out a pair of petite breasts. All the same, she apologized. - Lo siento, Juliano. She pressed a hand to her lips to conceal a sly smile. “Your name is as you say it is.”
Juliano shrugged and smirked. “Joo are tactful and berry gracious!” The androgyne wagged a finger at Helena. – Miro que puedes hablar en espanol! Tal domina para una ingles! Domina en mi lengua, Helena?
- No! Hablo un poco solamente, Helena cheeks reddened. Then she added – Muy poco.
- Bueno! Juliano exclaimed. “Joo haf hard time vis my language, as I struggle vis joor crude ingles! We are two ahf de kind!”
Helena let loose a peal of laughter and took a step closer to the eccentric young boi. “Will you have tea with me?”
-Te? Juliano squawked. –Te del Ingleterra? “Pfah! Forgibe me for saying, but te d’ingles tastes of peesh!”
- Café? Helena asked.
“Eeeuurrgh,” Juliano grunted, - El café… agh… como se dice? “De cow-uf-fee zhoo ingles dreenk tastes ahf de mud on de banques ahv de Thames!”
“You are dangerously close to insulting me,” Helena warned. “What will we have together, then?”
Slinging the guitar around her shoulder, ‘Juliano’ presented her arm to her new English friend and exclaimed – Cerveza!
Helena was incredulous. “Beer?”
-Senora, Juliano explained, “Joor nation’s be-roo-er-ies… ehm… joor br-r-rewers hav good reason to be proud ahf eets dark ales and lagers! Guee-ness, eet taste like caramel! Mmmmm! Jess, eef there ees wan be-ber-age joo ingles excel at, eet es cerveza! Kam, we go to de, como se dice? De puuu-blic h-h-houze!”
Helena took Juliano’s arm, “All right then, to the pub!”
“But none ahv dat ‘Carlesberg’ lager from de poorple tin,” Juliana warned. “Dat, like joor te, tastes of peesh.”

Me Am Hulk
01-06-2004, 04:24
Just checking I don't see double because at the moment there are two identical threads.

Do you mean someone else is writing a Glam tATu fic? If so, I'd be embarassed. :o