Bill Hillman's

Volume 024

THE RATNAZ FILES: BOOK IX

Whizzle's Classic SF Stories
All-Gory Pulp Parodies
by Today's Authors In the Style of Yesterday's Giants
Copyright 1997. Reprinted by permission from Whizzle.
All Bill Hillman Contributions Copyright 1997-1999
by Bill and Sue-On Hillman, Inc.
Maple Grove Productions

The tribulations of a pulp author in the electronic age
transcribed by an unusual gang of idiots

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BOOK IX CONTENTS     All Chapters by Bill Hillman

Chapter 98: Ch’nook of the North and his Crawl from the Wild
Chapter 99: MISTER Hilary Goes to Washington
                                        In the Heat of the Fight
Chapter 100:Special Centennial and Millennium Gala Celebration issue
Chapter 101: “No Mo’! No Mo’! You! Naughty Ass!”
Chapter 102: Four People, Verses, Harry Flint’s Titillating Treasure
                                        Trove and Some Naughty Rap
Chapter 103: Bertie Peeps at the Diary as Sleeping Giants Lie
Chapter 104: “Pardon Me Roy, Is That The Cat That Chewed Your
                                       New Shoes...Your clogs that is, Mr. Datsun.”
            (Obviously, a knowledge of the history of big band music is
            essential for the comprehension of titles around here)
Chapter 105: Fun with Boz and Jane -- A Primer
Chapter 106: Captain Marble and the Pit of Doom - Shaboom, Shaboom!
            ...to be continued...

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Chapter 98: Ch’nook of the North and his
                    Crawl from the Wild  --Bill Hillman

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“Mush! Mush! On you huskies! On Buck... On Spitz... On Lassie fellow... . On Yeller... On Benji... On Bruce... On Trikki Woo... On Babe... On Donder and Blitzen... On big fellows... Mush!”

The Jeddak of the North -- Warlord of Words -- Mighty Warrior of the Canadian Wilderness, presented a gallant picture as he pulled out of his driveway in his custom-made dog sled and headed south -- his way lit by the aurora borealis dancing in the night sky behind him. The initial shock of the intrusion into his home by Tangor’s henchmen had turned to feelings of anger which spurred the usually unflappable Canuck into action.

Mrs. Jeddak had packed a lunch of his favourite survival fare -- two ton soup, dried squid lips and sticky rice balls -- while his offspring had rounded up enough animals from around the neighbourhood to make up a team capable of launching his sled into the deep south of the continent. He knew he had no time to lose. Tangor had gone too far this time.

“’Kookie Canuck Crackpot’... indeed. Thinks he’s the ‘salt of the earth’ does he! What in heck does he mean by that?” After switching on the auto-musher, the Jeddak left his command post at the intricate G-pole controls and crawled into the passenger cockpit of the sled to study his pocket dictionary by the light of the pole star.

“Mmmm.... SALT... ‘...a medicine that causes movement of the bowels’... Yep... ‘To make appear more prosperous or productive by fraudulent or illegal means’... Yep... ‘A sailor, especially an experienced one - a gob’... Uh?... Tangor, a sailor? Well, two out of three ain’t bad.”

The Warlord of Words moved deeper into the pile of furs and snuggled up to the hot water bottles that Mrs. Jeddak had so thoughtfully provided. “It’s dang cold for late October. Minus 40... Lucky for us that’s measured in Celsius. I shudder to think how cold that would be on the old Fahrenheit scale.”

He had just put his favourite 8-track cartridge into the on-sled player -- The Blues Buoys Live at the Elks Club in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan -- when the panting dog team swerved to one side to avoid a car stuck in a snow bank in the middle of the single track road.

“Damn fools. Don’t they know you can’t drive a car in Canada in the middle of winter. Why, it’s Halloween tomorrow for cripes sake!”

As the sled sped past the snow-covered, stalled vehicle he noticed that it was a maroon 1949 Ford sedan with Texas plates, and huddled in the front seat of the frozen car were three familiar-looking, blue-faced thugs in narrow-brimmed hats.

“Ha! Let’s see them get outa this one. On my huskies... it’s California or bust!”

The night was clear and the moon was yellow and the only traffic on the road consisted of sleds driven by the occasional Indian trapper and French Canadian fur trader. The Jeddak settled in for a long journey. Tiring of the tape of hurting songs in waltz time, he reached down to try to tune in the sled’s wind-up radio to CBC North. The network had been plugging a new upcoming line-up of soap operas all week: Ma Perkins, Pepper Young’s Family, One Man’s Family, Stella Dallas -- trendy topical stuff just too good to miss.

“Mmmm... now where is that CBC station... mmm... Oh, there’s that American station ERBS... sure pumpin’ out their signal tonight... must be using that MegaWatt Wolfman pirate tower out of Mexico again.”

“We interrupt our live remote from the Farris Big Wheel Club to take you to Pismo Beach ....where our man Orcan Whales is standing by. Orcan...”

“I am speaking from the roof of the Pismo Beach Women’s Auxiliary tea room. The bells you hear are ringing to warn people to evacuate the city. The streets are jammed. The weather balloons are still falling. Accompanying these alien IFOs are billowing clouds of lethal black smog which so far have had little or no effect on our hardy Californians. But the awesome FAY Ray has incapacitated the army guys. Parts of the city are experiencing mob hysteria. Starbucks has been looted. The 7-11 is closed. And ahh... wait... I have just been handed a bulletin ... in an amazing development the White House has officially declared tomorrow to be New Year’s Day 2000!... and...”

“Enough... enough... pull a little harder there Rinty... Mush!... On you huskies!”

“And now Oxydol presents America’s mother of the air waves... America’s own Ma Perkins....”

But the Warlord’s mind just wasn’t on entertainment tonight. He hadn’t wanted to scare the folks back home, but during his set-to with the American thugs, one of them had dropped a hit list, listing major Canadian heroes that Tangor had earmarked as the next victims for his bottomless pit. He seemed to have a thing against Canadians, and especially actors, writers and musicians:

Aykroyd, Dan * Bochner, Lloyd * Burr, Raymond * Cameron, James * Cameron, Rod * Candy, John * Carrey, Jim * Carson, Jack * Chong, Tommy * Cronenberg, David * Dmytryk, Edward * Doohan, James “Scotty” * Ford, Glenn * Fox, Michael J. * Fraser, Brendan * Galbraith, John Kenneth * George, Chief Dan * Gibson, William * Goulet, Robert * Greene, Graham * Greene, Lorne * Hall, Monty * Henning, Doug * Hiller, Arthur * Hockey Stars, NHL * Huston, Walter * Jennings, Peter * Jewison, Norman * Kent, Arthur * Levy, Eugene * Linkletter, Art * Little, Rich * Lockhart, Gene * MacDonald, Norm * MacNeil, Robert * Mandel, Howie * Massey, Raymond * Mayer, Louis B * McLuhan, Marshall * Michaels, Lorne * Moranis, Rick * Morse, Barry * Myers, Mike * Nielsen, Leslie * Perry, Matthew * Pidgeon, Walter * Plummer, Christopher * Priestley, Jason * Reeves, Keanu * Safer, Morley * Sahl, Mort * Sarrazin, Michael * Shuster, Joe (Superman creator) * Sennett, Mack * Service, Robert * Shatner, William * Short, Martin * Silverheels, Jay * Smith, Steve (Red Green) * Steinberg, Dave * Sutherland, Donald * Sutherland, Kiefer * Thicke, Alan: Actor * Thomas, Dave * Trebek, Alex * Vernon, John * the Villeneuves * Warner, Jack * Wayne & Schuster

Anderson, Pamela * Bujold, Genevieve * Cattrall, Kim * De Carlo, Yvonne * Dewhurst, Colleen * Dressler, Marie * Durbin, Deanna * Keeler, Ruby * Kidder, Margot * Kuzyk, Mimi: Actress * Lillie, Beatrice * Martin, Andrea * Maxwell, Lois * Nelligan, Kate * O'Hara, Catherine * Pickford, Mary * Rutherford, Ann * Shaver, Helen * Shearer, Norma * Smith, Alexis * Stratton, Dorothy * Tilly, Jennifer * Tilly, Meg * Tweed, Shannon * Wray, Fay

Adams, Bryan * Anka, Paul * April Wine * Arden, Jann * Bachman-Turner-Overdrive * Breau, Lenny * Cockburn, Bruce * Cohen, Leonard * Crash Test Dummies * Dion, Celine * Ferguson, Maynard * Gould, Glenn * The Guess Who * Healey, Jeff * lang, k.d * Lightfoot, Gordon * Lombardo, Guy * McGarrigle, Kate and Anna * McKennitt, Loreena * McLachlan, Sarah * Mitchell, Joni * Morissette, Alanis * Murray, Anne * Peterson, Oscar * Robertson, Robbie * Rush * Sainte-Marie, Buffy * Shaffer, Paul * Siberry, Jane * Snow, Hank * Stratas, Teresa * Twain, Shania * The Tragically Hip * Young, Neil...

The thought of the mad Texan hurling these Canadian icons into a bottomless pit of oblivion sent shivers down the Jeddak’s spine and further strengthened his resolve to get to the Golden State in record time.

“Faster you huskies... and that means you too Cleaver Beaver, you’ll have time to sleep after we have finished our mission.” The team had been extremely fortunate in having recruited this famous furry symbol of the Canadian nation as lead animal -- luckily they had been able to awaken him from his winter’s nap, but he hadn’t found his winter legs yet and the Jeddak noticed that kept dozing off and falling asleep in the traces.

“M*U*S*H!”

---

Chapter 99: MISTER Hilary Goes to Washington...
                  ...In the Heat of the Fight
                                                                                    --Bill Hillman

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It’s a Nyce World After All

The unerring homing instinct and acute hearing of Ward Cleaver guided him in leading the surviving members of the Billman family back into familiar territory.

As they approached a hilltop mansion, young Willie squealed with delight: “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!... it’s that Nyce song - ‘It’s a Nyce world after all...’”

The weary but whistling party was met at the Ratnaza Mansion entrance by Hitchcock who was unloading the last of the day’s haul of groceries from a Yellow Cab waiting in the driveway. He looked up in surprise and asked: “Where’s Master Bryce?”

This was too much for the overwrought, bereaved Cleaver. The flood of upwelling emotions triggered an incredible caterwauling. Wallowing in self pity he wrapped himself around the butler’s spatted ankles and sobbed: “He’s gone... Albert... he’s gone... What am I going to do. He’s got my Tamagotchi! It's gonna die!”

Hitchcock was the perfect butler and host. Within an hour the travellers had been pampered, fed and shown around the mansion -- all but Ward Cleaver who lay whimpering in the top section of the two-tiered bunk bed unit that was usually slept in by poor Bryce.

Man the Lifeboat - Get the Woman and Children Outa Here

It did not take long for the rejuvenated Billman off-springs to invade every nook and cranny of the Ratnaza mansion. There seemed to be no place for staid Albert to hide. When he discovered that the onslaught had advanced as far as his favourite sanctuary, the ground floor study, he could take no more.

“Out! Out! You ruffians... you hooligans!” shouted the harried butler as he shooed the rampaging Billman kids out of the newly created shambles. These little monsters had taken over the entire mansion. “I Confess, I should have stuck with that gig as stage director at the Jamaica Inn -- Stagefright or not!” he groused to himself as he dug through the rubble to retrieve his damaged prize leather Paradine Case with the Capricorn insignia. He realized now that he was the Wrong Man for this job.

He stood Spellbound and, as memories of his past failures swirled through his mind, he was overwhelmed with feelings of Vertigo and Suspense. Here he was, Hiding in his own room -- convinced without a Shadow of a Doubt that this was a Billman Family Plot to drive him into a Frenzy. All of his jobs had ended this way. First there was that Trouble with Harry and that Psycho, Marnie, and those two Strangers on a Train -- Mr. and Mrs. Smith -- who in their zeal To Catch a Thief, had put him under Suspicion. Jeeze, it was only an old copy of Juno and the Paycock! You’d think he had committed a Murder or was a Notorious Saboteur or something. Then he saw her, Rebecca - the Woman Alone. The Girl was Young, -- Young and Innocent -- and a Foreign Correspondent. For Albert it was love at first sight but, 39 Steps past the dining car and the Lady Vanishes -- along with his dreams and....

Shaking off his depression, he looked around the demolished den, pulled back the Rope of the Torn Curtain which covered the Rear Window and looked out to the North, By Northwest. At first he thought the falling objects in the brilliant Topaz sky were Birds but upon closer scrutiny he realized that he was witness to a downpouring of weather balloons. There was something wrong. Seriously wrong. He reached for the phone and Dialed M, For.... yes, this was a job for a Secret Agent -- he could always count on him -- the Man Who Knew Too Much!

Bungalow Bill

Meanwhile the Billman kids had joined their mother Cilli who was being entertained by the giant multi-screen video wall in the Media Room. They were just getting into an exciting Brady Bunch rerun when the show was interrupted by a synthesized trumpet fanfare and a familiar Double B insignia that flashed across the centre screen.

“We now present a special, non-scheduled Presidential address to the nation, televised from the White House. Accompanying the President in this important telecast are advisors from the American Laser Lab and Federal Underground Complex for Keeping Extraterrestrial Dudes and UFOs Pickled.”

Despite the time-consuming and tongue-twisting inconvenience of calling this complex by its full name each time, the media preferred to struggle through the long moniker rather than use the unfortunate acronym.

“We take you now to the White House and President Bill Blimpton.”

“Mommy, Mommy those are the initials on all of Daddy’s paper things... BB. Why is the President wearing that silly big hat Mommy? Oh! Mommy look. There’s Daddy... look, he’s with the president!” cried excited little Phillie as she trampolined on the imported leather sofa.

“My fellow Americans. It is with heavy head that I come to you tonight,” spoke the burdened leader of the Western world in a plodding and stilted monotone.

“Our nation and the planet are under attack. Countless numbers of weather balloon-shaped alien spacecraft are landing on our soil. The accompanying black smog cloud has proven to be ineffectual in Southern California but is turning out to be a very lethal weapon elsewhere in the world. Even more of a threat is posed by the enemy’s FAY Ray which has incapacitated the gallant members of our armed forces by turning them into mind-washed, love-starved zombies -- with the base instincts of a gorilla. My scientific advisers have devised a daring strategy. What we are about to present to you is for your eyes and ears only. It is top secret stuff. My wife and chief advisor, Hilary, will explain the plan.”

The introduction seemed to catch Hilary Billman off guard and he muttered a surprised: “Wife??? Eh??? [Canadian writer’s translation for American audiences: ‘Huh’]”

The advisor made a rapid recovery from the shock of the inaccurate introduction and turned to face the close-up camera to outline the strategy he had so cleverly prepared.

“Anyway... ah... Thank-you Mr. President. Our plan is daring and simple. At midnight tonight GMT, the entire planet must advance all calendars to the year 2000. Tomorrow IS New Year’s day - October 31, 2000 AD. Tomorrow we celebrate the new Millennium... and I do mean celebrate. At noon tomorrow -- upon hearing the code words MORK KLAATU MINDY NICKNITE -- EVERY inhabitant of this planet will take to the streets to celebrate the coming of the year 2000.

“Thanks to computer guru Bill Greats, every computer in the Universe is programmed to self-destruct with the coming of the new Millennium. We must convince the enemy that the clocks on their computers are all wrong which will force them to change their dates to 2000 AD. If their computers fail... so will their entire network of weapons and life-support systems... and with the help of the Millennium Bug, we can...”

Before the Presidential Advisor could end his speech all hell broke loose. Crashing up through the floor and impaling the president’s desk appeared the tip of giant corkscrew which was soon followed by the emergence of a huge burrowing machine. The cameras were upset and bumped askew revealing that the White House Oval Office was really a mock-up set and backdrop, positioned in the middle of a gigantic hangar which was filled with row upon row of metallic weather-balloons.

The President was knocked to the floor, losing his gigantic floppy hat which, to everyone’s amazement, ran away on spider legs leaving the world leader sitting on the floor with a bewildered vacant expression on his face.

Only two people seemed to have had the presence of mind to take action. A grey-haired advisor wearing the name tag “Buzz Bozhart” leaped to the huge computer console which had been offscreen until now. A tilted and slightly out-of-focus television camera showed him furiously pounding a keyboard, entering directions which were displayed on the huge wall monitors.

“PASSWORD:
klaatu
Disable bionic doubles RETURN
Sonny B. RETURN
Jane P. RETURN
klaatu RETURN”

Meanwhile, the sight of this long, grey, almost whale-shaped craft seemed to have transformed Hilary Billman into a madman. Cilli gasped as she saw her husband reach for the ornate, spear-tipped flagpole supporting the Presidential flag and charge toward the intruding burrower machine -- screaming: “Ho! The great white! Towards you I come you monster whale. To the end of my life I will fight with you!”

Before Cilli could see Bozhart’s final entry or determine her husband’s fate, the television screen turned to black.

“We are experiencing technical difficulties with our special broadcast from the White House. Please stand by. We now return to tonight’s exciting episode of the Brady Bunch.”
 
 

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Chapter 100:***Special Centennial & Millennium
                  Gala  Celebration Issue***--Bill Hillman

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Our mail bag has been overflowing with a deluge of fan mail since the first edition of the Ratnaz Files and since this is our 100th issue, we feel it is only fitting that we listen to, and feature, the words of some of our loyal readers. 

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Is the Jeddak of the North really from Canada? What state is that in? My Dad says it’s just left of Greenland.
Phillie

Editor: Yes, unfortunately the Jeddak is a foreigner of non-American heritage. Canada is in a state of confusion. Actually it is just to the right of the Alaskan Panhandle. 

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I got this idea for a story. This earth guy goes to Mars, you see. And he jumps all over the place and... well that’s as far as I got... but it’s going to be really good.
Normal Nut 

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Are the Blues Buoys playing at the next Dumb Dumb? Where can we buy their 8-track tapes? Abner and Dwit Yoakum

Editors: The Blues Buoys 8-tracks are completely sold out. There are a few albums left on Edison cylinders but they too are going fast. The boys have no plans for playing the Dumb Dumb in the near future as they have an exclusive contract with Farris’ Big Wheel Club... besides, a couple of old geezers stole their Volkswagen mini bus a while back. 

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Why does Whizzle cost so much more than those cheap McGurgle and Grossitter and Bunlap reprints. What a rip off! Furthermore, the paper in the reprints is much easier to re-use out there in our little crescent moon backhouse. Up with recycling!
Howard Sterno 

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What does Captain Canuck wear under that codpiece?
Wee Angus MacDonald 

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I always thought this was a family magazine. But now I must protest. If your writer Tangor keeps writing filthy things, I feel I must cancel my subscription for the sake of the children. Please feature more of the clean, family-oriented stories by that Canadian fellow. My two-year-old thinks they are the best.
Morel Magoraty

Editor: We will be featuring many more of the wholesome stories by the Jeddak of the North in the upcoming chapters. Look for “No Mo’! No Mo’! You! Naughty Ass” and “4 People, Verses, Harry Flint’s Titillating Treasure Trove, and Some Naughty Rap” 

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Why don’t you buy some stories by Otis Alavator Klimb? He's just as good as old Ed.
Enna 

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How can we join the Rex, the Wonder Rooster fan club?
Dan and Jean 

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That Texas guy is a comedy genius. Me and the boys down at the KKK club house are still laughing about that Chapter 77: You Only Live Twice In Real Life. Have yuse guys thought of putting out another all comedy issue of Ratnaz like that one?
Joe Goebbels III

Editors: Our Texas writer, Tangor, reports that he is experiencing a writer’s block. His well of inspiration has dried up and he is short a few hundred words for his upcoming chapters. He invites all his readers to send in a few words. Every little bit helps. 

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I think that Barbarians should ... (revised for brevity from the original 36-page letter)... and besides, they can’t even apply eyeliner properly.
Tuvane Tuyak

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KUDOS FROM FELLOW AUTHORS 

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We are looking for scripts for our next season’s Ray Razzbury Theatre. We invite your team of writers to submit scripts. We are especially interested in the adventures of that surfer girl and her rooster.
Ray Razzbury 

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Keith, Richard and I just wrote a song about Rex the Wonder Rooster. Do you want to hear it? It was a big hit when we played it at Edgar Nyce’s Jeriatric Park.
Mick Jogger 

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Hope to see billions and billions more issues -- especially ones about aliens. I just love Cosmetology.
Carl Shogun
Chief Astrologer and Cosmetologist at the Nancy Reagan Conservatory Dedicated to Seeking Out Fading Stars 

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Your stuff is getting much better. I refuse to read the early chapters. They should never have been written.
Michael Redneck 

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Why have you discontinued that adventure series about those three Karas guys and their zither? Orcan Whales III

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FROSTY, MELNICK, LEERMAN, LEAKMAN, AND IZU, P.C.
FORMERLY CLAMPETT, BODINE AND ASSOCIATES RR 3 BUGTUSSEL, TN

April 1, 2000
Re: Objection by BB, Inc. and Touchwood Pictures to the use of RATNAZ and publishing of RATNAZ related stories

Dear Messrs. Tangor and Jeddak:

We are lawyers to B. Bozhart, Inc. ("BB") and Nick Miser’s Touchwood Pictures Productions. Our clients have wrested from their original creator, all existing rights to the RATNAZ trademark and all related works as well as the following letters of the alphabet: A, R, N, L, S, T and E (Rights to Z pending).

It has recently come to our attention that you have written 100 chapters with the unauthorized prominent mis-use of RATNAZ in their title and text. We hereby demand that you desist or you will come under the wrath of our full legal clout.

Sincerely yours,
“Nuk ‘em” Nijinski
Chairman of the Bored

Editors: In an effort to comply with the above demand, our writers are working on a new name for our intrepid jungle hero. Some of the suggestions which have crossed our desk have been Micky, Goofy, Chyp, Dopy, Louy, McDuck, and Ch'mook. We trust that some or all of these shall meet with your approval.

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FROM THE EDITORS’ DESK:
As we go to press, the entire Ratnaz Files cast from past issues are gathering in the Walmart parking lot next door for a Centennial-Millennium Gala Celebration. Our entertainment editor has been commissioned to report on this historic event and his feature will appear in a future issue of this magazine.

Also slated to appear in a future issue is a MEET THE AUTHORS feature where we shall share candid human interest stories about our highly paid stable of artistes.

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Chapter 101: “No Mo’! No Mo’! You! Naughty Ass!"
                                  --Bill Hillman

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The eldest daughter of Hilary Billman fought her way through the jungle underbrush until she reached an open glade where she was momentarily set aback by the panoramic slendour of the scene which stretched out before her. Milli resumed her desperate flight in the direction of a remarkable waterfall on the far side of the clearing. The frightened girl was half-way across the glade before her panting, yellow-jacketed pursuer emerged cursing from the jungle. With his prey now in plain sight, his chase took on renewed vigour, but as he saw her approach the waters of the falls he suddenly lost sight of her as he tripped over the struggling figures of a man and a woman concealed in the tall tropical grasses.

The force of the collision precipitated the woman’s escape across the veldt, leaving Yellow Jacket to face the wrath of her frustrated attacker. In the second before the man lunged at him, the yellow avenger’s trained eye for detail noted that his opponent was a burly character in sailor togs. He was an otherwise rather bland individual except for his distinctive gob cap which was decorated with artistically arranged, multi-hued parrot feathers which obviously had been laboriously scotch-taped to the fabric to achieve a look of studied carelessness.

The testosterone-charged males clashed with a ferocity usually associated only with wild, primitive beasts. Bryce Lee, the Yellow Jacket, was no stranger to such barbaric contact. He broke away, retreated some distance, and turned to vent a cry his ancestors had voiced since time primordial.

“Owwwwwwwwwwwwch. Geeeze that hurt. What’d ya wanna do that for!? You crazy or somethin’?”

Seeing that there was no reasoning with the assailing sailor he prepared for battle and stood with fists raised high in an awe-inspiring John L. Sullivan classic pugilist stance. Even this, however, did not prepare him for the lunatic charge which toppled both combatants into the pool below the falls.

Instinctively the student of every known martial art drew from his bag of tricks the most feared technique practiced by heavyweight prize fighters and before the grappling bodies had bobbed to the surface, the hemi-Asian avenger had his teeth clamped firmly on his opponent’s right ear.

Bryce Lee soon realized he had bitten off more than he could chew. The appendages of his adversary seemed to have grown and multiplied. He found himself cocooned in a bone-crunching coil of pulsating tentacles and realized that his opponent was experiencing the same plight -- they had been entrapped by the tentacles of a giant octopus!

With only seconds of life left in his body, the crushed crusader freed a hand and reached for his Buzz utility belt. Lightning fast moves produced a battle-proven, life-saving weapon -- an industrial strength vibrator. He applied the throbbing device to the monster’s tickle prone underbelly long enough to relax the terrible grip of the tentacles.

What transpired next took place in a blur faster than the eye could follow but by the time Lee was finished, the eight-armed monster had been disabled by a phalanx of strategically clamped handcuffs. The reprieve was short-lived, however, for in the confusion of battle he realized that he had accidentally cuffed himself and the barbarian to the writhing tentacles of their mutual foe.

Suddenly he felt very old and tired. As he felt the veil of unconsciousness descending, his last thoughts were of the his faithful young companion Splay-Toe. “The boy! Oh, I wish the boy was here. He would give me strength.”

His fading auditory senses could hear the faint far off cursing and pitiful pleadings of his new comrade in arms who must surely have been in his final death throes: “Naughty Ass! Naughty Ass! No Mo’! No Mo’!”

The last thing he remembered was a lion-like roar and being raised up out of the water toward the heavens by a massive force from below.

---

During the struggle between the two barbarians and the marine monster, the crippled sub Naughtyass had magically appeared from the bottomless depths of the pool and had risen to the surface beneath them, hoisting the jumbled and teeming menage a troi out of the water.

The craft had barely broken the surface when a hatch on the conning tower was flung open and Captain No’mo leaped forth to the rescue, roaring like an untamed beast and wildly swinging a fire axe. Within moments, the deck was teeming with squirming detached tentacles, body fluids and the sprawling bodies of the two now-unconscious victims of the mighty mollusk. Defeated and dying, the armless body of the octopus slid back into the depths.

Was this the end of the mighty Yellow Jacket? Had the life of one so dedicated in his fearless battle against crime and evil truly come to an end... at the arms of a filthy fishy foe? ....
 

---

Chapter 102:Four People, Verses, Harry Flint’s Titillating Treasure Trove,  and Some Naughty Rap
                                    -- Bill Hillman

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Milli ended her dash across the jungle clearing by plunging into the icy waters of the pool beneath a splendid waterfall at the far side of the clearing. As she pulled herself onto the rocks near the base of the falls, she could see what appeared to be a cave entrance hidden behind the tumbling waters of the falls. She made her way over the slippery rocks, through the cascading waters and into the cave mouth.

Before her eyes could grow accustomed to the sudden darkness, she was grasped savagely by the hands of a wiry wheezing old man with horny claw-like nails and hairy palms. Whatever nefarious plans the old codger may have had in mind were thwarted prematurely by the bombardment of two bodies falling upon him from a collapsing section of the cave roof.

With the aid of the increased light from the newly-formed opening above, Milli could see that her attacker was an old bearded man -- only half conscious under the weight of the man and woman she recognized as Darter and Dee Dee who had mysteriously disappeared back at the Jeriatric Park reception lounge.

She could now see that the cave was lined with chests each marked XXX. “Aha,” she muttered. “Moonshine liquor -- just like that stuff from Daddy’s still back in West Virginia.”

“What rock you bin hiding under Daisy Mae?” came the muffled and laboured response from under Dan Darter. This ain’t no Kickapoo Joy Juice, Sweetie. Ain’t no money in that stuff no mo’. We got XXX RATED goods. Yo Ho Ho an’a bottle of rum gets a Ho Ho with a big-bottomed bum -- he he he he!” the wild-eyed reprobate cackled out an uncontrollable maniacal giggle at his lewd rhyme.

Feeling that he was being confronted by someone even more perverted than himself, Dan Darter leaped to his feet and pulled the two women to the far side of the cave. An upwelling of moral indignation seemed to come over him as he tried to keep himself between the scantily clad girls and the lecherous old coot of the caves.

“Who are you? What despicable activity are you involved in?” asked Darter as he surveyed the XXX branded crates piled along the walls of the cave.

“It’s Flint’s treasure. I moved it over here from the stockade where Cap’n No’mo had stored it. It’s mine, mine, all mine. It belongs to old Pete Gunn now. Look at this...look at that ...” he screamed in near frenzy as he hobbled around the cavern. “Ain’t nobody’s gonna get Harry Flint’s contraband XXX goodies.”

The amazed trio couldn’t help but notice some of the magazine labels on the crates: Harry Flint’s Lustler, Huge Heifer’s Playbore, and e.z. ‘doc’ smut's Great Glansman featured in All-Gory Passion Stories.

“I got hot stuff here kiddies. Ya like ta watch? I even got them there new fangled Vie-Dee-O tapie thingies. Ain’t seen ‘em yet but the titles make even an ole salt like Pete Gunn blush.”

This unlikely curator of classic erotica had carefully arranged, in alphabetical order, a huge selection of what must have been some of the steamiest videos ever recorded to tape:

An Affair to Remember, African Queen, The Agony and the Ecstasy, Big Top Pee Wee, Blood Alley, Casanova’s Big Night, Cinderfella, The Devil and Miss Jones, Dr. Ehrlich’s Magic Bullet, Dragonwyck, Earth Girls are Easy, Enter the Dragon, Fail-Safe, Family Jewels, The Farmer’s Daughter, Fun with Dick and Jane, The Gay Ranchero, Geisha Boy, Good Fairy, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, The Horn Blows at Midnight, A Man Called Horse, The Man with the Golden Gun, Mary Poppins, The Mating Game, Moby Dick, A Night to Remember, Nuns on the Run, Octopussy, Of Human Bondage, Nutcracker Fantasy, Notorious Landlady, On Top of Old Smokey, Pandora’s Box, Pillow Talk, Please Don’t Eat the Daisys, Pocketful of Miracles, Privates on Parade, Quigley Down Under, Sex Lies and Videotape, She’s Working Her Way Through College, Some Like It Hot, Space Balls, Squaw Man, Switching Channels, Teachers Pet, Three Men and a Little Lady, This Happy Breed, Thunderball, Triumphs of a Man Called Horse, Two Mules for Sister Sarah, Under the Cherry Moon, We Dive at Dawn, Wee Willie Winkie, What’s Up Tiger Lily?, Wrong Box.

Their perusal of this treasure trove of forbidden erotica was cut short by the sound of the incessant beat of rap music which rose above the roar of the falls at the entrance to the cave.

Old Pete Gunn's face turned ashen and he screamed out in terror: “Oh no... No’mo’s back Ya gotta hide me. I can’t stand that noise. Not Slimey Whiteguy and Barber Strident and their yodel rap duets. He’s found me ... I can’t take any more of that infernal caterwauling he calls music. He’s got speakers everywhere on that underwater boat.”

“When I’m / call ing / yoo ooo / ooo ooo / ooo ooo / oo oo”
“Pee ple / pee ple / who need / pee pul / are the / luck ee / est Pee / pul in / the wirld...”

“Nooooo! He’s coming!” Pete Gunn’s terrified cries reverberated through the catacombs as he ran deeper into the subterranean labyrinth -- leaving Milli, Dee Dee and Darter alone to face the unknown terrors just beyond the wall of water at the cave mouth.

---

Chapter 103: Bertie Peeps at the Diary as
                        Sleeping Giants Lie  --Bill Hillman

---

“Yuh can’t hide behind yur writerz no more my treacherouz couzin. Come on... fight like a man!” bleated Ratnaz, the wild child of the jungle, as he instinctively dropped into the fighting stance he had learned from his adopted father, Buck Ram. He crouched on all fours, lowered his head and pawed the floor with his forelegs before charging at the hated usurper of his rightful titles, family fortunes and golf courses.

At that same moment, Devon McGuinness, Lord Greatstrokes, bent over to arm himself with a 3-iron from his ever-present golf bag. Unfortunately, the bogus lord misgauged the speed of his enraged cousin’s charge and both men met head-on. The two heads collided with a force that lesser mortals could not have survived and the Edgar Nyce bunker reverberated with prolonged deafening, gong-like reverberations.

“Let them lie there Bertie,” ordered Nyce as Ratnaz’s comely companion made a move to run to his aid. “It’s safer for all of us. They’ll come to, eventually. Come over here Bert -- there is something you must read. I am afraid you do not know the whole story behind the troubles we face.” Ed picked up and passed over a heavy, leather-bound book bearing the title:

THE PERSONAL DAILY JOURNAL OF NICK MISER - PRESIDENT - RODENT & TOUCHWOOD PICTURES - TOP SECRET STUFF.

Bertie Ketchum reluctantly opened the diary and started to read a recent entry. 

---

Dear Diary: I’m about to face the most disastrous day of my life. The Elmer Ford film premier is tomorrow night. This thing is a stinkeroo. It is so bad we decided to not use the RATNAZ name... couldn’t wish this turkey on even that over-the-hill oaf -- it’s a disaster. That klutzy Elmer jerk is an idiot -- constantly swinging into trees and sets. Decided to let him take the heat. Our new title is ELMER OF THE JUNGLE. I’m afraid there’s going to be a big clean-up bill in the theatre -- nothing worse than rotten tomatoes. Those little Rodenteers can turn ugly when they smell a clunker.

Dear Diary: We gotta save face. Spent the day rushing an animated Ratnaz film into production. No more chances with no-talent, muscle-bound live actors. Trying to get some of the best Ed Nyce artists in the business: Hal ‘Gump’ Forester, Franco Frazelli, Allen J. St. Jaques and his son Jeff Jaques. We’ll spare no expense on this one. Gotta wipe off the stigma of that Elmer of the Jungle thing. But even this big budget project is attracting its share of weirdos. Security just threw out some gin-soaked, chubby broad with a rooster on her shoulder -- said she was Frazelli’s model. Yah... right.

Dear Diary: Last night’s premier was a huge success! The audience thought every scene was hilarious... laughed all through it. I decided to take some curtain calls after the credits... after all, I was the brains behind it. Critics say it’s the comedy hit of the year, I knew it was going to be good. Why, that Elmer Ford is a comedy genius -- but it takes a talented producer to discover talent like this. By golly, mommy would have been proud.

Dear Diary: Met with Orcan Whales today... film projects ideas... Ever since that Citizen Kubla Khan bomb, he’s been getting weirder... trying to flog disaster movies... something about a big sinking ship he calls the Titanic, earthquakes, tidal waves, and some far-fetched thing about aliens that he wants to call the Invasion of the Led Zeppelins... give us a break Orcan.

Dear Diary: Finally kept that appointment with Buzz Bozhart today... he’s the real brains behind the BB Inc. conglomerate. He cleared up a lotta stuff about his no-good son Brace Bozhart’s mysterious behaviour... I’m starting to put the pieces together. And he let me in on why Brace has been playing Ratnaz for a fool. He got the dumb goat kid drunk and took some pretty incriminating photos of him in a motel room with a half dozen stewardesses. Ratnaz and Edgar Nyce are finished. They can’t survive the scandal if we release the photos. Ed’s a changed, crushed man. And the ape man is too stupid to know what’s really going on... thinks Brace Bozhart is his friend.

Dear Diary: Had our legal department send a letter today to those simps at that Whizzle All-Gory pulp rag. Should put an end to their cashing in on our guy’s name. No talent hacks!

Dear Diary: Good ole Buzz took me over to their secret underground Area 22 complex at Butt Buttes today. And how’s this for a piece of luck... I met President Bill Blimpton over there. You know there is something unhealthy about our recent presidents’ obsession with their looks. First we lost Raegun to Grecian Formula-induced Alzheimer's. Now Bungalow Bill is wearing a silly, gigantic floppy hat everywhere. Never saw him without it - must think he’s Jack Carson’s Great Tarak or something. Weird.

Buzz had Lt. Rykor give me a tour of the whole BB Inc. underground complex ... top secret stuff that even the government doesn’t know about... and he even promised to give me a tour of the Alien Autopsy Lab next time I go back. 

---

Bertie put the book aside and looked up in shocked amazement. Ed was hunched over a 15 minute Topographic Map sheet on which he was carefully calculating the latitudinal and longitudinal coordinates of Butt Buttes. Without raising his head he asked, “Hot stuff, huh?. Wanna come with us on our little mission?”

Ed finished his calculations and scribbled the coordinates on a slip of paper which he passed on to Carson Nappie. “All right now. Let’s get these two sleeping lugs into the Pellucifer and let’s get the show on the road.”

Within moments, seven people -- Ed, Nappie, Rathmind, Bertie, Captain Canuck, and the still-unconscious Ratnaz and Greatstrokes -- were crammed into the tiny cabin of the Pellucifar. Little did they know that they were about to embark on the most important... and most perilous adventure of their lives.

---

Chapter 104: “Pardon Me Roy, Is That The Cat That Chewed Your New Shoes...
Your clogs that is, Mr. Datsun.”
    (Obviously, a knowledge of the history of big band music is essential
    for the comprehension of titles around here.)    --Bill Hillman

---

Herlock Cabyns looked on in horror as the lovable Zany Grany was swept away by a massive tidal wave while attempting to rescue his beloved cat and dog.

“Stop that infernal clatter Datsun,” shouted Cabyns to his clog dancing companion. “Don’t you realize that this is serious!”

The crushed assistant looked down forlornly at his two twitching feet encased in scratched and cat-hair-covered clogs. Zany’s now-deceased feline must have used the wooden shoes that Datsun had taken such a shine to as a scratching post.

Unnerved by the horrific loss of life he had just witnessed, the sleuth extraordinaire looked around the lamented western author’s cedar lined study taking note of the towering stacks of manuscripts and rejection notices. His gaze settled on a flickering computer monitor which he was surprised to discover displayed the second chapter of the manuscript that old Grany had shared with him earlier:

---

Course of Chaos by Crafter
(William Ja-On Campbell Hillman)
Zany Grany pseudonym
Chapter Two: Enroute to Revenge
http://www.geocities.com/Hollywood/Boulevard/6643/jamillen.html

---

“Mmmm... just the ticket to settle my nerves. Anything would be better than that other stuff the old codger forced on me... frogs? I think Mr. Grany should have stuck to horse operas.” Cabyns soon got into the electronic manuscript and became so engrossed in the tale that even Datsun’s determined resumed clogging to the annoying sound of the scratchy accordion record had little effect on his concentration.

While Cabyns read, Datsun eventually tired of his strenuous footwork and looked around for other amusements. The title on a large weathered notebook caught his eye:

PROPERTY OF AGENT Z.G. -- PROJECT BLUE BOOK

Realizing that their host was probably now lying in a watery grave, the English doctor had no compunction in perusing the contents of the book. He was amazed at what he saw. The entries were all careful observations of celestial and meteorological phenomena from over the last year -- all recorded in a very trained and exacting manner. Most of the activity seemed to have been associated with the area above and around the Butt Buttes landform which was clearly visible through the rear window of Grany’s cabin.

Datsun was well into his study of the notebook when he realized that his remarkable associate had moved over behind him and was reading the notebook from over his shoulder.

“Come, my dear Datsun. We must be going. This is an incredible development,” exclaimed an excited Cabyns.

Following a great deal of difficulty in saddling the two surviving burros, the accomplished English horsemen, now turned assmen, were soon trekking to higher ground -- and toward the ominous Butt Buttes. Sadly they had to leave one of the saddled burros, the short one, behind as its old worn saddle of French design was far too loose to trek.

The two side-saddle equestrians were so intent on the difficulties of sharing the same saddle and in watching what appeared to be an unusually large number of birds gliding over the distant twin buttes, that they were oblivious to the threatening shadows that had engulfed them from overhead.
 
 

---

Chapter 105: Fun with Boz and Jane -- A Primer                                                    --Bill Hillman

---

See Boz 1 drive to the ranch.
Boz can not find Jane.
He meets the Men in Black.
They are looking for space men.
The Men in Black show Boz something.
They show him a silver thing-- a-- ma-- jig.
See Boz scratch his head.
Look at the big red knob on the thing-- a-- ma-- jig.
Oooo.

See Boz 2 drive fast.
He is trying to catch Jane.
Jane drives faster.
He can not catch her.
Look at his red face.
Boz is angry.
See Boz 3 look in the city.
He can not find Jane.
He goes away on a fast aeroplane.
It is a jet.
Jets fly fast.
Boz thinks Mister Billman is a bad man.
See Boz 4 park his car.
Jane likes to ride in his car.
Boz and Jane go into a big building.
Randy Rodent lives there.
See Jane 1 drive fast.
Tuvane rides with Jane.
Tuvane is a smart lawyer girl.
Sometimes smart lawyer girls are really boys who wear dresses.
Jane and Tuvane like to help each other.
See Jane 2 take a pretty girl for a ride.
They go fast in Jane’s yellow car.
The girl’s name is Judy Flanders sometimes.
Jane thinks Judy likes men who ride motorcycles.
Jane makes her visit the motorcycle men.
The motorcycle men are lonely.
See Jane 3 wake up Randy Rodent’s daddy.
His name is Nick.
Jane talks loud to Mister Nick.
She is angry at Mister Boz.
Jane thinks Mister Boz has a new girl friend.
Jane likes to play with guns.
See Jane 4 come to visit Jane 3.
Jane 3 is angry.
She likes to play with guns.
Boz and Jane like to pretend.
They like to pretend they are frozen.
Look at all the frozen Bozes and Janes.
They are not moving.
Oh!
Look again.
One Boz is moving.
Quick!
Come see.
One Jane is moving.
Jump Jane.
Do you know which ones they are boys and girls?
Mister Tangor knows.
Don’t you Mister Tangor?
Mister Tangor likes to have secrets.
Do you like secrets boys and girls?

Fun with Boz and Jane: A Primer II
(The Incoherent, Incomprehensible Adult Version)

Do you remember all that shit that went down back in Chapter 99?
When powerful Buzz Bozhart entered the code word Klaatu, he shut down all the bogus Bozes and Janes.
They ground to a halt and fell into a state of suspended animation.
Only the two real ones carried on with what they were doing...
     ...and of course we all know who they are...
     ...and what they were doing...
     ...don’t we Tangor?
[Nudge... nudge... (wink)...(wink)... say no more... say what?...]
 
 

---

Chapter 106: Captain Marble and the Pit of Doom
        -Shaboom, Shaboom!    --Bill Hillman

---

Sherman was still smarting from his boss’s verbal abuse... and he was still getting his body parts back together after the alien Tang-Gor’s mean-spirited attack on his molecules. But he wasn’t going to take it much longer. He had an ace up his sleeve and now was the time to play it. He was well aware of the one weakness in the mantle of the alien Gheeks -- oregano addiction! And he knew his plan could not fail.

“By the way, Tang-Gor... I have a little gift for you,” purred Sherman as he produced a lead-lined jewel box. “Here... It’s good stuff... just in from Panama -- fresh oregano. Just a token of my appreciation.”

Unbeknownst to Tang-Gor the Gheek, the oregano leaves had been spiked with a powerful 10 percent portion of catnip. In fact, the very act of opening the lead container had released enough of the catnip essence to make the alien feel weak in the chellae.

Unable to resist the lure of an oregano fix, the head-like creature scurried over and sucked up the offering from Sherman’s outstretched hand. The effect was immediate and startling. Within seconds the Gheek had become incoherent and was rolling, writhing and bouncing around the room.

Despite Sherman’s verbal tirades against Tangor’s rival, the Jeddak of the North, he had been secretly conspiring with the Canuck for some time. Realizing that Tangor, Tang-Gor and Company were becoming increasingly dangerous and unpredictable, Sherman had contacted the more stable and unquestionably more clever Warlord of Words on the InterNet. The thankful Jeddak had bestowed superpowers known only to select British Loyalists upon the poor little creep. The moment for Sherman’s first test of these powers was at hand.

“This is a job for Captain Marble!”

Sherman swayed rhythmically and snapped his fingers to create a backbeat as he intoned the magic mantra in a high-pitched cracking voice:

“Shaboom, Shaboom, Sha La-la, la-la, la-la, la-la, la-la, Shaboom, Shaboom...”

An Al Capp-inspired cartoon cloud appeared over the two disparate creatures in Tangor’s study -- the knock-kneed geek and the convulsing Gheek-head. Lightning bolts flashed from the black cloud and a sudden change occurred in Sherman’s appearance. His coke-bottle-thick glasses fell to the floor, the rain from the cloud slicked back his disheveled hair, and his many-sizes-too-large K-Mart Aisle #3 special wardrobe fell away -- revealing a magnificent red flannel suit. Scotch taped to the buttons which ran from crotch to neck up the front of the costume was a sheet of wrinkled computer paper bearing a lightning bolt insignia that had been meticulously hand drawn with a yellow hi-liter. Around his shoulders was a thick burlap rope to which was fastened a billowing purple satin bedsheet which doubled as a cape. The loins of the once lowly mortal, now transformed to superhero, were sheathed in chartreuse BVDs which were worn outside of the main red body suit -- obviously a Madonna-inspired fashion flare.

With new-found confidence he groped myopically toward Tangor’s well worn computer keyboard -- narrowly avoiding tripping over the rolling alien. Upon finding the computer, Captain Marble commenced to revise the text that had been left on the monitor:

“The heroic Jeddak of the North, on his selfless and daring mission of mercy, drove his sled team relentlessly. Already he could see the sprawling city lights of Minot, North Dakota, as they sped southward without respite.

“Meanwhile, down at the bottom of Tangor’s bottomless pit, four bruised, battered and perplexed casualties of the mad Texan’s deranged wrath huddled by a locked doorway as screaming bodies plummeted from above -- landing in their midst in mangled heaps on the earthen pit floor. An exotically beautiful, near-naked young woman clung to the largest of the two men in the group and gave a running commentary as the bodies fell around them:

‘Why, it’s poor Dudley... we worked for the same syndicate. And here comes... ah... it looks like the flying nun... oooph... I bet that hurt. Oh...and look... Little old ladies... in black... on brooms sticks?... and... there’s a big one.... pow!... look at him bounce... look out here comes a skinny one... uh oh... too late... ooo the carnage... Look Mars honey, here comes a masked cowboy and an Indian ... and a horse...’”

Captain Marble worked well into the night -- his nearsighted eyes just inches from the clattering keys of the computer keyboard. Tangor’s best laid plans went 'oft agley' as his treacherous one-time “yes man” caused his favourite characters to disappear one by one down into his own deadly pit of doom.

Taking full advantage of his boss’s absence, Sherman -- now transformed into the mighty Captain Marble -- paused from his keyboarding only to periodically open the lead box at his side and to withdraw portions of the powerful catnip-spiked oregano which he tossed to the helpless, writhing and mewling alien Tang-Gor.

The fate of the world depended upon a lone gallant man and his tireless band of hairy sled animals who by now had reached the Black Hills and were approaching the base of scenic Mount Rushmore. Would the heroic Canadian, the indomitable Jeddak of the North, reach the troubled American Southwest in time to save the world... and Pismo Beach?

Bill Hillman

...to be continued... in Ratnaz Files Book X 

---

If you're a glutton for punishment, there's more:
THE RATNAZ FILES
"Classic SF Stories by Today's Authors
In the Style of Yesterday's Giants"
The tribulations of a pulp author in the electronic age
as told to Tangor and Bill Hillman