My interpretation of : "Baron Von Reseller. Half man, half cyborg, all moustache"
(ps - notice the Dyson ball technology?)
Most of us are familiar with etsy, an online site for artists and crafters to vend their handmade items—many of us have even
experienced the love-hate relationship that being an etsy shop owner sometimes
entails. On any given day one can usually find
a disgruntled thread. . .or two. . .or three, on the esty forums. So it
was with a welcomed surprise that I ran across one of the most delightful,
satirical threads I've ever had the honor to stumble upon in etsy's
forums.
This short, lighthearted satire should more than tickle you funny bone, it should have you, literally, rolling on the floor in laughter.
It is my honor
to present to you a story written by Heidi O'Brien of Cabaret Ghost Productions
~
------------------------------------------------- ~
A great dark smog hung over the
whimsical city of Etsia.
High up in the mountains, far above the puffy clouds with their dangling
raindrops, were the dark mills of the Baron Von Reseller. Half man, half
cyborg, all moustache, the Baron surveyed his mountains of shipping boxes
marked 'OOAK HANDMADE COPPER OWLS' and laughed his maniacal laugh.
"Fill these orders, boys!" he called to his clockwork cyborg minions.
"These owls aren't going to mass-produce themselves!"
The Baron stopped mid-chuckle as he
spied something from the edge of his monocle. There was movement in the clock
tower above. Suddenly, the swarthy figure of Sir Reginald Steampunk smashed
through the great clock face and swung down from a thick rope crafted from
leftover knitting wool. He landed on both feet, his massive chest barely
covered by his damp, white shirt.
"Who is this who dares to enter the realm of Von Reseller?" snarled
the Baron. "Could this be the Integrity Team?"
"The Integrity Team is GONE!" Sir Reginald bellowed, and at least ten
swarthy and handsome men appeared behind him, all brandishing swords.
"WE are the new Integrity Team!"
With these words, Sir Reginald and his army tore off their shirts in one
powerful motion, their chests rippling with muscles and seething with righteous
anger. Sir Reginald and his soldiers made
their tight-trousered way over to the sniveling villain.
"We are a collective I tells ya, a COLLECTIVE!" yelled the Baron as
he twirled his moustache.
"Show us your workspace, you
miserable whelp," demanded Sir Reginald, his sword glimmering before him.
"No? Then we will have to see for ourselves, then!" he pulled on a
golden-tasseled cord and the thick velvet curtain fell down to reveal a fog of
industry, cyborgs, conveyer belts and furnaces all moving and bellowing smoke
on the factory floor.
"Collective ACTIVATE!"
Screamed the Baron, and his hundreds of cyborg minions moved together, cogs
joining cogs and metal fusing into metal until all that was standing before the
integrity team were three enormous machines.
"A sly trick," said Sir Reginald, "a sly and cunning piece of
trickery indeed."
"There are only four of us," giggled the Baron,"' Count us if you
please."
"Count you we will," said
Sir Reginald, "Count you we will, indeed."
He turned to his windswept and dashing army.
"Let us give him a counting he will never forget."
"Look up!"
It was too late. Heavy nets of coloured bunting fell from the ceiling and
ensnared the army of swashbucklers in its bright flags. Struggling for air
under the festive yet lethal party decorations, the army took courage and began
slashing the white twine with their swords.
Above them was an enormous vintage mason jar full of a glowing liquid
substance.
"Gentlemen, what you see above you are the souls of artists and crafters
that we have imprisoned in our Mason Jar of Mediocrity," The Baron
laughed. "It is a heavy weapon indeed, and soon you will feel its descent
upon you!"
"Holy Bird on a Branch!' ejaculated Sir Reginald. "Men! We must not let
this happen. We will fight to the very death!"
The army of heroes tore and ripped at the bunting until they had freed
themselves enough to stand, but the mason jar was being lowered at an ever more
alarming speed. Just as it seemed the end was nigh for our noble knights of the
hand-crafted, the jar stopped in mid-air, its shining liquid made still.
"Could it be? My dearest friend, the Count Upcycledonio?" Sir
Reginald's heart almost exploded with joy as he spied his dear comrade and
one-time nemesis of old hanging artfully from the factory rafters, the chains
holding the mason jar stilled in his manly and capable hands.
"I can't hold on forever old chap!" cried the Count. "Run, dear
fellows, run!"
~ ------------------------------------------------- ~
Credits for story and imagination
go to:
The
following words are Heidi's own and, hopefully, I'll be able to complete the installation of
this tale of heroic daring do, honor, righteousness, justice and all that
there stuff
...
"Providing
this thread is still open tomorrow, I will finish the daring exploits of Sir
Reginald and his stout-hearted fellows in the morning.
Thank you for your kind words and goodnight."
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