ONCE UPON A TIME by GILLYLEE RATED FRT

A little story about an unknown family.

Disclaimer

I own the Smith-Smythees and all other persons mentioned in this tale. So keep your dirty hands off them.

Any similarity with people living, dead or supermarionated is entirely coincidental. If you see a similarity, it is just a figment of your imagination.

Nose cola alert

Reading this while simultaneously partaking liquids is considered a serious threat to the health. The author will not take any responsibility. You are warned.

Once upon a time, there was a very rich snail breeder from Boise, Idaho. His name was George Smith-Smythee. He had lived a very adventurous life when he was young. However, after he had become the last man to visit Staten Island, he gave in to his celibate tendencies.

At that moment, his wife had already given birth to five very well endowed sons. These were born in such rapid succession that there was a lot of confusion regarding the birth order. Especially with the eldest three, the mix up was complete.

Alas, Mrs Smith-Smythee was not given any time to enjoy her celibate married life, as she died immediately after her husband put a knot in his organ.

Her death made an enormous impact on the family. So much so, that they couldn’t even remember how she had died.

Was it because she gave birth to a daughter? And was she so frightened by that happening that she went to the great Pie Iron in the sky? On the other hand, was it something as simple as her plane crashing in an avalanche? Nobody knew, but her sons were never the same after that. However, they were still very well endowed.

Technically speaking the sons were all still virgins. Very well endowed ones. That was because they were only dated by deaf-mute quadriplegics who didn't know one end of a man from the other. And who wouldn't know what to do with it if they, the deaf-mute quadriplegics, did.

Hannibal Smith-Smythee was considered, most of the time, the eldest son. He had joined the Peace Corps and, at a relatively young age, had risen high in their ranks. He was also a very gifted roller skater. One of the best in the world, in fact. A decisive, quick thinker, he was nevertheless known for letting his sentences trail off, as if he had forgotten what he had started to say. And he was a very sloppy eater, always getting himself covered in food products.

Tiberius Smith-Smythee, the second eldest middle son was one who didn't mince his words. He didn't say much at all. He was happiest when he could indulge in his passion: making models of the world's Heritage Buildings from burned matches. Furthermore, he was always willing to help his brothers with their chores by being around with the big green wheelbarrow that was his joy and pride.

Rumour had it that those two had a very close, very special relationship. That raised a lot of eyebrows, but everybody fell over their feet in assuring the rest of the world that they, the “every bodies” were broadminded grown-ups and that they had no problem with it. The truth behind this rumour was only known to a select few, who discussed it in dark corners so that it would remain a secret. And that was a good thing because it was nobody’s business, after all.

Augustus Smith-Smythee, the eldest, middle, second eldest son, suffered from multiple personality disorder. He was very much interested in coal. He had discovered at least three varieties. And had written a book about it that was on the bestseller list for a long time. As he spent most of his time exploring new coalmines, there was not much known about him. Except that he was thought to be the spitting image of the lover of the wife of someone.

The fourth son, Joseph Smith-Smythee, was bitten by a mad dog as a child and was since that day an aqua phobic with the sense of humour of a kiwi. He spent a lot of time lying under his bed hiding from a very besotted creature, who insisted on, because her nose became regularly covered with chocolate, him licking that part of her body clean. Which reminded him of that mad dog and made him cry, because that reminded him that water made him afraid.

Adolph Smith-Smythee, the youngest son. Wise beyond his years he suffered a blow on the head while baby crocodile hunting. That resulted in a permanent aphasia and since then he spoke only gibberish. That made it very difficult for him to have healthy relationships with members of the opposite sex. Or of the same sex for that matter.

The last family member was George Smith-Smythee's aunt, Great-aunt Smith-Smythee. The poor old soul was a basket case since the day she tried to bake an apple pie, but discovered that there were only pears in the house. George Smith-Smythee found her muttering about fuses and nice strawberry flavours and those were the last coherent things she would ever utter.

George Smith-Smythee also had a very good friend, Quack, a timid little Taiwanese origami designer, who didn't know a thing about himself. Except that he sneezed a lot and that he had a daughter, Can-Can. Can-Can Quack was a drooling little trollop, who had been to a very expensive typing course. She was now filling her days with ogling over most of the very well endowed Smith-Smythee brothers, buying wildly extravagant sunglasses and going out with her admirers. Therefore, George Smith-Smythee had to write his own letters.

Now, George Smith-Smythee had amassed his riches by selling his snails to France. On one of his business trips, he met a young man, Socrates Knickerbockers. Also known as Spleen. Spleen was the owner of a little do-it-yourself shop, and he could handle his wenches. He also sold and rented a lot of great equipment and that gave George Smith-Smythee a very good idea.

For he had surfed the Internet once and had discovered that a third-rate actor was throwing away a lot of money by thinking that he, the third-rate actor, could make a movie about a man with five sons. And that a lot of Internet sites discussed either that movie or that family.

As far as George Smith-Smythee, the very rich snail breeder from Boise, Idaho, was concerned, the only good publicity was a lot of publicity. Therefore, he wanted to create a forum on which people could discuss him and his five very well endowed sons. And his Great-aunt and even the Quack family.

However, he and his very well endowed sons had their hands full with other things, so George Smith-Smythee asked Socrates Knickerbockers, also known as Spleen, to build that forum for them.

Therefore, Spleen came, with all his wenches, to live with them on Smith-Smythee Island in the Smith-Smythee Villa. And constructed the forum, which in time became known as the Tree house Ranters.

But…

Quack, who didn't know a thing about himself except that he sneezed a lot and that he had a daughter, had something else, too. He had a half nephew. That half nephew wasn’t very knowledgeable about himself either. However, as he had a full mop of hair, he called himself the Wig.

The Wig was a social security worker with a Mission. He believed. He believed in getting the whole world population irritated. Preferably, when they, the whole world population, were discussing their favourite hobbies, sex and eating and sex. The Wig then barged in with the Holy Wet Blanket, thus getting the whole world population pissed off. And then the Wig would start raving about something completely off-topic, like kitchen utensils for instance.

Therefore, George Smith-Smythee started to think of a failsafe to prevent such things to happen. And while he was visiting London, trying to get them to eat more snails ‘n’ chips, he met in the coffee corner of Marks & Spencer, Lady Tamara Ravensworth-Fernymarsh, a rich socialite, who had fallen on hard times and worked there as a waitress.

She immediately recognized him for the rich snail breeder from Boise, Idaho, that he was and served him his preferred weak tea. He was instantly captivated by her chauffeur, Noisy Valet, a former dustman from Blackpool, who was extremely well endowed.

That would’ve raised a few eyebrows in the dark corners too, if those persons there had enough imagination to come up with such an idea. However, they had not.

Anyway, Lady Tamara Ravensworth-Fernymarsh and Noisy Valet agreed, in exchange for a never-ending supply of teaspoons, to keep an eye on the Wig. And they also promised George Smith-Smythee that they would rid the earth of all besotted creatures and other pests, which were soiling the beaches of Smith-Smythee Island.

And so, the Smith-Smythees, the Quacks, Spleen, Spleen’s wenches, Lady Tamara Ravensworth-Fernymarsh and Noisy Valet lived their full and very well endowed lives. And the Tree house Ranters were free to discuss their favourite hobbies, sex and eating and sex.