This is the Akimbo

Praise Cheeses! The sacrificial lamb has been fattened, the High Priests and Priestesses of Technobabble have ordained the Second Coming of Akimbo. The red carpet has been brought out of mothball storage and sent to the dry cleaners. There will be much rejoicing, and shipping services have hired on extra drivers in anticipation of a banner month of profitable deliveries!
 
I still haven't heard from; Dennis Luman, Eron Thiele, Cory Bailey, and Tim Trumble.

if anyone here knows one of these guys please tell them to get in touch with me!
 
I am shocked at the brazen dishonesty I see above! The truth is that all four of those guys are living in my basement and are working permanently for me now, pruning my thousand year old Bonsai Japanese Maple I keep down there which was a gift to me from the Dali Llama on the occasion of my rescuing his cat from the top of that same tree. I am afraid they don't have internet themselves there so they ask that I PM my address to you.
 
Well, I do hope you are not skeptical? OK, so it was a rather small cat. But in all my treks across the Hindu Kush, I never failed to carry tweezers and a pocket magnifier. An old trick we all learned very quickly during my years seconded to the Royal Navy of Nepal as a submarine captain. It was during that time, incidentally, that I first met Dennis, Eron, Cory, and Tim. They had been employed by the Nepalese Royal Family to remove a huge grove of Persian Quince trees which had sprung up blocking the half mile path to the Royal latrines. In a drunken state one Saturday night, they had foolishly crept across the border into India and attempted unsuccessfully to steal a priceless relic in the possession of a mountain warlord, a very early solid-gold and jewel-encrusted BOLA made by Surveyor when he was still an infant. Over tea at the palace one evening soon after, the King had discretely insinuated to me that if I could covertly affect the rescue of my hapless countrymen, it would likely prevent a serious international incident. How could I refuse? I immediately requisitioned U17 out of the reserve fleet and called up her crew. Now, the op turned out quite a tricky affair. Nepal's fleet were all old diesel boats, given to them by the British after the end of the First War, and I had already found they simply did not perform very well at high altitudes. My chief engineer, Vishnavivi “Scotty “ Janasjusava O’Brien Jr., explained to me that the higher one ascends in the Himalayas, the more ill humours displace the combustable ones and the engines lose power, especially when firing on the fry oil from the palace kitchens which constituted our principal source of fuel. The fault was once temporarily remedied by the crews with the sacrifice of a blind white dwarf mountain slug to any one of several gods, but unfortunately those particular creatures became extinct rather quickly following the initial deployments of the submarines. Ultimately, my crew and I had to scale the heights to the warlord’s hideout largely on foot. Suffice it to say that, after the fire fight and harried rappel back down, all four chaps were eternally grateful, as was the King, and we have all been fast friends ever since. They say hello to all of you, by the way. I can’t let them out of the basement at the moment - it is their nap time.
 
Burrapeg said:
Well, I do hope you are not skeptical? OK, so it was a rather small cat. But in all my treks across the Hindu Kush, I never failed to carry tweezers and a pocket magnifier. An old trick we all learned very quickly during my years seconded to the Royal Navy of Nepal as a submarine captain. It was during that time, incidentally, that I first met Dennis, Eron, Cory, and Tim. They had been employed by the Nepalese Royal Family to remove a huge grove of Persian Quince trees which had sprung up blocking the half mile path to the Royal latrines. In a drunken state one Saturday night, they had foolishly crept across the border into India and attempted unsuccessfully to steal a priceless relic in the possession of a mountain warlord, a very early solid-gold and jewel-encrusted BOLA made by Surveyor when he was still an infant. Over tea at the palace one evening soon after, the King had discretely insinuated to me that if I could covertly affect the rescue of my hapless countrymen, it would likely prevent a serious international incident. How could I refuse? I immediately requisitioned U17 out of the reserve fleet and called up her crew. Now, the op turned out quite a tricky affair. Nepal's fleet were all old diesel boats, given to them by the British after the end of the First War, and I had already found they simply did not perform very well at high altitudes. My chief engineer, Vishnavivi “Scotty “ Janasjusava O’Brien Jr., explained to me that the higher one ascends in the Himalayas, the more ill humours displace the combustable ones and the engines lose power, especially when firing on the fry oil from the palace kitchens which constituted our principal source of fuel. The fault was once temporarily remedied by the crews with the sacrifice of a blind white dwarf mountain slug to any one of several gods, but unfortunately those particular creatures became extinct rather quickly following the initial deployments of the submarines. Ultimately, my crew and I had to scale the heights to the warlord’s hideout largely on foot. Suffice it to say that, after the fire fight and harried rappel back down, all four chaps were eternally grateful, as was the King, and we have all been fast friends ever since. They say hello to all of you, by the way. I can’t let them out of the basement at the moment - it is their nap time.
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Anyone who can pilot a diesel submarine on SVO through the Himalayas deserves an Akimbo.
 
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