Vote 08: The Portsmouth Council Elections

[Bluenose]

Wotevver 'e offers we double it!  Plus an extra share in the spoils wen we sell it all!

SOPP, you favourite bunch of vagrants...

[Griffin NoName]

Portsmouth Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargus

Mayoral Elections Super Scares


Two serious cases of vote rigging has been uncovered by the electoral commission.

It would appear that some parties (names witheld) are offering unspecified (details witheld) rewards for votes. Unable to get to the bottom of this, the electoral commission intends to apply a rarely used vote-standarisation formula - known as The Winksworth Adjustment - to the votes cast.

The second scam is thought to involve floating voters. Vessels have been puting into Portsmouth Harbour in unprecedated numbers. Where these ships have come from is a mystery but the likelihood of polling booths being swamped is now becoming a certainty. Over-voting, as it is known, is a threat to a fair outcome and has to be taken seriously.

[Bluenose]

Overheard in a dark corner at the back of Admiral Benbow...

Voice 1:  'Ere, dyer see wot it sez 'ere?  Th' 'lectrical comisshun reckon we bin out offerin 'un-spec-if-ied' rewards fer votes!

Voice 2: The blaggards!  We bin out there buyin votes fair and square - one bottle o' Captain's Delight per vote and a share in the proceeds wen we sells up Portsmouth.  Nuffin fairer than that, eh?

Voice 1: Yer, an' it reckons we bin bringin in ship loads o strangers ter rig the votin.

Voice 2: Cor, why didunt we fink o' that? Oi better go an talk ter Smarmey and Bluenose an see iffen we can get in a few shiploads ourselfs.  Seeyer...

Voice 1:  Yer, seeya.

[Griffin NoName]

Portsmouth Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargus

Harbour Scandal

Portsmouth Harbour is full !!

In a desperate attempt the council has been clamping suspicious vessels and demanding 5000 Cronan for release prior to being towed out into deep water if the fee is not paid within 2 hours.

Other news.

Doubts have surfaced about the electoral commision's Winksworth-Adjustment formula. Protestors have been complaining that a nod's as good as a wink.

[Aphos]

Portsmouth Pirate News
All the News that's Unfit to Print

Where They Comin' From?

Hun'erts of bilge rats 'ave been reported being seen in the street o' Portsmouth.  No one has been able to identifies where these rats came from or 'oo they be.  On several occasions, tho, they has been o'erheard chantin' "No More Cats".

[Black Bart]

Arrrrrr...has yer seen that film Nosferatu?...That Cronan feller be followed about by hundreds o rats the legend has it.

[Black Bart]

Cronan's rats...

Arrrgh...I think there be a resemblance:

[Aphos]

Portsmouth Pirate News
All the News that's Unfit to Print

ARE VAMPIRES STALKING PORTSMOUTH?

[pieces o nine]

Portsmouth Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargus

DREADFUL SHIPWRECK!

The Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargus regrets to inform its readers that thee recent freake storm has wrought thee wreckage of thee good shippe Demeter. A sole, frail survivor was pulled from thee wreckage and taken to nearby Sanitarium. Dr. Johnathan Seward declined to reveal thee identity of thee unfortunate man, his condition, or any prognosis for his recovery. An unidentified source close to thee Sanitarium confirmed that a telegraph has been sent for a specialist colleague of Dr. Seward's to travel to Portsmouth to consult.

Thee Porstmouth Constabulary and Dock Authority have undertaken recovery measures of thee Wrecke of thee Demeter before notifying her London underwriters. They will neither confirm nor deny that fifty bound boxes of soil samples were discovered, largely intact, amongst thee flotsam and jetsam. Any citizens found plundering thee wrecke independently assisting with thee recovery efforts will be clamped in gaol.

Meanwhile, Mayor Keith Liversausage is encouraging all Portsmouth citizens to "Remain calm, avoid rumor-mongering and baseless speculation, and register to vote in an orderly fashion to ensure a smooth and above-board election."

[Black Bart]

My god...this is all beginning to make sense...the wreck of the ship...I'm getting a flash back to the Long Winded Tales of yore:

Castle Cronan - a Gothic Tale of Terror

I am a young lawyer, though looking at me you would perhaps believe me to be much older.  The tale I am about to tell you is one of unimaginable terror and is not for the faint hearted.

One day as I sat at my desk in Portsmouth, a missive arrived by the post from London, which at once attracted my ernest attention.   As I opened the thick vellum envelope and removed it's contents, my nostrils were at once assailed by an odour of death and decay, as if the stench came from the bowels of a tomb (curiously after I'd removed the remnants of what appeared to be a gristle sandwich from the envelope the smell evaporated).

In the letter I was instructed to offer my services to one 'Captain Cronan' and when I looked at the advance payment therein, I made up my mind to act upon the letter's instructions at once.   Without further ado I made my preparations and that very night found me on a tall ship bound for the Eastern Mediterranean.

I journeyed ever Eastward, by ship to the eastern shores of the Adriatic and then onward by coach into the dark and mysterious land of the Cronanian Mountains.  In the foothills of the mountains we stopped at an Inn for the night.  The food, though not to our fine Portsmouth standards and heavily seasoned with Paprika, was palatable enough and the wine was quite drinkable.  As I made ready to retire to my room the young, buxom, peasant girl who had been serving my table, made inquiry as to where I was journeying in this land.  In response I said I was bound for the residence of one 'Captain Cronan'...as the words left my mouth, the whole Inn fell silent at once and the peasant girl gasped and fell into a dead swoon!

"Do not mention that name within these walls" said the Landlord, "you will bring a curse upon our heads! ...I advise you not to continue with your journey Englishman...go back to Portsmouth if you value your life!"

As I don't speak a word of Cronanian, however, I went to bed wondering what all the fuss was about and next morning set off for Castle Cronan in good spirits.

As we approached the grim edifice of the castle by a mountain pass,however, my spirits soon dampened.  Wolves howled and dark winged creatures screeched in the mist.  Any other traffic seemed to be heading very quickly away from the castle.  A horse and cart, with the words 'Laphroaig bulk shipment'  on it's side, rattled by driven by a dark, hooded figure,   Suddenly my driver pulled up his horses...he would take me no further.   As the coach disappeared into the mist I stood alone, clutching my luggage and staring up at Castle Cronan.

With an odd feeling of foreboding I approached the great gothic doors of the castle, I rapped on the door with a huge knocker, curiously shaped like a bottle of Leffe Brune.  After what seemed like about as much time as it takes to get served in the Admiral Benbow,  the door slowly creeked open.   A tremendous urge came over me to flee that place and never to return.    But the doors opened wide and there stood Captain Cronan.  I cannot describe the Captain well as the thick mist which clung to the walls of his castle seemed to envelope the man aswell.  The general effect was one of extraordinary pallor.   

One strange thing I remember well.   As I stood outside in the cold I had drawn a hip flask full of whisky from my coat to sustain my spirits against the chill air.   When Cronan set eyes on the flask he shot out a bony hand, quicker than the blink of an eye, and drained the flask at one draft!

Although I had been engaged to help Captain Cronan procure the Estate of Earwax in Portsmouth, I was to be kept against my will in that castle for many weeks.   In that time I saw many strange things, forever surrounded by the odour of TCP and the howling of the wolves without.

I dined alone for I never saw Cronan eat.  One evening when I sat drinking some fine Moldovan wine,  Cronan approached and I offered him a glass..."No, thankyou" said the captain, "I only drink...Barley Wine".  What manner of man, or indeed creature, was Cronan.   One day I ventured into the very bowels of the castle.   In these dark, dank depths I found mounds of rotting paper fragments. The deepest of these paper slips had decayed into a pulp but the top most appeared fresher and strange words could be percieved on their surfaces: a number and always the word 'foode'.   Imagine my terror when out of this mound of decay rose the figure of Cronan hinself!   

Dear reader you can also imagine my horror when I learned that Cronan was about to take ship to my beloved England.  What destruction would he wreak in it's sleepy towns and hamlets,  what terror would he unleash on England's fair and unsuspecting people?
I lay awake at night, tossing (the thought of the buxom barmaid tormented my innocent mind), and fearing the worst if Cronan was to be unleashed on the British public.

I needn't have worried...the ship only got half way accross the Med before it sunk!

[Griffin NoName]

Thirty lashes with the barbed wire whip for Black Bart for posting such an abomnable Long Indegestible Tale and thrity more for it being in the wrong thread.

call the Evil Auntie...

[Black Bart]

Ye be a harsh one Cap'n Griff...it aint in the wrong thread it were replyin ta Pieces of Eight's fine evocashun of a certain vampire tale.

I loik vampire movies so go an pore yerself a grog an sit down an read...

Otherwise I'll write ye anuvver one!

And never find yerself in...The Cronanian Mountains at night.

[Bluenose]

In a dark corner at the Admiral Benbow.

Voice 1: Oi sees they got The Purchaser locked up in the Sanitarium.

Voice 2: Yer, Oi were a bit worried meself wen Oi aheared 'is ship be wrecked.  D'yer think 'is treasure be sekyure?

Voice 1:  Well Oi doubts that idiot Liversausage kuld organise a decent rekuvry operashun, we better get th' boys togetha tonight and go down there and get the loot fer safekeeping loike.

Voice 2: Goode ideer.  Also, Oi'l  talk too the Pyrate Scouts and arrange for them to bust The Purchaser out, Oi aheard the stillmaster say there were a room under the main storeroom at the stillery where 'e culd be kept out o' harms way loike until after th' eleckshun.

Voice 1:  Looks loike we got a plan then, let's doo it!

[Griffin NoName]

Ye be a harsh one Cap'n Griff...it aint in the wrong thread it were replyin ta Pieces of Eight's fine evocashun of a certain vampire tale.

Oi gotter urn me keep as an Admin. Ye shuld ov evocashunned in Long Winded Tales and well ye knows it.

Sheer wikkedness.

If ye don't keel over an' happologise Oi'll set yer feet in concrete.

Meanwhile.... back ter the helecshiuns........

SCABS SCABS SCABS All fer SCABS an' SCABS fer ALL


Now that be a nice short catchy slogan.....mumble....mutter...mumble

[pieces o nine]

Ye be a harsh one Cap'n Griff...it aint in the wrong thread it were replyin ta Pieces of Eight's fine evocashun of a certain vampire tale.
...

Oo the 'ell be 'Pieces of Eight'?

Cronan's Curlers! Ave oi not made henuff ov an himpreshun for ye blaggarrrds ter get me name roight?

:: sulks in her meade cups ::