Fantasy, Humour, Short Fiction

Rock and Roll Lamb School 666 by Leila Allison

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-1-

Obnoxious is What Obnoxious Does appears to be the student motto at The Lamb School of Saragun Springs. A superior percentage of the juvenile Ewes and Rams at Lamb School are spoiled, mouthy brats who show no appreciation for their homeland. You can tell them that if they were born anywhere else but Saragun Springs, they would neither talk nor think beyond the undemanding standards nature has set for Sheep, and they will laugh at you. And dare toss the prospect of New Zealand at them, they merely fake a yawn and launch into a new groundless complaint to counter your empty threat.

Yes, Saragun Springs’ Lambs know the score. Yet being the Head Honcho of the realm requires that I give them some sort of education because the literacy level in the Springs is alarmingly low. Their parents were born on Earth, and due to an accidental opening in an interdimensional vortex, several thousand Black-face Scottish Sheep came over and took up residence in the Springs. They remain natural Sheep; you see them everywhere and they serve to keep the lawns mowed. But their offspring, having been born in a magical realm, are Talking Sheep; and it doesn’t take them long to discover that dear old Mom and Dad refuse to depart from old world ways and speak only Sheepish. From their domestic example, the Lambs figure that everyone older than they are must be fools as well. Hence the attitude.

As the alleged leader of Saragun Springs (which makes me the head dunce in the eyes of the Lambs), I founded the Lamb School and delegated the task of running it to my Imaginary Friend and second in command, Renfield. We installed Penrose the Flying Weasel as Principal and gave Pie Eyed Peety the PDQ Pilsner Pigeon the title of “Coach,” and he has an Assistant Coach, named Tallywhacker Wallow, who is a Talking Berkshire Hog–whose wife, Taffypuller, is the school’s Head Dietitian (or “Munch Lady” as the villains call her). The other members of the faculty are pointless to name because they usually quit after an hour or so. But it is important to mention the shadowy “Director of Special Re-Education”–aka “The Storytime Lady”–Dame Daisy Kloverleaf, whom the Lambs fear and respect, which is another in a long list of remarkable accomplishments for a Pygmy Goat who began as a mere supporting character in the realm and has risen to the title of Head FC (Fictional Character*).

(*The one thing we all have in common at Saragun Springs, even the alien Scottish Sheep, is the status of Fictional Character–call us a species, if you must. Our lives are stories that we actively produce, thus, in the literal sense, our world is a stage and we are the actors on it. But we have Free Will, so there really is no fate, even when I, the Chief Pen, try to sneak it in).

Daisy had accomplished, for a short time, to get the creeps to behave via her psychological theory called Educational Child Abuse (ECA). It was a revamping of an old idea, in this case the “Bogey-Lamb.” Via trickery, the The Story Lady convinced the monsters that there was a thirty foot tall Bogey-Sheep in the realm in the guise of an Allosaurus, who lived to devour “Lamb McNuggets.” This was substantiated when Daisy played a clip for the Lambs from Jurassic Park in the Lamb School Library, that showed what happens to herd animals when there are Dinosaurs afoot.

Sadly, the Bogey-Lamb’s usefulness went to hell when the FC playing the role, Juan Gee (an actual Allosaur, but shrunk to five-three to fit in the realm) was seen mincing about in a field, sporting a red dress similar to what Kate Bush wore in the out-of-doors version of Wuthering Heights. Some of the Lambs heard about that and the fuckers hacked my computer and learned that Juan was not only a bit of a “New Age Sissy” but also a vegan and a member of the SPCA. The less than amiable behavior resumed right away–especially so after Daisy went on her yearly vacation. Moreover, Superintendent Renfield discovered the awesome majesty of the Tequila Sunrise and has not drawn a sober breath since. And Principal Penrose, the Flying Weasel, has become remarkably adept at hiding in the Enchanted Wood. Even Coach Peety has become somewhat elusive, although since he only quotes sob coms and action films from the 70’s and 80’s when he speaks, it is often for the best when he is not around to encourage the students by example.

It was yet another ugsome situation. Out of control, bouncing off the guardrails and as likely as Mel Gibson spinning a dreidel; students getting away with saying stuff like “Tough titty wee man, you’re fucked” no matter the gender, to the faculty. Fortunately (in the stretchiest concept of the word), there were still two members of the faculty I could count on.

-2-

“Hello friend Tallywhacker. My, my you’re looking as porcine pretty as ever, Taffypuller,” I said to the couple as they entered my office, one at a time, both just squeezing through the doorway.

Berkshires can get pretty meaty. And the Wallows’ combined weight is somewhere near a ton and a half. The floorboards creaked uneasily.

Although they bear a remarkable physical resemblance, that occasionally is seen in long term couples, Tally and Taffy have decidedly different personalities. Tally is of the Tell You How to Build a Clock School of answering simple questions, punctuated with his odd catchphrase/verbal tic “By waddle.” Mrs. Wallow is terse. This works out because she injects a summary of her husband’s windier remarks that is to the point.

“I would like you to give me your thoughts on how we might maintain discipline at Lamb School,” I said, fully expecting a bizarre reply from the Mister and something perhaps useful from the Missus.

“By waddle,” Tally said. “I believe that there is no such thing as a bad Lamb…”

“Long as you serve them with mint jelly,” added Taffy.

“I see,” I said, standing thus rising to my full magnificence of 5’-1” courtesy of a pair of particularly vertical enhancing Sketchers, or “Stretchers,” as wits call them). I long ago came to the perhaps specious belief that standing with my back to the audience while gazing out the window gives me a sense of gravitas. Which is exactly what I did. And out the window I saw a little gang of Lambs stealing the wheels off one of the shopping carts that sometimes roll into the realm for reasons unknown.

“But I have an idea, by waddle,” Tally said. “Other than waiting for Dame Daisy to return from following the latest Nickelback tour (yes, we all have our dirty secrets, and Nickelback is the Goatesses’), there is one other person in the realm who the Lambs respect…”

“That’s whom–he means the Witch,” Taffy said.

I sighed and lit a cigarette. “I’ve been avoiding that ‘whom’ because dealing with her is a bit pricey. But I guess that expecting a Public Lamb School to thrive is the same as standing at the quay waiting on the Andrea Dora–Thank you for your input, consider two wheelbarrows full of apples as a sign of my appreciation.”

As the Waddles squeezed out of the room, the crystal ball on my desk flashed red.

“I knew you were listening,” I said.

“Eavesdropping? Not I, darling, consider this a coincidence–have you gotten taller?” said the Great and Powerful Wiccan HeXopatha, our resident Witch and ugsome situation profiteer. We often converse over the crystal ball. Sometimes I’ll see a slight purple glow in it and I figure that I am being watched. HeXy had all kinds of watchful minions and I’ll often see a Black Cat or an Ebon Owl perched outside my window. Principle Penrose is one of her minions; but the androgynous one’s recent absences had probably slowed the flow of information on the doings at Lamb School.

“Keep on smiling, keep up the short cracks,” I said. “Anyway, I need to know how to fix the Lamb …”

This was when the “Anita Knows” function, our version of an annoying, unwanted virtual assistant spoke up, as she (a Ghost who thinks it is a funny thing to do) does whenever you slip up and say “I need to know.”

“Seek HeXopatha the Great and Powerful,” said Anita, whose voice comes out of any tech device, such as a crystal ball, and whose tone is an abrasive mix of Carol Channing and the rusty cluck of an off-key Grackle.

I usually threaten Anita with violence, but since it was my fault I let it go.

“Let’s be like Mrs. Wallow and get to the point HeXy–how much?” The realm has placed a claim on the extremely metal rich asteroid 16 Psyche. It makes us all virtual future zillionaires (share and share alike in the Springs), or so that is the fantasy we cling to. Whenever I want HeXy’s help, or need to kn–um, ask her something, I lose another stack of my make believe wealth.

“No shares this time, but I want to run the institution as I see fit. This will result in better behaved Lambs for you and I will reap the benefit of the ones who might be fine future minions; I see many of those in their numbers.”

“Plus you’re tired of being upstaged by a Pygmy Goat,” I said with a laugh as I poured myself a shot of applejack. I gazed into the amber liquid, amazed that only a few ounces of it would improve my disposition, and even make me forget that there was a My Little Pony character of the same name. I swallowed and discovered that a trace of my humanity was still intact. “Not gonna be mean to them are you? Can’t let you do that. I know they are little shitheads, but, well, they are our little shitheads.”

“Actually, enforcing old fashioned education practices is causing unintentional harm. Only the little showoff Goat understands. ”

“Well, all right,” I said, pouring a second blast, “but let’s see what a month of your administration looks like; if there’s any improvement, or at least no further harm, they’re all yours.”

“Agreed.”

-3-

Renfield glady quit her superintendent gig and resumed her second in command post. “Never wearing wool again–polyester and rayon don’t not leave burning bags of Sheepshit on your step.” Renny and HeXy do not like each other and this was a rare act of something like cooperation on their parts.

Ever with an eye on a profit herself, Daisy “sold” her ECA-Story Lady concepts to HeXopatha for a hefty sum (of what was probably, at one time, my money). Tally, Taffy and of course HeXy’s inside he/she Penrose stayed on. Peety took on the role as a consultant, for his unlimited knowledge of Animal House like films was a great resource.

And I must admit that the renamed “Lamb School 666” has been successful. Think of it as a Rock and Roll Elementary School not unlike those in films. Every morning a Tritone Gong Sounds C, G, F# (aka, “the Devil’s triad” for non Sabbath fans) and the Lambs head to class.

A form of “school prayer” has been instituted, as in black candles lit in honor of the Dark Mistress. But no true evil goes on at the school. Mainly it is suburban evil, like suburban punk it is no danger to anything save for good taste.

The curriculum involves tattoo artistry, air guitar pinwheeling, piercing, beginning magic for herbivores, Lamb wool styling, how to successfully live in your parent’s basement well into your thirties and roadie training. Music is everywhere and the billigits*, a boy band in anti-recovery, thanks to the ways of suburb evil, are the musical directors. Coach Tallywhacker encourages the Online Gaming Team, by waddle, and Taffy specializes in the two food groups: Nachos and Pizza (although herbivores, the Lambs like the unnatural substance known as “cheese-food”) Deviously, though somewhat out of character, HeXopatha has made learning how to read and write and to do basic math necessary skills for the loafer’s life.

(*if you do not know what or who the billigits are, that’s all right–neither does 99.99999999 percent of humankind.)

Improvement, albeit slight, in the pupils’ attitudes became apparent as I strolled the grounds after giving HeXopatha the deed to the Lamb School. A little Ewe approached me. She was dyed green and sporting an Anthrax scarf, like a football supporter (Anthrax is a very popular band amongst Sheep).

“Hey, Miz Lay-yuh,” the Ewe said–”ya’ know, with all this you ain’t as fecking stoopid as we thought.” She ran off before I could retort.

“Fucking millen-ewe-al gyro-trash,” I grumbled under my breath as I removed a flask of applejack from my pocket in search of my own attitude adjustment.

Leila Allison

Header image by Patricia Jacinto Pixabay

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Published by ireneallison12

21 thoughts on “Rock and Roll Lamb School 666 by Leila Allison”

  1. I love the header but behind those innocent little lambkin faces there lurks – well not innocence – suburban evil is one word for it. I worry about collapsing souffles, flat Victoria sponges and worst of all a soggy bottom – on a pie that is. Thanks for this – I always enjoy a visit to the realm. dd

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  3. Leila, great to read that Lamb School behaviour is on the upturn. Just a word to the wise: Beware of Blue Tongue. ‘Blue Tongue,’ is not a harmless Alice Cooper tribute band, but a nasty virus that is attacking flocks in Europe and the UK. So best to put a hold on any plans to fly in Nicola Sturgeon to give the lambs Scottish Heritage lessons. Mick

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  4. Another fascinating visit to the realm. Some keen and witty observations of rebellion and cultural identity. So many lines to savor: 
    —Our lives are stories that we actively produce.
    — Nosuch thing as a bad Lamb… Long as you serve them with mint jelly, (Yikes)
    — Carol Channing and the rusty cluck of an off-key Grackle. 
    I wonder if Daisy speaks sheepish sheepishly?
    Good fun. Now I’m off to work on tax returns. Not fun at all.

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  5. Hola L.A. and Irene!
    No one else I know can write so successfully in what I have so far deduced (in Sherlockian literary analysis style after a close and repeated examination of the data, plus loads of imagination and intuition backed up by 58 years of human and earthly experience so far) to be what can be broken down into FOUR different modes.
    Labeling things isn’t good, but sometimes it isn’t bad…So these are the four modes I can discern within your corpus, which is like a contemporary Arabian Nights: a vast, sprawling novel, each chapter of which = its own self-contained tale, fable, or story.
    ONE. Realism / Realistic (sometimes mythic). See The Endless Now or Mannish or Norah, etc.
    TWO. Fantasy. See today and Saragun Springs, etc.
    THREE. Realistic Fantasy or Fantastic Realism. See the Ghost Stories, starting with Footfallfollowers and The Judge, etc.
    FOUR. Light verse, or “children’s verse” for adults (Thurberesque and Lewis Carrollian). See the rubaiyats of the billigits and other places within the tales themselves.
    So, what say you? Do this make sense, do you have four modes, or more? etc.
    Thanks for answering! More soon…
    dwb

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      2. Hi Dale
        I gave your fine observations considerable thought. I think the answer lies in a three levels of conciousness dynamic.
        Level One is a dream world rich with humor, wit and magic. People dream of such places. The concept of somebody shooting people at work does not exist.
        Level two is hope world in which evil one dimensional types shoot up the work place, but darn it, we can pull together and Make it Better! A surprising amount of people live there. Nearly all the stupid ones.
        Level three is How Things Are. People bring guns, though rare, it happens and there is no explanation for it. The sense of order we want does not exist. It cannot be controlled.
        Those levels create whatever universes I might see.
        Thank you!
        Leila

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      3. Dear Leila
        Your answer makes me think of one of my favorite quotes by Nietzsche: “These earnest ones may be informed of my conviction that art is the highest task and the proper metaphysical activity of this life…”
        Also a line from Wallace Stevens in the “Final Soliloquy of the Interior Paramour”: “How high that highest candle lights the dark.”
        You gave a brilliant answer, which adds up to nothing short of a theory of mind in a handful of indelible words. And I mean that truly.
        I bet it would be fun to do an 8,000-word interview with you!
        Norman Mailer’s best book is called Advertisements for Myself…filled with nonsense and flashes of genius!
        Thank you!
        Dale

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    2. Hi Dale

      I find if I go back to the top I can add multiple replies (but as with all WP that is hit and miss).

      Thank you for your great observations, especially on SK, including those I read in Christopher’s story.

      Leila

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  6. Leila

    The floating footnote paragraphs were a nice innovation, as was the lovely Bogey-Lamb, the word “ugsome,” and the closed parenthesis in the middle without an opening left parenthesis — implying the first half of the story never began. I was kept constantly alert, which is good for me. The whole story was good for me.

    Also good for me, coming from NYC as I do and having zero lambish experience, was the sheep knowledge provided. Thanks — Gerry

    (* Although I’ll likely never need it. )

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  7. Leila
    Just want to briefly draw out the Kate Bush reference/image and say that the three short films (videos) of/for “Wuthering Heights” which Kate made are, artistically, as great as the novel itself.
    The three versions are sometimes called Version 1, Version 2 and Version 3, more specifically: the White Dress version, the Red Dress Version, and the Black Dress version. When put together with live concert footage of the song, even more earth-shatteringly great.
    This artist need produce nothing else ever for the rest of her life and her name will still go down in musical history. As great as anything Bob Dylan himself ever managed to put together.
    This artist has also toured exactly TWO times. With 35 years plus between. While remaining an artist the entire time. “Fame,” as it’s known in the pernicious mainstream world, means exactly less than nothing to her. She doesn’t need to constantly hog the spotlight like the El Presidente of the United States.
    It’s kind of like Marlon Brando appearing in Apocalypse Now for 10 minutes and stealing the entire movie. Or Vivien Leigh in her two timeless “southern belle” performances. (She smoked four packs a day on the set of Gone with the Wind, carrying her cigs in a secret pocket on her dress for easy access. Combine that with tons of daily red wine and never sleeping and you suffocate of tuberculosis at 53 on the way to the bathroom…but it happens fast.)
    In the Wuthering Heights short films (videos) every single thing means many profound things, and yet it’s also as beautiful and entertaining, humorous and utterly haunting, as a tale by Rumi, whose best friend and soul mate he spent his whole life looking for stepped out the back door one night and was never heard from again.
    Much Leila Allison work has an independent and-or art house cinema kind of quality in words which is entrancing, including “Rock and Roll Lamb School 666″…Also a musical prose style, often Dylanesque in its rambunctiousness and lyricism.
    D
    PS,
    Gary Oldman as Dracula, and Beethoven (Immortal Beloved), are two more timeless creations that will guarantee their maker an earthly afterlife (I say nothing about the heavenly one)…

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  8. Another brilliantly bizarre instalment in the ongoing epic that is life as lived in Saragun Springs – with yet more flavoursome names to add to its list of denizens: Tallywhacker Tallow, Coach Peety, Taffypuller . . . Wacky in that supersharp way of the best satirists; seriously funny. Read, chuckle, & think. Full of such nicely honed observations – e.g. how suburban evil is rather like “suburban punk” i.e. no danger to “anything save for good taste.” Tempting to sound the rent-a-blurb note & say something like It rocks & it rolls, but Leila, it does just that – & then some!
    Geraint

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    1. Hello Geraint
      Thank you for your comments. I find that the Halloween sort of evil is as far as most will go (thank goodness); and I remember the middle class kids aiming at the punk style when I was young. They were usually stomped to pieces by the hard core street punkers. Ah, life, the lessons we learn.
      Thanks again!
      Leila

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  9. Hi Leila,

    So sorry it’s been so long but I’ve been away this week, got drunk more times than I should have, had to go and see the delight that is my mother and sleep for a couple of hours in between. I think I’m catching up – Only eight more emails to send out and 22 stories to read!

    Awww fuck!!! Maybe I’m not that caught up…Also have nephews 40th today and Brother-In-Laws 70th next week and the fucking hellshitefuckpishgenitalscabfermentingafterbirth that is work to face!!

    Anyhooo – Let’s not get into my Utopia of happiness, here is my initial review and as always, I stand by my initial thoughts!!!!

    – First two sentences – Your lambs against over-privileged kids, that is a parallel!!
    – Again, you are a master, a grand master of the previous. (I wanted another word for ‘Back-story’)
    – HAH!! Sheepish is also a human condition that we all know…And hate…And are…And are not,,,And makes us want to kill,,,Or be killed!!
    – I’ve just read Pie Eye Peety!! Yeehaa!! You really need to give him a soliloquie (Fuck!! The corrective text only excepts that as plural???) of a story all to himself – Not that would be a bit good!!! 
    – I love reading these but what astounds me is how you continually hold these all together!
    – ‘Herd animals’, that was clever as you took the reader away from thinking ‘goat’
    – The word ‘mincing’ makes me laugh.
    – ‘Tough titty wee man, you’re fucked’ seems to resonate!!!!!
    – ‘I love ‘Rockstar’ and there is another belter, that at this moment I can’t mind!!’ HAH! There was a guy I worked with (Superb drummer) who said, ‘I like Canadian Bands as long as they don’t sound too Canadian’ I don’t mind that but in a way I can understand as I hate ‘The Proclaimers!!’
    – ‘Have you gotten taller?’ is as sarcastic / hurting as ‘Have you lost weight?’
    – Was it Carol Channing who had ‘Lamb-Chop’??? ((For anyone reading this – Leila corrected me regarding Shari Lewis)
    – Did I read a wee dig / nod to communism?? I don’t know!!! If it is the second, don’t take the realm back to the 1950’s…Or maybe you should!!!
    – ‘Suburban evil’ makes me think on those with great Post-Codes (Zip??) who don’t keep a nice lawn!
    – Sheep enjoying ‘Anthrax’…I can see that on a few levels!!!

    Using Sheep in these stories is clever. Everything I have read makes me think on herd mentality and that takes this to yet another level. 
    The depth you get in your work is jaw-dropping!!!

    All the very best.

    Hugh

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    1. Hello Hugh

      Thank you again, and thank you for the “wee man” Lamb curse.

      Since the beginning (Aesop and before) human goofyness, when applied to animals, shows how we really are.

      But, other than that, I just like the idea of mouthy Lambs. Might revisit them as teens!

      Leila

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  10. Absolute abundant and joyful madness and fun in this one as there always is in the tales of Saragun Springs, but I’ll try to say something different from my usual comments. What I am impressed by in this world is how you bring in pop culture in such an irreverent way (the Mel Gibson bit is genius) and how you have brought bureaucracy into this world which does such a great job of rightly giving the finger to our own real world bureaucracy.

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