connoisseurs
Senator
Are you the guy who has fallen for that?I could have saved a bundle taking Moore to Rome, New York and London, Ontario instead of the other places by those names
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BARB'S PARIS HOLIDAY
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Impeccable timing there, Conn!
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Form your posts, conn, one would believe that you have some experience with duplicitousness of the females of our species? They aren't all sweet young things? Some might be manipulative, conniving, mercenary, cruel, etc.? Please say no! Don't destroy my illusions!
connoisseurs
Senator
God no! That´s a utterly unfounded prejudgement! They are only playful, searching their boundaries. Once you have cleared a few simple rules, they are all the fun to have around!
Of course, you have to explain the rules in a way they understand.
Of course, you have to explain the rules in a way they understand.
But somehow I never seem to understand
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
There seems to be an Eifel Tower replica in every US town named Paris :My geographical knowledge of Arkansas did not extend to the fact that it has its own Paris...
...with its own Eiffel tower!
Paris, Michigan
Paris, Tennessee
Paris, TexasMore Trees, I presume? Some forest there in NW Arkansas!
You do not believe yourself that it's possible, right?
"You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you."
Enter Harrison Tree?
First complaining, then wonderening that you are charged for resisting arrest?
connoisseurs
Senator
I´m sure that not only myself but one or another member here is willing to help you to understand (of course nobody as good as me)But somehow I never seem to understand
I´m sure for the next few years you could have every day another one...
You mean there are four towns named Paris?
Why couldn't the Americans dream up their own names for places?
I bet they don't have anywhere called 'Great Snoring'!
connoisseurs
Senator
The Americans maybe not - but the English. East England to be precise.You mean there are four towns named Paris?
Why couldn't the Americans dream up their own names for places?
I bet they don't have anywhere called 'Great Snoring'!
windar
Teller of Tales
More than that https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paris_(disambiguation)You mean there are four towns named Paris?
The Native Americans did that. They didn't have any places called Paris.
You've never been in my bedroom, have you? No, of course you haven't
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
#2 is wonderful. At last! I can read my paper without her trying to tell me what to do today! "Died and Gone to Heaven!"God no! That´s a utterly unfounded prejudgement! They are only playful, searching their boundaries. Once you have cleared a few simple rules, they are all the fun to have around!
Dorothy Brown
Brown Sugar
Let me know if she is charging more than me
then i can put my prices up.
Oh I Forgot I Do It For Free
Chapter 3
I endured a long cold night, standing naked, arms-over-head, backed up against the Paris, Arkansas jailhouse wall. By the time they came to get me the next morning, my whole body ached from the strain ... and I was hungry too!
"Morning, Ms. Moore," chirped officer Hattie Tree as she reached over my head to release my wrists.
"Nothing good about it from my point of view," I grumbled as I tried to rub some circulation back into my wrists and hands.
"Cheer up, Sweetie. There's a gentleman waitin’ to see ya. And we've a nice cell for ya now where yer gentleman friend can come down and talk to ya. Says his name is Hanging Tree."
I was promptly shoved into an empty cell and told to wait.
After pacing restlessly back and forth behind bars for at least an hour, maybe more, my patience was wearing pretty thin. But Tree finally appeared, wearing his usual yellow hat, a lit Marlboro in his hand, and that all too familiar shit-eating grin.
"About time," I said irritably, stomping my foot for emphasis.
"Stop complaining, Barb. Came as quickly as I could."
"I hope you’ve been doing something to get me out of this mess!"
"Well, as it turns out ... that won't be easy. Apparently they're throwing the book at you."
"But I'm innocent. This is a total farce! What am I going to do?"
"Relax, Barb, your trial is set for 10 am and I'm going to represent you."
"Oh Shit! You? Can you even practice law here? You haven't taken the bar in Arkansas, have you?"
"I'm pretty sure I passed at least three or four on Main Street."
"Why do I have this sinking feeling?"
"That's nothing compared to what you'll be feeling if they hang you, Barb. But don't worry. I’m on your case. These people are all my distant relatives. They'll listen to me."
"Just be careful what you say, ok?"
"Time's up, Ms. Moore," barked Hattie Tree. "I'll be escorting ya upstairs for yer trial now."
Tree gave me a reassuring nod and stepped aside as Hattie unlocked my cell door.
"Can I have my clothing back?" I asked. "I can't appear before a judge naked like this!"
"Why bother," Hattie replied dismissively, adding as she took me firmly by the arm. "I reckon by early afternoon ya'll be hanging by yer scrawny li’l Yankee neck and dancing yer last dance out on the town square to everyone’s delight. Come now, the judge don’t like to be kept waiting."
She guided me past a bunch of empty cells and up a flight of stairs to the main floor, and then across the way to the courtroom, which was already crammed with townsfolk and members of the press.
My heart sank.The place was literally filled to capacity ... standing room only! And there at the front of the room behind counsel's desk, was none other than Tree! Hattie led me around the room and placed me on the docket directly behind Tree. How in the hell did he beat me up here, I wondered? And where did he get that ridiculous looking get up?
And what's with the pic of some poor naked gal being hanged on the wall behind me? This was beginning to almost seem like one of Tree's stories on CF. I pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming ... I wasn’t.
The crowd soon became restless and took to its feet, chanting, "Hang her, Hang her!" but were quickly silenced by the arrival of the judge, a scowling old balding man, with Martin Van Buren side chop whiskers. He looked like he was something out of the last century. He took his seat, banged his gavel, farted, removed a flask of whiskey from a drawer behind his desk and took a long swig. The nameplate on the desktop read: Judge Hannibal “Hang ‘em High” Tree.
"Order in the court, the Honorable Hannibal Tree presiding," announced the bailiff, whose name tag read: 'Hubert Tree'.
"First case," rasped the judge, wiping his chin with the back of his sleeve, lighting a cigar and settling back into his chair.
"Defendant is Barbara A. Moore, charged with speeding, driving a motor vehicle with expired plates, grand theft auto, and intended prostitution across state lines, your Honor. The police report is on your desk."
"And how does she plead?"
"Whazzat?," replied Tree, who appeared to be napping just a moment before.
"I'll take that as not guilty," snapped the judge. "Does defense have any witnesses who can refute any of these charges?"
"Yessir, defense calls Bull to the stand. He can attest to the defendant's good character."
Bull emerged from the crowd and swaggered forward to the witness stand.
"Do you swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but ...."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," interrupted Bull. “Let's get on with it."
Consulting his notes, Tree frowned, looked pensive, and then said to Bull. "Where and when did you last see the accused, Ms. Moore?"
"Two nights ago, at the TreeHouse back in St. Louis," replied Bull, tugging at his sleeves and straightening up in an attempt to display an air of confidence even though it was pretty clear that he felt uncomfortable in suit and tie ... never mind that the outfit was vintage 1954.
"Would you say Ms. Moore is a person of good character, who would never steal a car, drive recklessly, or engage in prostitution?" asked Tree as he paced back and forth in front of the docket.
"Yes to all of that, and furthermore she's a damn good fuck. Why Gunner and me ... we ... well ... the little slut ... I mean, Ms. Moore ... uh, well .... she damn near wore us down to nothing that night ... wanted us to fuck her brains out, and ... well ... let me tell you ...why that fine little tight ass of hers ...”
"Thanks, that will be all," gulped Tree.
"Way to go!" I shouted at him in disbelief ... "Oh double shit!"
"The defendant will keep silent! And refrain from profanity in my courtroom!" roared the judge, banging his gavel, not only to silence me but also in response to the crowd's renewed chant, accompanied by stomping of feet, of "Hang her, Hang her!"
"This is a nightmare! So unfair!" I yelled.
"You are hereby in contempt of court, Ms. Moore. We'll deal with that later. Does defense have anything else?"
"Will you take a cash bribe?" whispered Tree.
After which the crowd promptly and boisterously renewed the chant, "Hang her, Hang her!"
The judge glared at Tree, bent over to take another snort from his flask, straightened up and banged his gavel.
"Silence! Order in the court! My judgement in the case of Barbara A. Moore is that the little Yankee slut ... I mean the defendant ... is guilty as charged of the crime of unlawful intent to engage in prostitution across state lines. I hereby sentence her first to twenty lashes as just punishment for her outbursts in court. For the heinous crime to which she is convicted, I sentence her to be taken to the town square and publicly executed by hanging. Bailiff, kindly escort Ms. Moore to the cellar to be flogged. Her execution will take place at 4 pm. Court adjourned!"
On hearing this the crowd erupted into "Hang her, Hang her!" and began shoving and pushing for the exits.
"Wait just a friggin' minute," I exclaimed, jumping up and down for attention. "What about the other lesser charges?"
"Irrelevant, seen as your attorney plea-bargained those away beforehand in favor of the larger capital offense charge of prostitution,” retorted the judge.
"He did what?" I gasped, incredulously while shooting Tree a reproachful glare ... to which he shrugged his shoulders and held his hands out to either side, palms up.
"Another outburst in my courtroom, Ms. Moore?" snapped the judge, who was by then on his way out the back door. "I will not tolerate such behavior. Bailiff make that thirty rather than twenty lashes!"
*****************************
A quarter of an hour later, I was back in the jailhouse cellar, cuffed to an overhead whipping bar, hair tied up behind my head and ready to receive my thirty lashes. Half a dozen of the Paris PD's finest were there to witness the show, as Officer Hiram Tree stepped off three paces behind me, turned, took a deep breath, flexed his wrist and delivered the first lash!
I screamed as the tip sliced across my shoulder blades and wrapped around to dig at the soft underside of one of my breasts.
"One!" someone called from the back of the room.
A moment later I heard the zing of leather slicing through air and felt the sting of the second lash as it ripped across the quivering flesh of my tight little.
"Two," someone called.
Then it continued ... lash, after lash, after lash ... delivered at a steady methodical pace. With each one, I writhed and twisted, stomped my feet, bucked, threw my head back and screamed in pain. Out of the corner of my tear-filled eye I was vaguely aware of an officer making a video of my suffering.
Try as I might, there was no escape. I could only endure, and be thankful when at long last someone in the room called "thirty".
"Get her down and give her a rest!" I heard Hattie Tree instruct the others, all of whom had conspicuous bulges in the front of their uniform trousers. "It's nearly half past noon. She's got only a little more than three hours before we take her out to the scaffold to hang. They say there's a mighty crowd gathered out there already, eager to watch her swing."
Slowly I turned around, every movement so painful I thought I might faint.Then I smelled booze and stale cigarette smoke. I opened my eyes. There was Tree!
"Do something, please," I croaked. “And hurry! There’s so little time! They're going to take me out and hang me in a matter of hours!"
"Don't worry,.Barb. I'm working on it."
"Ok, but don't screw it up this time, please."
I endured a long cold night, standing naked, arms-over-head, backed up against the Paris, Arkansas jailhouse wall. By the time they came to get me the next morning, my whole body ached from the strain ... and I was hungry too!
"Morning, Ms. Moore," chirped officer Hattie Tree as she reached over my head to release my wrists.
"Nothing good about it from my point of view," I grumbled as I tried to rub some circulation back into my wrists and hands.
"Cheer up, Sweetie. There's a gentleman waitin’ to see ya. And we've a nice cell for ya now where yer gentleman friend can come down and talk to ya. Says his name is Hanging Tree."
I was promptly shoved into an empty cell and told to wait.
After pacing restlessly back and forth behind bars for at least an hour, maybe more, my patience was wearing pretty thin. But Tree finally appeared, wearing his usual yellow hat, a lit Marlboro in his hand, and that all too familiar shit-eating grin.
"About time," I said irritably, stomping my foot for emphasis.
"Stop complaining, Barb. Came as quickly as I could."
"I hope you’ve been doing something to get me out of this mess!"
"Well, as it turns out ... that won't be easy. Apparently they're throwing the book at you."
"But I'm innocent. This is a total farce! What am I going to do?"
"Relax, Barb, your trial is set for 10 am and I'm going to represent you."
"Oh Shit! You? Can you even practice law here? You haven't taken the bar in Arkansas, have you?"
"I'm pretty sure I passed at least three or four on Main Street."
"Why do I have this sinking feeling?"
"That's nothing compared to what you'll be feeling if they hang you, Barb. But don't worry. I’m on your case. These people are all my distant relatives. They'll listen to me."
"Just be careful what you say, ok?"
"Time's up, Ms. Moore," barked Hattie Tree. "I'll be escorting ya upstairs for yer trial now."
Tree gave me a reassuring nod and stepped aside as Hattie unlocked my cell door.
"Can I have my clothing back?" I asked. "I can't appear before a judge naked like this!"
"Why bother," Hattie replied dismissively, adding as she took me firmly by the arm. "I reckon by early afternoon ya'll be hanging by yer scrawny li’l Yankee neck and dancing yer last dance out on the town square to everyone’s delight. Come now, the judge don’t like to be kept waiting."
She guided me past a bunch of empty cells and up a flight of stairs to the main floor, and then across the way to the courtroom, which was already crammed with townsfolk and members of the press.
My heart sank.The place was literally filled to capacity ... standing room only! And there at the front of the room behind counsel's desk, was none other than Tree! Hattie led me around the room and placed me on the docket directly behind Tree. How in the hell did he beat me up here, I wondered? And where did he get that ridiculous looking get up?
And what's with the pic of some poor naked gal being hanged on the wall behind me? This was beginning to almost seem like one of Tree's stories on CF. I pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming ... I wasn’t.
The crowd soon became restless and took to its feet, chanting, "Hang her, Hang her!" but were quickly silenced by the arrival of the judge, a scowling old balding man, with Martin Van Buren side chop whiskers. He looked like he was something out of the last century. He took his seat, banged his gavel, farted, removed a flask of whiskey from a drawer behind his desk and took a long swig. The nameplate on the desktop read: Judge Hannibal “Hang ‘em High” Tree.
"Order in the court, the Honorable Hannibal Tree presiding," announced the bailiff, whose name tag read: 'Hubert Tree'.
"First case," rasped the judge, wiping his chin with the back of his sleeve, lighting a cigar and settling back into his chair.
"Defendant is Barbara A. Moore, charged with speeding, driving a motor vehicle with expired plates, grand theft auto, and intended prostitution across state lines, your Honor. The police report is on your desk."
"And how does she plead?"
"Whazzat?," replied Tree, who appeared to be napping just a moment before.
"I'll take that as not guilty," snapped the judge. "Does defense have any witnesses who can refute any of these charges?"
"Yessir, defense calls Bull to the stand. He can attest to the defendant's good character."
Bull emerged from the crowd and swaggered forward to the witness stand.
"Do you swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but ...."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," interrupted Bull. “Let's get on with it."
Consulting his notes, Tree frowned, looked pensive, and then said to Bull. "Where and when did you last see the accused, Ms. Moore?"
"Two nights ago, at the TreeHouse back in St. Louis," replied Bull, tugging at his sleeves and straightening up in an attempt to display an air of confidence even though it was pretty clear that he felt uncomfortable in suit and tie ... never mind that the outfit was vintage 1954.
"Would you say Ms. Moore is a person of good character, who would never steal a car, drive recklessly, or engage in prostitution?" asked Tree as he paced back and forth in front of the docket.
"Yes to all of that, and furthermore she's a damn good fuck. Why Gunner and me ... we ... well ... the little slut ... I mean, Ms. Moore ... uh, well .... she damn near wore us down to nothing that night ... wanted us to fuck her brains out, and ... well ... let me tell you ...why that fine little tight ass of hers ...”
"Thanks, that will be all," gulped Tree.
"Way to go!" I shouted at him in disbelief ... "Oh double shit!"
"The defendant will keep silent! And refrain from profanity in my courtroom!" roared the judge, banging his gavel, not only to silence me but also in response to the crowd's renewed chant, accompanied by stomping of feet, of "Hang her, Hang her!"
"This is a nightmare! So unfair!" I yelled.
"You are hereby in contempt of court, Ms. Moore. We'll deal with that later. Does defense have anything else?"
"Will you take a cash bribe?" whispered Tree.
After which the crowd promptly and boisterously renewed the chant, "Hang her, Hang her!"
The judge glared at Tree, bent over to take another snort from his flask, straightened up and banged his gavel.
"Silence! Order in the court! My judgement in the case of Barbara A. Moore is that the little Yankee slut ... I mean the defendant ... is guilty as charged of the crime of unlawful intent to engage in prostitution across state lines. I hereby sentence her first to twenty lashes as just punishment for her outbursts in court. For the heinous crime to which she is convicted, I sentence her to be taken to the town square and publicly executed by hanging. Bailiff, kindly escort Ms. Moore to the cellar to be flogged. Her execution will take place at 4 pm. Court adjourned!"
On hearing this the crowd erupted into "Hang her, Hang her!" and began shoving and pushing for the exits.
"Wait just a friggin' minute," I exclaimed, jumping up and down for attention. "What about the other lesser charges?"
"Irrelevant, seen as your attorney plea-bargained those away beforehand in favor of the larger capital offense charge of prostitution,” retorted the judge.
"He did what?" I gasped, incredulously while shooting Tree a reproachful glare ... to which he shrugged his shoulders and held his hands out to either side, palms up.
"Another outburst in my courtroom, Ms. Moore?" snapped the judge, who was by then on his way out the back door. "I will not tolerate such behavior. Bailiff make that thirty rather than twenty lashes!"
*****************************
A quarter of an hour later, I was back in the jailhouse cellar, cuffed to an overhead whipping bar, hair tied up behind my head and ready to receive my thirty lashes. Half a dozen of the Paris PD's finest were there to witness the show, as Officer Hiram Tree stepped off three paces behind me, turned, took a deep breath, flexed his wrist and delivered the first lash!
I screamed as the tip sliced across my shoulder blades and wrapped around to dig at the soft underside of one of my breasts.
"One!" someone called from the back of the room.
A moment later I heard the zing of leather slicing through air and felt the sting of the second lash as it ripped across the quivering flesh of my tight little.
"Two," someone called.
Then it continued ... lash, after lash, after lash ... delivered at a steady methodical pace. With each one, I writhed and twisted, stomped my feet, bucked, threw my head back and screamed in pain. Out of the corner of my tear-filled eye I was vaguely aware of an officer making a video of my suffering.
Try as I might, there was no escape. I could only endure, and be thankful when at long last someone in the room called "thirty".
"Get her down and give her a rest!" I heard Hattie Tree instruct the others, all of whom had conspicuous bulges in the front of their uniform trousers. "It's nearly half past noon. She's got only a little more than three hours before we take her out to the scaffold to hang. They say there's a mighty crowd gathered out there already, eager to watch her swing."
Slowly I turned around, every movement so painful I thought I might faint.Then I smelled booze and stale cigarette smoke. I opened my eyes. There was Tree!
"Do something, please," I croaked. “And hurry! There’s so little time! They're going to take me out and hang me in a matter of hours!"
"Don't worry,.Barb. I'm working on it."
"Ok, but don't screw it up this time, please."
I know a good man in Paris, I'll get him on the case.
(hang on, I think that's the wrong Paris!)
I know, right? And a Donut Palace (second pic) Does Paris, France have a Pizza Barn and a Donut Palace?
I could have saved a bundle taking Moore to Rome, New York and London, Ontario instead of the other places by those names
There was a story a few years ago of a British couple who got cheap tickets to Sydney and finished up in Nova Scotia
Lacking in imagination, our American cousins
There's also the fictional Australian town of Paris from the 1974 movie by Peter Weir
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Cars_That_Ate_Paris
I screamed as the tip sliced across my shoulder blades and wrapped around to dig at the soft underside of one of my breasts.
Poor Barb, naked and suffering in front of all these rubes.
Wonderful, isn't it
Poor Barb, naked and suffering in front of all these rubes.
Wonderful, isn't it
Shhhhhhhh! Don’t call them rubes. They might take offense. I’m in enough trouble already
I gave her the best defense I could... nothing is going right!!!
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
I don't care if they take offense! Those rubes! They are not being nice to my Barb! Rubes! Rubes! Rubes! Rubes! Rubes!Shhhhhhhh! Don’t call them rubes. They might take offense. I’m in enough trouble already
Take that you Rubes!