Bio:
Hobart Milton-Bradley McBragg, Commander (Retired), Her Majesty's Royal Ghurka Rifles, Injia, was born on Bullpookie-On-The-Moor, Hamstershire, England in a year that no one has year been able to accurately determine. The only child of a wealthy tea-totaler of a father and a prim and proper mother, young Hobart was given early on to making imaginary friends and spinning the most incredulous of yarns. Educated in the finest of private schools and having a knack for leadership at the tender age of six, Hobart joined the British Army and served in the rank of Corporal. He was commissioned as a officer after he informed the Regimental Commander that the young lady that occupied the Regimental Commanders bed for a fortnight was not his wife and that Mrs. Regimental Commander would not take too kindly to that. Advancing rapidly up through the ranks, remaining stodgy, crusty, and down-to-earth, McBragg served out his years honourably in the army - finally settling down to lead the lifestyle of a country squire.
Given to smoking a pipe and mumbling, he lives alone albeit for a butler/manservant (his former regimental orderly, Smithers-Smythe) and spends his hours in his trophy room recalling the days of his youth and telling those whom visit him the mesmerizing stories of bygone days.
He fashioned himself a world-traveler, man of adventure, big game hunter (on eight continents, no less) and explorer. His assignments in the Army took him to many local exotic locales and as his belly grew, so did his fame. There was not a single thing or place that he did not do or visit. History overlooks the daring-do and deeds that were done by him and him alone. More often than not, the bookish historians of his era recorded for prosperity the landmark discoveries, ribald carousing and the amazing inventions that he so ingeniously stumbled over and gave them credit to some one else.
The legend of Hobart McBragg is legendary. He has left big shoes to fill for his feats are well beyond size 14. He still has plenty of waist to waste as he advances and wanes in age. He lays claim (and rightly so, I might add) to laying with Llamas and in his times abroad, laid many a broad. His traveling trunks have packed more peanuts than a pacaderm and his bold tales ring with outright truths in their blatant dishonesty.
Truly a "Man of the Hour," Hobart Milton-Bradley McBragg's name and adventures will (sadly) be forever more covered and concealed under the mounds of bathroom tissue due to those nameless and faceless cowardly writers of history who have labeled him either a mcbraggart...uh...make that "braggart"... whilst other - far less kindly - have outright and forthwith branded him a consummate BS artist.
There is one glimmer of hope though. By viewing this page...
I intend to change that.
Well now. Let us begin, shall we???
I say. Have I told you of the time I was hunting the deadly and dangerous Clitsapeekingoutatus, in what was once un-named regions of Asia? … As you know, the Clitsapeekingoutatus is a wild member of the feline species and is not often seen in public. … They have a natural tendency to be either soft when passive or they may become erect when aroused…
Well then…. There I was…It was early autumn in 1934 I believe… *Hrumph* … I was aching to try out my new hunting rifle and had trekked into the mountains of what is now Tibet. … Hiring a bunch of the local men to act as bearers, I set off and made history, as you shall soon learn. ….
The arduous climbing and endless wandering into the frigid altitudes was rapidly taking its toll on my physique. The natives were not holding up any better than I was, so that should tell you a lot of my stamina, eh wot?… Now then, where was I? … Ah, yes…
‘Nearing the Mons of Venus and ascending downward into the smooth surface of the nether lips...Oh, I mean the nether region... I gazed below me into the valley and was quite unexpectedly taken with an urge to yodel in the canyon…. I was freezing and was barely able to open my mouth and commence the yodel when it happened….
Suddenly!!! Without warning!!! The Clitsapeekingoutatus reared out from a dense cropping of the regional bush trees - the Pubic Willow - (native and indigenous to the locale you know)… whilst I stood there ~mortified…
My hands could not operate the action of my weapon. Standing there with my heart racing and a lump in my throat and in my pants, I nearly orgasmed...I mean that I nearly had a lapse in my organic spasms... Yes, quite.
Then, thinking quickly, as I do in these challenging situations, I made haste and thought quick...I knew I was staring at a most formidable Clitsapeekingoutatus…. The hood that normally conceals a creature as this when they are docile was pulled back and a snarl was written over its countenance…
I was seconds away from a gruesome fate… Seconds, I tell you!!!
(Dramatic, heart-stopping, suspenseful pause)
(Smithers-Smythe has a question to ask the Commander. He's just dying to find out what the Commander did. Aren't you???)
Continuing with the Commander's tale...Using the only muscle I had remaining that was not rigid with fear - my tongue - I lowered my head, charged, and gave the Clitsapeekingoutatus a good tongue lashing… The beast moaned and thrashed about, spasming, until it was utterly exhausted… (…The tongue as you know, is the strongest muscle within ones body…) Yes. Quite.
After licking that problem and overcoming other indecent, taxing and enormous obstacles, the local natives -in honor of my heroic feat of cunning linguists - named the region Katmandu, which when is translated means;
“He Who Licked the Pussy Cat.”
And that is how it is known as today…. Yes. Quite. Quite. *Hrumph*( JWS, 14 Jan 00, 1005 hours)
Note: Some of you may recall that the old Saturday morning cartoon show, "Tennessee Tuxedo and His Tales," featured a one or two minute cartoon fill in segment called, "The World of Commander McBragg." I loved that show! I don't want you being lead to believe that the Commander is my own creation. He is not. The tale above is though. McBragg's voice was performed by the very talented Kenny Delmar (b: 5 Sep 1910 d: 14 July 1984). Mr. Delmar did the voices of many 1960's cartoon characters and is probably best known as "Senator Claghorn" from the old time radio show: the Fred Allen Show in the 1930's. His most famous line (and the one that is engraved on his tombstone by the way) was "It's a joke son!" If you can hear the voice of Mel Blanc doing "Foghorn Leghorn" (the chicken) in your head, then you have a very good image of what Mr. Delmar's Senator Beauregard Claghorn sounded like. I really think that Foghorn Leghorn character was based on Claghorn. I believe that Mr. Blanc did the voice out of respect for a fellow artist. Click here to listen to Mr. Delmar deliver the line from the movie, "It's A Joke Son!"
More Commander McBragg will be added soon!!!
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Credits:
Image of Commander McBragg courtesy of: http://www2.wi.net/~rkurer/tennesse.htm
"Tennessee Tuxedo" and "The World of Commander McBragg" are the property of CBS.
"The Clitsapeekingoutatus" is solely & sorely from the imagination of JWS
MP3 of "Oh My Goodness Commander, What Did You Do?" [JWS]
Page & MP3 Copyright© 2001 [JWS] All Rights Reserved.
PS: Unlike my Kitten, I CAN do the accent when asking "The Question" rather quite nicely, if I dare say myself. *LOL*