Century of the Fruitbat Pictures Proudly Presents


'That statue looks just like my Uncle Osric...'

No-one would have believed, in the final years of the Century of the Fruitbat, that Discworld affairs were being watched keenly and impatiently by intelligences greater than Man's, or at least much nastier; that their affairs were being scrutinised and studied as a man with a three-day appetite might study the All-You-Can-Gobble-For-A-Dollar menu outside Harga's House of Ribs...

'Woof bloody woof.'
Gaspode the Wonder Dog.

It was the sort of thing you expected in the Street of Alchemists. The neighbours preferred explosions, which were at least identifiable and soon over. They were better than the smells, which crept up on you.
Silent-but-deadly....

'Meat pies! Hot sausages! Inna bun! So fresh the pig h'an't noticed they're gone!'
Genuine pig portion packages.

The Archchancellor's most important job, as the Bursar saw it, was to sign things, preferably, from the Bursar's point of view, without reading them first.
Middle management explained.

By and large, the only skill the alchemists of Ankh-Morpork had discovered so far was the ability to turn gold into less gold.

Most alchemists were nervous, in any case; it came from not knowing what the crucible of bubbling stuff they were experimenting with was going to do next.

'If you put butter and salt on it, it tastes like salty butter.'
Popcorn comes to the Discworld.

'Students?' barked the Archchancellor.
'Yes, Master. You know? They're the thinner ones with the pale faces? Because we're a university? They come with the whole thing, like rats'

Of course, it is very important to be sober when you take an exam. Many worthwhile careers in the street-cleansing, fruit-picking and subway-guitar-playing industries have been founded on a lack of understanding of this simple fact.

And then you bit onto them, and learned once again that Cut-me-own-Throat Dibbler could find a use for bits of an animal that the animal didn't know it had got. Dibbler had worked out that with enough fried onions and mustard people would eat anything.
A discovery which has not been wasted on purveyors of fast 'food' in Roundworld.

Most of the big stone buildings that actually made it a city, as opposed simply to a load of hovels all in one place, survived them intact and many people* considered that a good fire every hundred years or so was essential to the health of the city since it helped to keep down the rats, roaches, fleas and, of course, people not rich enough to live in stone houses.
* The ones living in stone buildings, anyway.
Urban renewal...

'The thing is that Mr. Dibbler can even sell sausages to people who have bought them off him before.'
Now that's marketing.

'You pay for it before you eat it? What happens if it's dreadful?'
'That's why.'

'One minute I'm just another rabbit and happy about it, next minute, whazaam, I'm thinking. That's a major drawback if you're looking for happiness as a rabbit, let me tell you. You want grass and sex, not thoughts like 'What's it all about, when you get right down to it?'.'

'I'm a cat person, myself,' she said, vaguely.
A low-level voice said: 'Yeah? Yeah? Wash in your own spit, do you?'
It's a dog's life.

'Why's it called Ming?' said the Archchancellor, on cue. The Bursar tapped the pot. It went ming.
Discworld archeology revealed.

'I thought swords had to be straight.'
'Perhaps they start out straight and go bendy with use. A lot of things do.'
She meant odour-eaters, didn't she ...... she must have .....

"Oh. A little dog. I like little dogs," said Detritus.
"Woof."
"Raw," the troll added.

People who used magic without knowing what they were doing usually came to a sticky end. All over the entire room, sometimes.

'He's in love,' said Gaspode. 'It's very tricky.'
'Yeah, I know how it is,' said the cat sympathetically. 'People throwing old boots and things at you.'

'In a word -- im-possible!'
'That's two words,' said Dibbler.

'I'm vice-president of Throwing Out People Mr Dibbler Doesn't Like the Face of.'

'It looks worse than you can imagine!'
'I can imagine some pretty bad things!'
'That's why I said worse!'

'Woof. In tones of low menace.'
Gaspode the wonder dog.

'There's nothin' wrong with bein' a son of a bitch.'
Gaspode the wonder dog.

'I thought it was going to be bucket-of-water time myself.'
Gaspode's way of saying 'I'm sorry, was I intruding?'.

'I can explain it in Dog, but you only listen in Human.'
Gaspode the wonder dog.

'I wouldn't give it to a dog, and I am one.'
Gaspode the wonder dog.

'Did I hear things, or can that little dog speak?' said Dibbler.
'He says he can't,' said Victor.
Dibbler hesitated. 'Well,' he said, 'I suppose he should know.'
Dibbler meets Gaspode the Wonder Dog.

In retrospect, Victor was always a little unclear about those next few minutes. That's the way it goes. The moments that change your life are the ones that happen suddenly, like the one where you die.

The Librarian had seen many weird things in his time, but that had to be the 57th strangest.
[ footnote: he had a tidy mind. ]

According to the history books, the decisive battle that ended the Ankh-Morpork Civil War was fought between two handfuls of bone-weary men in a swamp early one misty morning and, although one side claimed victory, ended with a practical score of Humans 0, Ravens 1000, which is the case with most battles.

...inside every old person is a young person wondering what happened.

All dwarves have beards and wear many layers of clothing. Their courtships are largely concerned with finding out, in delicate and circumspect ways, what sex the other dwarf is.

"Pedigree?. What's a pedigree? It's just breedin'. I had a father too, you know. And two grand-dads. And four great grandads. And many of 'em were the same dog, even."
The proud lineage of Gaspode the Wonder Dog.

A small crowd collected very easily in Ankh-Morpork. As a city, it had some of the most accomplished spectators in the universe. They'd watch anything, especially if there was any possibility of anyone getting hurt in an amusing way.
A universal concept...

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