The Cornscription of the Shetty Man

The Cornfields of Shiwajun

News came to Twillistia and Social Mediana that Shiwajun bore the scars of narcotic indictments and forfeitures from Bidenistan; that though he was a man of the abacus, the beads upon which the number of his years could acurately be counted had yet to be invented; and that, contrary to legend, Iragbijishire was where his umbilical cord was buried.

The aides at the Shiwajunian Palace of Bored Dyllon were thrown into a tizz, knowing not how to respond to the Social Medianites. But Shiwajun was calm. “See ye these rumours in Papyrussia or Ancient Mediana?” he asked them. “Nay, sire,” they responded. “Therefore be ye calm and find me Amy Logan, as I have instructed thee.” The aides were confused, but proceeded into all of Jirria, declaring a bounty for Amy Logan and, just in case they had heard the name incorrectly, Emille Oconn.

Now, as was customary in the land, very shortly after each House had nominated its champion in electoralis primera, the champions all chose a Hand – someone to sit around on stand-by in the event the champion became king and died whilst on the Iron Throne, such as Osinoshin was the Hand of Gambrach.

Arty Cool the Perennial chose Arturo O’Cowa, King of the Deltanians, also coming to the end of his second quadrannium on the throne. Obiwan Pitobi chose Suffidat as his Hand. Suffidavit had once been a senateen but the Magistarium had declared his election perfidious and he was thus removed. Shiwajun knew all eyes would be on him, as he was of the same House as King Gambrach, who sat upon the Iron Throne.

“Have ye found Amy Logan?” Shiwajun asked his men. “She will tell me who to appoint as my Hand.” His men looked at each other nervously and one of them finally summoned the courage to speak. “Oh Lord Shiwajun of Bored Dyllon, surest successor to Gambrach, may you live even longer. Your Grace, we searched high and low, for Amy Logan and Emille Oconn and Emil O’Corn, across all the kingdoms, but we found none bearing that name. We even cast our minds back to the wise words from your annual collostrum, and searched in the fields of cassava and the plantations of corn and the barn stores of beans and nary an Amy or Emille was to be found. Your Grace, you will have to choose your Hand of your own self.” Very well, thought Shiwajun to himself. I shall choose one of the Apicurean kings to be my Hand.

Now, the people of Jirria had many things which set them apart from each other. They were Northerosi and Southerosi in their origin and customs. Some were Stians and others were Slims. The Stians and the Slims were to be found amongst both Northerosi and Southerosi men but if a Northerosi Slim was king, the convention of the Kingdom was that his Hand would be a Southerosi Stian and vice versa.

Many thought that Shiwajun would choose Macashma Gandi, the Great Sold, King of Car-Knoe, as his Hand. But Shiwajun had heard many allegations about Gandi, including suggestions of excessive proximity to the Car-Knosian treasury. “This goes against every fibre of my ethos,” Shiwajun was reported to have said. Gandi, like Shiwajun, was also a Slim, so the people thought this ruled him out.

Others thus suggested King A-La-La-La-La-Long-Long-Li-Long-Long-Long of Play-Too, for he was a Northerosi Stian but he also did not find favour with Shiwajun. Lo, the Apicureans were perplexed, for Shiwajun tarried greatly.

One night, Shiwajun gathered the Apicurean prefects and asked them to bring before him Cashmoney the Shetty Man, who in quadrannia past has ruled as King in Borry Noo.

“Why?” they asked Shiwajun.

“I wish to make him my Hand,” he responded.

“Cashmoney? The Shetty Man? The people of our kingdoms will not accept this. Hast thou forgotten that like you he is a Slim? And a Fulannister like King Gambrach?”

“Brethren, those are the exact qualities I need to triumph at electoralis. Bring him before me.”

“What if we rechristen King A-La-La-La-La-Long-Long-Li-Long-Long-Long of Play-Too, so that he is now known as Emille Oconn?”

“No. No. No. Enough of this now. My mind is set on Cashmoney the Shetty Man.”

Wherefore, Shiwajun lay on the floor in the middle of the Apicurean sanctum and Cashmoney was brought in. The Apicurean prefects handed him an ear of corn and a bowl of beans and asked him to move closer to Shiwajun.

“Cashmoney, wilt thou now pledge fealty to Shiwajun of Bored Dyllon?”

“I will,” declared the Shetty Man. A gong sounded 3 times, whereupon Cashmoney stepped onto Shiwajun’s groin abd broke out into song – On your man-bits I shall stand, on your man-bits I shall stand, on your man-bits, on your man-bits, on your man-bits I shall stand. He then stepped off Shiwajun’s groin and ate the beans and the corn. And thus, it was done. The Shetty Man had been cornscripted to be Shiwajun’s Hand.

Shiwajun arose and led Cashmoney into Twillistia and Social Mediana, announcing, “Behold, I have chosen my Hand.” But as Shiwajun tried to raise the Shetty Man’s hands, the people saw him shaking visibly and was unable to raise either his or Cashmoney’s hands aloft.

“He is infirm!” the people cried. “He presenteth a double-Slim Kingship!!” cried others. “When Cashmoney was King of the BorryNoobians, a chieftain of the Haramites of Boko was found by the Constabulary in the Borry Noo palace in Boo Jar!!! This is a travesty!!!” cried others.

And in all the lands and kingdoms of Jirria, not a gaddem speck of chill was found.

Electoralis Primera & the Shiwajunian Breakfast

The clouds of electoralis continued to gather in the Kingdom of Jirria and soon it was time for each electorailing house to choose its champion.

The Apicureans had declared in large numbers and a huge electoralis primera was planned, and hotly anticipated in Twilistia and Social Mediana. The word in Twilistia was that Gambrach desireth to serve Shiwajun a burnaboynian breakfast. However, it was known to all men that none was better in the arts of Wahala Morghulis than Shiwajun himself.

In House Padipalia, the leading contenders were Fearsome Wee-Kay of Rivissina, Obi-Wan Pitobi of Nambria and Arty Cool the Perennial. As the electoralis primera of the Padipalians drew nigh, Obi-Wan Pitobi awoke one morning, feeling uneasy after the dream he’d had. In his dream, he had seen a structureless house, with no foundations, with no shishi, floating above a huge Rock. And a voice said unto him, “Obi-Wan, thou art the Pitobi, and upon your rock, my structurelessness shall stand!”

Wherefore, Pitobi gathered his robes and belongings and announced his departure from the Padipalians, for the vision was clear to him. He vanished for three days and three nights, and when he emerged, he emerged as champion for House Dohaeris. Lo, did the Apicureans and Padipalians make huge mockery of him and the Dohaerisses, saying “the Dohaerisses have not the benefit of historical pillaging of the public purse to fund their activities. Obi-Wan shall soon realise that men of honesty cannot take the Iron Throne of Boo-Jar.”

In Apicurean gatherings, Shiwajun sensed a less than overwhelming support for his ambitions and thus decided to remind the Apicureans of just who he was. He journed to Ogunssopotamia and spake to the gathering in High Yorballian, saying –

Have ye forgotten just who the hell I am? Remember ye not how my hands have held up the firmament of our great house and how thy kings are inscribed upon the palms of my hands? Could even this abjectly common one,” he sneered towards King Dah-Poe, “be King without my benefactions?

And from that day on, King Dah-Poe became known throughout Jirriah by his new title, King Dah-Poe The Abjectly Common.

Shiwajun continued. “Twas these same benefactions that enthroned King Gambrach in Boo Jar. Had he not failed and failed and failed and failed and failed and failed and failed? Yea, he wept when he remembered he hadn’t won. But I came unto him and carried away his lachrymallity, requiring from him just a word, that he would not forget the Yorball in the Boo-Jarrian lands. Behold, the Iron Throne must fall to us Yorballs and yea, it must fall to me! In the words of the great ancient prophetess Diana of Rawsse, ‘It’s my turn!’ Ich bin dran, so get me Amy Logan!!!”.

“Amy Logan?”, asked the Abjectly Common one and the other Apicurians. “Yes”, answered Shiwajun, “Amy Logan. Get her.”

Lo, the people heard it and unchill began to rumble in the land.

Thus, the time drew nigh for the Padipalians to conduct their primera and select their champion. And despite Abushola’s eloquence and Fearsome Wee-Kay’s fidelity and fiduciary fulminousity to the Apicureans, Arty Cool emerged champion and flag bearer. Fearsome believed it not and for days later he was heard singing the Daminian Lament, “Ye shalt be amazed at the result oh (I was), there’s nothing to discuss oh, I didn’t win by default oh, I canst withstand this insult oh, I NEED A BOAT AND SHY HOES!!!

Yea, did the pendulum swing unto the Apicureans. And lo, they came, one after the other, to make their case to be champion. Most notable of them was Ben Ten Jack Too Rich who drew inspiration from his mother’s susceptibility to amorous defraudment and her consequential gestatory prolificness.

Try as they might, no one could withstand the Wahala Morghulis of Shiwajun, who won by a mudslide, beating Monoraillius Incompletus well into second place.

The die was cast. And last last, the Apicureans all had breakfast. Shah Yo O!

But then news came to Twillistia that Shiwajun bore the scars of narcotic indictments and forfeitures from Bidenistan; that though he was a man of the abacus, the beads upon which the number of his years could acurately be counted had yet to be invented; and that, contrary to legend, Iragbijishire was where his umbilical cord was buried.

The people heard it and there was no gaddem chill in the land.

Mefilius and the Maladious Multiplicity of Madness

The seventh year of the reign of King Gambrach came to end and the spirit of electoralis descended fiercely upon the kingdom of Jirria. The hearts and minds of the nobles of the kingdom were ravaged with depravity as they all brazenly and unapologetically abandoned all pretence of governance or concern about the wellbeing of the polity.

The Apicureans held sway in Boo Jar and longed above all to maintain their stranglehold on the commonwealth. The Padipalians sought to wrest the commonwealth from their clutches and both set about to choose their champion. Abushola of the Padipalians (yet formerly also of the Apicureans) continued to traverse the kingdom to shew himself approved. Arty Cool the Perennial also once again declared his intention to be King in Boo Jar. But the most favoured Padipalians of the Twillistians and Social Medianites, was Ser Obi Wan-Pitobi, who had ruled the Nambrians for two quadrannia.

Obi Wan-Pitobi had accrued great wealth and fame before the throne and was widely believed to be unprofligate with the commonwealth. “Pitobi made Nambria a citadel of learning! Pitobi weareth only Taylor Loran! Pitobi shrinketh engorgements faster than a cold shower!! Pitobi does his laundry only once a year, to save on soap!” declared the Twillistians. “Why reject ye salvation from South Easteros?”

Yea, did Obi Wan-Pitobi also feed the urban legend as it grew. “Behold! I have suffered my son not to live as the son of a noble. He weareth only the noblashawoshorts and not the robes of the aristocratic. Lo, have I declared that he and his sister shall not have their own chariots until Jirria floweth with milk and with honey! This is my solemn vow.” Lo, then, even his supporters enjoined him to chill, for he was giving scrooge.

Fearsome Wee-Kay, King of Rivissinia also declared himself desirous of the Irone Throne in Boo Jar. “Padipalian Delegates, I come not to thee with any misconception about your interest in how we can rescue Jirria from Gambrachian Nihilism. Nay! Tell me what it is YOU want! For in the words of the ancient prophet Victorious Alpha Delta – if we make not bank what gaineth we??”

In Apicuria, there was mild pandemonium as Osinoshin meekly invited the Apircureans to choose him for electoralis federalis. “Fellow Apicureans, I come to ye today, not as bad man looking good in DiYorr but a humble apostle and understudy of King Gambrach the Greatest. If Gambrach touched ye, I shall touch ye even more. If you felt his finger, behold ye shall feel my hand. If his stare brought us to this glorious precipice, then Witness Me as I strong my face even harder. Star boy dey-eth for thee.”

And the followers of Shiwajun were furious, for legend had it that Shiwajun himself had desired to serve as the Hand of King but was rejected by Gambrach, whereupon he nominated Osinoshin as his proxy. “Thy son stabbeth thee in the back!!! Wilt thou unleash Wahala Morghulis on him?” the journalistas asked Shiwajun, wherefore he replied, “no son of mine is grown enough to wield a knife.”

And yet, without further ado, King Jefka of Ekitlopia, another supposed Shiwajunian general also declared his interest. As did Shomolek, the former Head of Apicuria; and King Ma-Hee of Ebonyiandivory; and King Roechazz the Statuist; and Rotamachus (also known as Monoraillius Incompletus) Gambrach’s councillor for journeys; and Gigabytesize of Kee Ja, Gambrach’s councillor for learning; and VolontiDei, the former Bleck Penther and King of Ibombay; and Gbonafelifeli Oh-Nu, Gambrach’s councillor tackiknowledgy; and Yerrimiah, former King of Zamfarawayland and child-bridegroom; and Bankilopoulos the Second, former warden of the junior senatii in the quadrannia of King Shegolas! Phew!

The people saw all the Apicureans contesting to be champion for electoralis and wondered, “What is this madness? Who runneth the shop if the entire family be at the departing patriarch’s side?” And yea, unchill began to rumble in the land.

And behold, it was heard that Mefilius, Warden of the Iron Bank of Boo Jar had finally yielded to other auto-orchestrated agitation to also put himself forward to contend to represent Apicurea at electoralis whilst retaining the golden key to the vaults of the Iron Bank.

“Nehi!!” the people cried. “Kuch Nehi!! And if he persists, by the old and new gods we will namaste wahala unto him! For it is written in the grundnorm constitutio that the Warden of the Iron Bank must always be fully and wholly devoted to Iron Banking. How can one do so while contending for electoralis?”

And Mefilius saw the outrage and pondered Odunladenically to himself, “so these people really wanna gonna shey yeye me? Get me Zek-Homie the advocate and let us find a judge to throw ourselves before. For I must retain the golden key and I must contend!”

Lo, it was heard throughout Jirria and in all of Twillistia and Social Mediana. And there was no gaddem chill in the land!

The Micturition of Shiwajun

The storms of electoralis continued to blow across the Jirrian Kingdoms and descended again on Ekitilopia, where the reign of King Jekfa was coming to an end. The Apicurean and Padipalian houses gathered to choose their champions to fight another proxy war on behalf of the 2 Hokey-Pokey Ekitilopian Kings. Why were Jekfa and Yode Hokey-Pokey? Well, as the ancient canticle went, “You put the Yode in, the Jekfa out, in out in out and shake them both about…”

Jekfa threw his incumbent weight behind Yebanjius, while Yode hoped Kollax would fare better than Nondes Crypt, his champion and Padipalia’s in the last outing.

Electoralis Federalis fever also continued to sweep the kingdoms with lots of people pestering others, who had absolutely no intention of contending for the iron throne, into doing so. There was King JarJar Bellows of Kogitaria who had been proceeding most loudly with the greatest reluctance into the contest, urged on by hordes of invisible dementors. There was also, very suddenly, Mefilius, Warden of the Iron Bank of Boo Jar and exclusive custodian of the orizal visions of King Gambrach for the sativication of the nation – his dementors were also gathering, but more visibly than JarJar Bellows’.

“Ser Mefilius has shown great dexterity in the management of the Kingdom’s coin, implementing several rates of exchange with the Bidenistani Shekel, thereby ensuring that economic saboteurs did not know which one to defend against, by which victory was established over economic stability!

“Mefilius did not think his hallowed office too sacred to abandon High Policy for the orizal swamps – indeed he made them his dwelling place, causing the price of the paddy grain to rise so high that farmers salivated at the potential windfall!

“Singlehandedly, Mefilius helped Gambrach steer Jirria away from the seas inhabited by Chavezistan and Mugabestan. Yea, for these reasons and an uncountable more, we demand that he makes himself available for the iron throne of Boo Jar!”

The people of Jirria had never seen such a thing, where the serving warden of the Iron Bank was being dementored towards the Iron Throne. And lo, unchill began to rumble again.

Shiwajun continued his quest for the iron throne, after a brief period of repose in Jandinia, seeking support from various quarters across the land. And following one such visit, it was alleged that his robes were soiled and of stench when he rose to address the audience. Yea, engravings of the event filled Twilistia and all of Social Mediana. But the Shiwajunistas declared it a fabrication of the Shops of Foto and urged all to disregard all insinuations of incontinence. Yea, they continued to sing their Shiwajunian anthem, with vim and gusto, “ON YOUR MAN BITS WE SHALL STAND, ON YOUR MAN BITS WE SHALL STAND! ON YOUR MAN BITS, ON YOUR MAN BITS, ON YOUR MAN BITS WE SHALL STAND!!” Is that safe, everyone else wondered?

And it was in that day that Constabilius Supernumerary Extraordinaire – Bacca Ki-Arry – was declared a wanted person by the King’s Narcosentinels. The Narcosentinels were headed by former man of Gunn Myrrh-Wa, who had served as King of Ekonoss in the era of the Gunners. Myrrh-Wa approached his commission more as a scentinel than a sentinel and was determined to sniff out Narcophiliacs every gaddem where. Ki-Arry was already under suspicion and suspension and investigation for his fraternity with the Hushing Puppy and the accusation of the Narcosentinels ensured his future behind bars drew nearer.

The Jirrians had their suspicions but had never seen a Constabilius Supernumerary Extraordinaire proclaimed a Narcophiliac with such near certainty. And lo, the unchill in the land grew louder.

But they hadn’t seen anything yet. The seasons of electoralis had always been seasons of betrayals and defecations but little did the people know that the contest for the throne of Oshunlonica was about to serve them tea. At the last contest for Kingship, the Lord of the Dance (Uncle to the Bard SolomonO, birribengbeng) was widely believed to have won the context but Shiwajun and Ogbenyssius unleashed a wahala morghulis of sorts and Boyegius Tolanix of Iragbijishire (wink, wink, hint, hint) was coronated as King. The first quadrannium of King Boyegius was drawing to a close and ordinarily he was entitled to contend again for the throne but it seemed Ogbenyssius was desirous of a different outcome.

For news came to the Jirrians in Twilistia and on the Book of Faces, that Ogbenyssius spake against Shiwajun publicly and polemically. He said “Freinds, Oshunlonicans, countrymen!! Remember ye not, that in Ekonnos there was a King, King Ambsalom of the Waist Corset, who ruled for one quadrannium but was not favoured by his Court for another and SOME PEOPLE banished him?”

“Yes!!!” the crowd responded.

“SOME PEOPLE ensured that his lack of popularity in House Apicurea was rightly rewarded. Didn’t they?”

“YES!!” the crowd cried back in earnest.

“And now that their sibling from Iragbijishire suffers the same dispopularity in Oshunlonica, should he not face the same fate? Should he not? But SOME PEOPLE think they can lean in and prevent it? Should it be so?”

“NO!!!” came the resounding cry.

“SOME PEOPLE’s man bits have been stood on for so long now that they suffer involuntary micturition!”

WHATTT??? The people could not believe that such credence would be lent to these suspicions by someone in the innermost circles of Shiwajun. And in the words of the ancient thespian Dunladus Koladus, they exclaimed, “Ogbenyssius wanna focking shey yeye Shiwajun niwajun awon ara ita???

AND THERE WAS NO GADDEM CHILL IN THE LAND!!!

The Oryzatification of Gambrach

News came to Jirrians that one of their ancient kings has passed. King Nekan of the Single Buttock transited to the great beyond at the age of four score and five. His reign was the shortest of the Jirrian Kings, having been installed by King Gida (a man of Gunn) to forestall the ascension of Ser Kashy Mah-Wo to the Iron Throne of Boo Jar. However, Nekan was usurped by the beastly Bar-Charr of the Golden Apple, after only three months, ushering in an era of great fear and trembling in the land. But that was long ago, these were the days of King Gambrach.

In the kingdom of MyBiaBia, King Pay Azu was in the village square to let the people know how fantastic a king he was, notwithstanding MyBiaBian markets being flooded with sludge. It came to pass that King Pay Azu was asked about the royal bridge that had been under construction for one and half quadrannia. Behold, King Pay Azu was incensed.

“This question vexes the King!” he declared. “No one made any intercession for this bridge. Behold, I looked into the goodness of my heart to build it, that chariots and carriages might pass. Yet, every day I am asked about its completion date by pedestrian peasants. Well, let it be known, that whenever I choose to complete the gaddem bridge, it will never be trod upon by hungry chariotless MyBiaBians – it shall only be for myself and the kingdom’s nobles!”

Unchill again began to rumble in the land. But not for long, because it was time once again for the Freekan tournament of Kickit, in the land of Karma-Roon. Karma-Roon shared a long border with Jirria and its KickIt team was a big rival of Jirria’s in the sport. Nothing brought chill to Jirrians like tournaments featuring their KickIt team.

The ensuing chill was the right opportunity for would-be kings to declare their interest to contend for the Throne of Boo Jar in the coming Electoralis. Shiwajun had already declared that he had informed King Gambrach of his intention and was quickly followed by Slokky Kah-Loo, who once reigned with his mother over the people of MyBiaBia and King Mah-Hi of the imaginary kingdom of EbonyiandIvory (for only Ebonyivorians truly knew where the kingdom was). They also performed Informatus Rex and let Gambrach know they wished to succeed him. Moghalus had once again told the people of Jirria in Twillistia that he wanted to be King, as had Mommodeen the Panoramix.

Twas in that day that Mefilius, Warden of the Iron Bank of Boo Jar gathered all from near and far to witness the glorious harvest of paddy grain. Gambrach had decreed that no matter the cost to livelihoods or how expensive it made paddy grain in Jirriah, paddy grain would be grown willy nilly.

“But how wilt the people eat paddy grain if it becomes so expensive?” it was asked, to which Mammus Povertinam, a dedicated Gambrachian had responded, “It is written – man shall not live by paddy grain alone and if any cannot eat paddy grain, let him weevils!” And all the Lovengers decreed that she was right, as they hailed the glorious vision of Gambrach.

Mefilius had pledged total fealty to Gambrach’s vision and had made the Bidenistani coin unavailable for paddy grain merchants. When Gambrach sealed the borders, Mefilius sealed even more tightly the vaults of Iron Bank of Boo Jar, save for disbursement to the Borrowers of Anchorage. The Borrowers of Anchorage were select farmers to whom the Iron Bank of Boo Jar loaned money, under the implicit understanding that repayment or collection were discretionary. It was a glorious hemorrhaging of the kingdom’s coin.

But there was paddy grain in Car-Knoe, as Bashally the Spinning Quill of Gambrach had once declared. And there was paddy grain in several other locations across the Kingdom.

“How much paddy grain exactly do we have in the Kingdom?” Gambrach asked Mefilius. Staphie, the Councillor for Farming wanted to answer, but Mefilius shut him up with a stern glance.

“Glorious King,” Mefilius began, “an achievement as this deserves not just to be counted on the royal abacus, but gathered from all ends of the kingdom that all in the galaxy may see your horticultural wisdom. Behold, despite our penury, I have, sparing no expense, assembled all the paddy grain in the kingdom and stacked them high! High, your Majesty!! Higher than any eye can see!!”

Gambrach came to the ground where the paddy grain was stacked and was overcome with emotion. “You are Mefilius! Mefilius the great; and on this pyramid I shall build my retirement crutch!”

The people saw the stacked paddy grain and grumbled at how much it cost despite its Mefilian stacking.

However, nothing prepared them for their team’s loss in the KickIt to the Carthagians of the North. Yea, when it became known to them that Gambrach had spoken with the Jirrian team ahead of the KickIt bout, and infused them with his unwinning demeanour, the people lost it. And there was no gaddem chill in the land.

The Second Quadrannium of Gambrach: The Pantomime of Bikinimi

Girls Bright Pink Scuba Bikini Set

After a season of gbakamuninion with the unchill in the Kingdom of Jirria, the spirit of the Tword once again came upon the Chronicler, bringing phantasmagoric visions of Gambrachian doings.

It was time once again for the annual Colustrum of Shiwajun, where the Apicureans gathered from near and far to suckle from the nipples of Shiwajun as he lactated his milk of ancient wisdom. The Colustrum was held in the Car-Knoe, the Kingdom of King Macashma Gandy, the eldorado of every Electoralis.

The Apicurean nobles gathered from near and far to hear what Shiwajun might have to say about the ills and lack of chill pervading the land. All knew it was the innermost desire of Shiwajun to succeed Gambrach on the Iron Throne of Boo Jar and, unlike Gambrach, he was pursuing with the use of Too Wrenchy. Alas the Too Wrenchy failed Shiwajun, and yea after he paused for ten seconds he blurted out, “we shall solve the unemployment plaguing our young men by building an army bigger than all the armies of the world put together and then outsource soldiers to all the warfronts of the world – for soldiers are evenly distributed but war is not. And yea, we shall call this starting up idea of providing manpower to the world’s armies ‘MAndela’. And all the Apicurean cronies cheered in united vapidity.

It was also in that day that Ser DooMar,the Warden of Conductivitis, ventured into St. Banex Square to fix his device of portability. One of the sentries manning the square called out to him, saying, “Hail, o nondescript nobleman driving a huge chariot. I bid thee good morrow and ask that you ask your chariotsman to convey your chariot to a different parking location – for it rests in illegality in its current postion.”

Ser DooMar was incensed. “What does a mere peasant like you know about illegality? Do you know that I preside over Conductivitis to probe the illegalities of Kings and Dukes and nobles? Take that, you bloody knave!” he declared as he dealt the sentry a huge slap. The other sentries were displeased at the assault of their comrade and surrounded DooMar, menacingly. His squire panicked and started screaming, “They are Frabanians, they are Frabanians!” and it was the Constabulary that saved them both. The people of Jirria heard it and a rumbling of unchill swept the land.

In North Easteros, the battle continued to rage between the Haramites of Boko and the King’s Army. The Haramites were fiercely armed and had downed two of the King’s Combat Winged Chariots. Morale was low in the garrison, wherefore Ser Unsagash, the King’s Counsellor for War visited the troops to rally them. “Be bold and courageous,” he charged them, “fear not the arrows of the Haramites nor their spears!!!”

“Have you brought us bodily armour to protect us from their killingness?” the troops asked.

“Oh no, not at all! Are you kidding?” Unsagash replied. “I am here to assure, as the King’s Counsellor for War, that there is no need to fear the weapons of the enemy! For we all know, don’t we, that if we are not meant to die by the tip of the spear or an arrow, only a sword can kill us?” And the people heard the words of Unsagash, and the unchill in the land grew.

Yea, the unchill swept into the chambers of Ser Bikinimi, Gambrach’s Counsellor for Advanced Communications, at the peak of his NINcompoop Project. The NINcompoop Project was designed to capture the details and features of all the people in the Kingdom. First it was alleged that the Kingdoms of Bidenistan and Jandinia had placed him on the no-winged-chariot list, for being intensely intelligent about violent religionism, but that was very quickly recanted.

But then the details of Ser Bikinimi’s violently intelligent religiosity came to the fore and, maaaaiiiigheeeeurd, there was no chill anywhere. Ser Bikinimi ascribed his unveiling to his championing of NINcompoop. “These things that were said about me were said in the days of my youth. I am grown now and more mature. And see, I have many people with less intelligent religious fervour in my employ. They are religiously stupid and regionally less endowed and yet i employ them. Canst ye not see that I am not bigoted???”

Then a young squire by the name Hunny Din went deep into the citadels to consult all the oracles. And when he emerged, he revealed that Ser Bikinimi had professed love for Sama – the Patron Demon of Pandemonium and El-Karda, the global union of pandemoniumists. Ser Bikinimi had declared an overflowing of joy when people who believed in Fidel Castro (‘inFidels’) were slain by pandemoniumists.

The people read it and there was no gaddem chill in the land.

The Second Quadrannium of Gambrach: End SCARS

The Passion of the Christ Revisited 15 Years Later – /Film

In the land of Jirriah, where King Gambrach reigned over the 37 Kingdoms, from the Iron Throne of Boo Jar, there was a division of the King’s Constabulary known as SCARS.

SCARS was an acronym and lo, it stood for Subhuman Constables Against Robbing Sitizens. Yea, it should have been SCARC, as ye well know that ‘citizens’ is spelt with a C. But the King who inaugurated this unelite unit did so in a time of scarcity and did not want to give his detractors the opportunity to say he created both SCARC and scarcity. Yea, was he a cerebral king. But we digress.

SCARS was created as the arm of the constabulary that would defend the people of Jirriah against robbers and bandits. The constables who filled its ranks were those who failed the Humanity and Empathy modules at Constabulary College – by design, so they could deal ruthlessly with the menace of crime. And gaddem, how it backfired!

You see, lacking in Humanity and Empathy, the SCARS commanding elite quickly came to the conclusion that the best way to save the Jirrians from the scourge of robbers and bandits was to rob the people themselves, before the robbers. They called it the Hammer for Headaches Strategy.

Thus it was that SCARS began to relieve the people of their wages, their dignity, their virtue and their blood. The people rechristened them the Subhuman Constables Against Revelling Sitizens for behold, all one had to do was look like one was enjoying life a little too much and he would fall into their trap. And if he did not have the means to satisfy their vampirous thirst, it was quite possible that, like in the ancient times of the slavedealers, such a person would never be heard from again.

Time and again, the people cried out to Gambrach and the Nassholes, “deliver us from SCARS!” but the Many Years’ Disease meant Gambrach heard them not and the Nassholes gave no gaddem, for they hired the SCARS as their personal bodyguards. If the wailing was loud enough, the Head of the Constabulary would re-call the SCARS from the highways, that the people might have respite for a few days, but in no time they would be back again. Thus it was that on three occasions, Bashally, one of the King’s Spining Quills, announced to the people, “thy King has heard thee despite the Many Years, and the SCARS shall trouble thee no more.” But it was an ofege.

Finally, in the second year of the second quadrannium of Gambrach, the Neests of Phemmi rose with a loud cry, declaring “It is enough! SCARS is scarring our lives, our pscyhes and beings. No more SCARS, no more scars. End SCARS!” And the cry rang throughout the 37 kingdoms, from Ekonnos, to Canodonia, to Ekitilopia, to Oshunlonica all demanding an end to SCARS.

Yea, they sent word and shekels to the Neests of Phemmi saying, “do with our coin what ye must, that we be saved from a life of SCARS!” From all over Jirriah, the shekels poured in, even from Jirrians in the dayasporata. And with the coin, Queen Effle Kay and her fellow Neests bequeathed succour, refreshments, security, repair and morale upon the crowds of people demanding full and final reprieve from SCARS.

Mefilius, warden of the Iron Bank of Boo Jar saw it and was greatly troubled. Gambrach summoned him on the fifth day, asking “How have the Neests of Phemmi amassed so much shekelage in such a short time?”

“Your Majesty,” replied Mefilius, “it seems to be the work of the Social Medianites and the Digital Perusites; feeling cool with themselves, communicating and coordinating like a government. If not that it were completely legal, it would be high treason!”

“Can the inflows not be blocked?”

“Majesty, I am thy intellectual slave but bankers never reject money deposits. This is not like geographical borders, O King.”

“Okay, how about withdrawals then? Money that cannot be withdrawn cannot be spent,” countered Gambrach, slightly irritated.

“Now that is a most excellent idea, Great King. I shall throttle them.” Lo did Mefilius give the order to all the Copper Banks (Garantease, Zany, Hack Sex and all the other copper banks) to encumber the Neests of Phemmi.

The King of Twilistia, Samurai Jax, saw all that was going on in Jirriah and it gave him a constipation most severe. Wherefore he sent for his Twilistian meisters to engineer a solution for the Jirrians. And thus it was that the walls of Twilistia collapsed for half a dozen hours and none was able to send word to another. And there was no gaddem chill in the land.

But then the walls were rebuilt and Twilistia stood again and with this came the revelation that King Samurai Jax had blessed the Neests with verificato certificato and appointed a sigil unto the tagging of hashes for the ending of SCARS. Behold, the agitation took off with renewed vim and vigour and lo, was the cry heard across all the four corners of the earth, “End SCARS” and “halt Constabulary capriciousness”.

The Head of the Constabulary squirmed as he saw the rising tempers. “My King, permit me to inform the people that we have proscribed SCARS, taken them off the King’s highways and replaced them with an all new unit called SCRAPS – the Subhuman Constables Really Against Plundered Sitizens.”

“This is a great idea!” declared Gambrach. “Give them SCRAPS!”

The people heard it and maigheeeeurd, THERE WAS NOT A SINGLE GADDEM CHILL IN ALL THE LAND!

to be continued sigange

All in One Place:The Limericks of November

The Victorious Golden Eaglets

GEJ’s brought the rub of the green

The best footie days since my teens

MRIs or not

Three great goals, One shot

Our sorrows, tonight, they are lean

 

The Sacked, Unambitious $1m Ghanaian Minister

Ghana must go, so they went

And the last three decades have been spent

In doing stuff right

And fighting the fight

Of not letting government be bent.

 

Please stop referencing Ghana

And all Dramani’s Drama

While you eulogise

Our government denies

Being a republic of banana

 

Stella “Escapes”  Attack #Stellagate

She purchased those cars, not in jest

And also a bulletproof vest

The House’s report

Is just writing sport

Now sympathy trumps an arrest

 

Turned out the Beamer’s weren’t costly

And we were outraged unjustly

To questions about

Corruptional doubt

Our Prez has replied “robustly”

 

Birthday Blues

Twas Ol’Goody’s day yesterday

50yrs Oswald popped JFK

From school with no shoes

To buckets of booze

No surprise he was poorly today.

 

Christopher Kolade Resigned

Hear Chrissy has chosen to leave

Untainted, he’d have us believe

But all that is sure

SURE-P wasn’t more

Than an ace up ol’GEJs sleeve.

 

ASUU Wants Strike Pay

Did nothing for four months and one

It seemed like the striking was done

But they want to show

Much more than we know

The pen is a BROS to the gun.

AMEBOR TALES FROM THE MATERNITY WARD

So, Mrs Tex recently had a baby. Habemus nueva Texina  – dodgy Latin for we have a new Texina. After delivery, we were moved into a recovery ward. 6 women in the room, with their baby-daddies (“partners” is the politically correct term in England) and frequently wailing babies, each couple with its unique story, from my perspective, at any rate.

The couple beside us on the first day (we were there for 48 hours or so), appeared to be a (British?) man of Arabic descent and a woman who sounded eastern-European. They stood out, not because I am xenophobic, but because I noticed after a while that they were communicating in heavily accented English, like in Maria de Los Angeles or one of those Hollywood movies set in Germany, in which all the officers of the Reich speak in a thick German accent, the thickness being directly proportional to the proximity of the officer from the Fuhrer. The other foreign couples only spoke English to the nurses. It was for this reason that I noticed them and started paying attention to their conversations. Their most remarkable exchange was when he asked her, for the umpteenth time apparently, “Are you alright?” She retorted angrily in her thick accent “Every time you ask if I alright!! What you want me to say??? Ugh!” And then she walked out and left him with the baby for a bit.

Then there was the Yoruba couple, like us, across from us. Except that the just-delivered mum wasn’t too happy with her partner. How could I tell? Well, she had this very loud conversation on the phone, in Yoruba, complaining bitterly. Husband’s name has the same intonation as Rotimi, Kayode, Bidemi. Shall we call him Deremi? Conversation and a contextual translation for non-speakers of Yoruba are provided below.

E wo, inu mi o dun si Deremi joo. O ti lose  spark e as a husband. Look, Deremi’s bloody pissing me off right now. Carries on like he has no clue about being a husband anymore.
Ko ki n ba mi se anything mo. Ko ti e ki n help mi rara. The man does nothing to help me around the house. Nothing!
Shebi bi mo se n s’ise l’oun naa n s’ise. Meanwhile, ko ni fun mi l’owo anything. We both work, don’t we? Yet he doesn’t give me a bleeding penny.
Maa lo si’bise, maa s’obe fun’le, maa we f’awon omo then, to ba d’ale, a wa ni ki n lie down s’ori bed I go to work, come back and cook, bathe the kids  and then at night the plonker wants a shag…

Yeah, very colourful. Moving on now to the most interesting couple we shared the ward with. I shall use their real names because they sounded middle-class (why then were they in a public hospital?) and the chances that they’ll read this blog post (it’s not from the Economist or Horse & Hound) by an inconsequential African are slim. So, meet Matthew and Alice of posh street, South Kensington.

Matthew and Alice had twin girls, who we shall call Bethany and Margaret. Having Matthew and Alice in the next cubicle was  like being next to Boris Johnson and Lady Thatcher. Strong, affirmative, cultured language and, to my constant amusement, the most officious (almost pretentious) manner of speaking to each other. When they arrived (they took over from the Arab/Romanian couple), they came in congratulating each other.

“I do say, Alice, that was quite a stunning, five-star performance, you having the twins. Well, done!”

“No Matthew, indeed, it is you who are the star of the show, with your unwavering support for me these past months.”

 

Ho, Hum, La, Dee, Da. Then they settled in and Matthew picked up Bethany, who apparently was already his favourite, as he never really mentioned or spoke to Margaret. “I simply adore you Bethany, you precious little sausage, you. A priceless sausage you are!” And then he proceeded to call her a sausage for the next hour. Lovely sausage this, pretty sausage that, Ho, Hum, La, Dee, Da.

Eventually, Matthew’s upper-crustedness kicked in and, unlike us plebs and foreigners, he wouldn’t spend the night on a hospital chair beside his wife. “I feel awful at leaving,” he said, “but I don’t think I really could stay, could I? I’ll be back first thing in the morning. A million thanks again for being such a smashing champion.”

“No Matthew”, she replied, “I would like to reiterate my appreciation of your care and attention. You’ve been wonderful.”

I swear she said reiterate. To her husband. Reiterate. Ho, Hum, La, Dee, Da.

When he arrived the next morning, she said “I’m afraid I’ll have to put you on nappy duty straightaway.”

“Grrrrrrreat! I thought so. Ah, Bethany’s done a poo. A super poo! She’s a super pooper. Super pooper, super pooper.”

Later, the doctors gave the twins their first physical exam, after which Alice informed Matthew “The twins have passed their first tests with flying colours!”

“O!M!G! Smashing!!!” said Matthew. I saw him do the running man, in my mind’s eye.

Alas, we were discharged and saw no more of the diamonds in the rough. I could probably do 500 more words on Matthew and Alice.

The Convention

*This piece is a work of fiction and the ribbing is intended to be in good humour.*

 

This story cannot begin without me telling how I got into the business; how I became a surgeon of destinies. Well, I am only in my first year or practice, so perhaps I’m still a resident or trainee surgeon but well on the way to being a consultant. Forgive the medical metaphors, I probably watch a little too much Grey’s Anatomy in my ever-shrinking windows of spare time. I’ve become much busier these days. And I digress.

One Sunday, at Church, rather than have a conventional sermon, the preacher invited a motivational speaker to talk to us about fixing all aspects of our lives, especially our marriages and careers and getting everything back on track. I was spellbound. I had just lost my job in the aftermath of the bursting of the banking sector bubble and had been trying to figure out the next phase of my life. After I heard the man who would later become my mentor speak, I knew what I wanted to do. I made sure I met the speaker after the sermon and spent the next 3 weeks begging him to let me be his personal assistant. I was well-educated enough and I was willing to work for absolutely nothing. Soon enough, I was taught the basics of the trade.

“First of all”, he said, “you have to dress and sound like the archetypical dream husband. You must be immaculately groomed. Low haircut, chiselled hairline, bespoke suits and a high-sounding but not too evangelical lilt to your voice.”

So I invested some of my bank severance money in 2 expensive suits, a killer pair of black leather shoes (the plan was to expand my shoe options once I got onto the speaking circuit), and cufflinks. My banker’s shirts had always been well cut, so no problem there.

“Next”, he said, “you must develop the ability to make the most mundane things sound unbelievably profound. The simpler the concept ostensibly sounds, the more profundity you can inject into it. Especially, most especially, if you rhyme.”

“Rhyme?” I asked. “Oh yes”, he replied, “to make it in the big time, you gotta learn to rhyme a rhyme.”

Fast learner that I am, I retorted, “You mean to win the bingo, I have to learn the lingo?”

“Precisely”, he said, laughing heartily. “You’re catching on very quickly.”

“What else must I learn in order to earn?” I asked eagerly.

“Calm down now”, he cautioned, “a gig isn’t a day at the crèche. Not too much rhyming. Remember, profound. There’s a thin line between profound and cheesy. A great Life Coach never crosses that line. Okay?” I nodded.

“You also need a treasure trove of scripture to buttress metaphors of increase and promotion. We are in the business of selling hope. Hope that if a person truly believes it, he can achieve it. Now, if you can garnish the hope with scripture, legitimise it so it doesn’t sound like being greedy or covetous, you cannot go wrong.

“For instance, the scripture says ‘Beloved, I wish above all things that you may prosper and be in health, even as your soul prospers’. This clearly supports the aspiration to ‘go higher’, to ‘be better’. Our message is, if you hold on to God, it’s okay to also want prosperity.”

I nodded again, soaking it all in.

“Now, to the imagery. Again, it has to be crisp, catchy and validative of improvement in personal circumstances. So, lots of ladders…”

“You have to empty your bladder to climb that ladder?”

“Bladder, sha?” he asked, looking confused.

“Well, if you take the bladder as an organ that removes harmful things from our blood, the statement could be symbolic of purging oneself of the harmful things in one’s life – vices like smoking, excessive drinking, womanising…”

“You know what?” said my mentor, “let’s forget the ladders. How about mountains?”

“There’s a fountain beyond that mountain?”

“Dude, calm down. That’s not profound enough.”

“I respectfully disagree, sir. Finding a fountain after a mountain symbolises a reward, perhaps a divine one even, after the struggle of, well, surmounting the mountain. In  fact, how about ‘surmount the mount to reach the fount’?”

“No, no, no, no! Forget mountains, then.” For some reason, my mentor seemed upset. “Let’s think altitude, you know, a variable height.”

“Someone’s already done that. Your attitude determines your altitude? Haven’t you heard that one before? Aspire to go higher? Acquire the fire? Perspiration determines your elevation?”

“You know what?” my mentor said, taking in a deep breath as if to calm himself, “there’s a Life Coaches convention in Abuja next week. Newbies like you can attend the 2-day course and become Associate Members of the Chartered Institute of Motivational Speaking and Life Coaching. More than anything else, there’s a chance to meet other mentors. Much greater coaches than myself. Perhaps they might be able to show you an even better way.”

So here I am at the convention in Abuja. It was during the flight that I decided that I wasn’t going to be a mere life coach – I was going to be a surgeon of destinies. It sounded profound enough. I had also started working on a mantra that I wanted to run by the coaches at the institute, but I won’t bore with you with it.

As I enter the convention auditorium, I hear an attendee ask his colleague if he would like a coke. The colleague replied, “Not for me. A coke will make you choke, but a Fanta is made for banter.”

Ah, I say to myself. I am in the right place.