Chronicles of Chill: The Legend of MaCashma Gandy

Macashma

Thus it was that the sun rose and then it set on the second and final quadrennium of Yode, son of Falasham in the kingdom of Ekitilopia. And then it rose again on the second quadrennium of Jefka, who interrupted Yode’s reign and whose reign in turn Yode interrupted, leading the people to call Ekitilopia a kingdom of hokey pokey.

Yode had sought to bid farewell to the Ekitilopians in grand style, declaring a banquet for the nobles of the kingdom. Behold, they unlooked it completely, for it was written – ‘only a ride-or-die feasteth at a king’s last supper’; and twas well-known that any who feasted with a king for whom the Everly Failing at Convictions Commission lay in wait, would be swept away in the flood of their scandalous incompetence. So Yode feasted alone.

And yea, as the sun set on his reign, Yode felt himself grow weaker as the invincibility cloak of immunity departed from him. Yode was a Dr but it felt strange (bad dumm tss! Behold a joke of the Chronicler!). No longer wielding the Immunity Stone and knowing a showdown with the Everly Failings was nigh, Yode knew he had to be possessed of the Banter Stone.

Wherefore he journeyed into the Vale of the Unnabrawss in the region of Haute Iwaykar and had the finest threadsmen stitch a mystic incantation onto his vest. Putting on the vestment, Yode rode for 2 nights and 2 days to Boo Jar, finally arriving at the Magoorhic gates of the Everly Failing at Convictions Commission. He stripped himself of his kingly armour and brandished the vestment, which had the ancient words emblazoned across it – “THE EVERLIES AINT SHIT!”

The Banter Stone was very powerful. They had got him, but yea had he also got them.

In Oyossopotamia, Shittinski was in a sulphuric panic. His dream of succeeding Jimobite the Constituted was evaporating before his eyes, as if Thanos himself had snapped his fingers at it. The prefects of House Apicuria had ruled that Shittinski could not contend at electoralis for, like Lady Kemshun, he was also devoid of the Certificato de Nyansch.

“Prefects, Apicureans, the reason I am devoid of the certificato is because I embarked on a quest greater even than the Nyansch! Where others went unto the Nyansch, I went into the Bombastic Oyossopotamic Octagonal Body of State, serving as a councilman. Twas a greater service even than the Nyansch! It should count for me, not against me!” Shittinski protested.

“But thou art versed in the law, art thou not? Tis the law that every man or woman emerging from the citadels must first serve the fatherland in Nyansch. And thou has not. Ergo…”

“Don’t tell me ergo!!!” shouted Shittinski, waving his gloved hand frantically. “Ergo what???” Wherefore Shittinski sued House Apicuria for disqualifying him and the Nyasnch Commission for not conscripting him by force when he ignored the summons.

Yea, was it lit across the land. But the litness was about to become fire. For in the ancient city of Canodonia, ruled King Gandy the White. He was known as Gandy the White for he was always dressed in a hat and flowing white robes. Many wondered what was underneath the robes and twas whispered that he had more than 2 arms and had to conceal them, lest he be thought a fantastic beast.

Lo, the legend of his extra arms was strongly believed by the Canodonians, apparently, because of his prolific work rate. All over the kingdom, next to nothingses, were signposts which read ‘Gandy’s Work’. There was a hut in the middle of the forest, with the sign ‘Gandy’s Work’. There was a latrine in the marketplace tagged ‘Gandy’s Work’. Yea, there was a mountain in the hills thought to be Gandy’s work. In short, Gandy was a workaholic. And whenever the Candonians saw him in public, they would scream ‘Hanky! Hanky! Hanky!’ for ‘hanky’ was the ancient Canodoni word for work. But they were all about to be shocked to their bones.

One day, a man named Jafar d’Aladdin came into Twilistia and Social Mediana declaring to the people, “Bring ye out your magic calabashes, for I have something to shew thee! Tis a vision of Gandy the White. But tis no mere vision, when what ye see is truth!”

Thus were all the magic calabashes brought out and after an advertisement from Buy Thy Chariots dot Com, the vision began. Behold, a man bearing an uncanny identical resemblance to King Gandy was sat in a room that bore an uncanny identical resemblance to the King’s Courts in Canodonia and behind him was a flag bearing an uncanny identical resemblance to the sigil of the kingdom of Canodonia.

But it could not be King Gandy, for this fellow was bald and wore no hat. But then a voice said unto the man, “if thou wouldest receive it, thou must receive it and conceal it in a hurry, your majesty.” So, it was Gandy. Or was it?

“But…” said the Gandy-esque fellow, “I am a religious man. Will taking this from thee not be Her Ram?”

“Not if thou standest up to collect it, Majesty. And especially not if it is Trumpetistani Shekels. Then, it is Her Lal, not Her Ram.”

“Thou art sure?” asked Gandy. It really did seem to be Gandy at this point.

“Yes! Now stand up and receive before Dar Wheezus thy scribe returneth and sees.”

The king arose, as he had been commanded and stretched out his hands. And behold, five bags of Trumpetistani shekels were handed over to him. Quickly he raised his robes, concealed the bags under and sat down again.

The legend was false. He did not have two extra arms for his Hanky. The Social Medianites saw it and there was not a single gaddem chill left in the Kingdom.

“Stop it! Cease and desist!” a voice cried. “It is a doctoring of cyclonic proportions. Tis not my king thou beholdest!” It was Dar Wheezus, defending Gandy.

But chill had departed and unchill returned. And from that day Gandy was no longer known as Gandy the White. He was thenceforth known as MaCashma Gandy, the Great Sold.

Chronicles of Chill: The Benediction of Shegolas

priest standing near brown concrete wall

Behold, there was chill upon the Kingdom, following the Padipalian selection of Arty Cool as their champion to contend against Gambrach in electoralis. Yea, were the streets full of Coolades, as the supporters of Arty Cool came to be called, singing of the coming of a glorious quadrannium under his reign.

In Bedrock, the league of spinning quills were ill at ease, for the chill of the Coolades suffused the adulation of the Lovengers. And they wondered how they might put the name of Gambrach back in the songs of the people.

“Let us associated Arty with Gejoshaphat,” suggested FemCallamitus, “the people wouldst surely turn against him then.”

“No way, Callams” replied Lay Si, Bashally agreeing with him. “The spirit of forgetfulness is upon them and they sing his praises now.”

“No,” said Gyretta, “we must paint him as the opposite of Gambrach – long, long, long may he reign.” Lar-Yi, who had been ominously quiet, nodded in silent agreement.

And so the spinning quills came out to the people, in Social Mediana, saying unto them, “Be not smitten by the allure of better times under Arty Cool, for though he may be a man of much greater personal success than Gambrach, he is a man of dubious means!!!” And yea, did they slap themselves on their backs, thinking they had said something worthwhile.

Lo, the people would have none of it and quickly reported, “Balavida, the former scribe, devourer of the Kwarapta Intrusivo invasive weeds, roameth free.”

The spinning quills were taken aback but quickly regrouped. “Yea, for 4 quadrannia were the Padipalians on the Iron Throne and see how they did nothing for thee.”

“Laughing our olde assess off!” the people responded, “Woo Doo, Gambrach’s councilor for seedtime & harvest, was the Head of the Padipalian house for years!”

“Gaddem!” replied the Quills as they beat a hasty retreat.

In House Padipalia, the elders and prefects summoned Arty Cool to inform him that there were many quests to be undertaken before he could claim the golden fleece of the Iron Throne.

“First of all, ye must voyage to Owurutas and make peace former King Shegolas, under whom thou served as Hand.” Arty Cool took a deep breath. It was a journey he knew he would eventually have to make.

Legend had it that at the end of the first quadrannium of Shegolas, Arty Cool made all the wardens and capos of bend the knee and swear fealty to him. And yea, when Shegolas heard it, twas said that he came unto Arty Cool demanding that he release the wardens and capos to declare him the champion for electoralis.

And twas said that Arty Cool looked at him Marlonbrandonically and said very coldly, “You come to me this day of electoralis minora to seek my help. But you don’t bow to me. You don’t even call me godfather.”

Behold, Shegolas was said to be aghast. “Godfather? Godfather???  I am thy King. The Iron Throne is mine. You are merely my Hand.”

“Yet here we are…”

“Gaddem! So if I call thee not Godfather nor bow to thee… really? Thou wouldst require this of me?”

“Prostratum in excelsis, bruh.”

And from that time on, the face of Shegolas was turned severely against Arty Cool, such that he failed at every election Amakalically.

Yea, Arty Cool embarked on his quest to Owurutas in the company of the capos of Padipalia, until they came unto the castle of Shegolas. And as Arty Cool beheld Shegolas at the gates waiting to receive them, he alighted from the chariot and flung himself violently to the floor. And lo did he cry out in a loud voice, “O Shegolas, my King! I am only thy unworthy hand – a pitiful footnote in the volumes of your brilliance. Behold, I give unto thee dobalecus in reversam.”

The heart of Shegolas was touched and he proclaimed, “Behold, I welcome Arty Cool & the Gang to my castle today. To them I say, Hi de hi, Hi de ho! I cherish the love we have, as Padipalians. Celebration times are upon us, for I have forgiven him. It is a fresh beginning and behold, he will be too hot for Gambrach at electoralis. Go forth with my blessing, to take the Iron Throne. I have had a feast prepared for this august occasion, so let’s get down on it!”

Yea, the people of Social Mediana and the digital Perusites beheld it and they were well pleased. But in the courts of Gambrach, there was not a gaddem speculum of chill to be found!

 

 

 

Chronicles of Chill: Chill at Last!

 

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Thus it was, that in the 6th month of the 3rd year of the first (and many hoped, ONLY) quadrannium of King Gambrach, Shiwajun returned triumphant to Gideria from Oshunlonica, having led his armies to electoralis in the name of Ayatollah. It was not a time of war, except that in the 37 Kingdoms, the seasons of electoralis were seasons of war.

Lemoda cried out that he and his followers were besieged by the Shiwajunian troops and SolomonO sang songs of lamentation in a strange esoteric dialect that only few understood –

Aiye! Aiye!

Dem block our supporters, dem block all the voters

Dem give out money and dem rig the ballot o

Dem dey killing somebody

And there was no gaddem chill in Oshunlonica.

Yea, even in Gideria, unchill festered as Shango Lulu brandished the seal of Shiwajun across the Kingdom to great acclamation. Behold, Ambsalom was greatly troubled; for Shiwajun and Flasholas had both reigned for 2 quadrannia, yet here he was in the fullness of his cinched waist languishing perilously close to obscurity. Lo, had he even received word that Apicuria did not wish him to stand in electoralis minora.  canst As a knight of the round table of Kwee Lox, he knew it was his bounded duty to resist Shango Lulu.

Wherefore Ambsalom sent sparrows and emissaries to the ends of the firmament, declaring an intergalactic globalmondiale conference of presses, summoning all human and alien scribes to record his proclamation. And as they were all gathered, yea, did Ambsalom address them.

“People of Gideria, Wardens of House Apicuria, what the gaddem heck is wrong with thee? Ye have been so Gambrachised that ye recognise not greatness anymore. Ye wouldest forsake a glorious waist-trained knight of the Kwee for a Shango Lulu? Know ye not of his psychosocial conscription in the Gobi House of Rehabilitation?”

“LIAR!!!!” screamed Shango Lulu, “they tried to make me go to the rehab…but I said NO. No. NO!”

And from that day hence, Shango Lulu was intermittently dubbed Lulu Winehaus. Yea, though he walketh calmly away from Ambsalom, Shiwajun found him sobbing to himself in one of the catacombs. “Why cryest thou? Rememberest thou not the words of Lady Michellin SoberMa?”

“Yes”, smiled Shango Lulu. “When they go low, we get high.” And yea didst he reach into his pocket.

Lo, did the day of minora come and again and Ambsalom appealed to the armies of Shiwajun to stand with him instead. But they had been scaped of their vision and were blind with waste-disposally rage.

Ambsalom then summoned the Apicurian prefects presiding over the minora and asked them, “wilt ye put a man that knoweth what I know to the ignominy of defeat?”

Shomolek replied, “I once was a King like thee. Now I am a maker of Kings. If thou doest as thou threateneth, I shall raise kings to hunt thee down and slice thy cincher. I am a graceful man however and in recognition of thy position, we shall pretend to cancel the polls twice before announcing Shango Lulu.” Ambsalom sighed and resigned to his fate.

And the people saw the hand of Lulu Winehaus lifted in victory but heard only the voice of Shiwajun. And the winds of unchill blew louder.

In Social Mediana and across the land of the digital Perusites, word came of a letter written by King El-Farquaad of Dunamis to Gambrach, concerning the senateen poet Shey Who. “Great King Gambrach, thou recallest that thou authorisest me to procure the expulsion of Shey for suggesting I was enamoured of thy royal blockii (which is plural for blockus, just in case His Majesty was wondering). He trolleth me but Majesty, he trolleth thee as well. Give me the word, that I may smite him and bury him under the weight of 400 million pieces of silver.”

Lo, the people saw how El-Farquaad wished to satisfy his angst, and the unchill rumbled on.

Yea, was minora held across the kingdoms of the land, even unto the Kingdom of Deltonia, where Ser Party Toe wished to be king. Yea, did he expend vast coinage on purchasing the expressio d’interest for House Apicuria and it was said to him that the arena would be behind Arodan Platform 13 and Three Quarters of the Deltonian carriageways. Thus did Party Toe search and search and search. But he was a gaddem muggle and found not the way. Another was chosen to contend for the Deltonian throne.

In Boo Jar, Gambrach was confirmed as the contender for the Iron Throne by the Apicureans. But in the middle of their reveling, a cry was heard from inside Bedrock. It was a muffled cry and the guards had to break down the door to Gambrach’s other room to see what was wrong.

It was Lady Yeesha, vexed of spirit, for her brother had shared in the fate of Ser Party Toe. “This gaddem Shomoleckian House will fall like the bridges of Lawndawn if this persisteth. I have no grouse if thou dupest the brothers of mere mortals and swahvvest the sons of peasants. But when ye do it even to the brother of a queen, a slay queen for that matter, even though I maintaineth my lane in the gaddem oza room, then am I literally shaking right now!!!”

And the people heard it and shouted, “YASSSSSSSSS!!!” and there was nary a gaddem atom of chill in the land.

But news then came to Social Mediana from Rivisinia, that Arty Cool wouldst contend against Gambrach for the Iron Throne and behold, a gush  of hope swept across the land. For a moment, the people glimpsed into the possibility of the reign of Arty Cool, and the unchill abated.

Here endeth the Tword.

Chronicles of Chill: Lord of the Dance

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As the frenzy of the disbursement of the criminally delayed wages departed the people of Oshunlonica, Shiwajun motioned to a man standing in the shadows. It was the King Ogbenyssius’s head squire, a man named Ayatollah Boyegus.

Shiwajun raised Ayatollah’s hand and presented him to the people saying, “Oshunlonican Apicureans, behold thy incoming King, in whom I am well pleased. Babasopecus…”

“Oparithicus!!!!!” the people responded.

In Bedrock, Gambrach could not believe what his good ear was hearing. At first he thought it was the Many Years Disease, but Lady Kem Shun repeated herself.

“Nah, fam. Y’get me yeah? Is not like I was faking scripts and tings right, but I was fresh off the ships from Jandinia, innit? And mandems was like, yo, IJGB, is you even finking about doing the Nonsensical Youth Suffering & Conscription tings? Whaagwan widdat?You is foreign! And you is like a old birdie now. And I was like, yo mama’s an old birdie. And he was like, nah, calm down me sweets, just slip me a lil something for the blaadclat red tapers and we’ll sort you an exemption thingy-bobbie. So, I was like, phew, yeah, no worries mate, but what’s your name anyway? And he told me, yeah, chill bladd; the name is Associates. Trusted Associates. And I was like rrrrespect, peace, Mr Associates.”

Gambrach sighed. Lady Kem Shun had to depart Bedrock for good.

“Farewell, Lady Kem Shun. Thou hast served thy King well.”

“Cool runnings, bruh.” And with that, she was gone.

The people heard of her misadventure and thought The Everly Failing at Convictions Commission would swoop in. But she was granted safe passage back to Jandinia. And unchill began to rumble again.

Back in Shiwajun smiled and said to Ogbenyssius, “it is done. Ayatollah, what colour will you change the drapes in the throne room?”

Ogbenyssius coughed nervously. “What shall we do about the Padipalians and the Serendipities?”

Ogbenyssius was right to be worried. The Serendipities had chosen Yola Mish as their electoralis champion. He had previously been a senateen for the Oshunlonicans in Boo Jar and was a man of fearsome political consequence, managing to triumph at electoralis whilst he was banished in the dungeons.

The Padipalians were represented by Ser Lemoda of the famed Keleda family of Oshunlonica. It was a family of bards and industrialists. Bards like SolomonO, Bread and Rambo Pacino. SolomonO, a nephew to Lemoda, was of greater renown than Bread and Rambo – Lemoda’s sons – and had purposed in his heart to take time of the mandatory Nonsensical Youth Suffering & Conscription programme and lend his acclaim to his uncle’s cause.

And lo, his uncle was not a man that was lacking in fame either. For beyond wealth, beyond his time as a senateen, Lemoda was a famed dancer. He was known as the Lord of the Dance, and twas him the ancient muses sang in the prophetic melody –

Dance, Dance, wherever you may be

I am the Lord of the Dance says he

And I’ll lead you all wherever you may be 

And I’ll lead you all in the dance said he!

Yea, would he lead his people in dance and from dance would he arise to lead his people.

Ayatollah and Shiwajun were wary that his dance would trump their nothing, wherefore they raised a cry to the magistrates that Lemoda, like their King Gambrach, was not possessed of the scroll de minimis of learning. Wherefore it was ordered that the scrolls be produced lest Lemoda forfeit his ambitions.

Behold, when Lemoda delivered the scroll unto the magistrates, it was discovered that all his time in the junior citadels had been a severe waste. Wherefore his nephew SolomonO, in defiance, belted out the words of his famous composition, Darmi Doo Roe.

Err Mah Darmi Doo Roe

Amy Omor Baba’olodo

Why not let us mu’jo

E-joe uncle daddy Rambo

And the Oshunlonicans came out in great number to shake their booties for him. And Lemoda the Lord of the Dance led them in joyous gyration into electoralis. And as the tally came in, it appeared the spirit of Babasopecus had deserted the Oshunlonicans, for the Lord of the Dance was ahead of Ayatollah.

Gambrach heard the news from Boo Jar and sent for Shiwajun. “What exactly is thy use to me, Shiwajun. Thou couldst not Wahala Morghulis Abushola – in fact, he smirketh and mocketh thee in Oshunlonica as we speak.. Thou couldst not reconcile our warring factions. And now, thou disposesseth Apicuria of Oshunlonica, which is rumoured to be thy true actual Kingdom? Of what use is a Shiwajun that is not at the wajun of anything?”

“Fear not, my King. I shall return and inconclusivise affairs, that we may regroup.”

“Very well”, replied Gambrach, “but before thou leavest, read with me this parchment which I have received from the knights of the round table of Kwee Lox, on behalf of their brother Ambsalom.”

“Burn it.” retorted Shiwajun, cold as Lagoonian steel.

Thus the people, ready to burst into the greatest dance the world had ever seen, received the news of electoralis inconclusivus, for Lemoda has not sufficiently trounced Ayatollah.

“Fear not, my good people”, Lemoda said to the assembled throng, “go ye now and rest your weary legs. Come back refreshed that Ayatollah mayest receive an almighty funk-up the likes of which no eyes have seen and no scribes may describe. Stay funky, my people!”

Wherefore SolomonO passed gourds of drink around to the people, to refresh themselves before going home. “What is this drink, so divine?” the people asked. “Mixed Mossa”, responded SolomonO.

And as the people dispersed, news began to filter in that Hadi Potter had returned from his quest to establish the Winged Royal Fleet, which he had provisionally dubbed ‘Hot Air’. But he was conspicuously empty-handed.

“Hadi Potter! Whither thy magic? Whither the remainder of our Royal Fleet? Whither the gaddem one and a half billion shekels given to thee to purchase the missing magic?”

Hadi was bloodied and breathless. “It’s all gone! The dementors… the dementors of Jazz Kaban. They waylaid me! They took it all!”

Brethren, the people of the land heard it and they were incensed in their unchill. Behold, there was nary a gaddam speck of chill left in the land!”

Chronicles of Chill: The Oponimousity of Ogbenyssius

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After the defecation of Abushola to Padipalia, Gah Rah of the junior senateens also defecated and the stench was encapsulated upon the land. Not to be outdone in the shittery at hand, the Apicureans went ambushing the Padipalians and swung the Damoclean sword of the Everly Failing at Convictions Commission over the head of Godsswag, former King of Ibomossotamia.

Then Abushola, filled with defecatory passion rose and declared to the people that he was tired of the torment of them visiting him in his dreams, stoning him with many golden crowns, beating him with many sceptres. He had heard their cry and he would seek to stand for House Padipalia in electoralis.

This filled the camp of Arty Cool with perturbations and lo did Arty Cool burst into tears. For this had been his quest for several quadrannia, so sit on the Iron Throne of Boo Jar, in Bedrock.

And yea, the Lovengers were again full of voice. Whilst even they couldst no longer declare all blessed for the privilege of being ruled by Gambrach, they praised him nonetheless, for that was the kind of not always logical thing Lovengers did.

Behold, in that day rose two other men with designs on the throne. One was Fellax Duroximus, spouse to the High Priestess of Mua, the goddess of penging. The other was a man named Mogallus Prime, a man of great learning who had served the Kingdom as deputy prefect of the Iron Bank of Boo Jar.

When Duroximus was asked why he wouldst be King, he replied “Tis by the throne alone that we can make bread from stone and hone the tone of the cone that keepeth the people in the zone not of cologne, causing them to moan and groan in a place where light should have shone!” Lo, the people nodded in befuddled agreement.

And when Mogallus was asked, he responded saying, “Behold, my stewardship to the country possesseth international exposure, lo my learning is Harvardian and yea am I not a small boy.”

Thus it was that one day, Duroximus came upon Mogallus returning from his many travels across the Kingdom to bring the people to his side for electoralis. “Mogallus,” hailed Duroximus, “why exerteth thyself so? See ye not myself and several others who do not traverse the kingdom and yet enjoy the followage of the Social Medianites? Knowest thou not that traverse is perverse for those averse and who can rehearse to converse and immerse to disperse?”

“Huh?” replied Mogallus.

“What I mean is, let us call Lady Zek Way to preside over us that we may choose which of our number will contend against the Apicureans and Padipalians.”

“But I am a big boy, with exposure internazionale. Thou standest no chance against me.”

“Let us do it then. And the winner shall stand down.”

Thus did they call Lady Zek Way to oversee the casting of lots. And the lot fell on Duroximus to lead the charge of the independents. “Bollocks!” said Moghallus, “big boys can’t be bound by small contests.” And that was the end of that.

And across the land, the time came once again for the contenders to indicate their contention through the extravagant purchase of an expressio d’interest. The Apicureans knew that Gambrach was unable to purchase the Apicurean expressio, for the cost of it was an amount thoroughly repugnant to the righteousness of Gambrach.

Wherefore the debtor king of Kogitaria, Yaya Bellows, declared to the Kogitarians, “Ye must starve another 9 months, for I have decided to spend thine wages on the Gambrachian expressio d’interest. Tis my glorious duty as his son.” Thus was the expressio obtained for Gambrach, who hated corruption with every fibre of his being, that he might not partake in the corruption of the purchase.

Lo, in Gideria, King Ambsalom of the trained waist also acquired the expressio d’interest, that he might rule for a second quadrannium. And as he sought to submit it, the receptor asked him, “Where is the seal of Shiwajun?”

“What? I am king. A man of Kwee Lox. My seal sufficeth.”

“Not here, it don’t. Lemme show you something. See this expressio from Shango Lulu. It beareth the seal of Shiwajun, and of the 57 regional Giderian prefects.”

“What? I am king. A man of Kwee..”

“Yeah, okay bruh.”

Behold, the news came unto the people of Digital Perusia and Social Mediana and they were amazed. Wherefore the Lovengers began to speak against Ambsalom, repeating the Latin maxim “Babasopecus, oparithicus.”

Yea, was the cry carried all the way to Oshunlonica, where the reign of Ogbenyssius was about to come to an inglorious end. Babasopecus, oparithicus! Yea, did Shiwajun, filled with the spirit of Babasopecus declare to the Oshunlonicans from the castle of the Lord ToJah, “Listen, ye field nuccuhs! Ye wilt anoint my anointed house nuccuh as thy next King after Ogbenyssius. For I own thy gaddem asses. And all the money in Oshunlonica filleth but one of my side pockets.”

Ogbenyssius looked on, aghast in oponimous impotence. These were the same people that he was owing months and months of wages. Shiwajun looked at Ogbenyssius and at once knew what troubled him so. Fear not, Shiwajun mouthed to him.

That instant a carriage arrived from Boo Jar bearing 16 billion shekels.

“Behold thy wages!!!” cried Shiwajun. “Babasopecus….”

“…OPARITHICUS!!!!!” the people yelled in delirium.

The people saw it and heard it and there was not a gaddam chill in the entire gaddem kingdom.

Chronicles of Chill: Constipatio de Abushola

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As Dinobetes Mellitus performed his Affirmatio et Defecato, he kept looking back. Wherefore, the Padipalian buttocks wiper inquired of him, “why dost thou keep glancing pack at thy fecum? Does thou wish it to turn into a pillar of salt? For it does not seem so large to me.”

“Nay, Poopmeister, tis not so. I look back for my top dude, Abushola, Warden of senatii. For he promised me that we would defecate in tandem.” The other defecating nassholes also cast anxious looks back, wondering if Abushola betrayed them.

But Abushola was in Bedrock, summoned by Gambrach, the King, and Shomolek, the head of House Apicuria, to discuss the matter of his rumoured defecato.

“Abushola,” said Gambrach solemnly, “I just have one question for you. In the words of the great Russian philosopher Igwenitzof Tupacizinsky, ‘wos yor addenini?’ ”

“Come again, O king?” said Abushola, confused, as Shomolek handed him a goblet of wine. Abushola sipped.

“Are you going to perform the Affirmatio et Defecato and publicly shit on the Apicurean flag?” asked Shomolek directly.

“O King! O Big Head! But twas in this same House from which opprobrium was poured on me and I was dragged like a peasant before Conductivitis. I triumphed. Yet, the King’s closest allies continue to conspire to unleash Wahala Morghulis upon me. Wilt ye call it off?” Abushola sipped again and Shomolek smiled.

“But I know not of such Wahala Morghulis,” protested Gambrach. “Thy charge at Conductivitis is dead, and what is dead may never die.”

“Ah,” said Abushola, taking another sip from his goblet, “if the King offers me no protection, then surely His Highness understands that I must do what I must to protect myself.”

“As must we,” said Shomolek, chuckling, unable to control himself. Abushola rose to leave, looking at Shomolek suspiciously. His stomach also felt a little funny.

Watching Abushola leave Bedrock, Shomolek smiled smugly, saying to Gambrach, “I have taken care of it, my King. Abushola surely shitteth not! I mixed the contents of this vial with his wine, procured from the best apothecary in the Kingdom.”

“Really? What is the substance called?” asked Gambrach

“Low Motille Elephantine. They use it in the circus to treat incontinent elephants. Behold I have locked his shit up. Tis frozen. And only an act of true love can thaw a frozen rectum.”

In Twillistia, the people were agog with news of Abushola’s impending defecation. The Padipalian Poopmeister was seen laying the Apicurean flag in Social Mediana Sqaure, with his buttock wiping cloth at the ready. But there was no sign of Abushola.

By now, Dinobetes and the rest of the Defecato Squad had caught up with Abushola in his chambers. King Tambourine of Ko Tow was also in their midst.

“Great Warden, art thou now ready to perform the Affirmatio et Defecato?” asked Mellitus. We are legion that followed you into the Apicurean herd and we earnestly await your return to Padipalia.

“The spirit is willing” confirmed Abushola, sweating profusely, “but the rectum is weak! I suspect Shomolek has poisoned me with a costive medicine. Behold, my bowels are clogged.”

“All is lost!” exclaimed Dinobetes.

“No, tis not.” replied Abushola.

“But how shall we do it?” asked Dinobetes.

“Alimentary, my dear Watson Mellitus. We shall pray and invoke the presence of St. Gastro of Laxatavia, the patron saint of Defecato. In the meantime, King Tambourine must now perform his Defecato, for the people are gathered and expectant of infragrance.”

Wherefore King Tambourine went into Twillistia and chanted the Affirmatio –

“I renounce Apicuria and rededicate myself to Padipalia; I affirm my faith in self-aggrandisement and my commitment to poor, nay, zero governance. Politicking above all, world without end. Amen. Behold I defecate!”

King Tambourine removed his garments, performed the Defecato and was received by the Poopmeister. Another of the Abusholan acolytes also performed the rituals. His name was Bellagio of Las Vegas and, until his defecation, he was the scribe of the Apicurean House.

In the chambers, Dinobetes and the Defecato Squad were deep in fervent prayer –  fecum come, fecum come, fecum come – they chanted over and over again. Abushola doubled over in agony and let out a fart. Dinobetes gagged but continued, resolute in his faith. Ye gods of lavatoria, visit us we pray. Lavatoria in excelsis!

Finally, a word of prophecy came unto the gathering – Abushola’s rectum had been frozen and only an act of true love could thaw it. Dinobetes knew what had to be done and he knew that only he could do it. Turning to the Defecato Squad of Nassholes, he said, “Brethren, go ye and wait for us on the other side. Tell the people to rejoice for the Defecato of Abushola is, uhm, at hand!” And they were left alone.

Outside, the rumble of anticipation grew. Finally, Dinobetes ran out declaring, “Padipalians, tis time to welcome Abushola home.”

Abushola staggered out, still doubled over, groaning out the words of the Affirmatio. He then disrobed and let out a wild cry as he loudly performed the Defacto. The Poopmeister smiled, wiping his posterior vigorously. Lo, Abushola had defecated.

Behold, the stench of defecation filled the land. Yea, was it so heavy that the people could hear the smell, even Gambrach with his  Many Years Disease. “Screw this, I’m off to Jandinia!” said Gambrach, covering his nose and ears. “Oshinoshin, handle this shit!”

Yea, the people say Gambrach’s winged chariot take flight and head for Jandinia. And there was not a gaddem speck of chill in all the gaddem land.

 

 

Chronicles of Chill: Hadi Potter & the Wings of Nostalgia

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In the days following the Apicurian victory in Ekitilopia, the magistratum ordered the bailment of Darth Soukey from the dungeons of Gambrach, for the sixth time. A sixth time, Gambrach and his council unlooked. Behold, their necks were severely stiffened from all the unlooking going on, and the councillors knew not where to look any longer.

The people heard of the unlookment from Bedrock and once again raised their voices in protest. The councillors, weary of the savagery of the people decided to draw lots to determine which of them would respond. Yea, the shortest straw was drawn by Bar Kar, Gambrach’s Head Pharisee, wearer of silken robes of wisdom.

“Friends, citizens, people of the Kingdom! Lend me thy ears. I come to bury Darth Soukey, not to praise him. For he is a prisoner of despicability.”

“Thou art a man of learning in the law, are ye not? Is it not our law that only the magistratum may condemn a man and that the orders from the magistratic bench must be obeyed by all, even the King?”, the leader of the protest asked.

“Aye. Tis in fact the law. But did ye not know, that according to the latin maxim, espouso de my bumbum, the King is in fact empowered to disobey any gaddem order he dislikes?”

“You lie, Bar Kar! There is no such latin maxim.”

“Oh, but there is! The first maxim of inequity. The full saying is espouso de my bumbum rex fit injuria iyalaya anybody.

And the people were incensed. Seeing the rising anger in the kingdom, another of Gambrach’s councillors rose to the occasion. His name was Hadi Potter and he was Gambrach’s councillor for winged chariots. Hadi Potter himself was a winged chariotsman, undergoing his training at the Nogwarts School of Futuristic Flight.

“Majesty, what will surely distil these flared tempers is the rejuvenation of the Royal Winged Fleet!”

“What? Again?” asked Gambrach. “The graveyard runneth over with the corpses of the winged chariot fleets of past quadrannia. The crater left by the huge, repeated expense remaineth in the vaults of the Iron Bank of Boo Jar till this day! Surely, affliction shall not rise an eleventh time?!?!”

“Wot is you talkin’bout, Hadi Potter? Dis ting finna cost a big sum of blaadclat coin which we afi budget for, innit though?” Hadi Potter ignored Lady KemShun.

“Aye, Sire. But verily I say unto thee that it shall be different this time.”

“How so? The people will ask and if we unlook one more gaddem thing in this Kingdom,  I will need a brace like Yode of Ekitilopia!”

“Sire,” said Hadi Potter, “this time around we have thee and thy glorious leadership.” Gambrach looked around to see if everyone else was as bored as he was, but Hadi Potter quickly continued.

“We also have a little something I’ve kept up my sleeve until now.” Lo, Hadi stuck his hand up his sleeve and produced a short wooden stick. “You literally had something up your sleeve”, remarked Oshinoshin. “Marvellous!”

“And what wilt thou do with a stick?” asked Gambrach. Hadi Potter smiled, for what many did not know was that the Nogwarts School of Futuristic Flight was also a school of wizardry. It had been a leading school until a recent downturn in the Kingdom, forcing many of the instructors to relocate to Canardiana with their families. However, his stick was not a mere stick – it was a wand.

Waving the wand over his head, Hadi Potter shouted, “Accio insignia!” and a floating streamer of green and white stripes floated into the room. “Behold, the new sigil!” said Hadi Potter.

FemCallamitus was scared shitless and ran for cover under Gambrach’s throne.

Nyem appelatio!” he yelled, and letters materialised from the ground, forming the words ‘Hot Air’. Shimolek, the new Head of the Apicureans tried to inhale the words, but Hadi Potter restrained him, saying “Behold thy official name!”

Waving the wand a third time, Hadi Potter cried, “Wingardium chariotis leviosa!!!” and with a loud whoosh, wireframes of winged chariots appeared in the King’s court.

The Kings courtiers looked to Hadi Potter for what was to come next but Hadi Potter had collapsed. He was sweating and breathless, and his magic was spent.

“Why start thou something which thou canst not finish?” asked Gambrach angrily. “This is but a twentieth of what is required. What shall we do with a mere 5%?”

Panting heavily, Hadi Potter replied, “Forgive me, my King. I underestimated the effort required to start a fleet. With thy permission, I shall journey to the Jandinian village of Farn Brozos – for powerful sorcerers reside there; and they can conjure the remaining 97%.”

“Thy arithmetic is suspect,” said FemCallamitus, finally recomposed.

“As is thy memory,” responded Hadi Potter with a warning glare.

“Very well,” said Gambrach to Potter, “Go ye to Farn Brozos, take the Code of Esther with you. And godspeed!”

But the people had heard word of the conjurings in Bedrock and they saw Hadi Potter depart for Farn Brozos and there was not a gaddem atom of chill in the Kingdom.

Meanwhile, rumours swirled of defecations, re-defecations and de-defections between Apicuria and Padipalia. Electoralis was truly at hand…

 

 

 

The Chronicles of Chill: The Ekitilopian Second 2nd Coming

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Thus it was, that seven days and seven nights passed but not a word did Lady KemShun say about her certificato de nyansch. Yea, did Bedrock not utter a gaddem either – not Gar Bar, not FemCallamitus, not Barshally, not Lay-Si. To the people of the Kingdom, twas as if all in Bedrock had been infected by King Gambrach’s Many Years Disease.

Within the walls of Bedrock, many machinations were afoot. The King had summoned his Senior Prefect of Nyansch, a man of Gunn named Rubin Kazan, to see whether or not Lady KemShun could be delivered from the accusations of Oluwollic Torontonianism.

“Rubin, my senior prefect, is there a way for Lady KemShun to be saved?”

“Yeah, Rubin blaad, you gonna save me or wot, fam?”

“Tis a delicate matter, my king. The Social Medianites and Digital Perusites are not easily deceived. And thou knowest, o King, even though Ser Balavida of the kwarapta intrusivo yet walketh free, that the legend of thy aversion to evil persisteth. Nothing must lift the scales from the peoples eyes, for electoralis cometh.”

“Hmmm”, thought Gambrach, very Chinese-Movie-Bossically, “then we shall respond with the famous Robust Answer of Great Silence, which cometh only unto men as me with levels upon levels of grace.”

“Yeahhhhbwoi!!! I mean, King! Wakanda forever, blud!” exclaimed Lady KemShun happily.

“Besides,” said Gambrach, “there is the more pressing matter of the throne of Ekitilopia to contend with.”

Behold, brethren, the Book of the Chronicles cometh full circle. For twas only a quadrannium ago that the Tword was first received of Yode of Padipalia and Jekfa of Apicuria, in electoralis for the kingship of Ekitilopia. Yea, a quadrannium passed and like tis family said by the Gaul people, “Plus ca chenji, plus c’est le same gaddem thing!!!” For as it was in the past, twas yet another contention between Yode and Jekfa. Well, perhaps not Yode personally but Nondes Cript, the Hand of Yode, by whom Yode wished to be succeeded.

Nondes Cript said nought, went nowhere and only laid a tepid claim to the throne. It might have been Nondes’s hand in electoralis but it was unmistakably the very loud voice of Yode that was heard by all.

Lo, did Yode deploy every move in his arsenal to frustrate the advance of Jekfa on the kingdom. However, he misunderestimated the full extent of the chenji that had taken place. For Yode at his own second coming, Jekfa was the incumbent who had not the backing of the King (Gejoshaphat); and now the tides had changed and twas Yode who no longer had the blessings of the King (Gambrach).

The Apicurians charged into the kingdom of Ekitilopia with legions of the men of the constabulary, withdrawn from their primary deployment of harassing innocent young citizens on the streets of Boo Jar and Gideria. And Yode, incensed at the occupation of the kingdom by the Apicurian forces, rose to meet them at the city gates in his chariot. Yea, while he was yet far off, an eager constable discharged a bottle of nightshade at him.

But this was no ordinary nightshade, nay. Twas Novichuk-grade nightshade, and instead of merely bringing upon him a temporary blindness, with only a mere whiff it broke Yode’s neck and radius at the same simultaneous gaddem time! Behold, it threw him into a momentary unconsciousness. You see, unlike his bodyguards, Yode was not trained in the art of breath-holding. They were saved, Yode was not.

And when he woke, broken-necked and crippled in the arm, discombobulated by the fierceness of the federal might he had come up against, Yode ran in tears into the village square in Social Mediana singing the dirge of the ancient bard Why Kleft –

“Enemies on the border line, who was the first to fire the nightshade by King Yode’s side?

You said it’s peace sir, but you didn’t want the peace sir, now I nearly rest in peace sir!”

Electoralis came ever closer and the people heard yet nought from Nondes Cript. “Say something we’re giving up on you“, they sang to him. And Padipalian men like the ancient Padipalian historian Rewajius foretold the imminent failure of Jekfa.

And on the day of electoralis, Yode sent emissaries into the kingdom with 35 hundred shekels for all that would cast a vote for Nondes Cript. The Apicurians heard it and laughed, for their emissaries were armed with 50 hundred shekels. The votes were counted and yea, twas Jekfa that was declared King-In-Waiting. Nondes Cript looked up momentarily from the scroll he was reading, shrugged and put his head back down.

But Yode was bitter. And he asked the people of Ekitilopia, “Why have ye rejected me? Did I not sit with thee in thy filth and penury? Did I not eat thy swill with thee? Did I not go on strike with thee when I owed thee thy wages?”

And the people said unto him, “Know ye not that it is written, ‘not everyone that pretendeth to be our guy will inherit the Kingdom?”

In Social Mediana, the people looked at the Apicurians and wondered about electoralis federalis, only a few months away. There was despair at the thought that Gambrach might not be so easily dislodged. How shall we survive another quadrannium of this, they asked themselves.

The Everly Failing at Convictions Commission heard the news of Yode’s imminent shedding of the royal tunic, licked its chomps at the prospect of finally being able to bring Yode before the magistratum. “Send Yode a Raven,” said Mar Goo, “tell him his hour of reckoning cometh.”

But the Everly scribe was giddy at the thought of everly not failing again at convicting Yode and decided to fly a winged-chariot over Twilistia square with a glorious banner attached, saying “Thy files be dusted that thine ass be busted, Yode. Mene Mene Tekel Upharsin, nuccuh!”

And all the people saw it and there was no gaddem chill in the entire kingdom.

Chronicles of Chill: Certificato de Nyansch

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Brethren, there was a consummate unchill upon the land. The scourge of the Yetis of Gawd continued unabated and the people of the kingdom looked unto Gambrach to deliver them from the pestilence. And in the midst of the anguish and gnashing of teeth, FemCallamitus, scribe of Gambrach and member of the King’s spinning quills went unto the people in Social Mediana to give them a message from the abundance of his heart.

 

“People of Middle Earth, why clingest thou so desperately unto thine ancestral inheritance of land even unto death? Wouldst it not be better to yield unto them and preserve thy lives? For it is written in the holiest scriptures, ‘what shall it profit a man to defend his ancestral bequeathment only to become an ancestor himself?’”

 

Yea, were the people utterly pissed at FemCallamitus and responded to him with severe vituperations.

 

Lo the Padipalians declared a week of mourning for the many dead but FemCallamitus was again provoked to fecal regurgitation. “Why declarest thou a mourning when only twenty score people have been killed by the Yetis of Gawd in the quadrannium of Gambrach? Know ye not that twenty-two score died by their hand during Gejoshaphat’s reign? Dost this not shew that ye dwell in greater safety under the beneficent most magnificent reign of King Gambrach?”

 

Behold the people rained curses on FemCallamitus for his utterance, hurling all manner of invectives at his physical and spiritual personage. So ferocious was the response in Social Mediana that it came unto Callamitusina, daughter of FemCallamitus and behold she wept for her father.

 

And lo it was in that day that the travails of Abushola at Conductivitis came to a close. For he had appealed to the Magistratum Supremex and the Lord Judex had declared him justified. Wherefore he came unto the Social Medianites and Digital Perusites with songs of praise, saying “First of, frock your clique and the morghulis ye claim, North-West side when we ride come equipped with game. Thou sayest thou wert a slayer but I trumped thy strife and I bust on Shiwajun, niccuh’s frocked for life!”

 

And lo, did Dinobetes join in the exulation with the song of the ancient bard Mikhail Bubblius, “Let me go hoooooooome, Apicuria sucks, Padipalia rocks, I wanna go home.”

 

Behold the songs of Abushola and Dinobetes were back to back hits. Gambrach thus feared that he would not be able to come to mainland Perusia, wherefore he issued a proclamation unto the people saying, “Wallahi Abushola is a great, fantastic guy! Tis not just I who say so, but the hallowed Magistratum Supremex. Ye knowest that I be the firmest believer in the sanctity of the Magistratum Supremex, even though I heed not their orders and they denied me justice when Shegolas and Yaraz and Gejoshaphat cheated me in electoralis, those bastards! But Abushola is justified and thus I declare that all should be like him.”

 

The people refused to be mocked and sent word back to the King that he deceiveth them not.

 

And of deceit, news came again to the people, brought by the news bearers of the Deluxe Timeses newsbringers. Yea, it was news of Lady KemShun, Purser and Gambrach’s councillor for the Coin. Yea, was it levelled against her that her Certificato of Nyansch was oluwollically torontonian and not of authentic dispensation. On hearing the news, Gambrach summoned Lady KemShun to Bedrock to ask if it was true.

 

“Lady KemShun, what is this I hear? Thou art not properly possessed of a Nyansch certificato?”

“Whaagwan, my King. Nah, mate, it ain’t like that bruv. Haters be telling lies and ting again, ya nuh.”

 

“But didst thou do the Nyansch?” asked Gambrach.

 

“Fam, my Nyansch be intact, man. Look, what it is yeah, is when I dropped into these ends from Jandinia with all the econominix vibes in my medulla oblongata, I was like, mans is too hot to be slumming wiv skreps on the camp tip, so I asked my homeboy Sia if he could swing down from the chandeliers and hook up da gyalsdem wiv rijinal papers, innit? And Sia was like, ‘yo babe, I gat you’ and he called in the Nyansch 5-0 and they sorted me out. I’m pristine, bredren!”

 

“Hmmm.”

 

“No need to be hmmm-ing king. I’s just trying to be like you – Magnificato sans Certificato!”

 

“What?”

 

“Boom, selecta! Leave it, y’get me, yeah?”

 

But the people heard the news of the Deluxe Timeses and the unchill boiled over a little more. Behold, Darth Soukey was ordered released by the Magistratum but the kingsmen of Gambrach obeyed them not. Shimolek succeded Ye-Gun as paterfamilias of Apicuria, after much internal fisticuffs and affray. The refrain from the people of Pottyscum came yet again in Social Mediana – that men are scum.

 

And there was no gaddem chill in the land.

 

Chronicles of Chill: The Day of Bar-Charr Mortis

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A deep sleep had descended upon the chronicler. Yea, it was the work of detractors that wished not the times to be recorded, of austerity. And for a season, the chronicler snoozed and heard not the voice of the Tword. Until, one morning, there was the sound of memorial rejoicing in the air which jolted him out of his reverie. It was a loud cacophony of revelers picnicking on the lane of memory, recalling the transition into inglory of Bar-Charr, the worst of the kings of the men of Gunn.

Bar-Charr was the head of the mutineers, the silent listener to every conversation, the unseen guest at every meal, a pestilence that flew by day, night and whatever was between. He was also bosom friend to Gambrach and to this we shall return. For behold, the people rejoiced as well at Gambrach’s beatification of Mor-Shoode. Cue our Nollywoodinian back-flashing…

Mor-Shoode was a man of immense wealth and the fore-runner in the first electoralis federalis following Gambrach’s mutiny as a man of Gunn in his previous reign. Gambrach was ousted by Gi-Dah in bloodless mutiny (twas even said that twas Darth Soukey that delivered the deathblow to Gambrach’s reign), and twas Gi-Dah on the throne at the time of the Mor-Shoodian polls.

It was a dire time in the kingdom, with many tired of the life and all its palavers. Behold, was there no work, no light, no food, no houses. The little water the people got was filled with filth. The meagre earnings the people earned were quickly eaten by the demons of transport. The schools caused headaches, the infirmaries didn’t work. Behold the people were tired of life. And Mor-Shoode wanted to end this, as did Bar-Tof, the other contender for the throne. Times were tough but Tof knew he was tough too – lo, perhaps even tougher.

And as the results came in from electoralis, Gi-Dah walked about alone in the throne room, looking at the throne wistfully. He ran his finger along the golden arm rest preparing to bid it goodbye. Suddenly, smoke began to billow from under the throne and a genie appeared.

“I am the genie of the throne, here to grant you one wish, King Gi-Dah.”

“A genie?” asked Gi-Dah, incredulously. “How didst thou survive the spiritual cleansing of the palace? The most potent marabouts from Timbuktu were brought hither to perform the rites.”

“True, King Gi-Dah. Behold, I hid from them in the chambers of Bar-Charr. Yea, even the Timbuktunian demontors fear him. But now, thou must make thy wish. What is it thou desirest?”

“The throne!” replied Gi-Dah without hesitation. But the genie looked disappointed. “Why asketh thou an elemental to do what lyeth within thy grasp to do? Thou art King. A man of Gunn no less.”

Wherefore Gi-Dah was imbued with a new swag and immediately ordered that the announcement of the electoralis  results be halted. It was a moment of malady however, for when lucidity returned, Gi-Dah was heard mumbling to himself “Chaiiii, I don fokkup!!!”

And truly he had, for there was a monumental unleashing of unchill upon the entire gaddem kingdom. Every voice was raised against Gi-Dah in condemnation, including the voice of Gar-Knee, a fearless man of the legal persuasion.

Gi-Dah knew his number was up and thus ceded the throne to Listless Nekan. The less that is said about Listless, the better, as he was not bold enough to sit on the throne with more than one of his buttock cheeks at any point in time. The people begged Listless to be earnest in his reorganization of the Kingdom but it was to no avail. Bar-Charr seized his moment and pounced on the throne. From thence was there nary a speculum of gaddem chill in the Kingdom.

There was looting, pillaging and executions the likes of which the Kingdom had never seen. All walked in fear and trepidation under his eye. All apart from Mor-Shoode, who protested his stolen mandate all the way from Jandinia to Trumpstantinople. Bar-Charr had no time for dissent and quickly threw Mor-Shoode into the dungeons. Bar-Charr also imprisoned King Shegolas of Owurutas, and Shay Who the older brother of King Yaraz. He probably also threw the genie of the throne room into the dungeons for he was never seen nor heard from again.

Behold, even Bar-Charr commissioned an electoralis charade, ostensibly to hand over the throne from the people of Gunn to the ordinary people. And all the elders gathered unto themselves to contemplate accession to the throne.

“Under His Eye!” they declared, commencing the meeting. “Blessed be Bar-Charr forever!”

“Brethren, shall we contend with each other for the throne?” asked one.

“Oh thou poor joker,” one chided, “canst thou not see that we do not contend against flesh and blood but the ultimate principality and power? The ruler of darkness in the high places? Sho mo age e ni?”

“Many have perished under Bar-Charr’s reign for the mere suggestion that another should be king. What will then be the fate of those who make bold to reign in his stead?”

“Thou art right, brother. Let all of us go before him and beg him in his majestic wisdom to remain our King, Gunn or not.”

“It is settled.” And they departed.

But then came three queens from the far east who had seen Bar-Charr’s star and came to honour him bearing gifts of malus domestica. There was a malus domestica of gold, one of frankincense and one of myrrh. Bar-Charr did not know that it was forbidden to have a piece of each of the three gifts in his mouth at the same damn time and made the final mistake of his life, paying the ultimate price. The streets were filled with dancing and rejoicing and tears of joy – the day of Bar-Charr mortis. Whereafter, owing to the manner of his death, Bar-Charr become known in some parts of the kingdom as Apollonius.

Dool-Shalom was quickly chosen by the men of Gunn to be the new king but he was wary of the poisoned chalice of the throne and wanted to sit on it no longer than necessary. All hoped that he would free Mor-Shoode and declare him king. Yea, even emissaries from Trumpstantinople came visiting, led by Lady Shossana Beans and Mor-Shoode was brought unto them that they might see that he lived and breathed. But it quickly went awry, as Mor-Shoode took ill suddenly and none was able to revive him.

Here endeth the back-flashing of Nolly, save to say thatDool-Shalom ceded the throne to Shegolas after electoralis and the shadow of the Mor-Shoode hung over the Kings of the kingdom thereafter.

Back in Bedrock there was distress as the council of Gambrach sensed that retaining the throne in electoralis was going to be a tall order. Yea, was there a storming daniels of brains to see what could be done.

“Shall we get His Highness to do the Sharkew-Sharkew dance for the Social Medianites?” suggested FemCallamitus, “ye know how they love seeing their kings in dance.”

“Shall we find another Gejoshaphatian project to tie a ribbon to?” asked Gar Bar.

“Better yet, let us accuse Gejoshaphat of stealing all the golden utensils from Bedrock,” suggested Lar Yi.

“No, no, no.” replied Shiwajun, “all these leave the King’s flanks open to renewed Wahala Morghulis. The King must imbibe the spirit of the Prophet Pushertease and endrake his enemies into silence as it was done in the days of old. Let him canonise and beatify Mor-Shoode.”

“WHA???” shouted Gar Bar. “Never! The people will see it for the Greek gift that it is.”

“And what do you know about Greeks and Trojans?” asked Kyocera. “A Greek gift could either be hiding soldiers or serve as firewood for the winter. And ye all know that winter is coming…. It is done, O Shiwajun. The proclamation will go out this evening.”

“You mean the King has already agr…” started FemCallamitus, trailing off when he saw the scowl on the face of Kyocera.

Thus, was it proclaimed in Social Mediana, to the Digital Perusites, to the Amalakites and even the dogs and baboons in the kingdom that Mor-Shoode, Gar Knee and Gar Nah (who would have been the Hand of Mor-Shoode) were to receive the kingdom’s highest honours. It was the eve of one score years since the demise of Bar-Charr and maigheeeeurddd,  there was no gaddem chill in the land.