Chronicles of Chill: The Day of Bar-Charr Mortis


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.

Chronicles of Chill: Jekunimous Iyanensis


The unchill in the land was a tempestuous one and it billowed and blew onto the doorstep of Dinobetes Mellitus. Dinobetes was a senateen of the Nassholes, from House Apicuria. Many are the enchronicled chronicles of Dinobetes but none contained such unchill was about to be unleashed.

Thus it was that as Dinobetes was at the Winged Chariot Depot of Boo-Jar, that he was accosted by the constabulary. “Halt! In the name of the law!” the leader of the constables commanded him. “Thou darest interfere with a maker of the law?” queried Dino, “one on His Majesty’s Service to Jandinia for a glorious frolicking?”

But the constables were determined and Dinobetes looked on in regret as his homies departed for the supreme faffing, for the spirit of estacode had descended upon them and they could not think straight.

Wherefore Dinobetes sent a message unto the Twilistines, saying “Behold, I am ensnared of the constabulary!!!” and whereof the Twilistines responded, “Aha! Now thou canst dance thy famous Jekunimous Iyanensis dance, that all might know that thou art not a mere bluffer.”

In this moment, we now deploy the Nollywoodinic tool of flashbacking, for a flashback is required to tell of the Jekunimous Iyanensis dance. When twas said that Dinobetes’ scrolls of learning were of foggy origins, Dinobetes chanted and danced the Jekunimous Iyanensis, warning any who stood in his way of certain doom and damnation. Lo, did he raise the banner again, when the king in his home kingdom of Kogitamia, King Yaya Bellows, began the process to remove Dinobetes from senatii. Yea, did Dinobetes chant King Bellows’ name in Jekunimous Iyanensian dance, brandishing his chest upon stick legs – for verily, Dinobetes skippeth leg day. Here endeth the flashbacking.

And thus it was that news reached the Twilistines that Dinobetes was being hauled to Kogitamia from Boo Jar in locks, stocks and chains. Luckily for Dinobetes, the feast of Beegue Braw Thurr was over, otherwise the Twilistians & Social Medianites would not have been apprised of his perils.

And as they traversed the bumpy pathways and byways towards Kogitamia, Dinobetes thought to himself, “These gaddem constables of the gaddem constabulary! Could they not make my arrest a bit more glamorous? Know they not that it was me that the upstart bard sang the melody ‘Dinobetes, Dinobetes, No faeces?’ the ode to my pimping swag? Anyways, I know Abushola my Lord Warden of senatii will come for me. Then they will know that I am not a man to be arrested without pomp and circumstance.”

The constables were making jokes and passing round a wineskin – drinking on duty, that was how useless they were. But Dinobetes was thirsty and decided he would not refuse a swig if he was offered. As the gourd came closer to Dinobetes, he saw what looked like a vial being emptied in it.

“YE SHALT NOT GETTETH ME!!!” This was the cry of Dinobetes as he got too his feet and jumped out of the constabulary chariot. What happened next would take a few hundred years to be explained by a young man of science named Isaac Newton, but suffice it to say the forces of the moving chariot and the stationery ground converged in the stick legs of Dinobetes and yea, because he skippeth leg day, the result was that he crumpled to the ground in a heap.

Lo, did the constables carried him with haste to the infirmary, lest he perished in their hands and was beatified into St. Dinobetes of Melitus. And twas in the infirmary that Abushola finally came unto Dinobetes.

“My Lord Warden, thou comest to deliver me from the hands of my oppressor. Finally.”

“I come in solidarity, Dinobetes,” was the measured response from Abushola.

“Solidarity? But thou art not in chains!”

“Aye, but behold, I stand with thee!”

“Even unto Kogitamia?”

“Good man, is it not sufficient that I stand with thee right now in thine hour of tribulation?”

“Lord Warden, but I am thy dawg, gee. Thee have I stood with in everything. Give the word and let me be delivered unto thee!”

“Dinobetes, my good Man Friday,” replied Abushola with a smile, “forget thou not the words of the ancient prophet Kerni Rojaz, “Thou gotta know whenst to hold’em, know whenst to fold’em, know whenst to walk away, know whence to run!

“Lord Abushola…”

But Abushola cut him off. “Island in the stream, that is what thou art. This was also the word of the prophet. Tis not I, tis the ancient prophecy that must be fulfilled. Tarry awhile, for it is well with thee.” And he made to leave the infirmary.

“Lord Warden, wilt thou leave me at the mercy of King Yaya Bellows?”

“Dinobetes! Of course not! How could I leave thee defenceless? As we speak, I have summoned many of the youths of Kogitamia and they have come with their drums. Tonight has been declared the feast of Jekunimous Iyanensis. They will chant and dance in thine honour, that Bellows might see how popular you still are.”

Dinobetes was crestfallen and lo, did he lose all his chill. And far away in the kingdom of Dunamis, King El-Farquaad saw it all and rubbed his hands in glee. Who said Dr Shey Who of the senatii was untouchable?

But there was too much unchill in the land. The Yetis of Gawd continued to savage the Middle Earth kingdoms and their cries for help pierced the sleep of all. King Roe Chazz of Imolek had run out coin to build his greatest statue yet and levied an ad vlostaturem tax on all Imolekites. Nothing would get in the way of the statue. Osinoshin, the King’s hand, continued to come and go as he had previously done and yet again the people called him, Comer Comer Comer Come elyon.

The kingdoms were a gaddem mess and there was no gaddem chill anywhere.

Chronicles of Chill: The Curious Case of the Coin


And thus it was that Gambrach departed the Kingdom for Jandinia to attend Chorgasm, where once again the spirit of outspokenness came upon him, chasing away that spirit of hermitry that besieged him whenever he was in the Kingdom. Yea, he spake.

First of all, he spake to an assemblage of lovengers desirous of hearing him speak whilst wearing his famed robes of convalescence. And lo, he told them of the fecundity of the quagmire of the Gejoshaphatian quadrannium, of which all had heard ad nauseam. But he spake it again, for he had nary an other thing to say. “O Lovengers, the times of Gejoshaphat were terrible. Behold, there was plunder and pillage of the most amateurish sort. But yea, though we have successfully prosecuted no one, lo have I fixed it. And I deserve some accolades. Whorwhaa.”

Lo, they gave him some accolades.

And drunk on the lovengerous accolades, Gambrach stepped into the grand Chorgasm arena to speak with the other chorganisms who had come from afar. Wherefore they asked him again, at the end of the day’s proceedings, “O great Gambrach of 37 Kingdoms, wilt thou give us a parting word about thy kingdom? Canst we bring our merchandise to North Easteros? And why didst thou not sign Pax Freekanah?”

“You see, in the time of Gejoshaphat,” began Gambrach, to murmurs of Oh shit, not this shit gaddem parable again??? Fortunately, Gambrach was in the land of the meisters and his Many Years Disease ears had just been reset. He abridged his Gejoshaphatian lamentation.

“Okay, okay,” he said, “let me move on to North Easteros. Even though the Haramites of Boko have attempted to capitalise on the technicality of our technical vanquishment of their forces, I can say without too much fear of a reprisal attack from them that North Easteros is somewhat, kind of, like, a bit okayish now. Feel free to bring thy merchandise. As for the other problems affecting the region, I canst not tell a lie, my kingdom brims with the indiscipline of procreation. Lazy people being fruitful and multiplying with reckless abandon. Are they Adam? Was it they who were given the charge? And because like me, many have not even their scroll de minimis, they think like me they are entitled to Kingly perks. Imagine!?!”

Imagine indeed, for the rant of Gambrach was heard on Social Mediana, in Twilistia and even the land of the Digital Perusites. And there was no gaddem chill – for Gambrach had branded them sloths. There was pandemonium as all disavowed the appellation.

FemCallamitus roared into action in defence of his liege, protesting, “People of the land, Gambrach demarketeth thee always when abroad for thine own good. Look at the lifestyles of decadence and seedless grapes they live in these countries – these will not aid us on our rice sufficiency odyssey. Think!”

But the people were not swayed. And there was more unchill to come. For the news bearers of the Sterling Times had brought news into the Kingdom, of Lady Kem Shun, Abushola and Ga Rah and monies spent, not included in the kingdom’s coinage. Lady Kem Shun heard the allegation and was furious. Yea, she went into Twilistia to address it.

“Whaah gwan bluds? What dis ting mans is hearing ‘bout extra-budgetary coins for the mandems of the senatii and junior senatii Nassholes? Dis is a wicked allegations of manifestations of appropriations and infestations inna de vibrations.”

Huh? The people paused, puzzled, for no one understood whether she denied it or not.

“Sterling Times issa wasteman paper. Dem nuh know nothing about the econominix. I is the queen of econominix, ya hear me now? Brrrr!”

Twas the most confusing of denials ever. And Abushola and Ga Rah said nought.

Then came yet more news of stupendous coinings, for Gambrach had taken a gazillion shekels from the Iron Bank of Boo Jar without the endorsement of the Nassholes. They were nassholes, true, but still, this was in egregious breach of the law of the land.

“Knowest thou not, that this is a dethronement-worthy offence?” the people cried unto Gambrach.

“For reals?” Gambrach asked in disbelief. “Dethronement? Even when millions came out to show the people of the south how famous I still am?”

“The law is the law, dude,” came the irreverent answer.

“What shall we tell the people?” asked a subdued Gambrach. “I took this coin not for myself but for the good of the kingdom. Twas to buy a supersonic megatronic spectroscopic flight of Torskanoe fantasy.”

“Yes, Majesty, but they are not due from Trumpstantinople for another two years!”

“For reals????” asked Gambrach.

“Yes, for reals! Shiiii, the coinage for the year is yet to be read even!”

“FOR REALS??? Why does no one tell me anything?” Gambrach asked, exasperated.

“Sire, shall we just tell them that you did not know?” suggested Gar Bar.

“Can’t we blame it on Gejoshaphat?” asked Gambrach.

“Come now, Sire…”

“Okay, okay, alright. Tell them yet again that I did not know.”

Yea, Gar Bar went into the land and told the people and there was a great eruption of laughter at the absurdity of it all. There no chill but there was laughter. And it was from that day that Gambrach was given a new regnal name. No longer would he merely be called Gambrach. He was now to be known as Gambrach Jon Snow.


Chronicles of Chill: The Prophecy of the Zanga


Following the day of Shiwajunfest, news reached the Chronicler that the Tword had found another soul worthy of the divine revelations of unchill. But it seemed this secret chronicler did not in fact know that he had been imbued of the Tword.

The secret chronicler received Tword of Asos, daughter of Gambrach, to whom her husband Noodlinho had now done what Dinobetes Mellitus had threatened to do to Remy Ma, wife of Shiwajun – behold, he had known her and she was with child. And thus was it chronicled by the secret chronicler –

“Only Noodlinho and his wife, Asos, know what it is about their union that drives them to perpetuate one of the most enviable and durable signs of love. They got married last year in a savor of celebritine ceremony. And to prove their commitment, abiding love for each other, and to increase the population of the Kingdom, Asos, we gathered is expecting Noodlinho’s baby. Casting a probing look at the ever reticent Asos when sighted at an event recently, it was glaring to all wandering eyes that she has been noticeably put on a 9-month maternal course by ‘Linho through a legitimate conjugal collaboration. Looking so robust and bigger than her pre-marital figure, the widely acknowledged self-disciplined lady was cynosure of all eyes as onlookers turned their attention on her and began to make some biological permutations.” [He has such a way with words, this secret chronicler.]

Thus was it said of the secret chronicler, “Blessed is he that chronicles without knowing that he chronicles, for out of his quill poureth pure bants.”

In the Crescent Lakes kingdom of King Yade-Ben, after much houdini and alapeanutbuttersandwiches, the time came for the Coinage of Telepathic Apparitional Manifestations (also known as the Coinage of Stalgmighty Stalctites) to be passed into law. The CrescentLakian senatii had read the increadible coinage of fantasy, knowing full well that to achieve this coinage of supremest deficit, Yade-Ben would have to be a miracle-working king of kings. Wherefore they renamed him Yezus.

Behold, as the hour of promulgation drew nigh, the king closed his eyes and raised his hand into the air. The CrescentLakian royal quill was handed to him, and a strong wind began to blow in the auditorium. “Brethren CrescentLakians, this arrogant coinage of hope is an ambiguous expression of your mood. It is historic and euphoric. It is a counterintuitive deficit to definitely fix it. Behold, I append my glorious seal of razzmatazz and bombastic opprobrium.”

A lightning bolt fell from the heavens and then there was calm. “It is done!” proclaimed the Chief Griot. “All hail the king!”

Yezus wept.

Lady Kem-Shun, Gambrach’s Councillor for the Coin, heard of the proceedings in Crescent Lakes and thought to examine the Kingdom’s vaults, to see how much remained. She drew her abacus and after a few beads, she was convinced something was amiss. “Whaaagwan inna dis place, mate? Hath Ser Magoo, head of the Everly Failing at Convictions Commission not brought forth all that he recovereth? Dis a wasteman ting!” But Magoo unlooked.

In Bedrock, Gambrach summoned his Spinning Quills, for he had an announcement of the utmost importance to make to them. “Scribes, I have decided that I will put myself forward in contention at electoralis federalis.”

“I KNEW IT!!!” whooped FemCallamitus, forgetting decorum. The other quills rolled their eyes.

“Sire,” said Gar Bar, with some caution, “but what about the 3 horsemen of the Kakocalypse – Shegolas, Gi Dah and Dan Jumanji have all turned against thee…”

“Aye. But there remaineth one horseman yet – Dool Shalom. He may yet be swayed. And if he be swayed, he may yet sway the other 3. And even if he not be swayed, I am Gambrach. I am King. I am 10 million underaged ballots in the gaddem bank, gaddemmit!”

“Hail our beloved King!” proclaimed Gyretta and Bee Ree.

“Good, good.” said Gambrach. “Now tell them to ready the winged Chariot.”

“Art thou going into the land to tell the people? Into South Easteros to win over the forlorn of the Ipobusinian mischief makers?” asked FemCallamitus.

“Geez, no way man! That’s what I have you guys for. Quillers should get to quilling. I’m off to Jandinia, biyotches!”

“But Majesty,” said Bee Ree, the Chorgasm meeting isn’t for another 10 days…”

Gambrach smiled and said, “Estacode, baby! And if I decide to make an early detour to see the meisters, obu gini any bagger’s consain? Peace out.”

And as Gambrach left in his winged chariot, a delirious spirit descended upon FemCallamitus and he entered into Social Mediania and began to prophesy –

“Behold the ancient words, ever true, written by the Prophet Terrgee, for me and you, deep down in the lungu of the Zanga. Take heed, any that would run against Gambrach in electoralis, can they run faster than the wind? Can they flow faster than a river? Can they rise higher than a mountain? Nay! Hear the words of the Prophet Terrgee yet again, ‘thou canst only run, run, run, run, past Gambrach G, if thou runnest mad!”

And the people heard it. And there was no gaddem chill in the kingdom.



Chronicles of Chill: The 3 Kings of Disorient


3 kings2.jpg

The day of Dan Jumanji was a day of sorrow and regret for the courtiers of Gambrach. “Mene mene tekel upharsin,” wept FemCallamitus.

“Oh, hush!” said Gyretta, as she sipped from her stein of sweet pal mectar. “Tis a time to do more than weeping and speaking in strange tongues,” she said with a strong look of disapproval.

“But I promised the wailer horde fresh Gambrachian wine in the fullness of time, gaddemit! Electoralis is less than 12 moons away. Behold, the fullness of time becometh the shortage and emptiness of time.”

“Our king is in need of redemption,” said Bee Ree.

“Blasphemy!” shouted FemCallamitus, angry. “Who wouldst dare to redeem our redeemer? Our most fragrant blessed Gambrach? Our most – “

“SHUT UP!!!” chorused Gar Bar, Bee Ree, Gyretta and Bashally. “The grown-ups are speaking.”

“Where shall we find this redemption?” Gar Bar asked Bee Ree.

“Have ye heard of the Three Kings of Disorient? No? Well, I shall send them a raven. Gar Bar, you just speak to Mefilius and make sure provision is made to give them a fitting reception and sending off *wink* for their visit.”

“Consider it done, m’lady,” replied Gar Bar.

The following day, Gambrach sat in the throne room, all depressed. Bee Ree was announced and entered into his presence. As ever, Moborius was seated in a corner, waiting with brush and canvas to record the moments for posterity. Gambrach was confused at her buoyant disposition, but he said nothing.

“Your majesty, I have a surprise for you!!! I present to you the 3 Kings of Disorient!”

The lights dimmed in the throne room, which pissed Moborious off, for he could not see what to paint. Suddenly a spotlight shone on the door and there was smoke and soft music playing. A deep voice proclaimed loudly, “Behold the 3 Kings of Disorient who have voyaged to see King Gambrach from the occident, for they have seen his star in the sky! Their names are Momma Loo Thurr, Cousin Loo Thurr and Nephew Loo Thurr. And the 3 kings began to sing.

We three kings of disorient are

Bearing gifts we traverse afar

Airports, traffic, roads and potholes

Following Gambrach’s star


O – o star of progress, star of praise

Star to end corruption’s days

Boko defeating

Gaffe repeating

Strict and Spartan in his ways


When their song ended, Momma Loo Thur embraced Gambrach, and handed him an enribboned scroll. Shittinski was alarmed at such close contact between unmarried adults and hurriedly left the throne room. Cousin Loo Thur just stood there like a statue and King Roe Chazz looked at her lustfully.

Nephew Loo Thurr then spoke. “We of the famous global Loo Thurr dynasty have viewed Gambrach from afar. Yea, his star doth shine brightly. The most famous of the Loo Thurrs, that is Remy, had a dream that everyone would be equal. And look how equality sweepeth across thy Kingdom. For this reason, for the very first time in Freekah, in the global world, we the Loo Thurrs hereby present him the Concocted Black Month of Black Excellence of Black Historical and Exceptional African Black Supersonic Leadership Award of Blackness 2018. Look, like it was said by the ancient Russian philosopher Igwenitzof Tupacizinsky, Gambrach deserves some accolades!”

“Accolades!” echoed Lady Bee Ree.

“Gambrach has paid his dues!” continued Nephew. “Paid in full!” responded Bee Ree.

Wherefore Moborious painted the moment in full and the Spinning Quills of Gambrach – Lar Yi, Bee Ree, Gar Bar, FemCallamitus, Bashally and Gyretta – louded it unto the ends of the Kingdom. And there was no gaddem chill in the land, for the people were confused. “And canst it be that Gambrach should gain an interest in Remy Loo Thurr’s fame?” they asked one another.

But then news came unto the Social Medianites from the chambers of the children of Remy Loo Thurr and his wife Scottetta that the 3 Kings of Disorient were not sent of them to confer any accolades on Gambrach. And lo, it was another own goal, wherefore Gambrach was known for a moment as Gambrach Escobar. Yea, had the real Loo Thurr’s VAR’d Gambrach and his quills, and even their most ardent fans were handfallen.

“What do we do now, great and wise king?” a forlorn Lar Yi enquired. “Shall I wax another improbable fable of mendacity?”

“No,” said Gambrach as he read a scroll that the raven master had just handed to him. The raven had come from Gideria. A smile played across Gambrach’s face.

“Ha ha!” he chuckled. “Tis the day of Shiwajunfest! Maigheeeurd, I’m going to get turnt again! Tell King Ambsalom of Gideria to block every gaddem road and close every gaddem port for I come thither! That will teach those Social Medianites of Gideria!”

Ambsalom hurriedly shut Gideria down. And in all the land, a single gaddem modicum of chill, nary a gaddem speculum even, could not be found.

There was no chill in the heart of the chronicler either, for the Tword was infused with the spirit of the Killmonger and demanded of the chronicler, “IS THIS YOUR CHRONICLE?????


Chronicles of Chill: The Day of Dan-Jumanji

Thus it was in the tenth month of the third year of the first quadrannium of the reign of Gambrach, that the spirit of the Tword descended upon Shay Who, a senateen of the the kingdom of Dunamis, that is the kingdom of King El-Farquaad. And as the Tword came upon Shay Who, he began to speak, “Behold, o ye people of the Kingdom, ye blessed people which suffereth under the pestilences of thy kings and princes, who eat the fat of the land and leave thee with the pickings. Lo, I am one of them. And I declare to ye this day, that we are paid 14 million shekels from the King’s coin every gaddem month!” And the spirit departed from him, and yea knew he not what he hath done.

The people heard it and were shook to their bones. 14 million shekels??? Wherefore the other senateens gathered themselves as unto a choir, and sang unto senateen Shay Who, the words of the bard Shamsudeen Smeeth, “You say we’re crazy, but you do not know what you have done, and if you’re feeling guilty, just know that you’re the only one!”

And as they sang the ditty, feeling pretty and witty, there was a man of Oyossinia named Veeque Thaw, who the song greatly troubled. He was troubled for he had just been dismissed from the employ of Shittinski, the shit councillor of Gambrach for matters of communications. Shittinski was also of Oyossinia and had made no secret of his desire to succeed King Jimobite once his reign was ended. It was a fate dreaded by all good people of Oyossinia.

Veeque had departed the service of Shittinski but had 14 million shekels outstanding in his pay. He then determined in his heart to write to Shittinksi. But it could not be an ordinary letter. It had to be a scrollage of pomp and circumstance and it had to be shewn to all in Social Mediana. He picked up his quill and parchment and wrote –

“Bitch better have my money! 14 million shekels! BOMBASTIC ENGLISH! BOMBASTIC GRAMMAR! FULLY BOMBASTIC GRAMMAR!!! Pay me what you owe me!!! BOMBASTIC ELEMENT! AMERICAN STINKING SHIT! Don’t act like you forgot! Balling buying cars and houses and chicks that aint your spouses! BOMBASTIC, BOMBASTIC, BOMBASTIIIIIIC!!!!!”

Yea, when Shittinski read the letter, he was offended right from his beard into his gloved hand. “This peasant thinketh he can take on a pharisee in the exchange of letters? He knoweth not what he hath started. IT. IS. ON!”

Wherefore Shittinski, who some of the people had fondly started referring to as Bullshittu, gathered his elite scribes and charged them to respond in kind to Veeque Thaw. Wherefore they replied, also into all of Social Mediana –


Yea, the people were amazed at the pedantry of the Bullshittinski clan.

In Gideria, the voice of the people had risen against King Ambsalom, the favoured of Shiwajun. Ambsalom had raised homage taxes in the state and his defenders did their feeble best to convince Giderians it was not to build the electoralis war chest of Shiwajun. And his counsellors came into his palace to let him know that the grumblings of the people were reaching a crescendo and something needed to be done.

“Are they not entertained by the antics of Dinobetes Mellitus,” asked Ambsalom. “Does his war of jestery with King Bellows in Kogitaria, not impalliate their angst?”

“No, O king of the hidden coinage,” they responded. “This is not Kogitaria. It takes more than Kingly and senteenly burlesque to assuage Giderian anger.”

“But I am on a most holy mission to clean up Gideria. Some have rightly called it a Holy Shiwajunihad. My vision is to clean up the many messes we have in this Kingdom.”

“That is a most excellent idea, Your Highness. We shall embark on a project to actualise your vision of scraping the filth off Gideria. Behold, the project shall be called visionscrapings. And the people will be most pleased.”

“Go ye then, and do as ye sayest.”

Thus, all over Gideria, the visionscrapings descended to scrape away the filth. Yea, they scraped and scraped and scraped but Gideria seemed more and more unscrapable. And the voice of Giderians grew louder in unchill.

And as the unchill brewed, news came from Trumpstantinople of the tribe of the Wentbridge Scatterlyticans, who had broken into the Book of Faces. The Scatterlyticans were almost as invasive as the Yetis of Gawd, and had been offered millions of Theresan shekels to break also into the secret library of Gambrach, to reveal the musings of Gambrach to the camp of Gejoshaphat during electoralis. But it was a gaddem waste of money, for Gejoshaphat was defeated, and also because the secret library of Gambrach was bare, for nothing was there.

Lo, as the invasiveness of the Yetis of Gawd persisted, the voice was heard all over Digital Perusia and Social Mediana of Dan Jumanji. Like Gambrach, Shegolas and Gi Dah, he was also a man of Gunn. Yea, like the Farhni Kaynic Illuminatics, he was the unseen hand behind the many quadrannia of the men of the Gunn when they took the throne. All the Kings of Gunn rolled the dice with Dan Jumanji.

And like Shay Who, the Tword also descended upon Dan Jumanji, making him break rank and speak unnatural words unto the people. “Brethren, the time cometh when ye all must pick up thy weapons to defend thyselves against the hordes of the Yetis of Gawd. For the King’s Armies are with them, not with thee!”

Wherefore, in unchill, a Twillistian, AndyRoid broke into ancient tongues, saying, “Entropy has eroded the equilibrium within the cassava solution via an excessive infusion of dihydrogen oxide.” Yea, water passeth garri.

And there was no gaddem chill in the entire gaddam land!

Chronicles of Chill: The Perilous Perils of Gambrach


The Kingdom of Twillistia suffereth unchill and the chronicler recordeth it by force. Tributaries of unrest flowed unrelenting into the river of unchill, from which the people bathed and cooked and swum. It was an extreme age and King Gambrach suffered contentions from many sides.

Gambrach had received yet another letter beseeching him to abandon electoralis, on this occasion from Gi Dah, another of the Kings of quadrannia past. But Gambrach was unyielding, so the Tword sent 2 plagues into the land. Well, twas only one plague, but doubly manifested – for a snake and a monkey made off with bags of the Kingdom’s coin.

Yea, when Gambrach heard it, he was troubled. “Behold, I had believed in my heart that the Furious Five were doers of good. Wilt Master Mantis and Master Crane and the Dragon Warrior Kung-Fu Panda also invade our land to steal our coin? Which one of ye can summon Master Oogway from the spirit realm to stop this?”

And Gar Bar responded, “there is a young man in the land, named Par Dee, son of Knoo Gar – he is a 7th dan of the 29th chamber of the trojan horse in the shaolin temple. Yea, he possesseth a blackened belt in Abandex style, having trained under Master Oogway himself. Shall I send for him?” But Par Dee was away from the Kingdom, on a clandestine odyssey of leonine conquests, with his consigliere, Ed Gar.

The Yetis of Gawd continue to ravage the land, sad for the loss of the traditional routes of ancient ancestral migrations. And the forces of Gambrach comprehendeth them not. Wherefore Gambrach charged the head of his constabulary, Heebra Driss saying, “Go thou into Ben Way and depart not therefrom until thou subduest the Yetis.” But Heebra Driss hath a turnup he couldest not miss for any gaddem thing in the world. And yea, he went to get turnt.

And the people were amazed that the constabulary head could disobey the King without consequence but FemCallamitus set the record straight, saying “Oh ye ignorant heifers! Know ye not that the Head Constable is accountable to the Mystical Confederation of Constables and not to the King?” Yea, even Gambrach was confused by the utterance of FemCallamitus and sent for Heebra Driss to ask where exactly the mystical confederation was located.

Alas, tragedy struck as Heebra Driss proceeded to Bedrock. Ndour, the son of Gambrach had struck a horse racing wager with his companion, to find out whose fine Arabian steed was the swiftest of foot. Behold, they raced through the streets of Boo Jar, at breakneck pace but the horses suddenly came upon a stretch of road untended to by the Road Repairers Counselate, under the stewardship of Flasholas, Gambrach’s tripartite Counsellor. And thus it was that the horses reared and threw their riders and all feared for Ndour and his unnamed friend.

Heebra Driss witnessed it all and quickly summoned Solomon Grundy, Gambrach’s Counsellor for Sanguinity. Grundy gathered all the leading physicians in the land and constituted them into the National Council for the Urgent Recovery of Ndour (NACOFURN) and chaired it. Lo, NACOFURN conjured all the ancient healing magic of the land to guide Ndour back to health. It was not easy and they had to transplant some of Gambrach’s fiddledeoxyribonucleicacid into Ndour’s marrow to rescue him. Yea, was he rescued and Ndour, like his father, became as fit as a fiddle. The Tword be praised.

And with the recovery of Ndour, Gambrach’s legend waxed stronger in North Easteros. “He is so spartan”, the people said, “that his own son, the prince and sole heir, was not thrown from a chariot of gold. Nay! He rode on a horse like the rest of us.” And the Arabian breeders herd of it and yea, they were tickled.

Lo, Gambrach would have been depressed by the near miss but behold 2 of his homies were giving out the hands of their daughters in marriage and the mother of all litness was about to descend into the city of Boo Jar.

First was the wedding of the Skinnee Ma, daughter of Lee Ko, the richest man in all of Freekah. Yea, was it turnt, with even the Gates of Billy (not a scandal) in attendance. From there, twas the wedding of Venus de Milola, daughter of Osinoshin to the son of the legendary courtesan to all the queens in Boo Jar since the dawn of time, Lady Ga Sha. Like the Chronicler, thou also wonderest the groom of Skinnee Ma, right? Right? RIGHT???

And in the middle of getting turnt, Gar Bar came to fetch Gambrach for he was due to depart to Kagamestan to sign a treaty to marketise the kingdoms of Freekah. But Gambrach was all partied out. And Kagamestan was not Jandinia. “I have no desire to go to Kagamestan”, Gambrach said to Gar Bar. “As the crippled giant of Freekah, can we not tell them it will take us six months to limp to Kagamestan?”

“Sire, they know of our fleet of flying chariots”, replied Gar Bar. “They wilt not believe us.”

“What is the treaty for, anyway?” asked Gambrach. “Our Kings of previous quadrannia do not keep their loot in Kagamestan – why do we need to sign a treaty with them?”

“Sire, we are signing the treaty so that the people of Freekah can trade freely with one another.”

“Freely? What is that? You mean they won’t pay”

“Yes sire. But then neither will we.”

“Wait first. No further excise?”

“No sire.”

“My ride or die homeboy Brah Meed won’t be able to charge them excise for bringing their goods? The coinage he counts for me daily will diminish?”

“Possibly, sire.”

“WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME? WTF IS THIS??? Please, please, please, this is not the way of the Wakandans. I need to calm my navvs and think a bit about this.”

And the people heard it and were troubled. It was whispered that the King had stumbled onto some ancient scrolls telling the prophecy of a land to come. Wakandanese had filtered even into House Apicura, with electoralis at hand.

Lo, there was also a gushing of wahala morghulis in House Apicuria, with the housemen jostling for primacy in the coming shenanigans of electoralis. Gambrach knew he was piss poor at political gymnastics and sent for Shiwajun again.

“Yo, gee. What’s up? Where’s the wahala morghulis I wished thee to give Shegolas? And before thou answerest seest thou not our own wahala morghulis? Wilst thou not purge Apicuria of it? And again what is this shit of bull freedom of trade in Kagamestan? Canst thou not get me out of it?”

Yea, did Shiwajun pause and then, when he spoke, launched he into the most epic of rants. “O Gambrach, why lamentest thou? Have ye not heard of what is called – o how canst I translate it from my mother tongue – buharitage? Thou contendeth electoralis as an Annipalopulan and once did thou lose, yea even unto the second time. This is thy buharitage. Thou contendest as a Corpuconian and again thy buharitage preventeth ascension not once but twice. Behold, thou carriest on thy back 4 electorales of buharitage and twas not until my arrival in thy camp that thou couldest ascend. Thou ascendest finish, thou come forgeteth me and my guys. Thy buharitage cometh back to haunt thee now and now thou rememberest Shiwajun. To remove the burden of your buharitage. Issokay, I wilt do thy bidding. Just make sure that fool Yay Goon, stays out of my way.”

And the people heard of it and there was no gaddem chill in the entire kingdom!

Chronicles of Chill: Descent into Pyongification


Far, far, far to the East of the Kingdom was the land of Pyongistan. It was a land under the benevolent dynastic rulership of Emperor Lil Kimz, who ascended the most heavenly throne upon the death of his father the Notoriously B.I.G. Kimz.

In the annals of all the kings and emperors of all the four corners of the world, none were funnier than the Kimz Dynasty. Everything they did was so gaddem funny, unless they explicitly meant it not to be, in which case the consequence of laughter was a quick and painful death. The way they talked, the way they talked, the way the ate and did all the things they did  filled their famished, impoverished and dehumanised citizens with laughter and gratitude, for they knew they were fortunate to have such emperors as the Kimzes.

And lo, news of this great and glorious land came to the Spinning Quills of Gambrach and behold were they amazed. The people of Pyongistan were far more impoverished and famished than the people of Gambrach and yet they were filled with so much slavish gratitude. Only 28 days looking for petrolatum and the people complained as though there had been a hollow cost of nuclear. Yea, after buying the petrolatum, it was the benevolence of King Gambrach permitted them to be turnt at musical performances by all the bards in the land – Dei Vid, Dei Kun, See Me and the likes.

Behold, the scribes simply knew in their hearts that Gambrach was filled with much more humour than the Kimzes, for when Gambrach was struck with the mysterious affliction that vanished him, all was lost save his sense of humour. It was such a spectacular residue that the Jandinian meisters had taken sample specimens to cultivate, in the hope that one day it might be the answer to global suffering.

“Fellow Spinners,” said Gar Bar, “ye knowest that Gambrach our King is the funniest of all, no matter what the Pyongistani mirrors say.”

“Oh yes!” agreed FemCallamitus, very quickly. “In fact, anytime I am with him, yea  even within 5 meters of the locus of his presence, I get heady with humourphilia and my body and soul are ravaged with laughter.”

“Oh dear!” exclaimed Bee Ree, “thou comest again with the unending contest between thy body and soul over which of them loveth Gambrach more. Perhaps ye shouldst allow Gar Bar finish his thought.”

“Well, my dear Lady Bee Ree, I believe the animus of FemCallamitus is what we need to infect the people with. Behold, they need to see King Gambrach not just as we do, but indeed, as FemCallamitus does.”

FemCallamitus did a cartwheel in excitement, salivating in pavlovian delight at the mention of the King’s name.

Ignoring him, Lady Bee Ree enquired of Gar Bar, “what proposeth thou?”

“We shall put on a dramatization of theatre, to show the entire world, even unto the Pyongistani fields, that humoured leaves or lands or air, none with Gambrach can compare.”

“Fascinating!” exclaimed FemCallamitus. “Might I propose the title for this dramatization of theatre? Can we call it the Epiphany of the Ephemerally Woeful Wailers of the Great Glorious Majestic Humour of the Unashen UnLeared King Gambrach, His Most Divine Grace?”

“Oh god!” exclaimed Lady Bee Ree, with an especially scornful side eye. “I’m sure Gar Bar had something less pathetic in mind. More importantly, which actors shall we engage for the dramatization of theatre?”

“We shall engage no actors, for who knoweth the King’s real version as well as we do? And as for the title of the dramatization of theatre, there it is – we shall call it ‘Real Gambrach of Rockywood’ that the people may know that it will be lit.”

And thus it was, in the heat of the famine petrolatum 2.0, right bang in the season of the Tide of Yule, that news came to the people of the theatrical Real Gambrach of Rockywood was to be performed across the land, starring the Spinning Quills.

Lo, the people came to watch, even though they had scant petrolatum for their lamps to light the paths. They had to see what the gaddem fuss was about and why the dramatization could not wait until after the famine.

The dramatization began with Bee Ree alone on stage, the spotlight on her, for the King’s Quills had no lack of petrolatum for their own lamps. “Oh that ye wouldst know the Real Gambrach of Rockywood. He is so funny that…HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” She could not finish her lines for the laughter consumed her.

Gar Bar thought he could rescue the occasion, saying “Once, Moborius came into the Council Room to see Gambrach and… HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” He also could not continue, laughing uncontrollably.

FemCallamitus saw that his moment had come. He thought he could steal their thunder while they both rolled about on the stage in humourised delirium. “Tis true, the Real Gambrach of Rockywood is amazingly…” he broke off, sensing the fit about to descend upon him, but he quickly regained control and continued. “…amazingly funny. The time my quill had a yellow feather instead of the usual black one, he…. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.”

Lo, there they were, the scribes of Gambrach, guffawing, hee-hawing and slapping each others’ backs.




Brethren, the scribes of Gambrach – the Spinning Quills – were pyongified. And there was no gaddem chill in the land.





Chronicles of Chill: Famine Petrolatum 2.0 – Manz Not Bovvered


It was the Tide of Yule and all over the kingdom, not a gaddem thing moved. Not a chariot nor a coach. Twas not because there were glad tidings of great joyous chill, nay. For as it was in the prequel, twas now, and the people feared it was ever to be, world without end. Only those brave enough to face the wizards, demons and orcs of the Night Market could obtain it. There was no petrolatum in the land and there was no chill to be found.

For on the eve of the Tide of Yule, it was the festival of the birth of King Gambrach. Officially he had attained the age of three and three quarter scores, but yea did the people question his scroll of nativato as they did his scroll de minimis. And yea, did all the kings of the 37 kingdoms gather in Bedrock for the feast, using the last of the petrolatum in the kingdom to propel their winged chariots to Boo Jar.

Behold, when they reached Bedrock, they gathered in the Room of Fournicaketion, where 4 confectionary altars had been built to Mediocrates, the patron saint of the reign of Gambrach.

“Welcome O kings of orient and elsewhere in the kingdom, bearing gifts and having traversed from afar, ye kings who commission fields and fountains for thy people. Welcome to this great feast of my day of birth.

“Behold, I am filled with joy, for only 5 years ago, none of ye would have gathered to celebrate with me. Now I am blessed with thy smiles of insincerity and sycophancy, o fortunate me. Let us thank Mediocrates for such a blessed day. Lift up thy hands towards the monuments of Fournicaketion, that our patron saint may bless us and make us more like him in the years ahead.”

And the kings all stretched out their hands to the monuments of Fournicaketion for the blessings of Mediocrates and they quivered with a mundane frenzy as the lights dimmed and the spirit of Mediocrates enveloped them. “Hail Mediocrates!” they cried, “and our gratitude to him for his hand upon our king, Gambrach!”

Moborious was in their midst to record the scene for posterity and yea, as his engraving came to the people, their unchill was further unchilled. For here were their kings cheesing in the midst of the hardship of the proletariat. Yea, even the Lovengers were incensed, with the former object of their love and devotion speaking a nary a word of comfort to the people.

Lo, the days rolled into weeks and the weeks into a fortnight and the people languished at the petrolatum dispensaries, waiting desperately to power their chariots and their domestic machines of electricitato, for as usual, the King’s electricitato supply was inexistent. Yea, did the people sweat profusely in their chariots and in their homes, for manz was hot.

“What causeth the famine petrolatum this time?” the people asked in frustration. “Is Gambrach no longer the Head Councillor for Petrolatum?” But Gambrach unlooked and their cries reached him not, for he was afflicted again by the Many Years Disease.

Wherefore E-Dawg descended from his garden of chill to let the people know the reason. “Yo peeps, what’s good, homies? What it is, right, is the Night King be tripping, yo! Winter be coming like super quick and our OG’s at the Wall be burning the petrolatum to keep the Night King and his ice dragon at bay. In other words gees, winter be coming!”

And the people were confused, for manz was so gaddem hot!

Lo, in this summer of discontent rose a new bard in the land. His name was K-Dawg and twas whispered that he might even be the son of E-Dawg. But the Tword does not deal in rumours and conspiracies. And K-Dawg, lined up the chariots of Dinobetes Mellitus, singing songs of the extravagance, debauchery and flossery of Dinobetes. Yea, did Dinobetes Mellitus himself, a member of the senatii, join in the performance, dancing the dance of Ajekunsis Iyatosis. “Betes! Betes! No faeces! No faeces! Wenches and mead flow like I’m a different species” went the witless chant, trapping all who yielded to its profane seduction.

The people could not believe it and cried out louder, yet Gambrach unlooked and unheard it all.

The councillors of Gambrach all retreated from Social Mediana, forced into reclusion by the rising waves of unchill. Unable to withstand it any longer, they entered into his chamber to enquire of him why he spake not unto the people. Behold, they were confused for what they saw. For in the chamber with Gambrach were Jandinian wordsmith Da Pah – who had only recently risen to global fame – and Lady Kem Shun translating the music into speech which Gambrach would find intelligible.

“O great and noble Gambrach, twice ruler of the 37 Kingdoms, twice the Head Councillor for Petrolatum, we come bringing the cries of the people to thee, for they are stranded and dripping with perspiration. Wilt thou, O King, not send a word to give them succour in these times?”

And Gambrach looked upon them, smiling. “Yo, have I learnt a new melody today. Behold I shall sing it for ye. Yo, they told me fix petrolatum but I told them manz not bovvad. Yo, they said take off your ear plugs but I told them manz not bovvad. Tis, how do the youth say, wicked, is it not?”

And lo, in that chamber in Bedrock and unto the ends of the kingdom, there was no gaddem chill.

Chronicles of Chill: The Pursuit of Happyness


Brethren, it was a monsoon of unchills in the kingdom and the floods and landslides were unrelenting.

In the constabulary of the Kingdom, many quadrannia ago, an elite squad was formed to combat the league of marauders ravaging the kingdom. The squad was known as the High Intensity Violence squad (or HIV, for short) and HIV was a fiery force of ferocious and phantasmagorical fiction. For lo, the people suffered at the hands of the HIV squad much more than the bandits did. The HIVs waylaid travellers, extorted hackney carriage drivers and were a pestilence that destroyed both by day and night. The cup of the people’s unchill overflowed and thus the hash was tagged copiously in Social Mediana to stop HIV.

The hash was tagged unto the ends of Digital Perusia, until it was picked up by the Jazzy Rah newsbringers. High Constable Heebra Driss tried to dismiss it as the orchestration of bandits but the National Association of Bandits and Marauders (NabAm) issued a proclamation that the HIVs were their friends. Thus it was that Heebra Driss announced a reorganisation of HIV. But the people would not have it. “Stop HIV today!” they protested and tagged, in their unchill.

In Kogitamia, land of Dinobetes Mellitus, under the kingship of Yaya Bellows, the spirit of compensatio non completus was upon the land and the wages of the people in the king’s service unpaid for many months. The people insisted the demon Missingstopheles had wreaked this havoc for 10 months but King Bellows and his attack dogs told them to STFU and stop being ungrateful, for it was but a mere 8 months, insufficient even for a woman to reach birth pains.

And yea, was there severe lack amongst the Kogitarians as the season of Yule came upon the kingdom, for the people were short of coin. King Bellows knew he had to do something to lift their spirits. “Come,” he said to his councillors, “we shall build a new palace! Be sure that no expense is spared.”

“Oh wise king! We kuku don’t have any expense to spare but we rejoice that his majesty wishes to build a palace to uplift the mood of his people.”

Behold, the palace was built and it was yuuuuuuuuge. Yea, did King Bellows proclaim it far and wide that the palace was to be declared open. And so his councillors approached him asking, “Sire, shall we now arrange how the citizens shall take it in turns to visit the Palace of Lifting Moods and indulge in its mood-lifting hospitality?”

Lo, did King Bellows emit a wicked and evil laugh, “Muahahahahaha!!! Ye fools! How thinkest ye that I would build this palace for anyone’s dwelling but myself!? No, no, no, no, no! Let the people look upon its sujimotic luxury so that happiness might kinetically crystallise in their hearts!”

The news came to the people and they were sorely unchilled.

“The king is the demon Missingstopheles! He is the spirit of compensatio non completus! For he took from us to make himself rich!”

“Nonsense!” replied the attack dogs of King Bellows. “The king was a man of unquantifiable wealth before electoralis. He needest not thy pittance.”

“For reals?” asked the people. “What was his occupation? Behold the scroll of the Wikipedians on him – it starts and ends with electoralis! There is a great unchill in our hearts!!!!”

King Roe Chazz beheld the great storms from his Kingdom faraway in Imolek and resolved yet again that his people needed to be happy. He too was a devotee of the spirit of compensatio non completus, forcing the retired Kingsmen and Kingswomen to forfeit portions of their coin of retirement. He thought deeply to himself, “I have given my people two beautiful erections of shining massive rigidity but lo, they are not titillated. Perhaps I have not yet gone far enough to bring them to a place of pleasure. Let me look into the recesses of my mind for something else. Aha! I shall create a council for Merriment and Coitus Fulfilment and dedicate the resources of the kingdom to their unbridled pleasure. Hmmm. But this is a huge task and of utmost importance. What greater gift can a king give to his people? I cannot leave this mission to just anyone. I can only appoint someone I trust implicitly. I shall appoint my sister, Lady L.O.L. for yea, have I prophesied that my people shall laugh out loud.

And thus it was that the new councillorship under Lady L.O.L. was announced. Brethren, Roe Chazz never hesperred the unchill that followed. “Thou appointest thy own sister? For coitus fulfilment? Thou are not only a despot, thou art a nepot!” the people protested.

King Roe Chazz was confused and asked his council, “Why do the Imolekites want to be unfortunate and become Imodiums? The spirit of Evrar is upon me and I want to give them my energie! Why don’t they want to tekkit?”

“Sire, perhaps it is the invasion of his majesty into their coitus that they protest. Perhaps, Oh King, Coitus Fulfilment should remain a private matter?”

King Roe Chazz knew at that moment that he had gawked, but what is a king if he cannot be imperial in his infallibility? “Coitus? Coitus?? Which one of you idiots misread my sublime thoughts? How could it be that I said Coitus Fulfilment? Geez! I said Core Torso. Core Torso. Yoga sturves. After ye makest merry, ye shall then do yoga to strengthen thy cores and torsos. Go and tell the people that they misheard.”

But it was too gaddem late.

And then, just when it seemed there could possibly not be any further unchill, Oje Marina swung wide his gates again and sent a message into Social Mediana for King Gambrach.

Oh great and just king. I wouldst have brought this message to thee myself but the haters around his majesty would then hand me over to the Everly Failing at Convictions Commission; and we cannot have that. O King, I am a great recoverer and a saver. Yea, have I saved the Kingdom more times than Ser De Gea against the arsenal of Wen Gar. Lo, the spirit of the Flow Rider is even upon me and I have and shall and wish to blow his whistle baby whistle baby. Be ye not perplexed if this is confusing, for that was my aim.

“And now in thy moment of dazzlement, I beseech thee. It is said of me that I stole a quadrillion shekels but yea did I, as a great recoverer, recover a gazillion in the quadrannium of King Gejoshaphat. And if thou wouldest let me, I would recover even more. And thou knowest thou needest all the coin possible for the coming season of electoralis. If thou wouldst only pay me half of a tithe of this gazillion and remove the paltry quadrillion which sullies my name, then in the words of the great prophet Christus Martina, I will try to fix you.”

Yea, did the people hear it. And lo, was there no gaddem chill in the land.