Wednesday, August 16, 2006
And so it came to pass that Janedalf, the progressive pilgrim whose sparks of snark are heralded as the flame of the west came to the fork in the road where the fellowship of the hoblogits of Nutmeg would part. They begged the wizardress to linger, for she was a chieftain of the High Order and wielded great power, for their was much left to do. She laughed a merry laugh, and as she did, a cool breeze wrapped about the company, fresh born from the snowy crests of distant mountains that marched on the margins of view. And in answer, a nearby sycamore tree that housed a multitude of colorful birds; a curious mix of Striesandols and Kadylanes burst into a song of hope and rainbows, and the pasture at nigh blanketed with whortle and midsummer niphredels kissed the bees and butterflies.
"My dear Nutmeggers," she began with a sparkle in her eye, which never dimmed after the battle, "I have other deeds in this long campaign against the Dark Lord and his good buddy Dubya. But you no longer need my help. You have grown, indeed you are now giants. The deeds you have performed, the battles you have fought and the victory you have achieved have entered the councils of the great and shaken the foundations of tyranny. Indeed, even if the chief Kossack of the High Council Himself, Master of us all, summoned all his minions throughout the four corners of the land to the impenetrable fastness of Townhouse Castle, verily you four would sit in honor at the head of the table, two on his right hand, which holds thunder and lightning and two on his left hand, which hold wisdom and mercy. Or is that gold and silver?"
TRex, a vaguely domesticated carnivore whose diet consisted exclusively of racist wingnuts, cared little about meetings spelled without an a, and didn't feel slighted by being overlooked. His keen green eyes furtively scanned the field in search of athelas, or kingsfoil, a known numbing agent for a cramped bowel. It had been a very target rich environment lately, but TRex had vowed not to release his captives save only on the steps of the Dark Lords palace. He wanted to leave a glistening display to the wingnuts future prospects. Not spying any athelas, TRex casually uprooted a small thirty foot tall pine tree for a toothpick. Hair of the dog, he mused.
Somehow, Spazeboy, the intrepid documenter of battles, didn't feel like much of a giant. He looked at his friend CT Bob, who understood his mind at once.
"But Janedalf, we have dealt a grievous blow, to be sure, but Saurilooserman still walks yet, and continues to gnaw the ends of his broken schemes." The two battle scarred warriors, Ed and Keith, glanced nervously at one another sitting in their battle wagon, powered by the Poodles of Doom, still dragging their trophy of the beaten-but-not-destroyed hideous two headed foe.
Janedalf stiffened in her saddle, and the four had not marked how tall and Queenly she was; an unrevealed power shone through that lifted the hearts of the righteous and caused much wailing and gnashing of teeth of evildoers and their stenographers.
"Behold," she thundered. "A great shadow has been removed from the East. But it can return. As you must straight away. Remove all the foundations of Saurilooserman and circumcise the false flesh away from the wolves wearing sheeps clothing. Remember our battle cry; Kos to the fore, skins or not."
And with that, Janedalf departed, and the four warriors headed for Nutmeg, TRex galloping happily behind the warriors, wagging his thunderous tail clearing acreages of timber on both sides of the road. He felt the scours coming on.
Authors note: This is my response to the silly claims of the power wielded by the far-left bloggers. It's the message, stupid, not the medium. Artwork provided by the incomparable Darkblack. Go bloggers!