Oh Diary,
Kringlemash is in crusty, drippy swing! I have been tirelessly decorating; wherever I step, I leave festive prints! How I do love the additional adhesive traction (it makes the fits a little easier to control), plus it gives the help something to do (we must all do our part to make sure the help doesn't skip out on the Kringlemash festivities).
Diary, I have been so busy preparing for the arrival of Santathulu! I have been looking over and over for the ingredients needed to make the customary "milk and corrupted gingerbread of greatest contempt." I may need to make a visit to the chappy sister, the Gilmer? and the manwich. Perhaps they have some more "Salamanderision" or "Batrocity" they were sold out of both last time I went...they did have a lot of "Felicentiousness." Anyways, I will take care of the nefarious baking after I finish preparing for tonight's "Kringlemash Bash!"
Yes Diary, I shall be attending this years first annual "K-B!" We threw it together once Unca Macbeth's singing cat choir unexpectedly came up short. Apparently, Sargeant Catnip, Admiral Ackbar, Colonel Curtezy, Staff Sergeant Macgillicutty, and Percy all went missing.
His loss shall be my gain; this Kringlemash Bash will be an unequivocal success! We shall have all the Kringle one could wish for, lots of help to threaten (with the customary broken bottles, broom handles, and freshly lit Kringarettes), traditional Santathulu mouth pieces, and games of "pin the rudimentary wings on Santathulu."
There will be stories of the first Kringlemash (Some burly Celt was table dancing when he inadvertently planted his offending foot right into the king's kringle, which resulted in a terribly awkward blood-bath. Thus Kringlemash was born! the stomping on the Kringle represents the "biting of our thumbs" at "the man;" the cherry filling is for the blood those first accidental patriots shed for the cause. The jujubes are for taste.). There will be carousing and making of merry for hours upon end. How did I procure an invitation you might ask? Well...I worked a deal with the chappy ones in that I shall pledge them the dearest thing to me (" a soul, preferably" they hinted) and in return they shall cast a spell that lowers my voice two whole octaves! Surely a man with such a burly voice will be let into the K-B without question!
*I had to use my acting abilities to convince them that DonalBORING is the dearest thing to me in the world. I pledged my poor brother's soul in exchange for the voice, which should last at LEAST 15 hours, so I think it's a fair trade.*
Diary, I am most excited for the "feeler-flowers" hung over the doorpost. The flowers are slightly scaly and slimy, but when under one you must "awaken the dead" with whoever happens to wander under its limp tendrils. I KNOW for a fact that Lady MacD shall be there tonight...Perhaps tonight I shall get my kiss? We shall see. It would be a Kringlmash miracle after all, and if a miracle won't happen on Kringlemash-when will it happen!?
Showing posts with label kringle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kringle. Show all posts
Friday, December 11, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
Making A List, Checking It Thrice
Oh, Diary! I wish you so many returns of the day!
Though really, I've never understood the point of such a greeting. "Many returns of the day." That seems incredibly counter-productive. Imagine, Diary, that I said such a thing to Unca Banquo! Would I be wishing him into some kind of repetitive loop? Why would I be so rude? What if he'd just completed an important task down at the whore mill? He'd have to do all that exhausting work all over again. Again and again and again. The poor man would be spent like a tarnished nickel. Admittedly, he does dabble in more than a little recreational time travel, but that's his own doing and I will not stand in his way. As a free and proud Scot, he has a right to indulge in the occasional irregularity.
(Unless, of course, he starts involving the clergy. That can get a bit sticky.)
But enough of my prabbling on. We've better things to do, dear Diary. We have to make ... a LIST! But not just any list. This is a Wish List for the most stupendous and wonderfulest day of the year! That's right, dear Diary. I can only be talking about ...
KRINGLEMASH! The day when all Scots children hop out of their beds and find their slippers filled with the sugary sweet goodness known as Kringle! How fun it is to shove one's wee toes into freshly baked pastry! All the while, their parents or legal guardians are standing there in the doorway, shouting in faux fury with a frosting-coated spatula in each hand. "MASH THAT KRINGLE! MASH THAT KRINGLE! MASH-MASH-MASH THAT KRINGLE"
Oh, you've never known such joy and terror in equal measure, dear Diary. Primarily, you are ignorant of this because you are an inanimate object possessing no soul or consciousness. But moreover, you do not have legs or feet!
And while I've outgrown most of the Kringlemash traditions -- including the subsequent "Hot Mead Sling-n-Dodge" where the children must make their way downstairs through a gauntlet of elders and older brothers and sisters, diving left and right to avoid incoming missiles of expectorated liquid -- I can still participate in the yearly "Threatening of the Help." What fun for all! Seeing as the Slavs and other assorted helplings are all fitted with merry bells year-'round (so as to know they're coming, says Lady Lennox), the official Threatening of the Help Carol goes like this:
Oh, me shoes is full o' Kringle,
And me clothes is soak'd wi' Mead!
Gimme a gif' wi' a grin n' jingle,
Afore I makes ya bleed!
Isn't that just joyous? It is. And so, you go from servant to servant, collecting presents and gifts all the while.
And so ... I've to start my Wish List -- which will then be taken to the Slavs, who will naturally impart my deepest material desires to their Great and Ferocious Thing-God, SANTATHULHU.
Or so I've heard. I really don't care about the cosmic bits, just so long as I get my prezzies. And I think I will start my list with a simple wish for a chapeau. Which do you think will suit me better, Diary? The Antilles is quite fetching, but I'm leaning positively side-saddle toward the Big Buck!
Oh, almost forgot. I've an appointment with my alienist this afternoon, so I'll leave off here. I do so love talking to the alienist. I yammer on and on, he writes things down and if I stop, he says "Please go on." And then, just before he gives me a handful of peppermint pills, he checks my head for fresh knots. It tickles!
Yours in mental health, Diary! Ta!
Y.B.P.M.
Though really, I've never understood the point of such a greeting. "Many returns of the day." That seems incredibly counter-productive. Imagine, Diary, that I said such a thing to Unca Banquo! Would I be wishing him into some kind of repetitive loop? Why would I be so rude? What if he'd just completed an important task down at the whore mill? He'd have to do all that exhausting work all over again. Again and again and again. The poor man would be spent like a tarnished nickel. Admittedly, he does dabble in more than a little recreational time travel, but that's his own doing and I will not stand in his way. As a free and proud Scot, he has a right to indulge in the occasional irregularity.
(Unless, of course, he starts involving the clergy. That can get a bit sticky.)
But enough of my prabbling on. We've better things to do, dear Diary. We have to make ... a LIST! But not just any list. This is a Wish List for the most stupendous and wonderfulest day of the year! That's right, dear Diary. I can only be talking about ...
KRINGLEMASH! The day when all Scots children hop out of their beds and find their slippers filled with the sugary sweet goodness known as Kringle! How fun it is to shove one's wee toes into freshly baked pastry! All the while, their parents or legal guardians are standing there in the doorway, shouting in faux fury with a frosting-coated spatula in each hand. "MASH THAT KRINGLE! MASH THAT KRINGLE! MASH-MASH-MASH THAT KRINGLE"
Oh, you've never known such joy and terror in equal measure, dear Diary. Primarily, you are ignorant of this because you are an inanimate object possessing no soul or consciousness. But moreover, you do not have legs or feet!
And while I've outgrown most of the Kringlemash traditions -- including the subsequent "Hot Mead Sling-n-Dodge" where the children must make their way downstairs through a gauntlet of elders and older brothers and sisters, diving left and right to avoid incoming missiles of expectorated liquid -- I can still participate in the yearly "Threatening of the Help." What fun for all! Seeing as the Slavs and other assorted helplings are all fitted with merry bells year-'round (so as to know they're coming, says Lady Lennox), the official Threatening of the Help Carol goes like this:
Oh, me shoes is full o' Kringle,
And me clothes is soak'd wi' Mead!
Gimme a gif' wi' a grin n' jingle,
Afore I makes ya bleed!
Isn't that just joyous? It is. And so, you go from servant to servant, collecting presents and gifts all the while.
And so ... I've to start my Wish List -- which will then be taken to the Slavs, who will naturally impart my deepest material desires to their Great and Ferocious Thing-God, SANTATHULHU.
Or so I've heard. I really don't care about the cosmic bits, just so long as I get my prezzies. And I think I will start my list with a simple wish for a chapeau. Which do you think will suit me better, Diary? The Antilles is quite fetching, but I'm leaning positively side-saddle toward the Big Buck!
Oh, almost forgot. I've an appointment with my alienist this afternoon, so I'll leave off here. I do so love talking to the alienist. I yammer on and on, he writes things down and if I stop, he says "Please go on." And then, just before he gives me a handful of peppermint pills, he checks my head for fresh knots. It tickles!
Yours in mental health, Diary! Ta!
Y.B.P.M.
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