Monday, May 31, 2010

Dogmatic Law

And ye, it came to pass that the Fellow became Steward of the palace, that heavenly kingdom so situated above the clouds and with the Divine miracle of Central Air. Humble he was, wearing nothing about the feet so that he could be constantly be in the divine presence of the carpeting, the linoleum, and the holy wood so-laminated that the Fellow would streak across it as did Tom Cruise before him in Risky Business.
And the Lady did say to him, "Guard well my kingdom in my absence, for I fly to realms of heady knowledge to convene with wisdoms great and powerful. I entrust in you the sanctity of this place".
And there was love in his heart that day as she ascended into a yellow carriage of brilliantly illuminated splendor (for the foglights had been installed). And he did lie in the bed, removing his socks to again touch the august glory of the firmament- the carpeting, the linoleum, and the holy wood so-mentioned as laminated.
But lo, a Despoiler was about the lands, slothful and cruel. With cloven paws and an arrogant parasol as a tail, he but basked in the radiance of his own glory, tracing his lineage back to the ancient clan of Shihtzu beasts.
But the Despoiler was in the kingdom, and the Fellow, not wishing to falter in his duties, did offer comfort and fine feasts. For a time, there was peace, but as foretold, that era came to a close some hours later, when the Despoiler befouled the firmament with his essence.
The Fellow, not wanting to re-don his flipflips and kneesocks, rose up in anger, hurling at the Despoiler a litany of abuse. But the Despoiler, above the petty threats of the Fellow, stared blankly on. The Fellow, again, not wishing to be negligent in his tasks, grovelled and mopped as he was want to do. For a time, there was contentment, but again as foretold, such things do not last longer than sitcoms, and there would be untold suffering abound.
A time of great thunder approached, and the Fellow, secure in the sanctity of the place, wavered not as the sky bubbled with anger, roaring at the arrogance to build a tower such as this and not sublet. The Fellow stood his ground, and turned once more to his studies. This was not well with the Despoiler, who instead took to the highest point in the realm that he could reach-- on top of the fellow. Subjugated, humiliated, the Fellow was the Despoiler's pillar as the latter shivered with rage, grimacing and bellowing at the thunder. Neither would relent, and the Fellow, diligent to his burden, muttered again to himself through the night.
Tired of their tirade, the storm left to other parts, and the Fellow, weak and deprived of rest, collapsed gratefully as the Despoiler dismounted for its own rest.
"I beg of you, Despoiler" said the Fellow, "Follow me to the gardens and expend your essence, for it cannot be spilled here, in this place."
But the Despoiler was very proud, and still rather miffed about the whole storm thing. Its cloven paws did not stray from the firmament, and the Fellow wearily resigned himself to the sheets.
It would not be long before the Fellow awoke with the start. The storm had returned to its adversary, the Despoiler, who glared angrily at the Fellow, conscripting him once more to the task of unwilling mount. But the Fellow, frankly less willing to put up with this shit, denied the Despoiler.
The foolishness of the Fellow was as great in magnitude as the fury and wrath of the Despoiler, who turned to the firmament in all his anger. The Fellow awoke once more to find the firmament desecrated beyond belief. The carpet befouled, the linoleum besmattered with filth, and the holy wood stained with vileness.
The Fellow wept, for he had been negligent in his duties. Against the might of the Despoiler, there was little reprieve. A great sadness filled his heart, as he turned from his studies to the comforts of the playwrites and muses of his imagination's theaters. The Fellow became enveloped in these musings, watching as the actors turned about on the stage. As if in a dream, a lofty being did turn his gaze onto the Fellow, and spoke in a harsh but powerful voice-- The Tucker.
"You doss cunt. You have forgotten yourself" said the Tucker, whose frail figure did not diminish his sense of command. "First time I've ever seen a massive poof overpowered by a smaller, more literal poof."
"But my Lord, I am but a servant, entrusted to the safety and protection of this place. I cannot hold against the Despoiler."
"Aye, ye winge-bag, not even the cacophony of your annoying voice would overpower the creature. But be not beholden unto him!" Thundered the Tucker, "For I, the All-Swearing Eye, shall kick so many shades of shit out of you that you'll be a whole new paint palette. Do yourself a bonny favor and discover you, a mere Fellow, has climbed the heady mounts of puberty and has grown a pair."
The Tucker was right, for when the Fellow placed his hands down his humble Jeans, he was met by the warming glow of courage, the overpowering if delightfully scented musk of which spurred him to action. The Fellow awoke with purpose, mustering himself for the task ahead.
Strange elixirs and ingredients were poured with foreign alchemy, implements were gathered from the far ends of the realm to combat the taint of the Despoiler. The Fellow stood, again bare-foot on the firmament, claiming his ground, defending his homeland.
For a time, there was great boistrousness, as the Fellow put himself and his alchemical'd tools to the firmament, renewing again the bounce of the carpet, the shine of the linoleum, and the proud sheen of the holy wood. The Despoiler watched as the Fellow moved with purpose through every cubit of space, marking the hallowed ground with purifying oils and lustrous pastes. Light shone once more through the realm, and for a time, it was good.
The Fellow had put down his tools, and had put himself to rest with a steaming bug of far-away Araby, and in his prosperity, grew blind to the sight of the Despoiler's encroaching presence.
Too late, the Fellow realized that he had erred most greviously, discovering that the Despoiler had befouled again all around them. Driven to his knees, the Fellow uttered a curse to the heavens-
"O most foul of beings! O horrid of sights! You who dumpeth under my place of feasting, within my sanctum of rest, my basket of linens runneth over with thy taint that runneth under and kind of beneath in this your Genenna, your Armageddon."
The Despoiler turned his piteous gaze on the Fellow, and with a silencing snuff, rolled over on his belly for tummy-rubs.
"No more, I say!" cried the Fellow, who turned with zeal to the thrice-tainted firmament. "No more!"
The Despoiler was unimpressed, and broke into a grin, knowing the futility of the Fellow's plight. All hope looked lost, when once again the words of the Tucker flew into the Fellow's heart- "Jaysus Christ, you pull yourself together or else I'll throttle you so hard you'll be talking like Freddy Mercury caught in his zipper."
With purpose, the Fellow rose from his obeisances, and grabbed at the Despoiler with all his might.
"Go and seek the confrontation with the heavens and the skies that you so desire!"
And the Fellow did fling the creature with all his might. The Despoiler did soar, panting with rage, before realizing escape velocity was unlikely without continuing propulsion. Bellowing his last, the Despoiler plunged earthwards to the asphalt with glorious liquidity. Still on the ramparts, the Fellow breathed again, filling his lungs with the Central Air, turning to feast on the grapefruits and microwaveable meals that awaited him, the triumphant man. The voice of the Tucker again filled his ears "Ah, don't get so full of yourself, wee man. Time yet for you to actually start growing hair in places of manhood."
And for a time it was good, and when the Lady returned again, bathed in redolent splendor and heady perfumes, the Fellow embraced her and held her close.
"You have done better than any other, my dear" she said. "My firmament is whole and pristine, as evinced by the brilliant fluff of the carpet, the quiet effervescence of the linoleum, and the shine on the holy wood so mirror-perfect that I can see up your trousers."
They did embrace again, the Fellow grateful to retire to an evening of headboard-damaging wholesomness. The Lady smiled at him, smirking ever so slightly. "And don't look now, but I think there's a bit of a puddle over there."
With horror and dread, the Fellow turned against the Lady's wishes, seeing that the holy wood, beautiful enough to eat off of, was again befouled. A heavy breath, the last he wanted to have, escaped him as his eyes fell upon the culprit. Untouched, unscathed, the Despoiler sat as he always did, lolling his tongue and rolling his eyes with horrible glee. Turning on his back, the Despoiler beckoned as always, ravenous for the comforts of tummy-rubs.
There would always be a firmament, a place to put one's bare feet, a place from which to know the unchanging presence and eternal comfort of its support. So it was the Despoiler, and for a time, for all time, there would be.

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