Monday, July 28, 2008


A fragment of writing found floating on the Internet Sea, from co-ordinates unknown, perhaps a Cyber Coast Guard rescue operation is in order:

"... am weak now but will continue writing as long as I can. It is quiet now, that almost eerie kind of quiet that follows the sound and fury. It is a silence of anticipation, as if the horrific events of the past weekend have not terminated but are merely in limbo and could erupt again at any moment.

I think the invaders have left, but I dare not depend on that thought. Sunday afternoon I heard the barbarian hordes start up their war chariots and scream away in fogs of carbon combustion and derision. I do not want to indulge in self delusion. They are crafty, these barbarians from the East. They are capable of the most insidious of deceptions. "We are not really hungry" they will tell you, "you don't need to cook much" and they will eat everything in your house, regardless of quality, like locusts in a wheat field, driving forward, devouring all ... oh, the dog was nervous and 24 hour grocery stores armed themselves.

Their weapons are devious. Beyond their truly terrifying ability to consume copious amounts of food and spirits apparently, they have powerful voodoo that can control the very weather itself. In order to placate them, we journeyed to the centre of our fair city to worship at our most sacred of institutions, known far and wide as the Beer Patio. Oh, a splendid day it was, with the sun shining and the bus exhausts blowing and goth girls gliding by on Queen St. West. Surely, the day ahead would be warm and sunny and filled with the froth of draft beer and the grease of chicken wings ..

Oh, but I underestimated the power of the horde. As we settled in against the iron rails of the Black Bull, with the sun shining upon the throng of Shoppers-With-Way-Too-Much-Money, the sky suddenly darkened and a strange kind of cold rain started to fall. I tried to brave out this ensorcelled storm but the power of the barbarians was too much for me. A sudden wind picked up, swirling amidst the colorful beer umbrellas and mini skirts on the patio. Finally we were forced inside this humble Church of Lager.

While worshiping my pint of India Pale Ale, I observed several members of the horde split off into small raiding parties, to sortie forth into my fair and vulnerable city. Two of the female members of the horde (amazons they are, the fiercest fighters of the army) returned with small colourful bags holding what elements of feminine sorcery I shudder to imagine. The youngest of the male warriors ventured into a local lair of wizardry and Geekdom known to all as the Comic Book Shop. He returned with a model of some dire weapon of destruction known as a "Ti Figher" Oh the horror .. surely he will return to his eastern domain with this model, no doubt to supply it to his Masters of War to replicate and use them to overtake our world ... of course, they are a literal people these barbarians and no doubt we will soon be assaulted by thousands of these Ti Fighters, all of them four inches long ...

Back at the abode, the restless horde satiated themselves on enormous piles or seared flesh and cold beer and mysterious concoctions known as Pickled Tinks ... don't ask. As the evening wore on and vegetarians everywhere trembled with dread, the barbarians erected a fire, like a funeral pyre that all that is decent and sacred and non alcoholic ...

So now here I sit in the eerie silence, relieved yet filled with dread. Relieved that the horde has moved on to their barbaric homeland and yet dreadful ... because next year I will have another birthday .... and my family will return.

1 comment:

Elizabeth McClung said...

Gee, you make it sound so FUN! I am glad that you appear to have at least had fun writing this up - you must have read more than a bit of Conan (I read two or three books and I think the style is the same). Happy birthing day.

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