Come to judgement.

 

I must come to judgement soon.

Will it be a happy tune?

Who will then there testify

that the good I sought to try?

Friend, if you can spare the thought --

think of me as heaven wrought. 

The Wand of Odemer: A Farcical Fantasy. Chapter One.

Chapter One.

In which the history of the Kingdom of Vanillia

is not explained.

Long ago, in a world without gridlock and filled with cheap magic tricks and a bit of true wonder, there was a wizard named Brumpton. He had a demon servant named Mortlock.

The story I'm about to tell started in the kingdom of Vanillia. 

The wizard Brumpton had found a powerful wand, named The Wand of Odemer.  All that was known about it was that the possessor of the Wand of Odemer could command the elements, even the very heavens. Which, you'll have to agree, is pretty cool beans. After a long and labor-filled hunt Brumpton had snatched the wand out of the very hands of the evil warlock Black Eustace before that wicked one could wield its awesome power. Brumpton and Mortlock then flew like blazes back to their decrepit castle to bolt the door, shutter the windows, and do a triumphant little jig.

Very undignified for a wizard like Brumpton, you understand -- and as for Mortlock, he was such a lazy demon that his capering quite wore him out in a few seconds. So he sat down on a handy tuffet, puffing and blowing like a narwahl. 

It didn't take long for Brumpton to regain both his composure and his dignity. He stopped capering, straightened up, then bestowed an austere glance at Mortlock before commanding him to take the Wand of Odemer to the Vault -- there to lock it away while the great minds of the Kingdom of Vanillia pondered what to do with it.

The vault was a long way down a steep set of dank and mold-ridden stone steps, and had Mortlock not just finished a marathon barely ahead of an insanely enraged warlock, he would have worked up the courage and the energy to dispute the command -- pointing out that the Vault would probably provide the Wand of Odemer with a patina of loathsome fungus or possibly cause it to canker away completely.

But since all he wanted to do was crawl into his coal scuttle and sleep for a dozen hours, he took the wand and sullenly began the descent.

"A fine thing" he muttered, his forked tongue darting in and out like the needle of a sewing machine. "A fine thing; we escape by the hair of our chinny chin chins from that nasty Black Eustace and all his nibs can think about is to send me down down down these slippery steps to my probable doom from a broken neck when I slip."

Mortlock continued down, his pace gradually slowing until he had stopped altogether.

"I shan't do it" he said resolutely to a piece of loose grout that looked like the head of a horse. "I shan't! I'll just pop the crummy old wand right here into this crack for safekeeping and scuttle off to my coal scuttle scuttle scuttle." After jamming the wand into the crack in the wall, incidentally bending it almost in half, Mortlock scuttled -- I mean scurried -- back up stairs and was softly blowing cumulus clouds of steam from his horny nostrils before you could say 'plot twist.'

Meanwhile his master had scribbled a quick note to the King and Queen of Vanillia, then entrusted it to one of a dozen shooting stars he kept handy for just such occasions. The shooting star whizzed off like a . . . uh, like a shooting star, I guess, and only then did Brumpton relax. Taking off his peaked hat, he kicked off his boots so he could wiggle his toes in silent satisfaction in front of the blazing fireplace. Brumpton, being a wizard, did not allow anyone at any time to read his thoughts. Not even me, the author of this fantasy. So I can't tell you exactly what he was thinking. But I CAN tell you that he eventually got up, spoke the magic words to extinguish the fireplace, and proceeded to go stand on his head in the corner of the room. That is how wizards like to sleep. If you don't believe me go check the top of a wizard's head sometime and just see how flat it is -- like a football field.

*********************************

When the shooting star reached King Tubal and Queen Wanamaker they were just getting ready to retire to the royal bedchamber. But shooting stars have to be fed moonbeams and given a number of gold stickers for their scrapbook after a long trip whizzing across the countryside. So the King and Queen attended to that first before reading the glad tidings together in bed.

"Marvelous!" exclaimed King Tubal.

"Hand me my moleskin eyepatch, dear" the Queen concurred.

"Tomorrow we shall hold a Grand Council to determine the fate of this powerful magic wand!" continued the king, in a ringing voice that unfortunately woke up the Infant Heir, who began bawling and clanging like a fire wagon.  

They finally got the babe quieted, then blew out the candles to get themselves a good night's snooze.

Which is something I recommend we all do right about now . . . 

Today's timericks.

 

Cooking for my neighbors/is not a chore for me/I like to make things spicy/and use cayenne with glee/If they get indigestion/from my keen charity/I lose no sleep about it/since they get it for free.

On Sunday I do laundry, when no one is about/the laundromat is empty/I stare down at the grout/the magazines are shredded/my quarters weigh me down/what happened to my dreams of/acquiring renown?

Judges seem to have no dread/of turning Trump upon his head/whatever schemes he has proposed/has by the courts been promptly closed/the President Elect, I think/will not push on that same thick brink.

Old McDonald on the farm/in the old folks home found harm/they are not equipped to deal/with COVID's deadly spinning wheel/the countryside so peaceful be/with sighs of vulnerability.

Another word for Congress would be 'deadlock,' I contend/those constipated solons will pass nothing or amend/they spend their time in bickering, as if we give a hoot/about their partisan hogwash -- it's time we used the boot!

The carousel that is Peru/has dropped another prez -- boo hoo/with less than two weeks into term/Merino's squashed just like a worm/he's just a transitory chump/unlike our dear own Mr. Trump. 

The active life was not for me/after I passed sixty-three/vibrant seniors blazing trails/makes me think they're off the rails/so light verses I compose/as I seek complete repose/then pass the pillow and a shawl/as on the couch I gladly sprawl. 

Today's timericks.

 

at least those cagey Chinese guys/will wait no longer to surmise/that Biden is the coming boss/and so in mid stream they change hoss/they're smarter than the current dud/who in the White House just throws mud.

I'm having a club sandwich, with turkey on it for

my feasting at Thanksgiving -- avoiding the uproar

of cousins, aunts, and siblings around the festive board;

besides, with higher prices, it's all I can afford.

Dessert will be a Twinkie; that's good enough for me.

I'll watch 'em make a pumpkin pie on my widescreen TV.

A Modest Idea to Enforce the Wearing Of Face Masks.

 

So I was at the Provo Rec Center this morning, and I counted, in just five minutes, ten people blithely strolling about without a face mask.

Let's face it; there are scofflaws everywhere, when it comes to the various mask mandates in place in each state. Governors have threatened fines and everything short of the torture chamber to get people to wear masks, but tens of thousands continue to flout the well-being of themselves and their fellow citizens in a cavalier manner that is driving the COVID-19 case numbers through the national roof.

So what's to be done?

I'll tell you, in all modesty.

CREATE A GOVERNMENT HOTLINE.

That's the first step. Create a hotline where the criminal element that are not wearing masks in public places can be photographed with smartphones and their image sent to a government policing agency -- then, it's just a matter of face recognition technology to identify the culprits, track them down, and toss 'em in the hoosegow.

OFFER A BOUNTY.

The second step is to offer a bounty to those reporting the maskless marauders to the government hotline. I think a hundred dollars per person would be a fair amount. Deposited directly into a bank account. Why, if this were already in place I could have made seven hundred dollars this morning at the Rec Center alone!

Who the hell needs any kind of Paycheck Protection Program or  Stimulus Check Program, with this kind of bounty in place?

Now you may think I'm joking -- and maybe I am, right now.

But how far away do you really think we are from implementing some kind of draconian program like this to stave off a death toll not seen since the Middle Ages?

And, for better or worse, I'm claiming this original and wicked idea as my very own -- I thought it up first . . . 

BWA-HA-HA-HA-HAAAA!

Today's timericks.

 

When I awake I always dread/to tune into a talking head/they never good news do proclaim/but something bad or sad or lame/which led me to a quick decision/to jettison my television.

I gave up reading comic books about a year ago/I found them such a trifle with their storylines shallow/But if you want to know the truth, the reason I resigned/from following the Batman is small print now makes me blind.

When Biden hits the White House, CFO's all think alike/that he will praise the working man and then his wages hike/Preventing this unpleasantness is now the main concern/of those who do not sweat nor toil their daily bread to earn.

my banker pays me nothing for deposits that I make/the int'rest rate is lower than a bottom feeding hake/I oughta be a loan shark so I get some vigorish/else it's to the poor house, which I hear is chiggerish. 

The immediate goodness of God

 

The immediate goodness of God

emanates from all around.

And those who will seek in good faith

joy in it always have found.

Why should it be hard to praise

a Being so helpful and kind?

We live in His world, after all;

which for us he wisely designed.

The chair.

 

They finally took my chair away today.

Now I have nowhere to sit.

First they came to take away 

my pots and pans.

Then they came back for the TV.

Then the vacuum cleaner.

The couch was next.

And then, inevitably, my bed.

But they left the chair until last.

It was a good sturdy chair.

All wood.

Painted and varnished.

I swiped it from a laundromat.

So now I'm standing on my bare floor.

At least they left me my shoes.

And the kind lady down at the mission

gave me half a dozen pairs

of wool socks.

So winter won't be so bad.

But what I'd really like to have --

the thing that would make up for

the terrible loss of all my possessions --

an unfair and completely unnecessary action,

by the way,

that is due to mismanagement 

on the part of my agent,

what I'd really like to possess

is a map of Antarctica.

I think

a map of Antarctica 

would motivate me

to move out of myself

and into a nicer neighborhood --

one where everyone

kept oyster crackers

on hand

for unexpected company.  

Today's timericks.

 

I'm having baked beans for my breakfast/the kind that are processed and tinned/the fiber is welcome, I grant you/but mostly it's gone with the wind.

On Veteran's Day we celebrate/our soldiers and their honored fate/We'd like to bring them home in peace/and hope that conflicts soon will cease/These past four years we've had excess/of dead and those who convalesce.  

So now I read an online clip/that claims that it is getting hip/to dress up once again at home/for work or just around to roam/high heels and dress shirts are the style/even on a desert isle/but I will never change my mode/content to be a shabby toad. 

In the land of peach-n-cream/voters may just want to scream/Georgia's counting votes by hand/until cities turn to sand/but such stalling won't prevent/Biden as next President.

To me he doth not stink

 

In the Book of Mormon there was once a faithful queen,

who wondered if the king were dead when his demise was seen.

She listened to a prophet's voice, and lo -- her king revived;

we, too, raise the dead when our good hope is full arrived!