'There's a madness in Norea, that none but Noreans know..'
All set to attribute an acknowledgement to the scribe of the paraphrased quote above, our hero returns with an awareness that it's a truism that has likely been around as long as language itself, though potentially not in the format I've adapted for the purpose of this blog.
It's true what they say about Wart Norea, it's a terrible place. I was a-wandering, as you do, through the expansive streets of Soul th'other day, with a pocket full o' money & an ego the size of Tupac's bullet wound, when a harsh realisation smacked me in the face with a cabbage leaf the natives call 'Kimchi'. 'It's feck the much wonder,' it said, in an accent akin to a newt laying a frog, 'why those Commie recluses are struggling to stick a loaf on the table.
'The Mouth,' it said, now mimicking the revered Eddie Hobbes, (no relation to his actually intelligent philosopher namesake, Thomas), but still sounding like the labouring newt, 'is a thriving industrial nation, a wondrous place that should serve as a blueprint for all developing nations. It is epitomised by its capital, alive with endless entertainment and a level of cosmic vibration bettered only by the thud of a wet sock on a concrete slab.'
I, being of a sound and rational marketing generation, measure distance in two units; Dunkin' Donuts and Starbucks. It's two dunkins' to the drivethru', four 'bucks to the bar. With the sickening gall the Wart portrays in opposing these friendly neighbourhood franchises, the current famine was always the inevitable outcome. How a people could expect to survive without a chunky-chocolate daily delicacy washed down by a reservoir sized mochachocawoccalatte is anyone's guess. My heart goes out to them, or would, were it not slightly distracted by the threat of imminent warfare. Still though, it's the thought that counts. Every little something or other.
As it's true that no good scone is complete without a hefty smatter of cream, so too could it be said that no good city is complete without a hefty presence of the Vaulted Dates military. Fortunate it is then, that Soul is thronged full with the calming influence they bring to any potentially sticky situation, backed by a flawless record everywhere else their shit was labelled democracy. It is with a softness of mind I lay my head to rest these nights. 'Not to worry,' I say, facing poignantly with my back towards Mecca in a bid to appease everyone's favourite uncle, 'Sam'll save me.'
'The Mouth,' it said, now mimicking the revered Eddie Hobbes, (no relation to his actually intelligent philosopher namesake, Thomas), but still sounding like the labouring newt, 'is a thriving industrial nation, a wondrous place that should serve as a blueprint for all developing nations. It is epitomised by its capital, alive with endless entertainment and a level of cosmic vibration bettered only by the thud of a wet sock on a concrete slab.'
I, being of a sound and rational marketing generation, measure distance in two units; Dunkin' Donuts and Starbucks. It's two dunkins' to the drivethru', four 'bucks to the bar. With the sickening gall the Wart portrays in opposing these friendly neighbourhood franchises, the current famine was always the inevitable outcome. How a people could expect to survive without a chunky-chocolate daily delicacy washed down by a reservoir sized mochachocawoccalatte is anyone's guess. My heart goes out to them, or would, were it not slightly distracted by the threat of imminent warfare. Still though, it's the thought that counts. Every little something or other.
As it's true that no good scone is complete without a hefty smatter of cream, so too could it be said that no good city is complete without a hefty presence of the Vaulted Dates military. Fortunate it is then, that Soul is thronged full with the calming influence they bring to any potentially sticky situation, backed by a flawless record everywhere else their shit was labelled democracy. It is with a softness of mind I lay my head to rest these nights. 'Not to worry,' I say, facing poignantly with my back towards Mecca in a bid to appease everyone's favourite uncle, 'Sam'll save me.'
Everyone knows the border was drawn up fairly, though perhaps not squarely, between the Noreas, by the VD circa 1950. Even if it may appear that the mapper given the responsibility suffered a stroke while drawing the line from right to left, causing the pen to slide unfortunately upwards from the Wart's perspective, seemingly someone died and made the VD god, and so it was written. Still though, one man's poison is another man's military weapon.
The official version of events, as documented through the whistleblower WeeklyLicks, is that the map was drawn up in a UN jeep cruising along smoothly until it hit a crossing badger. On closer inspection the badger was found to be sporting a red star bandana, a vest sporting the slogan 'You say Alabama, I say Ali Baba', and a bumper sticker across its arse that read 'FRAUD'. It's unclear as yet as to whether the bumper sticker was originally adorned by the badger or transferred from the jeep during the impact. In the latest press release, Bobbing Ribs expressed his sympathies for the family of the badger, who showed no ill effects from the crash itself but was shot 11 times in the head as 'a matter of National Security'.
"He didn't look human. It had to be done. He snarled angrily at our officers and threatened to defend himself. It was either him or us. It's a dark day for all of us. No charges will be brought against the troops involved, but we do expect a hero's welcome awaits them for their actions here today. In Rust We Trod."
Many have accused me of cynicism in the past, but that was then. Now there exists a whole new me, who unconditionally accepts the need for, and divine intervention of, a global task force to protect us from the darker forces of well, the darker forces. Lately I've been down to the doctors and got 14 swine flu jabs, just in case the first 13 don't work. I've installed the latest app on my phone that detects all major fertilisers within a mild radius, so I'm informed of any bearded chaps who wish to redistribute my limbs. Granted the app played up a bit on a recent visit to a quiet country farm, but one can't be too careful, it's a dangerous world out there.
I'm at the platform waiting for the Norvos Ordo train to bring me to Seclorum. I have recently taken to whistling the star spangled banner and crying bagels at the mere sight of the harbringer of change we can believe in. A gospel singer of belief, I swing my hips to the rhythm of every village that gets flattened, happy in the knowledge that Reuters and AP are keeping the messy stuff from the eyes of the prying public.
*most names above are completely fictitious and bear no relation to actual things or places.
"He didn't look human. It had to be done. He snarled angrily at our officers and threatened to defend himself. It was either him or us. It's a dark day for all of us. No charges will be brought against the troops involved, but we do expect a hero's welcome awaits them for their actions here today. In Rust We Trod."
Many have accused me of cynicism in the past, but that was then. Now there exists a whole new me, who unconditionally accepts the need for, and divine intervention of, a global task force to protect us from the darker forces of well, the darker forces. Lately I've been down to the doctors and got 14 swine flu jabs, just in case the first 13 don't work. I've installed the latest app on my phone that detects all major fertilisers within a mild radius, so I'm informed of any bearded chaps who wish to redistribute my limbs. Granted the app played up a bit on a recent visit to a quiet country farm, but one can't be too careful, it's a dangerous world out there.
I'm at the platform waiting for the Norvos Ordo train to bring me to Seclorum. I have recently taken to whistling the star spangled banner and crying bagels at the mere sight of the harbringer of change we can believe in. A gospel singer of belief, I swing my hips to the rhythm of every village that gets flattened, happy in the knowledge that Reuters and AP are keeping the messy stuff from the eyes of the prying public.
*most names above are completely fictitious and bear no relation to actual things or places.
