The Chronicles of Chill: By Their Fruits Ye Shall Know Them

Watermelons

Brethren, there was finally chill in the land. It was not the chill that passeth understanding for this chill was well understood. It was the chill of the drama that bowled the kingdom off its feet. It was a stage drama scripted by the Orwellian playwright, Monsieur Beegue Braw Thurr of Paris.

For 3 score and 1 and a half dozen days, Beegue Braw enthralled the kingdom with its array of thespians, with names such as the kingdom had never seen before and behold, there was a grand prize for the greatest actor in the play. The people forgot about King Gambrach, who had said and done and was seen very little since he returned from Jandinia. Lo, Gambrach said it unto the people that he would be returning to the Jandinian meisters to perfect his convalescence and yea, was it greeted with a cacophony of silence. An almighty kerfuffulous scandal broke, showing the debauchery of malabootay and yea, was it unlooked by all and sundry, and there was chill.

Brethren, yea was it the season of the ancient prophet Flow Rider and the lost tribe of the whistle blowers. Behold, they blew his whistle baby, whistle baby and let the Everly Failing at Convictions Commission know about vast swathes of coin stolen by officials of the Kingdom. The brotherhood of the Flow Riders blew hard, for an inheritance was promised unto them that revealed. And the whistles only blew of Gejoshaphatic pilferage, for the Kingodm of Gambrach was upright and holy.

And there was chill in the land.

But then, the spirit of the Tword swept through the kingdom and saw the people in a state of unprecedented sub-chill. So happy and chilled were they and so bereft of the burdens of the kingdom had they become that unmarried many and unmarried man clung to women that were neither their wives and copulated in unbridled chillaxation. Such unbridled coitusification rose as a stench and the spirit of the Tword was so displeased that it sent a plague upon the the fetid fields of fornication.

Or so it was said by Ree Yah, the king of the lesser kingdom of ZamfarawayLand, which worst struck by the plague. And yea, was it a plague of Jye-Tiss. King Ree Yah was confounded by the plague and enquired of the court vizirs the source of the scourge. And he went into prayer himself, where it was revealed to him that the plague was sent upon the land because the fornicatometer had passed 40 forns (the metric unit of measurement). “My people, the spirit of the Tword is displeased and we have offended him sorely with our combustions of the flesh. This scourge of Jye-Tiss is upon us for we have exceeded 40 forns. We shall appease the spirit, as is the custom of our state, by the king taking a new teenage bride. And then we must do our best to keep our fornicatometer between 19 and 35 forns only, lest we be visited with another plague.”

And even then, brethren, there was only a mild, fleeting unchill. For the people watched the play of Beegue Braw Thurr. Until the play ended and the actors all exited left. Then, the chief scribe of Gejoshaphat (thou rememberest him, surely), Roo Ben dug out his quill and wrote of the play of Monsieur Beegue.

“My soul magnifies all the gods old and new for the ending of the play of Monsieur Thurr, for it was a gaddem distraction from the whinings of the kingdom. Never have I, Roo Ben, seen such a bad play about grocery in my life. For I know my onions. And I know my fruits. And I know too well when fruit oligarchs masquerade their products with sultry satire.

“In the play of Monsieur Beegue, there were lost of bananas on display. SoLah TiDoh, one of the lady actors, loved the bananas of her male counterparts quite openly. But they were bad bananas. How do I know this? Because I also have a banana. And while I was in the king’s court, I received praise for my premium banana, disbelieving the lies of those who claimed they had seen better bananas. In fact, my banana was once thought to be a plantain and another a cucumber. The cucumber person was colour blind in their left eye though.

“And then there was Left-Eye, the posh actress of mixed heritage who put her fruits on display, claiming that they were fruits that were loved by the high-flying men of the winged chariots in the sky. Gurrrrl, because of my time in the king’s court, I know a thing or two about the favoured fruit of the frolicking affluents. I have seen better fruit than Left Eye had to offer. I see better fruit all the gaddem time. And unlike the downward pointing mangoes and oranges Left Eye put on display, the men of the flying chariots prefer pumpkins and watermelons and coconuts.

“You see, to be a man of discernment is a lifetime’s work. And I have developed quite a taste for fruit. A man of discernment knows his fruits.”

And mygheeeeeurd, did unchill return with a righteous vengeance! Behold, there was no gaddem chill in the entire kingdom!

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