Chronicles of Chill: Descent into Pyongification

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Far, far, far to the East of the Kingdom was the land of Pyongistan. It was a land under the benevolent dynastic rulership of Emperor Lil Kimz, who ascended the most heavenly throne upon the death of his father the Notoriously B.I.G. Kimz.

In the annals of all the kings and emperors of all the four corners of the world, none were funnier than the Kimz Dynasty. Everything they did was so gaddem funny, unless they explicitly meant it not to be, in which case the consequence of laughter was a quick and painful death. The way they talked, the way they talked, the way the ate and did all the things they did  filled their famished, impoverished and dehumanised citizens with laughter and gratitude, for they knew they were fortunate to have such emperors as the Kimzes.

And lo, news of this great and glorious land came to the Spinning Quills of Gambrach and behold were they amazed. The people of Pyongistan were far more impoverished and famished than the people of Gambrach and yet they were filled with so much slavish gratitude. Only 28 days looking for petrolatum and the people complained as though there had been a hollow cost of nuclear. Yea, after buying the petrolatum, it was the benevolence of King Gambrach permitted them to be turnt at musical performances by all the bards in the land – Dei Vid, Dei Kun, See Me and the likes.

Behold, the scribes simply knew in their hearts that Gambrach was filled with much more humour than the Kimzes, for when Gambrach was struck with the mysterious affliction that vanished him, all was lost save his sense of humour. It was such a spectacular residue that the Jandinian meisters had taken sample specimens to cultivate, in the hope that one day it might be the answer to global suffering.

“Fellow Spinners,” said Gar Bar, “ye knowest that Gambrach our King is the funniest of all, no matter what the Pyongistani mirrors say.”

“Oh yes!” agreed FemCallamitus, very quickly. “In fact, anytime I am with him, yea  even within 5 meters of the locus of his presence, I get heady with humourphilia and my body and soul are ravaged with laughter.”

“Oh dear!” exclaimed Bee Ree, “thou comest again with the unending contest between thy body and soul over which of them loveth Gambrach more. Perhaps ye shouldst allow Gar Bar finish his thought.”

“Well, my dear Lady Bee Ree, I believe the animus of FemCallamitus is what we need to infect the people with. Behold, they need to see King Gambrach not just as we do, but indeed, as FemCallamitus does.”

FemCallamitus did a cartwheel in excitement, salivating in pavlovian delight at the mention of the King’s name.

Ignoring him, Lady Bee Ree enquired of Gar Bar, “what proposeth thou?”

“We shall put on a dramatization of theatre, to show the entire world, even unto the Pyongistani fields, that humoured leaves or lands or air, none with Gambrach can compare.”

“Fascinating!” exclaimed FemCallamitus. “Might I propose the title for this dramatization of theatre? Can we call it the Epiphany of the Ephemerally Woeful Wailers of the Great Glorious Majestic Humour of the Unashen UnLeared King Gambrach, His Most Divine Grace?”

“Oh god!” exclaimed Lady Bee Ree, with an especially scornful side eye. “I’m sure Gar Bar had something less pathetic in mind. More importantly, which actors shall we engage for the dramatization of theatre?”

“We shall engage no actors, for who knoweth the King’s real version as well as we do? And as for the title of the dramatization of theatre, there it is – we shall call it ‘Real Gambrach of Rockywood’ that the people may know that it will be lit.”

And thus it was, in the heat of the famine petrolatum 2.0, right bang in the season of the Tide of Yule, that news came to the people of the theatrical Real Gambrach of Rockywood was to be performed across the land, starring the Spinning Quills.

Lo, the people came to watch, even though they had scant petrolatum for their lamps to light the paths. They had to see what the gaddem fuss was about and why the dramatization could not wait until after the famine.

The dramatization began with Bee Ree alone on stage, the spotlight on her, for the King’s Quills had no lack of petrolatum for their own lamps. “Oh that ye wouldst know the Real Gambrach of Rockywood. He is so funny that…HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” She could not finish her lines for the laughter consumed her.

Gar Bar thought he could rescue the occasion, saying “Once, Moborius came into the Council Room to see Gambrach and… HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” He also could not continue, laughing uncontrollably.

FemCallamitus saw that his moment had come. He thought he could steal their thunder while they both rolled about on the stage in humourised delirium. “Tis true, the Real Gambrach of Rockywood is amazingly…” he broke off, sensing the fit about to descend upon him, but he quickly regained control and continued. “…amazingly funny. The time my quill had a yellow feather instead of the usual black one, he…. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.”

Lo, there they were, the scribes of Gambrach, guffawing, hee-hawing and slapping each others’ backs.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

 

The people saw it, yet believed it not. “IS THIS THE DRAMATISATION YE CONDEMNDED US TO SACRIFICE OUR PRECIOUS PETROLATUM TO WATCH????

Brethren, the scribes of Gambrach – the Spinning Quills – were pyongified. And there was no gaddem chill in the land.

 

 

 

 

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