|Czar has trained a small army of ninja
wombats to strike fear into the hearts
of his enemies. Secondarily, Czar uses
his wombat army to deliver messages
to ‘Puter. Cubical poop? Really? Ouch.
When not abusing various mood-altering substances, we denizens of Castle Gormogon delight in offering each other feedback on one another’s postings. By “feedback” ‘Puter means unrelenting and merciless abuse for any error, no matter how slight. Almost as soon as ‘Puter’s post regarding Millennials went live, he heard from two of Castle Gormogons other five full-time residents.*
Czar thoughtfully sent ‘Puter a memorandum written on manticore skin parchment in whale blood drawn by Dr. J from the aorta of a living narwhal he keeps for just such a purpose in the Castle’s fully stocked rooftop aquarium.** Czar insists that only blood from a living whale shimmers with the rage he imparts to his words. It did, however, take ‘Puter a bit of time to determine the memorandum was from Czar, as Czar nail gunned the memo to a wombat*** with a ten penny nail after feeding the aforementioned wombat a mixture of ketamine and PCP and throwing it into ‘Puter’s rumpus room. Thus spake the Czar:
Memo from the Czar of Muscovy to His Excellency Ghettoputer
Regarding your excellent essay on the Millennial generation, two points.
Yesterday, the Czar had the opportunity to observe a young Millennial at work, seated at a table doing paperwork for her employer. The Czar will suggest that she worked about forty minutes of the hour.
What was occupying her attention for the remainder of that hour? Her iPhone, which she would obsessively check every two or three minutes, read a text message, and reply.
Listen. If you want to chat with your pals, do so on your own time. If you want to get paid, it means you find the courage to turn off your phone and concentrate on your job. A boss won’t pay you to sit around and play poker with your friends while you fill out forms between rounds of betting; he or she sure shouldn’t pay you to text them either.
Second, “nothing new under the sun” is from the Bible, you knob.
And upon reading Czar’s memorandum, ‘Puter had to admit two things. First, Czar is correct that “nothing new under the sun” is a phrase from the Bible. It’s from Ecclesiastes 1:9. Frankly, ‘Puter’s surprised none of our Protestant readers beat the heathen Czar to the punch. ‘Puter does note that in Sonnet 59, Shakespeare explores the notion that there’s nothing new under the sun, a revisiting of the Biblical passage, and an interesting self-referential way of proving The Bard’s (and God’s) premise that, in fact, there is nothing new under the sun.
‘Puter stands partially corrected, as the Bible is the origin of the quotation. The next round of peyote and Pernod is on ‘Puter down at the Leaping Peacock. Don’t get there late, or Czar will have drunk all the free booze.
Shortly after ‘Puter managed to chase down, sedate and vivisect the wombat, Dr. J’s missive arrived, scrawled on a prescription pad and lashed to a 50cc syringe with 3-0 non-absorbable suture attached by use of a 3/8″ circular surgical needle, tapered. The good Dr. embedded his response to ‘Puter’s headboard with a blowgun he improvised from an Jackson-Pratt drain and a partial occlusion clamp, powered by a noxious mixture of various gases Doc lifts from whatever anesthesiology resident isn’t paying attention on his watch. Mr. The Doctor Jay writes:
I may have something to add about how it applies to medical education
‘Puter certainly hopes so. He eagerly awaits the arrival of Dr. J’s amplification and elucidation of ‘Puter’s feeble premise. ‘Puter’s also waiting for his weekly supply of Adderall XR.
‘Puter’s also received responses from our minions off Castle premises. ‘Puter’s waiting to see if any more are forthcoming before posting on Ghost’s most excellent assessment.
*Czar refuses to count Dat Ho, Sleestak and Dr. J’s droid companion, our mummy butler and countless of Mandarin’s lobotomized army of the undead as residents. We other Castle residents
humor honor Czar’s request.
**The Castle’s aquarium contains all known and several unknown species of the world’s bodies of water, both saltwater and fresh water. Czar insisted we locate the aquarium on the hippodrome’s roof, as his pet giant squid Inky enjoys the view of the sun setting over the Czar’s serfs toiling in the rye fields. GorT thoughtfully encased the aquarium in an anti-gravity field to preserve the structural integrity of the hippodrome, making Czar’s dream possible.
***Did you know that a wombat’s turd is cubical? Wombats mark their territory by stacking their poop on elevated locations within their territories. Really. Wombats also really, really dislike having a memorandum nail gunned to them.
Always right, unless he isn’t, the infallible Ghettoputer F. X. Gormogons claims to be an in-law of the Volgi, although no one really believes this.
’Puter carefully follows economic and financial trends, legal affairs, and serves as the Gormogons’ financial and legal advisor. He successfully defended us against a lawsuit from a liquor distributor worth hundreds of thousands of dollars in unpaid deliveries of bootleg shandies.
The Geep has an IQ so high it is untestable and attempts to measure it have resulted in dangerously unstable results as well as injuries to researchers. Coincidentally, he publishes intelligence tests as a side gig.
His sarcasm is so highly developed it borders on the psychic, and he is often able to insult a person even before meeting them. ’Puter enjoys hunting small game with 000 slugs and punt guns, correcting homilies in real time at Mass, and undermining unions. ’Puter likes to wear a hockey mask and carry an axe into public campgrounds, where he bursts into people’s tents and screams. As you might expect, he has been shot several times but remains completely undeterred.
He assures us that his obsessive fawning over news stories involving women teachers sleeping with young students is not Freudian in any way, although he admits something similar once happened to him. Uniquely, ’Puter is unable to speak, read, or write Russian, but he is able to sing it fluently.
Geep joined the order in the mid-1980s. He arrived at the Castle door with dozens of steamer trunks and an inarticulate hissing creature of astonishingly low intelligence he calls “Sleestak.” Ghettoputer appears to make his wishes known to Sleestak, although no one is sure whether this is the result of complex sign language, expert body posture reading, or simply beating Sleestak with a rubber mallet.
‘Puter suggests the Czar suck it.