Finally got the tree decorated; PLUS: Seasonal Update c. 1120


SEASONAL UPDATE, c. 1120

13a, Squalid-Little-Cottages-by-the-Privy
Just past the knockin’ shop,
Hants.

December 20th, 1120

tree-up
Really happy with the tree this year.
Welcome to our seasonal update newsletter!  I don’t know about you, but I am greatly enjoying the new holiday, “Christmastide”, which apparently replaces the previous 24-hour non-stop pansexual orgy with your parents, siblings and a few of the household pets in honor of the goddess with, you know, the huge tits.  Never did catch the name.   Anyhoo!

PROGRESS ON THE TAPESTRY:  Since you asked.  Me and my thirty-five ladies-in-waiting are still working on our immense, medieval castle-sized tapestry that features our motto: OMNIS POPULUS STULTE EGERUNT TU ODERIS EOS“, which apparently means “People are stupid and you should hate them”, not “Everybody get on down with the goddess, yo!”, like everyone thought.   Which I guess will have to be entirely reworked now.  Great!  Another three-year search for the person who can read!

VISITING THE TAPESTRY GUILD: We open Monday to Friday at a-couple-of-candles-that-have burned-down-hardly-at-all, and we close promptly at a-whole-shitload-of-candles- some-burned-down-some not-and-with-a-bunch-of-wax-dribbles-down-the-side (half-hour later in Newfoundland).

Your overcrowded haywain or manure-reeking donkey cart is most welcome – please remember to tie it up in the castle parking lot by the serfs’ entrance using a valid Great Chain of Being if you want to avoid an arbitrary and severe medieval-style punishment, which currently consists of being rounded up and made into soup.

You should enter the castle by the giant pewter front door which, despite weighing one and a half tons, swings open by itself with the merest touch;  now hang a left from the Great Hall and, after finding the maggoty remains of the Old Retainer who died unnoticed a few months ago, treat yourself to a refreshing vomit; finally, crawl on your stomach, eyes glazed with terror, across the crumbling bridge and into the tower.  I mean, PHEW, right?  Lol!!

I always find that’s a great moment to just relax and totally relieve myself with a giant dump before venturing further, and believe me when I tell you, it’s even funner in a large, sweaty, mixed-sex group that’s been traveling by donkey-cart for 12 days!

spinning-women1.jpg
Me and the beldames of the Cabbagetown Ladies’ Guild working on the collective “People are Stupid” tapestry project.  (Half-hour later in Nfld).  Stylings by Antoine.
Once in the tower, you’ll find we’re the third tapestry guild on the left, the one with the huge rutting marmosets carved into the oak panels. If you can hear the muffled screams of the anchorites as they claw at the walls, you’ve found it!  Pats on backs and gold alchemy symbols all round.

TIP FOR VISITORS: To ingratiate yourself with the beldames of the guild – and let’s face it, who wouldn’t want to get a leg over with a toothless strumpet who’s been sewn into her jute underwear since Whitsuntide! –  I suggest you bring a few extra possets of mead, heavy on the mead. (If you’re doing low-carb, you can leave out the “posset” part, which is basically just stale bread that the king once dropped into his mead by mistake, so now of course we ALL have to drop our stale bread  yada yada yada.  I know, like seriously?)

So that’s “posset of mead, hold the posset”, and mine’s a “Venti”. Thanks.  For something a bit more personal, the ladies always need feminine products, which haven’t been invented yet so your socks tend to go missing, and they would also appreciate a set of teeth, preferably in walnut.

LISTENING TO:   “Fa la la la… la. La la. La. lalalalalala.”  By that master of the three-note a capella musical and all-round swell guy, Anony Mous, which is like, you know.  A nun that’s a mouse.  Or a mouse singing hey nonny nonny. Whatever that means!! Lol!!

~

(Ed.:  Face it.  Everyone was a total whack job in medieval times, but now we can be proud of ourselves.  Thanks to Intelligent Design.  And our People Are Stupid collective misanthropy project.)

P.S.  Please clean up after your donkey.  

P.P.S. Did something, like, DIE in the tower, dude?!

P.P.P.S.  Hey diddle, diddle.    

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