TALES FROM THE ELDER SCROLLS

TALES FROM THE ELDER SCROLLS

The Great Council

A saga from the 3rd Age of Usa

by Quirk

The world was in chaos and bathed in woe. War, disease, and famine ran rampant across the land. It was the beginning of the second half of what until then had been called the Golden Age of the fabled Empire of Usa; but these were fey and dour times. There was unrest in the land; brother fought brother; untold masses suffered while a lucky or venal few prospered. Vandals roamed the streets in packs, every home had a weapon, anarcho-capitalism grew with merchants hiring local warlords and their bands of mercenaries to protect their goods. Pilgrims wandered the land predicting Armageddon and Rapture. Peasant revolts were springing up spontaneously in cities throughout the land. The old gods were long abandoned and forgotten.

In the fabled city of Oz, the Dark Emperor O ruled from his throne in the infamous White Palace. He ignored the rules laid down by the Old Ones in the Great Charter. His minions, Lady Pelosi and Lord Harry held sway over the Wise Men elected by the people to offer counsel and direction to the Emperor on their behalf. The Emperor’s policies were profligate and he had brought the country to near ruin.

Much of the known world suffered with Usa. The only ones seeming to prosper and grow stronger daily were her ancient enemies in the lands of the Great Bear and the Great Dragon.

But the Emperor’s powers remained unchecked. The only ones who had the resources in manpower and treasure to stem his disastrous rule were the people of the Gop; but their leaders were weak and torn by internecine squabbling.

They appeared to offer no credible alternative to O’s rule.

Within Usa, there were many lesser powers enthralled to the Emperor. Among them, was the High King Deuce from the realm of Blog in the state of Pa. And it was this same High-King who on the 10th day of the second month of the second year of second decade of the second half or the Golden Age of Usa called forth his Great Council to assemble for a Moot of the high born to discuss major issues and events and reach consensus on actions to be taken.

From across Usa they gathered. There was the great Witch-Queen Zenatherisitawasplenith, riddler and shift changer from the misty lands of the northwest; the Battle mage Gag Reflex, Chief Ranger to the Court ; the Lord Rat, silky and sly, Lord of the Horse from the deserts of ancient Az. There was also truculent Lord Dougo from the fabled land of Maui beyond the sea; and the Corn King, Rufus II, from the swamplands of the South. There was Lord Ash, the Potato Prince from the lands north of the Great Lakes, the lands of the windigo and frost giants; and there was Sir Samuel from the Lands Below, Scribe and Jester to the High-King. There was the warlord OnonomoWiO, Shogun of Oh, who had demanded the moot be called. With him rode Flim Flam, warlock and sorcerer and chief councilor to the Shogun. Nine acolytes accompanied Flim Flam as they always did. Just in case. Also in OnonomoWiO’s train rode, Bobbo his Thane, Jarl of Id, reader of runes, philosopher to the court, and Lord Commander of the Royal Coachmen. There were also great ladies that attended. There was Lady Melody, spellweaver and astrologer, daughter of the moon, born of the ancient blood of elf and fairy. With her came Lady Jenny-Janus, sibyl and seer, magus and medium, dual-natured dark eminence. Also attending was the hydra-headed monster Anonymi, anonymous sower of dissent, son of the idiot god Cthutlu. The only two members of the Council not attending were the Quirkster, Warden of the North and the wizard Whit, friend and councilor to the high-King who had long ago withdrawn into self-imposed exile into the damp, dark recesses of Usa’s southlands.

Those high born who did attend were accompanied by a goodly train of retainers and sycophants.

The edict demanding their presence at the moot was a cause for trepidation among many of the council members. The Council was to assembly at the Post, a huge mead hall in the west of Pa. It was a dark and eldritch place were momentous decisions had been discussed and abandoned in decades past. There was tension in the air for the Great Council was divided and in dispute; and legend informs that the last moot held there had devolved from curses and abuse to a drunken brawl with fists and chairs and (some say) even a shoe being thrown, though none ever admitted to the last act. The incident is still remembered as the Night of the Jabberwocky.

It was near ten in the evening when the Council members began to arrive at the great alehouse. A full moon was rising in the east and it cast stark shadows across the barrow lands through which they road. Because of an unseasonably warm afternoon, wispy tendrils of mist were drifting up from the land into the cool night air. The movement of the mist gave one the impression that barrow wights and vesti were moving silently among the mounds. The travel was slow as the broad highway on which they rode was cracked and pitted and filled with huge cavernous potholes caused by the pervasive neglect that marked the Emperor’s reign. Instead of repairing roads, and bridges, and sewers, Usa’s treasures were being squandered on death panels, wars, military hardware, drones, golf, and vacations for the Empress Michelle, her daughters, mother, her train of tag-a-longs, and a coterie of guards.

The first to arrive at the ancient ale-house was the High-king himself. He was accompanied by the Ladies Melody and Jenny-Janus who had both bummed rides. They approached the alehouse warily, winding their way up the narrow path between the scavenged remains of a Vietnam-era Douglas A-4 Skyhawk on the one side and the hulk of a M48 Patton medium tank on the other, the accoutrements of war and sad symbols of past military adventures. As they approached the entrance, they were confronted by a massive totem topped with a giant, ornately-runed Cross of Malta with a banner draped below bearing the words VFW POST 1264. Beside the totem was another sign, Graham-Foster Wedding: Main Hall. Take Front Entrance. Below in smaller font, The Great Council: The Patton Room. Take Side Entrance.

The High-King and the two Ladies moved to the side entrance but as they entered the hall they were confronted with a roiling miasma of stale beer, mildew, and the tanged odor of old sweat from bitter contests from ages past, of political debate, and drunken brawls, and beer pong matches lasting into the night.

“Good lord, shouted the king. Someone air this place out. Damn. How much did we pay to rent this place anyway?”

After about half an hour, the air in the room had become tolerable and the king took his seat at the head of an array of six square tables that had been arranged to form a circle. Table cloths had been strategically arranged to complete the illusion. Behind him, the wall was dominated by a life-size picture of General George S. Patton, truculent and proud, dressed in jacket and sash with jodhpurs and riding crop. To the side of the king along the wall was a small bar manned by a single bartender who was presently cleaning a crystal tip jar.

The king’s dress belied his foul mood. He wore golden raiment with crimson elephants rampant embroidered on each breast. His crown, a broad golden circlet topped by a pachyderm with lowering proboscis that hung down between his eyes, seemed to sit heavy on his brow. He wore the Black Amulet of the IP draped around his neck, an intricately runed rodent made of some strange impermeable substance which though the king's innate arcane knowledge he was able to manipulate the force of the Web to view some of the hidden secrets of his subjects including even those of the crafty and ubiquitous Anonymi. As he waited, the king toyed nervously with his i-Phone.

Beside the king on the left sat Lady Mel, a breath of spring, dressed gaily in a brief outfit of yellow and crimson lace. It could be described in more detail but as I said it was brief; however, it did show off her tats (yes tats) to maximum advantage. On the king’s right side sat Lady Jenny-Janus the inscrutable. Her moods were often changeable, violent and abrupt, a dangerous women. Oftimes her moods could be judged by the clothes she wore but it was never a certain thing for even the color of her clothes seemed to be able to change to match her mood. When the Good Jenny appeared she often wore brightly colored raiment of greens and reds and purple; but when Janus shifted and Bad Jenny appeared, her clothes usually reflected it, ill-fitting, dark and somber. Tonight, she wore indecipherable shades of sand and light grey. Not knowing which way she or they might shift created tension and uncertainty for all, for the room was now filling up with other members of the council and their minions as they entered carrying their packages. I say packages for as usual the edict mandating the moot spelled out “Dinner: Pot Luck”.

The High-king had his usual five foot Philly Cheese Steak Sub delivered before his arrival. Lady Mel once again went vegetarian with a Caribbean rice and black bean salad while Lady Jenny-Janus contributed an enchilada casserole with Doritos.

Rufus II, the Corn King, grizzled and weary but spoiling for a fight arrived wearing a crown with the words ‘John Deere” drawn from the ancient language of the Cherokee engraved across the front. In one hand, he carried a gallon bottle of crystal clear ambrosia declaring it the be the “whitest damn lighting you will ever taste”. In the other hand, he carried a huge container of Burger Kings “New Fries” which he promptly put on the side board with the other offerings. He then announced a delivery boy from the local Pig-in-a-Poke would be there shortly with his order of corn pone.

Spotting Lady Mel in the corner, he smiled noting she had set up an i-Pod with portable speaker and was now gyrating to the sounds of Heartbreaker.

Queen Zenatherisitawasplenith was the next to arrive. She wore a flowered blouse in greys and blues under a violet jacket of soft leather and over a pair of bitchin tight black slacks. She brought a huge platter of spicy Filipino escabetcheng sauce served over lapu-lapu fish fillets. After setting the platter on the side board, she took her seat and immediately went to the Bible Sayings app on her portable computer to prepare for the moot.

A few minutes later, Lord Ash walked in carrying a quiche and a bottle of port wine with Stilton cheese for dessert. He was dressed in a white parka with matching après ski boots. He was flaunting a pink ‘Walk for the Cure’ ribbon and a NOW Fight for the Right to Choose armband. Noticing the high king was free, he moved to his side.

“Your Grace, I bring news from the Warden of the North. I stopped by his hold at Quirk Rock on my way south from the Great White North. The Warden begs your indulgence but says he will be unable to attend the moot. War and chaos have broken out in the twin cities of Detro and Dearbo. In Detro, bandits and thugs roam the streets in packs, looting and harassing the innocent. Drug deals and drive-by shootings occur nightly. There is even talk of cancelling the rest of Black History Month there. As you know, it now runs into mid-March.

And in Dearbo, the children of Islam are in revolt. They are angered that their Queen has been arrested on a DUI and they cite religious persecution despite the fact she blew a 2.0 on the breathalyzer. They are incensed that their leaders are being persecuted, like the owner of the La Shish restaurants chain who was forced to leave the country because of false charges of tax evasion and supporting terrorists. They argue that not all of the Italian restaurants in the city yet offer falafel. They toss abuse and shoes in all directions. I of course reminded the Warden of the numerous Catholic priests who are proven pedophiles but it did nothing to assuage his anger nor his resolve.

He holds the Eight Mile Gate, and vows that none from the twin cities shall pass forth to pollute the lands while he lives.”

The High-King frowned. “That is disturbing news. And disappointing. Did you see the size of that sub I brought? But in this case the Warden must do what he thinks best. He will be missed. I loved those water chestnuts wrapped in bacon with the barbeque sauce that he brought last time. At any rate, I thank you for bringing me his message. Go. Sit. Enjoy yourself while we await the others.”

Proud and defiant, Lord Ash moved to a seat across from Zenatherisitawasplenith and opened up the “Mr. Potato Head” app on his i-Pod while waiting for the others to arrive.

He didn’t have to wait long. Almost immediately, Lord Samuel walked through the door smiling and carrying a huge poke of shrimp cooked fresh off the barbie. He laid the shrimp on the side table and then proceeded to work the room, joking and cracking wise with all there. He was a handsome man, young and virile, recently voted Metrosexual of the Year by the residents of Blog, perfectly coiffed, every hair in place even, one assumes, those that could not be seen, a true dandy. He was wearing a Tori Richard aloha shirt of soft cotton with oyster shell buttons on a black base with a breadfruit design pattern. He wore light khaki pleated slacks over Salvador beach sandals. He moved with easy grace as he circled the room. His lilting voice could occasionally be heard over the general hubbub, “So these two gay guys are sitting in a bar and a horse walks in…”

The next to arrive were Lord Rat and the battle mage, Gag Reflex. The rat was carrying a pot of his famous southwestern chili sin frijoles. He was wearing his trademark sombero and a desert camo outfit under a long sand colored duster. His spurs, attached to newly re-soled Tony Roma boots, jingle jangle jingled as he strode through the door. Gag Reflex, the Chief Ranger walked in beside him wearing dark green camo and carrying a rolled up gilly suit under his right arm. In his left hand, he carried a frog gig and strung over his shoulder was a huge bag of frogs he had harvested along the way. After offering greetings all around, Gag laid the Sterno cans he had brought to cook the frog legs on the bar and then moved to the rest room with his catch to fillet the legs.

It was then that that the double doors separating the Patton Room from the main hall were thrown wide and in strode the Hydra-headed beast Anonymi accompanied by the soft tribal rhythms of the Hokie Pokie as played by the Sam Geiss Trio who had now started upping the beat at the Graham-Foster wedding. Anonymi was forced to come through the main hall as, due to his great girth, he was unable to make it through the side entrance. He wore his usual oversized ninja outfit with slippers, but tonight he also sported Guy Fawkes masks on each of his many heads.

The High-King viewed him with distain, but as he stroked the amulet at his throat, he also thought he detected wary recognition, or was it hidden guilt, in the eyes of a number of his councilors. He knew, even at that, most despised the creature. They had begun calling him the ‘The Thing’, short for ‘The Thing With Many Heads But No Brain”.

Anonymi was always the last to be chosen for any of the occasional pick-up softball games held in Blog. There was something foreign and out of kilter with him. Even when he made it to second base, he would just as likely run back to first instead of advancing to third. It made it almost impossible for those trying to follow the game on their scorecards. But what could you do? Ban him from the blog for being different? Probably not. The high-king was terrible and just but he understood and was tolerant of the weaknesses of man. However, he was still greatly vexed when he noticed Anonymi once again had come to the moot empty handed. No doubt he/they/it would offer the same excuse, “I must have misread the edict.”

After a brief survey of the room, Anonymi moved to the side board, grabbed a few handfuls of frog legs from where Gag had set them, and then proceeded to the table. He ended up taking up about a quarter of the space at the table, partly because of his girth and partly because none seemed to want to sit close to him.

Soon the side entrance opened again, silently and as if by magic. An amorphous mist flooded the entrance, and through it marched the Shogun of Oh, the warlord OnonomoWiO with his minions in tow. To his left, always a step behind so that he could whisper into the shogun’s ear was Allen of Ga, the flim flam man, called ‘The Fox’ by his friends but ‘The Dissembler’ by his many enemies, sorcerer and chief councilor to the shogun. On AnonymoWiO’s right side strode his Thane, Bobbo the Jarl of Id.

They were a formidable looking group. The Shogun was dressed all in black in tactical slacks and a conceal carry shirt by Blackhawk. He wore sport boots by Bates, ventilated shooting gloves by Bob Allen, and a 5.11 tactical series vest. On his shoulder he carried a heavy duffel go-bag which he now tossed near the coat rack. Wearing his ‘Team Glock’ black hat and aviator sunglasses, one had to admit he looked very impressive and bold and…er…well….very, very tactical.

Beside him, the Jarl Bobbo, called ‘Wolfbane’ by his subjects, 'The Poisoner' by his enemies, and ‘Commando’ by his fishing buddies, wore a green plaid shirt and a fishing vest over faded khakis. On his head, he wore a round helm mounted by two huge horns (a gift from his wife). The helm was surrounded by a band of smooth cotton to which he had attached various fishing lures and flies. On his chest, he wore the badge designating him the honorary title of Commander of the Royal Coachmen. Legend had it that this badge of office, actually a uniquely tied Royal Coachman, had actually been tied by the beloved Thaddeus Norris himself. Instead of the usual smoked salmon that Wolfbane usually brought, tonight he opted to bring a batch of pemmican cakes he whipped up from a recipe by Vihljamur Stefansson that he came across in a recent copy of Mark’s Daily Apple. He displayed them to the high-king with a slight bow and then placed them on the side board.

Allen of Ga now brought forth his offering, a steaming platter of gefilte fish slices served with horseradish and carrots which he also placed on the side board. The shogun’s councilor was wearing a long black leather coat that reached nearly to the floor. It covered a black Cossack style shirt and black slacks. Adding a discordant note to the outfit were the knee high red boots that he wore and which lent the outfit a disquieting androgynous look, a look one suspected was intentional.

It was at this point that AnonomoWiO called forth three of the nines acolytes from Allen of Ga’s train. The first two men carried a number of packages on trays, white boxes tied with red ribbon. “A mix of confectionary delights to be shared with my friends” beamed the Shogun. He proceeded to open one box and lay its contents on the side board. It contained extraordinary examples of the confectioner’s art centered by a glorious masterpiece exquisitely wrought yet understated, a white and dark chocolate pistol designed to represent a Glock 38.

AnonomoWiO smiled thinly at the stunned reaction of his audience and then said, “And now for the piece d’resistance”. He again signaled and a third acolyte approached carrying a huge covered serving tray which he placed on the side board. The shogun lifted the lid and an audible gasp swept the room. It was a brisket. But not just any brisket. No. It was a Brisket WiO. Many had thought it just a legend but here it was. It was rumored that cooking it required the skill of the famous fugu chefs who prepare the erotically dangerous torafugu in Japan.

Regardless, the aroma wafting from the meat was intoxicating. Even Lady Jenny-Janus shifted slightly in her chair.

“Enjoy,” said the Shogun.

And they soon did. Not even the high-king could resist.

It was only later that some in the room began to wonder why the shogun had decided to share this treasure even with those he clearly did not like. And some questioned that there might be some hidden meaning in the fact that he was offering them all a gun to eat albeit one made of candy. Again, an ominous level of tension returned and there was a charge in the air.

The high king rose and called for silence.

“Has anyone seen Lord Dougo?” His only answer was silence.

“Then we must begin. We are now approaching the eleventh hour and we only have the room until one.”

Queen Zenatherisitawasplenith rose. “I would like to offer a prayer of thanks for our bounty.”

Instantly, Lord Ash was on his feet. “Bullshit. I will not have it. We have never said a prayer before. And she is Catholic. Do I have to once again remind you of those pedophile priests?”

“Sit down, you putz,” roared the Chief Ranger, and pandemonium ensued.

“Silence,” demanded the high king. “Any praying will be done silently and to yourselves. We have important things to discuss. Barkeep, tap another keg if you please. Let’s eat and get on with it.”

“But it’s a Brisket WiO,” whined Zenatherisitawasplenith.

The king silenced here with a look. Silence returned as they turned to their food, all but for the sound of a near inaudible whisper from the direction of Zenatherisitawasplenith, “Bless us O Lord for these thy gifts…”

AnonomoWiO chuckled, “Well I am surprised. Not that you didn’t let my people offer a prayer in thanksgiving. That was as expected. But instead, by the fact that you didn’t allow all of your little toadies with their Christian praying and proselytizing to do so.

In frustration, the king said, “Please, WiO. We only have a couple hours to wrap this thing up.”

ust as things were getting back to normal, the side entrance was thrust open and in strode Lord Dougo, dour and truculent. In one hand he carried a tin of Macadamia nuts and in the other a half melted bag of ice. It was obvious he was incensed if not livid.

“You bastards. Couldn’t save me a damn parking space could you? Do you know how big that wedding is next door? I had to park a half mile down the road at Pig-in-a-Poke and then hoof it.”

WiO sneered, “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Dougo. They didn’t save my people any spaces either. We are parked out on the lawn beyond the far parking lot. Join the club. I expected nothing less from this bunch.”

It was difficult for Dougo to contain himself but he moved silently to the table. It was there where his anger flared again.

He now noticed the circular configuration of the table which prevented him from taking his usual spot on the ‘right’ side; and worse, most of the seats were taken and he was forced to sit next to Ononymi. The king noticed that same look of recognition (guilt?) in Lord Dougo’s eyes as he looked down upon The Thing; but then reflected the king, perhaps it was merely due to the competitive factor. Lord Dougo was usually the second to last person picked in the softball games.

Turning to the king and gesturing to the table, Dougo asked, “What is this?”

The high king smiled, “Because of the continuing strife on the Council, I thought the round table might make things appear a little more democratic around here.”

Dougo merely groaned.

“And what is this. You didn’t save me one frog leg?”

“As usual, my people didn’t get any either,” said WiO.

“Hell, nobody did. I didn’t’ even get any. The Thing ate them all,” complained The Ranger.

It was then that Dougo noticed the NOW patch on Lord Ash’s parka. With disdain he said, “You friggin PC pansy.”

Lord Ash merely smiled.

Lord Dougo tugged at his shirt. He was wearing a Tori Richard aloha shirt of soft cotton with oyster shell buttons on a black base with a breadfruit design pattern. He wore light khaki pleated slacks over Salvador beach sandals. It appeared as if he had recently had his hair trimmed. He picked up his fork and glanced across the table. He saw Lord Samuel and what he was wearing and blanched. Sam was smiling. Dougo exploded.

“You dirty SOB. Do you know how long it took me to pick out this outfit?”

The main table exploded in laughter and Lord Dougo’s humiliation was complete.

It took some time for the hubbub to die down and the guests to be satiated but then the high king rose.

“Let’s tap another keg. It’s time to get down to business but you can continue munching as we move along. The Shogun has set the main agenda item for the moot, but I would ask if there is any peripheral business that needs to be taken care beforehand.”

Once again Zenatherisitawasplenith rose. “I’m selling 50/50 tickets to the Our Lady of the Lakes Spring Festival. The drawing will be held on the second Wednesday in April on Bingo Night but you don’t have to be present to win.”

“I’m not contributing to no stinking pedophile priests,” yelled Lord Ash.

“Me either”, screamed the Corn King. “I can’t stand those religious hypocrites.”

Gag Reflex chimed in “Damned papists.”

WiO and his coterie merely smiled.

The high king pounded the table and roared, “I meant any peripheral Council business. Take care of that on you own time Z. Let’s go around the table. Thin…er…Ononymi, you first. Any business you want to talk about?”

“Nuttin,” said the central head on The Thing.

“Any of the rest of you?”

“Nuttin”, said the other heads in chorus.

Relieved, the king moved on. “Lady Jenny-Janus? Anything?”

“Nothing right now but I’ll reserve my time.”

“WiO, you have the main agenda item so I assume you will wait.” The shogun nodded to the king.

“Rufus and Gag, I think you are on the agenda for the next moot. Anything to add tonight?”

Both answered in the negative.

“Rat, what you got?”

“Your Grace, I would only point out once again Teddy Roosevelt’s stated disdain for hyphenated Americans. I think we all know to whom I refer.”

“Thanks, rat. Allen of Ga, anything from you?”

“I wouldn’t waste my time with this bunch, Sweetie.”

The king continued.

“Lord Dougo?”

“Merely, a brief statement. I think Rufus is a shit sucking commie and Ash is no better, the friggin PC prick.”

“Thanks, Dougo. Lord Ash?

“Well, there is the matter of the pedo…”

Anyone else? Jarl Bobbo?”

“Thanks, boss. First, let me say to Z, I’d like a few of those 50/50 tickets. My luck’s been rotten lately down at the casino. I’ll catch up with you later. Now with regard to Council business, I would like to nominate WiO to join the king’s Privy Council as he has proven himself worthy of that honor on many occasions. It is also my understanding that he will be nominating me, Allen of Ga, and Allen’s nine acolytes for the same honor.”

The king responded, “Sorry, Bobbo, but you are out of order. You know well that membership in the Privy Council is an honorary title that is bestowed not nominated and voted upon. If that is all, please take your seat.”

“But…” started Bobbo.

“Enough,” said the king.

“What mummery is this? Tis a farce. Blatant discrimination, WiO has proven himself to be the most…”

“Silence”, yelled the King. “Gag, you and the Corn King are selected as co-sergeant-at-arms. If this man continues along these lines, cast him into the darkness.”

“The closet?” asked Gag.

“No, outside,” said the king.

The Corn King, who had now polished off most of the white lightning said, “I…who there…what’s zo dam funny…I…”

From behind and to the left of AnonimoWiO, came a sonorous whispered “tsk tsk tsk” followed by a message indecipherable and “…my preciousessss…” like the song of a snake or some amphibious Gollum. In response, the shogun rose. “I would only comment my Grace that this is merely one more example of the indignity, persecution, and abuse visited upon my people by you and people like you at this bar and across the world through the millennia.”

“Noted,” said the king.

Moving on, the king said, “Lady Mel, what you got?”

“Your Grace, I have heard this bullshit many times before. I beg your permission to join the wedding party in the next room.”

“So be it,” said the king. “I wish I could go with you. Have fun.”

Smiling, Mel said, “Come on Sam. Join me.”

Sam smiled back but said, “Sorry, Mel, but I have to take down the minutes.”

The king interjected, “That’s alright Sam, I am invoking my royal prerogative and commanding that those who remain will commit the evening’s remaining words and events to the communal tribal memory. I would ask that later you all forward your reflections to Sam so that he can convert them to formal minutes.”

The king was aware of the can of worms he was opening up but he didn’t want to send Lady Mel off by herself.

Mel grabbed Sam’s hand and as they passed through the doors to the main hall, the roiling ethnic beat of the ‘Chicken Dance’ swept the Patton Room and then died as the doors were once again closed.

“All right,” said the king, “if that’s it we will now move to the main business of the evening. But as is our habit we will first ask our oracle, the Lady Jenny-Janus, to cast the runes and grant us some vision into the future."

This was always a moment of tension at the moot. No one knew who Jenny would channel, a spirit of good or a spirit of evil. Some were tacitly optimistic as her clothes had taken on an almost imperceptible change in hue.

The seer stood slowly, took a hefty swig of the Grey Goose from the tumbler at her side and sighed. She then slowly opened her eyes and softly spoke the words, “Can’t we all be friends?”

The relief in the room was palpable for though the words in the manner of all sibyls past and present were ambiguous at best, most on the council elected to give them a positive spin especially since the message contained no four letter words starting with F.

“Thank you, my Lady,” said the king. “And now, AnonimoWiO, you are on.”

The shogun stood, proud and tall, defiant in his tactical glory.

“First, I would like to thank the high king for allowing me to present my petition. This grant is highly unusual and I hardly expected that he would grant someone like me an equal or at least somewhat equal chance to speak before this assembly.”

“Next, I would like to hand out this package of documents from AIPAC, B’nai B’rith, the ADL, and Commentary for the council members to review at their leisure. They contain vital information on our historic homeland and its capital.”

The Jarl of Id, who had started imbibing early, was slightly confused and asked, “You mean Stockholm?”

“No, you fool,” hissed the shogun, “I mean Israel, the font of civilization, Zion and its capital city Jerusalem, the City of God, the jewel of the east, the fountainhead.”

“Oh, right,” said Bobbo.

WiO continued.

“And finally, I am proposing that the Council adopt by unanimous consent the petition I am about to put before you and that we further unanimously agree to send this petition to the Emperor and demand that he immediately implement its provisions in their entirety.

The petition is as follows,

Your Imperial Majesty O, Emperor of Usa

May it please Your Majesty:

It's time to nuke Iran's under the mountain sites.

Sunday, Feb. 5, Alireza Forghani, head of the Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei's strategic team, was quoted as remarking, "It would only take nine minutes to wipe out Israel."

Notice i did not advocate genocide.

I am advocating the complete destruction of Iran's weapons of mass destruction program, it's oil refineries, it's power grid, it's water and sewage infrastructure, it's ports, it's revolutionary guard barracks, it's runways and it's oil wells.

Once those 1st round of destruction occurs?

ANYTHING that is military should be struck.

Any Iranian governmental employee should be targeted for liquidation anywhere in the world.

Round 3?

Any rally against the Jews calling for their genocide? Should be clusterbombed.

Yeah I know the world will get pissy in public.

I know the retarded bar flies here will condemn me for being a maniac and a murderer...

It's war folks...

They win or we win

We die or they die.

I choose they die.

Of course any rockets from Hezbollah or hamas?

Should be responded to as an act of war.

The populations of both should be driven several hundred miles back and then the empty lands should be salted and made unlivable.

No occupation here folks...

Do what the Romans did...

Salt the ground..

Make it barren

Teach them a lesson...

Dont Tread on me...

Good night

We have the honor to remain Your Imperial Majesty’s obedient servants

The Great Council of the High King of Blog

Stunned silence filled the room. Then it exploded.

"All who live by the sword will die by the sword,” quoted Z while frantically keying her i-Pad.

“Fuck you bitch,’ screamed WiO.

The rat, who had been biding his time, smiled and said, “I have one thing to say, Lester Crown.”

“What the hell has that got to do with this, you damned nazi?” countered WiO.

“Well, it’s undeniably true that…,” started rat but he was cut off.

Z shouted, “Do not take revenge on someone who wrongs you. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.”

Rat continued, “The equivalency here is obvious, but of course the Israelis are much more equivalent than…”

That’s right screamed Ash, “If the Israeli’s are as good as WiO says, we should expect more of them.”

“To whom much is given, much is demanded.” Quoted Z.

Lord Dougo rose, “Equivalent? You fucking morons. Next you will be blaming Iran on Donald Rumsfeld and the neocons. None of this could be O’s fault or that of the Libs. No, not in a coon’s age. Man, you people are stupid.”

“All I care about is that none of my money or my kids go to some hell hole in the ME. Screw them all,” said Rufus II. (He was starting to get his second wind and was feeling kinda feisty.)

“Our Scriptures tell us that if you see your enemy hungry, go buy that person lunch, or if he's thirsty, get him a drink. Your generosity will surprise him with goodness. Don't let evil get the best of you; get the best of evil by doing good,” said Z.

“I merely quote the words of the Chief Rabbi of Jerusalem, a man who should know of which he speaks,” said the rat.

“You don’t know shit, crapper. You prove it here daily,” chimed in the Jarl of Id.

"Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword" quoted Z.

“Who’s side are you on?” questioned the high king.

"I hate those goat-fuckers," said Z as she frantically keyed her machine and followed with, “Jesus said to them, "But now if you have a purse, take it, and also a bag; and if you don't have a sword, sell your cloak and buy one..." The disciples said, "See, Lord, here are two swords." "That is enough," he replied.

“She’s nutz,” said the Corn King.

“Never forget,” screamed WiO.

“Let my people go,” screamed the Jarl of Id.

“Next year in Jerusalem,” screamed Allen of Ga.

The strains of the Macarena suddenly filled the room as Sam stuck his head in the door and asked, “Anyone got change for the condom machine in the john?”

Ash went to give him change but soon returned.

The Ranger had now reached the end of his patience, “Joos, Joos, Joos, Joos, Joos, that’s all we talk about. This is the 30th moot we have had on this subject in the last month. I suggest Korea and nobody listens. Damn.”

“But those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint,” said Z.

“What?” said Gag.

“Forget it Gag, she’s batshit crazy,” said the Corn King.

“Yea, though I walk through the Valley of Death, I shall…” Z continued.

“Enough. Enough,” roared the king.

“Enough.”

“It is 12:30 and they will be kicking us out of the hall shortly. We have a motion on the floor presented by the Shogun. It’s time to take a vote. Can we get anonymous agreement? Let’s take a vote by show of hands. All in favor of WiO’s proposal raise your hands.”

Given the votes of Allen of Ga’s nine acolytes and the fact that Doug had moved over to sit with that group, the shogun had achieved a consensus but it was hardly the unanimous approval that he had demanded. He rose and silently gazed upon those who had failed to raise their hands in assent. Then he spoke.

“Once more, you show yourselves to be the base anti-Semitic bastards I have always known you to be. Your blatant disregard for the lives and culture of my people are well known. No more brisket for you. No doggy bags for anyone.

"Allen, have your men collect any of those boxes that haven’t been opened yet. They go with us.

"All that I can say is that you sniveling cowards are a bunch of pussy appeasers who will suffer the same predation my tribe has suffered for thousands of years. When it happens, I will try to contain my laughter. I know I will be unable to contain my derision.

A pox on you and your posterity unto the 10th generation.”

“Ok,” said the high king, “So is that it for tonight?”

Everyone nodded assent and some of the naysayers surreptitiously moved towards the remaining brisket to grab one more bite before the remains were taken away.

“Fine,” said the king.

“Say Ruf, could you let Sam and Mel know that we are wrapping up and will be taking off soon?”

“Sure Deuce. Just need to find my keys.”

As the Corn King entered the main hall it was obvious the Graham-Foster wedding was also wrapping up. Sam was sitting at one of the now nearly empty tables talking to two of the bridesmaids while Melody was in the middle of the darkened dance floor under a giant mirrored disco ball dancing in the flickering lights with a tall, blonde, sensuous beauty to the beat of Clapton’s You Look Wonderful Tonight.

Most in the Patton Room stopped to watch for a moment, then Deuce said, “Just a reminder, at the next Great Moot, the Corn King will present a paper on the progress the state of Ca is making towards energy independence. We will also debate whether to take up the Chief Ranger’s suggestion that we talk about Korea.

“So that’s it. Good meeting. Get those posts with your thoughts over to Sam. I think Lady Jenny-Janus has volunteered to pull together the list of pot luck dishes you are planning to bring for tomorrow's moot. Keep her updated so we don’t end up with a lot of duplicates.

“We’re done here. See you tomorrow night, same time, same place.”

“Take it easy Deuce. Be careful driving,” said WiO.

“I’ll catch you guys tomorrow,” said Ash.

“Damn, I lost my keys again,” complained the Corn King. “Give me a hand here will you rat?”

The lights flickered to announce it was time to go.

The Moot of the Great Council was ended.