Timely Visitations
Among the unsung travesties of 2020 was a disturbance in the spacetime continuum that unlocked a portal to our urban metropolises, where denizens of bygone ages now roam with reckless disregard for our modern sensibilities. These are their stories.
Pride Parade Prudes
LORD CUMMINBACK: I say, Lady Muffinshart, fancy a jaunt to The Village? I hear it is a rather quaint village, of spirits wholesome and gay.
LADY MUFFINSHART: Good sir, how well you know your lady’s heart.
At The Village.
LORD CUMMINBACK: I say, Lady Muffinshart, a motley procession graces our stroll! Behold those gallant displays of fraternal concord! And lo yonder burly youth and his fair betrothed, exchanging nuptial caresses!
LADY MUFFINSHART: My word, I do believe those are two maidens in yon amorous embrace.
LORD CUMMINBACK: Why so they are… I say, Lady Muffinshart, we are but dupes to a jovial ploy of thespian artifice! The crossdressing maidens, the primped lads — what an uproarious farce! Bravo, I say!
LADY MUFFINSHART: My word, that gentleman’s trousers are torn at the posterior. And that leathered yeoman presses his face to the exposed buttock!
LORD CUMMINBACK: Lady Muffinshart, your womanly innocence is affable indeed. They but perform a jester’s antic for our amusement! How delightfully picaresque! Huzzah, I say!
LADY MUFFINSHART: My word, those gentlemen are locking lips, and whispering tender romances to one another the while.
LORD CUMMINBACK: What whimsic folly! They are but mischievous pettifoggers, sharing a lark at our expe… O heavenly spirit. Avert your eyes, Lady Muffinshart! Why Sodom herself would blush at such aberrations of human intimacy! I say, we shall return to the manor posthaste, and have Mother give us a long bath till we are cleansed of this depraved sight.
The Fastest Haircut in the West (End)
“Fresh cut and a shave, partner, else I’m taken for a parson’s daughter with these tresses hangin’ down the caboose. Now be a good Christian and offer your parched patron a tipple of that hooch.”
“This is Bootleg №416: our single-batch, tub-fermented artisanal Lunarshine. It’s $16.99 for an ounce.”
“Sixteen-ninety ni — ! Listen here you hair-snippin’, pomade-pissin’, dandelion tart! Do you take me for some manner of knobheaded cockamule? I ain’t payin’ no Chinaman’s poll tax for my God-begifted right to jalopy juice!”
“Sir, ethnocentric slurs are not tolerated in this boutique for the hirsute.”
“Son, consider yourself fortunate, seeing as present calumnies against my good name behoove me to alter my appearance before daybreak. Now get with the groomin’. And pour me one of ’em Lunarshines.”
“Would you like a fishing license with your cut?”
“Fishin’ li — ! Why you musk-totin’, kale-wranglin’, elbow-sneezin’, mason-jarrin’, pastry-cheffin’ milkmaid’s spittoon!”
“It’s only $49.50 with a shot of Bootleg.”
“Yeah, I’ll take the darn fishin’ license.”
Knight at the Feminist Conference
CHAIRWOMAN LAU: All in favour of replacing pens, pencils, and styluses for non-phallocentric stationery say, “Yaaass!” All opposed, passive-aggressively tolerate others’ differences of opinion.
Enter Sir Gallivant. He lifts his visor and salutes the crowd.
SIR GALLIVANT: How now? What vexing sight bereaves my eyes? The fair sex, congregated apiece in this arena of public discourse? Where is your protector, damsels? Hath he so importunately abandoned you here, at mercy of mundane circumstance? Whichsoever master you serve, he hath forsworn his custodianship. Frail lambs, I am thy new shepherd!
Commotion ensues. Terms like “heteropatriarch” and “vaginophobe” are hurled at Sir Gallivant. Some of the feminists in attendance tear their power suits in outrage.
CHAIRWOMAN LAU: Women! Let there be order. Let us not stoop to the levels of the masculine swine. This man —
Boo! Ick! All sex is rape!
— is obviously deluded by libidinally constructed metanarratives. We must educate this Male Oppressor in our unique herstory.
Woo! Femme force!
CHAIRWOMAN LAU: You, sir, have a saviour complex. Allow me to womansplain that concept to you. You think that women —
Yay! Women!
— need saving.
No we don’t! Stupid boys!
CHAIRWOMAN LAU: I mean, you are literally wearing armour —
Sexist! Bigot! (I think he’s kind of hot!)
— Did you also ride in on a white steed?
SIR GALLIVANT: Nay, illustrious lady. My trusty mare is chestnut brown.
*Gasp*
CHAIRWOMAN LAU: So, what you’re saying is, you have subjected a female horse of colour to serve underneath you?
Preach of the Leech
¨ Medieval doctors were known as ‘leeches’.¨
PASTOR CONTRAVAX: And the Lord said unto Jebezedaiah, ‘Plunge not the medicine man’s syringe into the blood of thy kin, lest thine sons become wretchèd with the autismal scourge. Nor shall thy flock bear upon its face the thrice-plied veil against airborne pest. For it is an ignominious bondage, and I have endowed my servants with liberty, and rumbling bowels of plenty to excrete upon my enemies.’
CONGREGATION: Amen! His will be done!
PASTOR CONTRAVAX: My children, we are fotunate to be joined today by a true expert on this auspicious year’s global contagion. Proceed, Doctor.
DR. LEECH: Yea, and he who is stricken with the crownèd plague, what panacea shall mend his humours? Verily I prescribe this concoction unto thee: one saucer of virgin’s urine, five tufts of she-wolf’s hide, a milk-tooth of a jaundiced babe, two thimblefuls of mandrake pomace, and the gonad of a hippogriff, rich it is with Vitamin-K.
CONGREGATION: Praise the Lord! We’re saved!
DR. LEECH: (Aside) Ah, it feeleth good to be home.
Norsemen of the Apocalypse
Jan. 6, 2021. Washington D.C. The Gautama Café, near the Capitol Building.
“Namaste to the Gautama Café. My name is Astral Projection. How can I help you?”
“Greetings, earthling. I am QShaman, a multidimensional being who is also specifically a Viking. I have been sent by the Teutonians to infiltrate Planet Flat-Earth’s puppet-government, and overthrow the cabal of lizard-pederasts who control the people’s spirit animals. To summon the strength of my superior blood-brethren I require unpasteurized marmot milk. Can you procure that vital liquid?”
“You know, I’m a polygalactic Druid priestess myself. My soul has transmigrated to this spatiotemporal plane to awaken consciousness to the Indigo Sphere and liberate people from the Conformity Industrial Complex.”
“A sign from Father Wodin — and on this fateful day! Divine priestess, you and I are meant to be! Tarry here a moment while I take care of a quick insurrection. Upon my return, we shall break bread and consecrate our union.”
“Should I put the marmot milk on ice in the meantime?”
“Oh Thoriffic day! I am in love!”
