Super JJ will tell me that I am sourgraping.
It all started when The Shoe Factory announced that there will be a contest for the best decorated work area on the factory floor. Some Unimaginative Shoemaker assigned a few elves (including myself) to be the ones who’d take care of preparations. However, at the last minute, other Unimaginative Shoemakers decided that I should not be included in the preparations because I was part of a group of elves who had the most workload for the month. Still, I had already given my word to those elves tapped for the Halloween decorations contest and I was with them when I was off duty.
The Halloween Committee established fort at Daphy’s house, a real strategic headquarters, because it is quite near The Shoe Factory and a gustatory haven to boot; there were snacks every two hours. Our calorie count rose as the day of the contest neared.
Our work in the understaffed “Halloween Committee” involved the following: Continue reading
My landlady had her player blaring arias when I left the boarding house moments ago. The yowl of the tenor escorted me out of the gates, and I sort of regretted that I could not wait till the crescendo, but I bear distressing news about The Shoe Factory and how things have made an ugly turn to Battle Royale mode so I have to post this.
I shall share this little tale to describe things:
Long ago, Queen Mongobonggo (all hail the bongo) of the Dimdim Tribe managed to fool the Great Gods and convinced them to proclaim her queen over all Sageland. The Sages in Sageland are all-respectful and all God-fearing citizens, and therefore, they did not question the decision of the their Gods and accepted Queen Mongobonggo (all hail the bongo) their queen.
Now, Queen Mongobonggo (all hail the bongo) has an unripe sour pineapple for a heart and a Dimdim-witted mentality to boot. She wanted the Sages in Sageland to suffer because they have real hearts that bleed, while she has unsweetened pineapple juice flowing through her aorta. She conscripted all Sages to hard labor, making them work days and through nights, not allowing them to sleep. Sleeping is equal to days in isolation in the Thorny Desert, chained to a cactus plant that offers no shade. Those punished will have no water or food for the period of isolation.
Try as they might, the Sages could not go on for many days without sleep. Some sickened. Some sneaked out during labor hours in the dead of the night to catch a few precious winks. Some were already dying because of sleep deprivation. But those “violators” were caught and, hence, punished; those who sickened were not allowed reprieve and were still forced to work. Those dying ones were buried alive in unmarked graves at the edge of the village.
But the Sages, God-fearing and all-respectful citizens that they are, could not question nor could raise complaints about the decision of their Gods nor the impositions of Queen Mongobonggo (all hail the bongo).
Then a prophecy came. One of the Sages had a dream. In his dream, Queen Mongobonggo’s (all hail the bongo) cruelty has caught the attention of the Gods. It will only be a few days until she will be struck down with a thunderbolt. And all citizens of Sageland will celebrate her demise with goblets of piñacolada.
All hail the bongo!