Wednesday, December 23, 2015
'With a tart burst, this delicacy demands its arrival to your taste buds be heard around the mouth, but it is no one trick pony*. No sirree, the soiree has only just begun, as moments after its grand entrance, a bitter tug of flavor tightens the inner cheeks, only to be followed by a grand stench of umami dreaming rancidity that roller coasters its presence like a butterfly caught in a tornado, until the upper tonsils serenade the sinuses with melodies of acidic robustness only to depart, with swiftness clearly not on the agenda, and with a discharge of crusty after burned relentless batteryesq aroma...
*unless the lazy rectum you are eating came from an actual pony^
^which most do, that's one lazy assed animal'
Is how the lazy rectum committee began to market their product in the early to mid 1800s. Although even with this poetic gift of taste arrousal it still failed to grab any sense of a regular station on the inner city transit network of regular eats for most Grasslandic households. Mostly because it was not actually tasty, but partly because it was also unimaginably disgusting.
Still it sold enough to warrant a factory, and any asshole who worked there was paid enough product to feed just one person, and these selfish (or heroic) assholes rarely shared their bounty with family. Santa's father, a born lazy asshole, was no exception. But the truth was, as night after night young Santa sat down to some grit salad, or a delicious fondue de' grittay, he never once looked over to his father's plate of lazy rectum and coveted even a taste.
Therefore when his father demanded he eat some one night, fed up with his son's dreams of a better life, better world, and better prime time television options, it was most certainly a punishment.
At this point in history, with grit being a beloved new entry to the cannon of modern convenience, those who worked within the industry and therefore had access to the product were considered most certainly upperclass, and they absolutely never fraternized with lazy assholes or their lazy rectum, so the two products had never been consumed by one person on the same day ever before. And as the chewed up lazy rectum meat entered young Santa's stomach and met the juices and fragments of grit already there, something truly remarkable happened, something magical, very magical....
He got a sore tummy.
It was the first time this had ever happened to anyone ever, as the word 'tummy' had only been coined a few days earlier, and people before then had called them 'gut sores', and experiencing a brand new medical condition freaked Santa the fuck out.
He bolted from the house, ran to the local unstable nuclear power science emporium, broke into the spider testing area, flung the spiders aside, and made a fortress of solitude out of the rubble, where he built an iron suit, sold it for ten bucks, and used it to pay to have his parents killed, swore revenge, then remembered that would mean revenge on himself, said 'meh' to that, studied martial arts anyway, learned the ways of the force, and grabbed a shield painted with the beautiful colors of the nations flag, and declared himself Captain Grassland! It was a busy evening.
Then he went home, turned on the TV, discovered that in the last hour the nation had been re-named Greenland, threw out his shield, took a nap in his dead parents bed, felt weird about it, then found a watch in his mothers 'toy' bucket, and found a note on it saying:
'Can be used to stop time one day a year, and ONLY one day a year, don't even TRY it on other days, it'll be a total waste of finger pressing, which could be way better utilized to press on a bruise, which is weirdly fun, you know, I mean it hurts but you can't stop right? It's strange, because normally we try to AVOID pain right? Well I do. One time I fell off my skateboard and scrapped my right knee AND left elbow, I was in pain on BOTH sides, it SUCKED. So you know what I did? I stopped riding my skateboard anywhere but inside bouncy castles, sure occasionally I have to beat a couple of kids with my board so they nick off to the hospital and get their wheelchairs so I can have it to myself, but I don't hurt MYSELF anymore. So that's proof I'm pain adverse. And yet get me a bruise and I'll press it, ha ha, I'll press it till the cows come home. And I don't even own cows, so I have to call up my friends with cows and ask them if they're still out, and they always reply "if my cows were home would I be answering the fucking phone or having a gleeful time with my cows? I'd be playing with my cows wouldn't I, it'd be fucking gleeful. But I'm not having that glee, I'm talking to you asshole, and yet you want to remind me of the glee I'm missing because my cows aren't yet home?" And then I'll go back to the bruise. And then an hour or so later call my friend back and ask "how about now, any sign of those cows?" And they'll reply "did I or did I not fucking explain to you what I would do if the phone rang and my cows were also already home?" And this pattern will continue for a few hours until I have to stop pressing my bruise because for some reason there'll be a stranger throwing bricks at my house and they'll be yelling "do I seem gleeful motherfucker?" Ha ha. Bruises. Anyway, this watch. December 25th each year, click stop, do whatever the fuck you want, travel the world if you want, take as long as you want, then hit start again and the rest of the world will have experienced literally no time at all. Have fun. And keep it somewhere no one would ever dare look. Somewhere gross normally works'.
Did you notice? The words 'Nick off' were in there. This was the same thing young Nick would say whenever he'd finished pooping and climb off the toilet, he knew this was a sign. Also because the note was written on the same metal and in the same style as traffic signs, and the words were the same size and shape, so it was also literally a sign. His mother sure did have a big toy bucket. And all the toys were made from grit, so that also explained her vagina situation.
Nick looked at the watch, looked at the toys, and then something hit his brain like a brick!
It was a stranger throwing a brick through the window while yelling 'Do I look like I'm having glee motherfucker!!!'
Nick ran to the window and yelled out 'hey man, has someone been asking about your cows?'
'Yeah' came the reply.
'I think you want next door, old man Dr Sciencetypeguy is always asking people if their cows are home. Oh and inventing things and patenting them. I really think those patents may be the wave of the future!'
'Thanks man, and I agree, oh you mind throwing that brick back, I need to throw it next door'
'No problem man' Santa yelled, as he threw the brick back, accidentally smashing his own car's window, and then yelling at himself 'I'm never getting a mode of fucking transportation with windows again, fucking fragile pieces of shit'.
Then he went and watched a game-show, and snap chatted with a few friends, ate some grit florentine, jerked off once or twice, tried to learn a new scale on his guitar, got wasted on fermented grit juice, and then suddenly seventy years had passed, when he suddenly bolted upright and yelled 'oh fuck, I forgot all about all my goals, my dreams, my future, oh and even that time stopping watch thing!'
And it would turn out that remembering all that would have a surprise magical effect, very magical, and we'll explore that tomorrow, when...
Santa - The real truthful gritty origin story