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The Trial of the Golden Egg

DaddyBear the Minivandian stood at the edge of a field of competition.  His heir, the Young Prince, stood before him, kitted out in his finest sweater and running shoes.  His mate, The Lady of Eyre, along with his daughter, Listens to Stories, stood to his side.  The Lady of Eyre was making preparations to use her magical box of images, while Listens to Stories was rapidly telling harrowing tales of rushing mobs and hand to hand combat to her brother.

As the family of Minivandians waited, the highest of the local holy men walked to the front of the crowd.  The cleric raised his hands, asking for silence from the multitude gathered around him.

“Silence!  Silence, please!” he said in his quiet, but authoritative, voice.

The crowd slowly gave their attention to the wizened holy man.  The mass of townsfolk was made up primarily of children and their parents, with a healthy leavening of gray-headed grandparents.

“My friends, we come together during the Festival of the Risen God.  I am delighted to see so many young children here today.  We mark this holiday with sacred green plastic grass and chocolate.  We revere the symbol of this season: the white rabbit wearing a colorful vest and top-hat.  And finally, we mark this most holy time of year with a quintessentially holy rite:  The Trial of the Golden Egg!”

At his words, the assembled children whooped in glee.  The shook their brightly colored baskets and hooted their excitement.

“Across this mighty field of sport are scattered thousands of colored eggs.” the priest continued, gesturing at the expanse of green grass behind him.  “All the children will be released to gather as many as they can, and the one who finds the Golden Egg shall be remembered as the champion of this holy competition for an entire year.  But beware, young adventurers, this competition is difficult.  There is only one Golden Egg in this field of thousands of eggs, and every child here is going to be fighting and clawing to find it.  This trial is only for the pure of heart and thick of skin.”

“Now, if everyone is ready” he said, as the noise from the assembled children rose to a war cry that made the Minivandian wistfully remember barbarian hordes set to sack a monastery and other wonderful parts of his youth, “We shall begin!”

At his words, the crowd of children broke into a dead run.  As the line of children spread across the field, they snarfled up the colorful eggs like a plague of locusts.  The young and timid were happy to pick up the normal eggs in order to savor the sweet treats they contained, but the truly adventurous and ambitious eschewed such easy pickings in search of The Golden Egg.

The Young Prince broke from the pack, along with several larger boys, as they scanned the grass for a glint of gold.  Clasping his father’s bag of holding, he ran past clutches of red, blue, green, and yellow eggs in search of the elusive prize that would bring him fame.

A larger boy, hoping to cut down on the competition, attempted to knock the Young Prince down and out of the running.  Seeing him coming, the Young Prince dipped his shoulder, caught the knave in the breadbasket, and flipped him over onto the grass.

Continuing his quest, the Young Prince noticed a metallic glint coming from the corner of the field.  Picking up speed, he ran toward it.  Other children noticed his change of direction, and the three closest moved to intercept him.

The first attempted to trip the Young Prince, but the young warrior anticipated his attack and dodged it.  As his opponent overextended his feet, the Young Prince landed a well-placed kick to the knee, knocking the bigger child to the ground with a howl of pain.

Within feet of the Golden Egg, the Young Prince was knocked sprawling by a tackle from the largest child on the field.  Scrambling forward on his elbows and knees, the Young Prince mumbled a curse and flung a handful of grass and dirt into the boy’s face.  Bellowing in pain and rage, the young orc tried to lash out, but the young Minivandian was able to scramble to his feet and dive for the prize.

As his hand closed around the most prized of all eggs, he felt another hand closing around his.  Muttering the beginnings of one of his most heinous combat spells, the Young Prince looked up into a pair of beautiful blue eyes.  The young girl who gazed back at him was barely two years of age, but had been able to both keep up with the Young Prince and fend off the hordes of older, larger children who tried to impede her quest.  Her clothing showed the grass stains she had gained in her struggles, and her golden curls of hair were coated in dirt.

As she realized that the Young Prince had bested her, though by the smallest of margins, the glee on her face melted to sorrow.  A single small tear crossed her cherubic cheek, and her smile turned quickly to a quivering chin.  As only a two-year-old girl can, she began to cry.

The Young Prince considered the young girl and looked at the Golden Egg. It’s cool metal suddenly felt very heavy, as did his heart.  Where was the glory in being the hero of the hour if he must harm one so small and beautiful to do it?  Could he face his ancestors in the Hall of Heroes when his first conquest had been a girl not yet old enough to walk across the street without holding onto her mother’s hand?

Muttering under his breath, the Young Prince released his grip on the egg, dropping it into the still outstretched hands of the little girl.  Her quivering chin returned to a wide grin as a look of surprise and happiness crossed her face.  Wiping the tear from her cheek, she grasped the egg and wrapped her arms around the Young Prince in a hug of thanksgiving.

Hurrying up to the Young Prince, My Lord DaddyBear saw this tableau and knew that his son was truly a noble young man.  Taking him by the hand, the Minivandian helped him select several of the other eggs that were strewn on the ground as the Lady of Eyre captured images of the adventure for later reflection.

Thus did the adventures of the Young Prince begin with a noble twist.  As he matured, he had many other moments of glory, but this was the one his father would look back on most fondly.

Now, pass me those jelly beans so that I may tell you tales of high adventure….

Today’s Earworm

It’s been one of those days.

 

Today’s Earworm

 

 

News Roundup

  • From the “Look at me!  Look at me!” Department – North Korea has decided to take its semi-yearly temper tantrum and crank it up to 11.  The communist government has cut the communications link that connects it with the South Korean government and has put its rocket forces on a war footing.  Kim Jong Un, the new leader of the worker’s paradise, has appeared in photographs in front of maps that show North Korean missiles targeting Guam, Hawaii, and cities on the American mainland. South Korea and the United States are currently in the middle of a military exercise, which the North claims are preparations for war.  Officials are concerned that Kim Jong Junior might have cranked things up so far that he can’t back down for fear of looking like even more of a jackass.  I’d suggest that pamphlets be blown over the demilitarized zone telling the North Koreans that if they don’t back down, then they’ll be in deep kimchi.  Of course, considering the diet of the average North Korean, that might not sound so bad.  Personally, I don’t think he’s got what it takes to pull the trigger.  You hear that, you inbred, bucktoothed, moonfaced son of an illegitimate psychopath?  You don’t have the balls to launch those missiles.  I don’t even believe they’re real.  I dare you to cross the 38th parallel. No, I double dog dare you.  You don’t have a hair on your butt if you don’t start lobbing No Dong’s into the Sea of Japan by sunset tomorrow, you big wuss.
  • From the “Cry Me A River” Department – The lawyer for a man who was convicted of luring a 15 year old girl to a vacant house and assisting in her rape by multiple assailants is crying foul after his client was sentenced to 25 years in prison.  Apparently, the other people involved in the crime pled guilty and were given less prison time.  The judge seems to have taken into account the fact that the man knew the victim, enticed her to the scene of the crime, and helped commit the crime.  All I can say is that he’s lucky to be alive and not have pieces lopped off.  Yes, he didn’t actually rape the victim, but if he hadn’t have participated, then she wouldn’t have been raped.  The answer to someone getting more time for a crime than his accomplices is not to reduce his sentence, but to stop handing out less time to the others.
  • From the “She’s a Very Freaky Girl” Department – A woman in South Carolina has caught the ire of her neighbors after decorating her yard with baby dolls that have been staged to look like they are being executed or tortured.  You know, I always thought Tuesday and Morticia Addams were compelling female roles too. 
  • From the “Dumbasses in the News” Department – A TSA worker at JFK Airport in New York ‘accidentally’ sprayed his co-workers with pepper spray from an object that he found and thought was a laser pointer.  You know, it’s always a good idea to pick up random objects that you think will shoot out a coherant beam of light and point it at your co-workers while trying to activate it.  I guess if you want to cripple American passenger air travel all you have to do is seed the security checkpoints with shiny objects that disable the TSA agents.  In other news, a television commentator, who was sitting on a panel of pundits discussing the squeaky-round-ball tournament, stepped on his schwanz by saying that he was only there to give a “white man’s” perspective.  The rest of the panel appears to have been made up of people whose ancestors hailed from Africa.  After social media lost its collective shit, the commentator apologized and admitted he was stupid. Rumors that have been reported to me say that he has been nicknamed “Token” by his peers, and will soon be receiving a phone call from President Obama expressing how overjoyed he is to see the color barrier in basketball punditry broken.  And finally, a Congressman from Alaska has come under fire for using the perjorative term “wetbacks” to describe the Mexican laborers who worked on his families tomato farm when he was growing up.  The congressman has apologized and said that he meant no disrespect.  He states that he bears no prejudice toward Hispanics, and that there is no room for bigotry or discrimination in his heart, for he dislikes everyone equally.

Song for the day

Sitting in the waiting room
I’ll be sitting in the evening gloom
Watching drug reps walk in
Then I watch them walk away again.

Waiting for the doc all day
Watching my lunchtime wash away
Waiting for the doc all day
Wasting time.

I left my office 2 hours ago
Heading for the doctor’s place
Now I’ve got nothing more to do.
And there’s a scowl now upon my face.

Waiting for the doc all day
Watching my lunchtime wash away
Waiting for the doc all day
Wasting time.

Thoughts on the Day

  • Remember how everyone warned me about dogs and chewing gum last night?  Well, the worst that could happen didn’t, but it wasn’t pretty.
    • Bluegrass appears to be the culprit, and she’s fine now.
    • Being woken up at 3 AM by a sick dog is a real treat.
  • Zen is the state where you can look at the chaos and strife around you, realize that no-one will care in five years, and accept that life is what it is. 
    • As long as the paychecks keep cashing, of course.
  • There is an evil glee I get when someone tries to shift blame for a nebulous problem and responsibility for fixing it to me, and I cut them off at the knees with facts and statistics.
  • Tonight’s chicken and dumplings was exactly what I needed.
  • It was warmish and dryish today, so I guess spring has sprung.
  • It is amazing how much more productive I am when those who want something from me actually talk to me instead of just filling out a web form.

The Adventure of Indulgodad

Tonight, Indulgodad bought cookies for a choir event, got Irish Woman to her hippie food commune meeting, got Girlie Bear to her choir soire, took Boo to get ice cream, and enjoyed ice cream and cartoons with my son. While we were getting ice cream, we got Irish Woman roses at the florist.

Yes, I am the champion of spoiling my family, the guardian of treats. I am Indulgodad!

Today’s Earworm

Thoughts on the Day

  • The true mark of an imbecile is that he never knows when he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
  • I may be wrong, but  my co-workers seem to be smoking patio furniture when they go outside.  The residue on their clothing is quite strong.
  • I now remember why I wear headphones in the office most of the time.
  • I found our manual on wiring in my easy chair when I sat down this evening.  Nothing good can come of this.
  • It’s a testimony to Irish Woman’s cooking that a bowl of cold cereal and a microwaved pot pie just wasn’t cutting it for me today.
    • I’ve been spoiled lately on eggs and bacon made fresh by my loving wife every morning and a lunch of leftover dinner.
  • Dinner tonight was comfort food.
    • Chicken noodle casserole makes the worst days a bit better.
  • Today I successfully did a 15 minute task in an hour.
    • Apparently, that’s the way it’s supposed to be.
  • Moonshine has decided that spearmint bubble gum is his preferred treat and has started going to great lengths to get it.
  • Irish Woman and I are in disagreement as to where the smartass gene in Boo comes from.
  • I helped Girlie Bear set up her Army Class A uniform jacket tonight.
    • “Where does this go?” on a female uniform usually comes down to “Depends on how it hangs on your chest.  You don’t want it up on your collar-bone, but you also don’t want it dangling out into space.”

News Roundup

  • From the “Found Treasures” Department – Workers at a recycling center in Sweden had no use for that morning coffee to wake up the other day when an old lady came in to donate a grenade.  Imagine their surprise as they went through the usual newspapers, magazines, tin cans, and plastic containers to find something that goes boom mixed in.  No-one was hurt, and police took the device away for destruction.  I should start a campaign telling Swedes that if they want to turn in explosives, I’ll be glad to take them off their hands.  It’s just my way of helping the planet.
  • From the “Facepalm” Department – An elementary school student in Michigan got in a bit of hot water the other day when other students noticed a small handgun in the tyke’s bookbag.  We all like to point and laugh when a school administrator or a teacher freaks out over a child pointing his finger like a gun, or drawing a gun, or even chewing up a pastry to look like a gun, but I don’t have a problem with them reacting to an actual gun when it’s in the possession of an unsupervised small child.  No word on where the gun came from in the report, but something tells me the police are going to be having a discussion about safe storage and gun safety with this kid’s family.
  • From the “Atomic Facepalm” Department – Residents of Newtown, Connecticut, are rather perplexed that the NRA would use automatic dialers and recorded messages to try to convince the townspeople to oppose new gun legislation.  Newtown, you will remember, was the scene of a horrific shooting in December that has been the spur for new anti-rights legislation at the federal level, as well as in several states, including Connecticut.  Now, I’m against these new bills as much as the next guy, and I support the NRA using my membership dues to try to convince people in battleground states to stand up for their rights.  But a little research and a little discretion should have been used in this instance.  Giving the anti-rights crowd yet another thing to grasp upon to make all gun owners look like insensitive, blood thirsty clods isn’t exactly helpful.
  • From the “Legal Beagle” Department – The Supreme Court has ruled that the police need a search warrant in order to use a sniffer dog to look for evidence of a crime in a home or its immediate surroundings.  This could be useful to gun people in hostile places.  How hard would it be to train a dog to sniff out gunpowder, BreakFree, or the smell of burned propellants?  At least so long as they’re following the law (I know, I know), they would have to get a warrant before bringing in Officer Fuzzie.
  • From the ” Consequences” Department – Mexico has been losing business as a tourist destination lately.  The country, which is racked with violence between drug gangs and the government, is in danger of falling off the list of top places where people go to spend money on cheap booze and chachkis.  Violence that was once isolated to the American border has spread to resort areas like Cancun.  Maybe if his daughters can’t safely go to Mexico on their vacation, then the President might start to think about changing his approach to drugs.  Remember, every bullet fired in this particular turf war is fired because Americans like their intoxicants and the American government likes telling people which intoxicants they can use.  Find a way to safely legalize the drugs, and all of this dries up in a matter of weeks.
  • From the “Fringe Benefits” Department – A retiring county administrator in California appears to be set to receive at least as much as she did when she was working, a whopping $423,664 a year.  That figure includes longevity and performance bonuses, even though she won’t be working for the county anymore.  I always knew I was in the wrong business.

Note – I apologize for the many issues with spelling and format.  Hopefully I’ve corrected this enough.