The Un-Dead Rise Once More

Peace succumbed once more. She was only nine days old.

born: Monday, October 12, 2009 (Columbus Day)
died violently: Wednesday, October 21, 2009





On Wednesday afternoon, the peace murderer, Bill Crystal of AAA Emergency Refrigeration (209) 988-2773, retrieved the dead Scotsman from Hell and breathed a new half-life into its brainless shell. The resuscitated god-machine found its mechanical voice, roaring to the world all evening and all night long, while the three harpies played loud music and performed their dancing incantations around it. The Devil's scene from the Burns' poem, Tam O'Shanter, below, comes to mind.



Peace vanished, exterminated by the Bacchanalian orgy.

At 12:30 a.m., one devout worshipper, with her charms and prancing presence, stimulated the metal monster to engorged capacity - to the brink of overflowing. A brief expectant pause ensued, with its storage organ fully distended, until...

Beginning at 3:00 a.m., another consort worshipfully bowed and scraped before the reverberating Giver of Ice, manipulating it twelve times within as many minutes to crashing, disgorging climaxes, and trundled away with twelve buckets of its petrified bodily fluids to be insinuated into the Mother of All Kitchens. A few more buckets of potent strippings were teased from the occult relic before the witching hour was up.

At 4:20, the third harpie, the high priestess, revved up her monstrous MFPU (a more appropriate acronym can never be invented); with fire in its belly and ice in its veins, she wheeled the unwieldy contraption, smelling of diesel and rancid grease, onto the street to "pee" for a couple minutes; then drove away in order to spread the drippings of the Scotsman's liquefying seed throughout the neighboring municipality.
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C.S. Lewis wrote in his foreword to Screwtape Proposes a Toast, "... I never wrote with less enjoyment... [T]hough it was easy to twist one's mind into the diabolical attitude, it was not fun, or not for long. The strain produced a sort of spiritual cramp. The world into which I had to project myself while I spoke through Screwtape [ed., or about TLC Catering] was all dust, grit, thirst and itch. Every trace of beauty, freshness and geniality had to be excluded. It almost smothered me before I was done."