The current music singing in my ears is Dogshit on the Shoulders of Giants by Upsilon Acrux. It’s not first date music. Perhaps it could be second date music. My guess is that it’d be music more suited to a dismembering party. That being ascertained, I remind everyone for the first time that Shambal Brambel actually conducted a dismembering party once upon a time.
Unfortunately, the foci of the entertainment were already deceased. Shambal had grown tired of one peculiar arm of his Spanish family. Peculiarity, in Shambal’s eyes, is strict adherence to any tradition or ritual without any hint of creative variation. From the Book of Shambal’s Quaint but Violently Enforced Laws, I quote:
If one is so bland to slog time and again through traditional forms passed either by writing or orally generation to generation, one must inject a modern and slightly fantastical wedge into each proceeding. Something as simple as a disfigured child in an oratory role or a cohort donning a mask made from one’s aunt’s kidney will do. Just mix and muck it all up a bit. Don’t be a preprogrammed drone without a mental space of one’s own.
Said arm of his Spanish family ignored this and several other of Shambal’s sacred scripts, directly resulting in their demise. The benevolence of Shambal could only be carried so far. I continue to quote:
Continual breaches of this (admittedly vague) rule will be punished. The meters remotely attached to my living corpse clearly indicate the local average of my irritation level. The readings are on display in the dank basement of my illusory yesteryear for all to fetishise over. Thus, caution can be taken when caution is of importance, meaning when my irritation level, easily determined by one of the multitudinous aforementioned meters esconced in the tenebrous oubliette of my opaque history, exceeds a score marked out and elaborated in another of my bestial dialogues.
Culprits will be forced to drink mercury until their stomachs and intestines are filled. Before the actual poison sets in, they will surely perish of exploded inner linings. Furthermore, their bodies will then be disgraced in front of the remainder of the family, if any remain. Otherwise, their now not-so-living corpses will be disgraced in front of the extended family.
All this talk of family makes me want to retch. Excuse me for a moment while the contents of my hara are ejected forcefully into my porcelain compatriot.
The hotel staff kindly provided me with three porcelain compatriots. I chose to soil the bidet. Fuck um.
