happy Ginger day Chumlies!
This, chumlies, is a Newton Faulkner.
As befitting his champion name he is an evolved ginger, a dreadlocked ginger, a singing dreadlocked ginger! A folk singing dread-locked ginger! He may well be the Ginger Lancelot! Huzzah, I have founded heeem. Gather round Chumlies, let him lure you to his ginger shore with his merman song!
Oh the humanity! I may very well get into some kind of trouble over this.
No, really. With this here Lancelot of the Gingers I may have stepped over the line with He Who Will Be Obeyed.
Picture the scene Chumlies. it's a hot summer's day, your rum stores are depleted and you decide, say, 'Golly it's hot, maybe I'll go have a swift pint of rum in that there bar, it looks dark and dank and perfectly run down, an ideal drinking place for the thirsty shopper.'
You enter, plonk yourself down in a genuine authentic Irish booth order your drink from the bored un-Manuel like gal and are considering between a soggy BLT mitt chippies, or a basket of scampi also mitt chippies, when suddenly there is a terrible renting of the very air, and a portal opens up right in front of you.
'Mummy!' You cry.
But it is not a Lilac Couch that steps through. No no, this is an even MORE ancient evil than she- albeit slightly less rotund.
'You there!' A voice will boom. 'I've been looking everywhere for you!'
'There have been stirrings in the underworld about you and your carryings on.'
'I said eeep.'
A gnarly pointy anointy nointy finger pokes you in the side, most annoyingly.
'Because of you I"m losing some my best ghouls. Slackers they're turning into. I won't have it. There is even rumblings of a union.'
'I seeeeeeee, and this has what to do with me precisely, oh horned one?'
'Gingerday of course.'
'Stop doing that.'
'I will smite thee.'
'Eeep!; You cry as he replaces your silver Bertie high heels with taupe comfortable practical flats.
'Okay your most uncleaniness, stop that! I'm listening, I'm all ears. Except I"m not you know. I only have two and they're pretty small.'
You do a zipping motion.
'Ginger day is ruining the underworld, it will have to stop.'
You unzip-using a reverse motion to your previous zipping motion,
'Are you quite mad? Stop Ginger day? What would I replace it with? I tried Hoff Day and everyone got all up in my grill about it.'
'I don't care about that. I care about other stuff. People are saying they don't fear Hell anymore.'
'The devil you say?'
' I do say! And after doing some research and taking a poll among some journalists I have come to the conclusion that it is entirely your fault!'
'Yes Toi! Why would anyone in their right mind fear eternal damnation when there is a weekly Gingerday here on earth. Don't you see, you're messing with the cosmos. Some of my best captains have put in for early redundancy claiming ennui and job dissatisfaction. Can you imagine that?'
'Ennui? Sure who doesn't?'
'So it's going to have to stop.'
'Well, I'm pretty sure I'm against that.'
'Against it. Stopping. I think It should continue.'
'But, but I"m telling you to stop.'
Do you know who I am?'
'Oh please, if it didn't work for Pat Kenny...'
'I can have you smoted but good.'
'Well you could I suppose, but then how would you combat my legacy? '
'Your what now?'
' L-e-g-a-c-y. Has Braveheart thought you nothing?'
You stand up and suddenly a hush falls over the bar. Your guest notices this and is mightly huffed the hush didn't fall when he appeared through a portal.
'That's right my cloven friend,' you say, spreading your arms wide. 'A legacy, where free gingers can hold their flaming heads to the sky. A legacy that allows gingers to dance and sing with wild abandon, where freckly arms are bared and fake tan avoided like cabbage! Where peroxide is shunned and copper revered. Where two redheads will no long fear to procreate, where a blonde and a ginger no longer fear to procreate, dash it all, where no one fears to dance the dance of the belly fart with their ginger brethren! I see a time where ginger will be sought, protected, worshupped-which is like worshipped, but for gingers. Oh no my Lord of the dance, er, Underworld. Speak not to me of death and stoppings and unions, threaten not this humble mongrel, fearless champion of the red setter! For if you slay me, countless others will rise in my stead. Medusa like they will burn a path along this fair and brunette land, chanting, 'Ginger ginger give us a twirl!' And then what Fallen One? Huh? Will you slay us all? What of the auburns? The strawberry blondes? People with just some freckles across the bridges of their noses? We will not be thwarted. The sheer level of utter gingerosity will create a groundswell of lust and desire and muscly muscly arms and ringlets! Oh you may make us use L'Oreal, you may bring forth mystic tans, you may force us out of the sunlight and high, high into the hills, but you will NEVER EVER take our genes!'
'Yes all right, stop shouting. But what of the ennui?'
'You tend to your own garden, Pointy tail and I will tend to mine. One day, is all I require, one free day to worshup as I see fit and spread ginger tidings. Fuck me even his nibs upstairs rested one day of the week. Can't you take the guys bowling or something. Have a team building day.'
'Some weird thing where people who work together all week are forced to spend leisure time in the arsehole of nowhere building bridges and falling back into each other's arms and talking about their 'feelings'.'
Suddenly his eyes lit up. 'My Self! I had not heard of such an evil! Why that sounds deliciously hellish.'
'Ain't it tho?'
'Hum, perhaps I will look into this 'team building' of which you speak. Good day to you noble adversary. There will be a hot seat ready for you when your time comes, we could do with outside of the box thinkers like you.'
'Okay by me, as long as there are jellies.'
'There will be, but not sour.'
'Wow, you are eeevil.'
The portal begins to close.
'Change me bloody shoes back!'
Your shoes are back and all is well with the world.
But that was before the Lancelot of Ginger was discovered. I'm not even sure how to begin to describe the upset this will cause.
A dread-locked folk singing ginger. Why it's the holy grail of gingerism. Now if we can just get him to pose naked I feel Nirvana is within our velly grasp! Be prepared dark mopped smuggers and blonde/blond types.
Victory is within grasp!