Friday, June 27, 2014

Defilers and Usurpers Curse Them

I, Trollson Cromcakes, hereby commence the debauchery of the Burning SteelDragon Brotherhood of Burning DragonSteel and usurp command of the 7 Kingdoms and the staves of the 5 Istari.

Look Upon My Works Ye Mighty And Despair.

I'm going to ramble and rant about shit that I enjoy. Herein lies such a shit.

Behold the Troll Romp.

One of the definitions of "romp" can be found in Webster's New World College Dictionary 4th ed. by Wiley publishing 2004 as "boisterous, lively play, or frolic." A similar word, "rumpus", may also be applied as a synonym meaning "a boisterous upstart or commotion."

The use of the phrase "rumpus" was first experienced in my childhood through a favorite children's book under the name of Where the Wild Things Are. Written by Maurice Sendak in 1963, it won the Caldecott Medal in 1964. While it may seem like a fun "childhood invention," (wtf?) critics have even gone so far as to interpret it as "one of the very few picture books to make an entirely deliberate, and beautiful, use of the psychoanalytic story of anger." This anger is clearly channeled and exhausted with the memorable phrase "Let the wild rumpus start!" as soon after the rumpus the boy grows tired and returns home. The rumpus (or romp) can be seen as a way to channel anger and stress, stop being so fat, have fun, or just lose yourself for a few moments. You may actually get lost. We may leave you to die.

I can only write about what I know. Let's be honest, I don't know much. Much knowing is beyond my ability to... have? Family trip. We had gone to eat or see a movie and returned home after dark. To our dismay we were locked outside. To add to the conflagration the sky started to LITERALLY PISS ON US. So the vote was to go through a window. However, I enjoy piss-play and decided to venture out into the backyard, surrounded by thick bushes, overshadowed by an old, large willow tree, and protected by horse kennels. Horse kennels as protectors, because those horses want your blood. I had Finntroll on the brain and some sort of caffeine in the veins (probably meth) so I decided to unleash my inner beast and flail around in the rain and the mud and the growth in sight of pissing clouds and my ancestors. If you've ever seen the mating ritual from George of the Jungle you have the building blocks of what I do when I'm alone (or not alone).

Fast forward many many years and I'm a bit fatter with some facial hair a.k.a. "a bitching warrior beard." Finntroll finally arrives in a nearby city. I put on the kilt and paint my face. I knew I would be the coolest guy there but to make sure I wore my beat up Falkenbach t-shirt so all the fat metal chicks would know that I was the trvest. The party started when the bagpiper (or dudelsak-er for you Duetsch) for Metsatöll keep thrusting his crotch near my head area and the singer for Blackguard anointed my scalp with his mighty metal grip. Crom Almighty, what a night! Finntroll came on and I stomped and flailed and flashed (kilt... remember?) until I couldn't move my neck and my bulging quadriceps could take no more.

It was the funnest most bestest concert I've ever had. Kids, romp. Turn on the polka metal and let your inner Wilding run free. It's the closest thing I've had to a honeymoon.

No comments:

Post a Comment