Christmas in Crackland: The Annual Pageantby Devon Pitlor Sunday, December 23, 2012 As another rather non-eventful year was passing into history in the Autonomous Kingdom of Crackland and Its Associated Territories, King Zack of the House of Wampaugh sat wearily on his knotty pine throne well above the throngs of well-wishers who had been admitted into the sprawling palace to celebrate along with their benevolent yet unyielding king a holiday they had once so cherished on the surface. Notables of the House of Wampaugh (named for the exclusive preparatory school where Zack Hammer-Twift had once reigned as prom king) mingled about on the polished tile throne room floor awaiting the various pardons, edicts and verdicts that their king would issue before the glorious Christmas pageant would unfold by torchlight and the always-springtime night of the subterranean colony would fall from the invisible domed rooftop of what most present deemed as the truest paradise of tranquility and order to be found on Earth. As ever, King Zack nourished his share of mystical intrigues. Several food tasters, petty Canadian and American criminals all--brought to Crackland to bolster the awesome sway of its king---had died during the testing of the huge meal that was being prepared in the several royal kitchens within the massive, one-storey palace. Once again, the rumors of the wicked Jabari the Magician, now known bluntly as Trey Agremont, swirled amidst the crowd. Jabari had, as predicted, become a white man, a sorcerer of immense power, and had escaped the royal cage earlier that year by transforming himself into a bladder bird and lifting off through its narrowly-spaced bars. It was a galling and still unresolved quandary, one that would require a more

energetic royal presence. Still the discussion on many lips deviated away from the enigma of the unseen Jabari and to rueful speculations about the edibility of Cracklands only flying creatures, bladder birds. It was well-known by this time that bladder birds ate only discarded human waste and rotting farm animals. In this way, they developed within their blimp-shaped bodies natural gasses, which, upon sudden release would propel them handily through the sunny skies of the underground colony. King Zack had decreed this year that all invited guests would be treated to mandatory dishes made in various ways from bladder birds, but no one had ever commented on the taste of these offal-eaters. The smell of their escaping methane on launch quite closely resembled that of human flatulence, and it was surmised widely that they tasted like shit. But the king had ordered their consumption and had instructed the most innovative of the royal chefs to prepare them in diverse ways, using exotic sauces concocted from the indigenous flora of the land. A legion of unsuspecting food tasters had been on hand to personally gauge the toxicity of these native plants, and, as mentioned, some had found them tasty but, regrettably, lethal. As the king and his new queen Taryn tickled, poked and petted at one another on the raised wooden throne, the Grand Vizier Aaron Arvicher, dressed as ever in his flowing purple one piece robe embroidered with moons and stars, handed scrolled documents up to his king and queen. These amounted to suggestions for a host of New Years edicts, which King Zack skimmed lightly and usually proclaimed law on the spot. There were also pardons. Certain criminals, many imported directly from the surface to enhance the clout of the monarchy, were pardoned with no more than a nervous giggle from Queen Taryn. Hes cute, she cooed. And Zack waved his wooden scepter and the man went free. One of her breasts is so much larger than the other, Taryn remarked. And Zack summoned

a dreaded Midnight Rider, and the unfortunate girl was taken directly to the royal executioner, Butch McGreevey, who wasted no time separating her head from her body through the agency of his wellworn, cold steel axe, which for over ten years had protected the sanctity of royal edict. Among his many other proclamations, Zack agreed to allow mint (and mint only) chewing gum in the Kingdom for the following year. However, anyone who stuck it under a table or a desk would be delivered without petition to Butch McGreevey and his blood soaked tree stump which bore the stain of many years of swift and indisputable justice. There was going to be no dried chewing gum stuck under things in Crackland. Zack also had issued an edict that more domestic animals, like bladder birds, would be eaten and sold in the markets. Crackland had a certain number of indigenous creatures, most of which resembled scaled reptiles and slithered through the tall grasses near the uncultivated edges of the kingdom. Some of these lizard-like things looked rather tasty to Zack, but heretofore he had not allowed the eating of them. Christmas 2012 and the year to follow would reverse that. Zack had, however, as a precaution ordered the roasting of seventeen bull oxen as standard provender for the feast, and surface vegetables abounded as steaming side dishes. Especially french fries, always Zacks indisputable favorites. Next to standard agriculture and light manufacturing, skateboard parks seemed to have become the main pre-occupation of the Crackland landscape. Skateboard park builders like Teagan Carsey and his lover Lane Dorfling, whom we have already met, remained hard at work during the long Crackland days to satisfy the needs of a public that, along with its handsome king, had gone recently mad over

skateboarding. Many, like Zack, had also opted for the alternating sexual preference of lithe skater boys over the spouse who had come along with them to settle the new colony. Following the unpleasantness associated with Nikki Barazan, skater boy turned girl, who had escaped royal punishment by fleeing---herself no doubt as a bladder bird----with the transmogrified Jabari the Magician, aka Trey Agremont, the king had declared that sexual contact with cute skater boys was henceforth legal and morally acceptable in Crackland, and, of course he had a contingent of the best looking of these young men at his disposal in chambers where pretty little Taryn, his frisky teenage queen, was never permitted. It was, in effect, to the most eye-catching and lissom of these skater boys the task of presenting the Christmas Pageant was given. A big tree, which had not yet been biologically identified or named, was erected in the central throne room. Around it stood somber-faced Midnight Riders with real metal swords and brass knuckle-dusters. Their presence was merely to keep order, as it had always been for this motorcycle club which had been awarded the task of policing the kingdom from the start. The tree, although it drooped and sagged like a waterside willow, was designated a Christmas tree by Zack and blessed by Grand Vizier Aaron as a true icon of the holy season. It smelled like turpentine and was crawling with tiny green mites, but no matter, it was this years tree, and it needed to be decorated. Rockin Around the Christmas Tree, first by Brenda Lee and then the more modern version by Miley Cyrus blasted in a continuous loop through the internal speaker system. Zack rose to his feet, and crumbs from some sort of chocolate cookies he had been eating fell from his stylish polo shirt to the floor. He gave a signal to Taryn to begin the trimming of the tree. Taryn, giggling as ever, stood up and motioned for about twenty of her ladies in waiting to come forth.

These were all cute girls of about Taryns age, which was less than twenty-one but not divulged widely or accurately since her arrival the year before. On cue, each of the comely maidens strode up to the grotesque tree, removed her blouse and bra, and flung the latter into the floppy, limp branches of the tree. Barechested, the girls stood around waiting for a dwarf courtier to throw tinsel over their chests, whence it hung and jiggled seductively from their bare nipples and smooth shoulders. The tree, therefore, was decorated almost solely with colorful braziers, something which seemed to please both King Zack and Queen Taryn. Its a tradition, someone whispered from the crowd. Its kind of sexy in a way, agreed another, unsure. As the girls retreated to the wings, two burly Midnight Riders carried out a huge oak picnic table and placed it on the raised stand under the tree. On this was positioned a huge, antique cast iron bath tub, something brought from Zacks family mansion back in New York. It was filled with dried, golden plant stems which for all the world resembled straw. Grand Vizier Aaron then approached the bath tub with a large crockery pitcher filled with highly scented perfume, which vaguely resembled lilac. With great pomp and dignity he poured the essence over the straw and the room became airless with the overpowering fragrance of flowers. King Zack took his queen by the hand and began to dance around the huge tree and bath tub. Rockin around the Ex-mas tree he sang as he awkwardly danced. Even though once a prom king, Zack was a poor dancer, and Taryn, although agile and attractive on her feet, could not stop sniggering long enough to find her correct equilibrium, and thus appeared likewise maladroit and inelegant. The dance ended, and some sepulchral sounds filled the throne room. It was a deep, pensive overture that had once been used as bumper

music for a now long-forgotten TV series dealing with the unexplained. Twilight Zone music they called it. As the floor lights dimmed and multiple strobes began flashing from the ceiling, the disembodied voice of Aaron Arvicher was heard. It was the same every year: The Story of Crackland. How a renegade maverick Arctic explorer named John Crack had stumbled onto the place in 1958 accompanied by a coterie of Inuits and his negro manservant, the malevolent wizard who later became Jabari the Magician and who, forever an everlasting menace, still haunted the Darklands where the vaulted ceiling of Crackland met with the ground, an area of shadows and even stranger creatures into which no one, except the bravest of the Midnight Riders (and of course the king) dared to venture. The story wound on and came to its non-climactic conclusion as it had since the coronation of King Zack in 2000. Crackland was peaceful, orderly and secure. All was well. Better than anyone from the corrupt and inefficient topside could ever imagine. But this year the assembly, hushed and respectably seated by now, would get another treat. Religion, previously banned by royal edict, would be returned to Crackland. And this not only by royal proclamation but by royal agency as well. The mournful strains of Ave Maria sung by Beyonc came suddenly over the sound system. As a voice-over to the music, Grand Vizier Aaron explained that the only true gods were kings, as had been his model Louis XIV of the House of Bourbon. The apotheosis of a king was at hand, and everything else associated with the Christmas known on the surface was pure nonsense and now patently illegal. We have forged a new faith, droned Aaron, and our king will arise this very night as not only our god-given monarch but also our God!! Without stretching the credibility of the gasping citizenry, Aaron went on to throw some sort of mildly exploding orange powder all around, giving the scene a lambent manger look. Queen Taryn, now bare-chested herself, as hers

was the final bra to decorate the flaccid summit of the bug-ridden tree, much like a cupped angel ready to drop to the floor, fell to her knees and kissed the lower cuffs of Zacks blue jeans. She tittered something about his becoming a godthe one true god. Zack then arose, stretched his chest, and pulled off his polo shirt, revealing only slight tufts of scant but curly, brown chest hair. He then attempted to pull off his jeans, but fell flatly to his buttocks in the attempt. Sprawled on the floor, he managed to rip off his sneakers and pants and rose again wearing only a red and white pair of polka dot boxers. Again a nervous twitter rippled through the mob. A childs voice broke the stillness of the throng: I like baby Jesus better, the genderless child whimpered. Its words were cut short by an unseen hand muffling its mouth. The crowd again fell into an uneasy stillness. Zack stood before them puffing his chest in and out like some sort of suddenly pugnacious gamecock. He darted his eyes from side to side and seemed extremely pleased with himself. A white-clad chef from one of the many kitchens brought out what looked like a crock pot full of cooking oil (plastic had always been forbidden by royal edict in the colony). Ceremoniously, he handed it to Aaron, who exhibited the vessel in all directions and then poured its greasy contents over the kings head. Thus anointed and covered with cooking oil, King Zack, slipping only a little in a puddle of the stuff, clambered awkwardly into the bathtub and lay atop of the perfumed straw. He crossed his legs and folded his arms as if to say Im waiting. More intonations from Aaron came about the miracle of the kings rebirth into a godhead. Zack looked bored. Then We Three Kings by the Barenaked Ladies rolled out over the speaker system. It was followed by God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen by Slim Thug. Zack grimaced and the CD was jerked back to the Barenaked

Ladies. No hip hopping in Crackland, he grumbled. Then two Midnight Riders, each sporting horned helmets, dragged a lame milk cow with swinging, pendulous udders into the room. They tried and finally succeeded to push the beast down onto the floor by the bathtub, but not before it discharged a huge steaming stream of urine and let flop two piles of wet excrement. This was followed by a pig and some squawking chickens. Someone had already let fly a live bladder bird in the room, and it sputtered malodorously as it circled in the air just under the ceiling. A huge spotlight was switched on, illuminating the bathtub manger and its patently bored savior. A booming voice proclaimed that it was the star of Wampaugh. In a side chamber, a handsome, long-haired skater boy named Tony, who had hailed recently from Port Huron, Michigan and had no clear idea of why exactly he was in Crackland, undressed and slid his naked, muscular torso into a red velveteen robe and put a ridiculous feathered tam over his head. He rolled his eyes at another boy named Todd, who claimed to be from Manitoba. Both were skaters. Both were naked except for their ridiculous capes and hats. Others were in the room with them changing into similar garb. What the fuck are we supposed to say? asked Tony. I dont know. Some shit. Its for that king guy who watches us skate. Just say whatever comes to your mind, and then lets get out of here. That Jessamyn said shed give us all some. Some what? Some pussy. And then some of what they got as weed here. Nasty stuff, but it does the trick. Lets get this over fast.

As the Christmas tunes rung out, the skater boys rolled slowly into the throne room on their boards, each wearing only their fluffy capes and a plumed toques. With great solemnity, Grand Vizier Aaron cleared his aging throat and announced: Arrive the MagiFirst comes Gaspar. Gaspar speaks! Tony, still bobbing on his skateboard, looked around nervously. Say something, Aaron said in a loud whisper. Tony set down a candied apple wrapped in a ribbon next to the bathtub and stammered Lower your monthly payments. Learn how!! Raised mostly on television and the internet, it was the only thing he could think of. Zack paid no attention to his words, but surreptitiously pulled open his cape in order examine what hid underneath. Then Melchior!!! Melchior speaks! roared Aaron. Melchior was Todd and equally at a loss for words. He put down something that looked like a neon butt-plug tied with a ribbon next to the king and shook his head searching for something to say. Finally, he looked at the sex toy gift which he had been told to offer as a gift and blurted: Grow your penis. An inch every week. Guaranteed. It was something he had read often in his topside email. As with Tony, Zack paid little attention to the words or gift and sneaked a quick look at the boys privates before the latter glided away on his skateboard. And now Balthazar, bleated Aaron.

Balthazar was the third and last of the skater boys to come visit the tub of King Zack. He carried a GI Joe doll in his hand and set it down beside the manger. The crippled cow arched itself up and squirted more urine with a great splash once again. The bladder bird sputtered to rest on a strobe light and perched high above. Something fell from its body and splattered onto King Zacks forehead. Birdshit, said Zack, wiping it with the back of his hand. Get that goddamn thing out of here. Balthazar knitted his brow searching for something much wiser than the others to say. After all, they were wise men. Finally it came to him. He twisted his chin with his thumb and forefinger, rolled back his eyes and said: The more you learn, the more you know. The more you know, the more you forget. The more you forget, the less you know, So why learn?? Zack seemed pleased with both Balthazar and his words. It was as if something had finally sunken in. Instead of pulling open his cape, he brought the boys head down to his mouth and whispered something into it. Later that night, Balthazar, whose real name was Gunnar something disappeared along with the king and new god of Crackland. Except for a few random executions, the pageant was finished. Queen Taryn retreated, still snickering about seemingly nothing, to her quarters. Aaron Arvicher, now growing quite old and tired, sipped a midnight brandy and felt very content with his accomplishments. Christmas itself, unfolding in the eternal Crackland springtime, was only two days away. Before that day, Arvicher would arrange a new miracle of some sorts, but at the end of that nights pageant, he wasnt quite sure just what it would be.

But in Crackland, all things were possible. And Aaron Arvicher, unruffled, fell into a peaceful sleep punctuated only by the most outlandish fantasies which he alone could make real. And religious worship if not outright piety was restored to the colony of Crackland. Plainly this was in keeping with the true spirit of a reborn Christmas. _____________________________ Devon Pitlor - December, 2010 //