Apolyton Christmas story- The Little Stein-Seller

[Bugs ****ing Bunny]

If this bears any resemblance to its original version by Hans Christian Anderson, it's going to be a fairly short story this year. Then again, Anderson never felt a burning desire to cram in as many references to crudely deviant sexual practices as I do. Enjoy...

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The Little Stein Seller

It was a bitterly cold Christmas Eve in Apolytonia, but there was a warm and golden light in the air. Three years ago Comrade Chegitz had successfully unionised the chimney-sweeps- they were now beginning their third year on strike and the many blazing roof-fires about the city put a rosy glow on the beggars faces as they lay around festively dying of hypothermia.

Through the deep and powdery snow trudged the little Greek stein-seller, with his tray of monstrous tat bearing the motif "My words are backed with 5 divisions of Hussars!". Little Markos bent into the driving blizzard and wondered how he had ever fallen so low. Only last year he was making an easy living as a match-seller for Runcible Asher, and had made easy pennies selling boxes of matches to passing smokers, arsonists and revolutionaries. Sadly, Master Asher had been caught up in a lengthy feud with Urbediah Ranger who maintained that tinder-boxes were inherently superior and more reliable than matches (which were crippled by a clumsy interface and a tendency to snappage). The argument was to be settled in the traditional manner between gentlemen- attempting to hack each other's lungs out in a duel early one morning- but all such plans were dropped when Urbediah became a magistrate and promptly had Asher deported to the colonies. Now he had to creep around town with his tray of steins.

Little Markos paused for a while in the shelter provided by a large Tailor's shop. It was the premises of Messrs Meier and Reynolds, those famously eccentric purveyors of fine clothing to the discerning whose garments had one peculiar feature- despite being brand-new they still required patches in order to maintain a semblance of decency. The wind whipped in from the dockside and all passers-by were swaddled in furs and scarves, with the exception of the muscular young matelots outside of the "Godunov & Fun Mission for Seamen" who were striking a succession of dramatic poses whilst oiling each other's pectorals. The only other person not properly dressed was the poor little stein-seller, who was so poor that his shoes were mere banana-skins and his ragged clothing was only held together by saliva and bogies. Ah, yes- only the secretions from his poor little head kept his unmentionables out of the unflinching gaze of the cruel wind, and the rude little boys who would point at his willie.

A ragged man lay on the steps leading up to the shop's entrance. At first, Markos thought it might have been his old friend Vincent Van Solver- the kindly old artist best-known for his series of portaits depicting Apolytonia's most prominent faces in a, to be blunt, slightly sycophantic blaze of glory. However, he quickly remembered that it was well over a year since Vincent's last portrait which meant that the workshy old layabout had either spent the last year energetically boffing his models, or had starved to death. On the balance of past form he suspected the latter.

He sidled closer to the semi-conscious heap on the stairs. Clearly the unfortunate man had fallen foul of Bacchus, for he appeared to have a large bunch of Dahlias emanating from his buttocks and bore the distinct and sharp odour of wee. Markos timidly prodded the comatose man.

The musty-smelling heap twitched. " 'k off!" it mumbled. " 'king Ben Affleck!".

Recognition flashed through Markos's mind like a Siberian streaker. "Good Good!" he ejaculated. "Is that really you, Archbishop Zylka?"

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To be continued/concluded.

[Imran Siddiqui]

Three years ago Comrade Chegitz had successfully unionised the chimney-sweeps- they were now beginning their third year on strike and the many blazing roof-fires about the city put a rosy glow on the beggars faces as they lay around festively dying of hypothermia.

Godunov & Fun Mission for Seamen

Keep em coming.

(I hope in this story I'm not covered in ****... but of course I probably will be )

[Az]

Your writing is, as always, very entertaining.

[Bugs ****ing Bunny]

I should work some of the newer members in. Unfortunately that noble aim is hindered by the fact that I know little about them, and care less.

[loinburger]

How much do you really need to know about somebody who's going to be used as cannon fodder?

[Spiffor]

Looking goos I can't wait to see the next adventures of Archibshop Zylka

[Bereta_Eder]

The sole remaining poster who will make me open a dictionary. Not now because I'm tired as hell but in general.

[mrmitchell]

[alva]

To be continued/concluded.

This really should be:

To be continued/concluded.

[Bugs ****ing Bunny]

Originally posted by loinburger
How much do you really need to know about somebody who's going to be used as cannon fodder?

It means so much more when the cannonball in question has their name on it.

[Q Classic]

[Immortal Wombat]

Quality.

[Skanky Burns]

Looking forward to more.

[Skanky Burns]

And hoping/fearing that I will actually make it into the story.

[devilmunchkin]

more!

[Ming]

To be continued/concluded.

Either way... at least we get one more installment

[rah]

It just wouldn't be Christmas without a Gimp Tale.


RAH

[Lorizael]

You're a sick man, Laz. More!

[David Floyd]

You can use me as cannon fodder, that should be fun - you THIEF

[Bugs ****ing Bunny]

Archbishop Miroslav Madrigalas Zylka was a legend. For thirty years the people of Apolytonia had swarmed to his services- even while congregations had dwindled everywhere else, and religion was talked of as if it was a museum relic, the good Burghers of the city had been known to trample small children and kittens underfoot in their haste to cram themselves into his church.

Naturally the Church Synod were delighted and only too welcome to treat this as an act of God. Indeed, they were on the brink of having him beatified and set on the path to being hailed as a living saint when a shocking discovery was made. It turned out that it wasn't his rivetting sermons that put bums so enthusiastically onto seats, but the fact that he'd substituted the Communion wine for pure laudanum. Now his parishioners were all helpless junkies who would have sold their own kids to Vivisectionists if it meant securing themselves a position at Communion the next Sunday.

There was a scandal, of course. Zylka was locked out of his own church and left to wander the streets ranting at the stars. He was not defrocked however- in fact, his methods started being quietly adopted all over the country so the Synod kept him as an Archbishop as a mark of respect. Unfortunately Zylka was a bitter man now, and had fallen into a long and loving relationship with the bottle.

As he twitched and grumbled, a dark green bottle rolled out of his grasp and bumped sloshingly into Markos' foot. It was near-full pint of "Old Ottok's Very Finest Absinthe", bearing the traditional warnings about madness, hallucinations, murderously psychotic killing sprees, etc.

The lttle stein seller sat down in the snow, and tried to warm his poor, frozen feet. He looked at the bottle. It was so cold out in the streets. Perhaps if he took a little drink to warm himself up? He pulled one of his cheap and shoddy steins out of the tray and poured a small hot into it. Closing his eyes, he drank it down.....

[Bereta_Eder]

it also has a scenario!

[Bereta_Eder]

that's an instant cult name BTW
Archbishop Miroslav Madrigalas Zylka

[Az]

I really want to hear how this one will continue.

[Ming]

To be continued/concluded.

Good... you continued it

[Hueij]

Oh my god, ottok is in it! This year's Laz' Xmas story is already a classic.

and

[alva]

the good Burghers of the city

Burghers is a real english word? If so, that's left-over (old ?) dutch influence.

[Ramo]

Very nice, Laz.

Burghers is a real english word? If so, that's left-over (old ?) dutch influence.

Nah, it's simply a relic of both languages' Middle High Germanic heritidge.

The reason you don't hear it much in English is because the term has been Frenchified.

[Q Classic]

the archbishop's name is awesome.

[Skanky Burns]

Excellent.

[Theben]

Originally posted by Hueij
Oh my god, ottok is in it! This year's Laz' Xmas story is already a classic.

I wonder what the bottle says

and to Laz