Arne Gustaf Swanberg ;-)

9th Moon, 10th Sun “THE SWANBERGIAN GAZETTE” 9th Moon, 10th Sun

“I’m Tired Of Being Hassled By These
Truncheon-Touting Fascists”

by Disheveled Hemloch Junkie

So I was walking down the street last night, about nine-ish, you dig? Well, you’re just not gonna believe this. I was desperately in need of a fix, you know how it gets, so I was taking a stroll to the local “Grocery” as I like to call it, to get my hands on some pure hemloch deum. None of that hemloch deum mixed with beothaich deum distilled in personaca deum, oh no, I had been promised the pure stuff and boy was I excited. I couldn’t wait to lounge back in my lot by the Rucesion seaside, take a nice big draught of the Green Poison, lie spread-eagle on my shag rug, and stare vacuously at the ceiling as pink elephants danced in front of my eyes singing a cappella.

Well, as luck would have it, I came across these three tabard-wearing pigs at the corner of Fiat Lux Avenue and Runic Terra Voulevard, sneering and carrying these nightsticks like they were the King’s personal bodyguards or something. One of them approached me. “So, how’s tricks, boyo?” he said. I was this close to punching him in the face, and I’m not joking. “What’re you doing out at this peculiar hour, hmm? It’s a little too early for an al fresco dining experience, so me and my buddies here are a little curious. Walk and talk, boyo. Walk and talk.” And he got me by the armpits in this lock-hold.

So I wriggled free, looking irate, spread my arms, and inflated my thoracic cavity in a confrontational manner. “Ey, why don’t you chill out, Legal Eagle?! I’m just takin’ my constitutional, a’ight?!” I said. Now, I thought I was being pretty reasonable, don’t you agree? Well! The music just doesn’t stop with these fellas.

The middle one, with a grin on his face that looked like a pair of underwear had been stretched too far and pasted on his face where his mouth should be, says to me, he says: “Now, now, we’re not implying anything” and he puts his arm around my shoulder, all buddy-buddy, wheeling me into this dark alley. At this point, I’m like, “What in Ch-d-l is this [CENSORED]?” This is definetely not how I was hoping my night would go.

So here I am in this alley, with these goons that call themselves Guards of the Commonwealth of Rucesion, being frisked. And when I say frisked, I mean the whole spool o’ thread, mind you. This was the grandaddy of all friskings. Of course, they didn’t find nothin’ on me, except the red tinge in my cheeks.

Then they started checking up on where I was going. So I was like, “I’m just going to make a circle here around this street and go back to my house, stopping by to pick up a few snacks on the way! You don’t have to get all inquisitive on me”. [Cont. pg. 2B, Local]


[cont’d. from 1st page]Suddenly they let me go. I straightened my shirt collar and said, “Well, I’m glad you guys have come to your senses. Sometimes I think the justice and politics in this town has really sone to Salachar.”

I laughed about that when I was at a safe distance.

But, you think this is the end of the story? I wish it had been, but it wasn’t. Several minutes later, when I was just about to dive into a back-alley I was well aquainted with as being a shortcut to the black market where they sell all the freshest hemloch, I just happened to look back. And I’ll give you three guesses what I saw.

Don’t know? I’ll tell you. I saw those three pigs lurking behind the corner of a bakery, scoping me out with their beady little self-righteous eyes. Well, I really wanted to give it to them right then, but I just pretended like I didn’t notice. But, that cost me the whole night. I had to alter my whole plan of action.

So you know what I did? Instead of going to the hemloch place, I went to a candy shop and bought a few little square slices of this saffron cake with the yellow frosting shaped into little flowers. You know the kind. I turned around, walked over to the guards and said, “Here.” The look on their faces! I just about wet my pants!

Well, they didn’t take it. And I couldn’t go to the hemloch alley ‘cause I knew these scumbags were scoping me out.

Oh yeah, and they wouldn’t even take the cake, either. But this story sure does. I had my cake but I sure as hell couldn’t eat it. Ha ha, I just about kill myself.I just hate being hassled by these truncheon-touting fascists. [CENSORED].

--->Arne Gustaf Swanberg
Skalm av Suomi
The Swanbergian Gazette

Swan(berg)'s Penfeather
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