princess Thallandia weds

Hearken here, persons interested in the goings-on of such quasi-royal Grigovians as the princess-in-exile, her somewhat-royal-highness Thallandia Yündlennd (the “somewhat” was included here at the princess's insistence, to convey, in part, modesty). Fleeing as a babe of not yet three months-of-age the country of her birth during its violent, turbulent period of forcible conversion to Soviet-style socialism (said conversion occurring only in the early 1970s, incensed Grigovians having fought it at every turn), Miss Yündlennd was raised alternately in London, Ghent, Nairobi, Bangkok, and Los Angeles. An avid bicyclist, published author, daredevil social-activist, and master of both wing-chung and Shaolin-style kung-fu, princess Thallandia recently announced her acceptance of a request-for-matrimony first suggested to her some years ago by her long-time beau, son-of-the-American-revolution, anarchistic pamphleteer, and downright-loathsome scumhound Reginald Augustus Steele.

According to insider reports, princess Thallandia is pregnant with twins, which she is expected to throw well before the date of the actual wedding itself. As Miss Yündlennd and Mister Steele are each scions of their respective clans, many persons both inside and outside their families hope that they will have a bunch of kids, together molding them into bad-ass-motherfuckers. When asked during a live-chat sponsored by the Internet-website weluvprincessthallandia.net if she were concerned about being engaged to – and pregnant with the seed of – a crazy-tattoo-having, own-hair-cutting, legendarily-unpredictable commoner, her somewhat-royal-highness said, simply, “No.”

As of press-time, the princess was last seen exiting – with Mr. Steele – an invitation-only firing range in East L.A. In a brief interview conducted via telephone, the owner of the firing range, one Felix Fillberto-Henandez, said that while at the range Miss Yündlennd made use of an AK-74 assault rifle, a Smith & Wesson .40 caliber revolver, and at least a dozen throwing knives, using the different weapons well and with diligent and respectful care. The prince-to-be is reported to have brought his own weapon, an AA-12 semi-automatic shotgun, with which he can shoot the caps off of beer bottles at 50 paces by the light of a crescent moon. Reports indicate that most of her quasi-subjects support the princess, while urging, almost unanimously, that she, “Not expect to return home with her painted boyfriend and a slew of children only to have honest, everyday Grigovians fawn over her and pay for her to live a luxurious and comfortable life in mansions and palaces.” The princess, Grigovians indicated, is welcome to move into the royals' own two-bedroom flat on Grig's outskirts, where, however, she shall still be expected to pay utilities.

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counter-protest | assault on the square

  In keeping with the horrendous pagan tradition known as Halloween, today I dressed up in a fine cashmere loden (cloak) and a nice, pointy felt hat, to keep me warm out on the square in downtown Hanover, Pennsylvania. My new sign for this heathen holiday: WHAT'S NEXT? PRAY TO END HALLOWEEN opposite KEEP DEMOCRACY MESSY.

  In addition to the usual jeers, middle fingers, and cautious votes of confidence, I was approached by a skinny, middle-aged man who claimed that freedom of religion means freedom to worship Jesus, not freedom to worship any other god (Satan). I told him he was wrong about that, and about his claims that the Quakers founded America (we were founded in 1776, by the 2^nd Constitutional Congress), whereupon he battered me (by tapping me on the arm with his cheap little fake-leather notebook). Immediately I sprung back out of his reach, lambasting him for violating my person and saying, “If you assault me again, sir, I will defend myself.” He laughed and scoffed and looked around to see if anyone else had witnessed his foul act, mocking my anger at having been touched without consent. He claimed to have at one time been a Marine, and said that he was about to beat the crap out of me.

  He called me a pussy (I agreed), and a faggot (I agreed), and I invited him to kindly go fuck himself somewhere else, but he stuck around to make fun of me and to try to block my sign with his body. “Why are you assaulting their freedom of speech?” he asked, to which I responded that I was doing nothing of the sort, rather that I was defending the rights of the women of America to decide for themselves what to do with their bodies, and with things growing inside their bodies. When he would not budge, I started singing my nonsense song about vaginas and wombs and keeping your business out of them, which sent him skittering across the road to safety.

  He talked to each of the anti-choice protester in turn (no doubt recounting his terrifying encounter), and when a police cruiser drove past (they drive past every few minutes now) he pointed at the officer and yelled at me to report his criminal conduct. I responded by smiling and nodding my head at him, so he gave me the finger, and fled into a nearby shoe store.

  With my new signs – WHAT'S NEXT? PRAY TO END FREE SPEECH and WHAT'S NEXT? PRAY TO END HALLOWEEN – I think I have been getting my message through to the disinterested drivers who pretend to ignore the sign-war on their square. The gist of my struggle is this: if we let the forces of moralistic and religious conservatism destroy one of our freedoms (that being liberty, or the ability to decide what to do with your own body), all other freedoms (speech, assembly, religion, &c) will be taken from us as well.

  Hence my other new sign, KEEP DEMOCRACY MESSY, to remind the People that counter-protest is vital to the healthy functioning of a true democracy in that, as an organic reaction to a well-organized and well-funded juggernaut of religious oppression (40 days for life), it provides a plurality of opinion.

  Stand up. Speak out. Challenge everything.

Ultima Ratio Regum - 場黑麥 John Paul Roggenkamp