Tag Archives: Dickens

Thrakbog vs. literature

Thrakbog: What do you mean, there is no magic in it? It is called “The Magic Mountain”!

She-human: It is indeed. But no magic, sorry.

Thrakbog: That’s cheating. Why? WHY?

She-human: That is actually a question a lot of people would like to ask the author.

Thrakbog: And?

She-human: He’s dead.

Thrakbog: So what? Get a necromancer and resurrect him.

She-human: Good god, no!

Thrakbog: I want to know why he called it The Magic Mountain when there is no bloody bit of magic in it! Not even a miserable wizard? An old hag? Any supernatural stuff would fucking do.

She-human: Language, Thrakbog, Language!

Thrakbog: Oh, piss off.

She-human: Would you like to sleep on the balcony for the next couple of weeks? It looks a lot like rain, I must say. But then again, orcs like to live rough, don’t they?

Thrakbog: Um, well …, alright, just tell me about that fu… pseudo-magic mountain-guy.

She-human: Well, the main character has some weird dreams.

Thrakbog: Oh, good. Juicy? Wild?

She-human: Strange would describe them more accurately.

Thrakbog: But strange is good, right? It could mean orcish in some way.

She-human: Um, no. I rather doubt that.

Thrakbog: Is there at least an old wizard’s tower on that mountain? Maybe he just deserted it and on his return the magic will be back too.

She-human: Your optimism does you credit but that is not going to happen. Actually there is a sanatorium on that mountain where people stay if they can’t breathe properly.

Thrakbog: You must be kidding.

She-human: I’m afraid not.

Thrakbog: So it’s shit! And no, I don’t mind my language at all!

She-human: You might have a point there. But it is a highly acclaimed novel.

Thrakbog: You mean like the teacup-fighting-soldiers-novel about Prick Darcy and dear Lizzy?

She-human: That had a lasting impression on you, hm?

Thrakbog: I’m still suffering from constipation after having swallowed it.

She-human: You really shouldn’t have done that. Books are for reading, not eating.

Thrakbog: Well, I’m definitely not reading or eating that fake magic thingy.

She-human: What would you like to read then?

Thrakbog: Must I really? I am an orc. It is so unnatural.

She-human: It was part of our agreement.

Thrakbog: Sticking to an agreement is rather unorcish as well.

She-human: Boo hoo.

Thrakbog: Alright, alright. So give me something gritty and grim.

She-human: So, Dickens it is.

Thrakbog: What the …?

She-human: Dickens. Exactly.

Thrakbog: Well, I hope it is at least short.

She-human:

___________________________

Of course we were discussing this famous drivel:

The_Magic_Mountain_(novel)_coverart

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Merry Dickens

Last night my human told me a story about a door-nail named Marlowe or Marley or something like that. For some reason she insisted that this door-nail was dead. Only a moment later said door-nail turned into a ghost. Yeah, whatever.

Also, it was called a Carol for some reason. Thankfully my human did not try to sing the whole story to me.

Anyway, this guy, Scrooge, who definitely was one of the more sensible humans, had a bit of a problem with ghosts. But instead of calling a wizard or warlock to get rid of them he just whined and complained. Typical.

The ghosts on the other hand seemed to be quite confused themselves. Instead of turning this guy into a whimpering heap of madness once and for all they brought him safely back home! Every. Single. Time.

In the end it was all merriment and pleasantness. There was some partying and feasting, alright, but come on! Where was the chaos and mayhem? All the fun they could have had! The only thing that sounded truly promising in the end was the bowl of smoking bishop. Looking very much forward to hearing more about that.