The Name of the Artichoke (II)

March 14, 2011 Leave a comment

Episodium II
about how the very pious and tired Franciscan brother Pio de Pollalonga and the also very pious an not less tired but still much smarter William de Whiskey arrive to the end of the World and learn of the Holy Boner of Saint Pancreas and how during the tour of a Spanish abbey they find a very pious but unfortunate Dominican sticking out of  cheeses and how consternation and horror befall among the Dominicans and how there is much scholarly discussion and loathing between the cruel abbot and sagacious William but less consternation and horror when William baptizes everybody with cheese and explains everything and there is much rejoicing and relief.

We saw for the first time the abbey destined to be the stage of our incredible adventure in the harsh winter of the year of the Lord of 1399 of the Christian Era. The abbey of Lalechera is perched on top of a cliff commanding the Atlantic Ocean that is as it is well known where the World ends. In fact in clear days you could actually see the end of the World and it didn’t look very good. It was basically a large empty space and it looked untidy and, frankly, beyond the reach of any good Christian soul. One could only imagine evil and godless things happening down there.
The Dominican abbey of Lalechera was and still is a towering black building of stone that offered the usual recreational facilities that any discerning monk expects to find on a half decent monastery. There was a refectory, a church, a library, a cloister and a swimming pool,  although it was empty when we arrived because most monks couldn’t swim and those who could had taken the custom of throwing the abbot into the water and eventually he had the pool emptied.
Around the abbey lived some faithful but unpaid serfs who worked the lands that sustained the abbacy. Being all of them illiterate and unaware or how much a tithe is, they contributed three thirds of their annual produce to the abbey which left them little to eat and even less energy for the study of mathematics. Around the abbey there were green pastures of fresh grass dotted by the grazing goats that produced the milk with which Tetilla Gallega was made and with also grazing peasants that had been reduced to eat grass to survive.
We climbed the steep rocky path to the monastery and we were welcomed by the abbey’s cellarer because the abbot was having his yearly bath at that precise moment. The abbot’s subordinate was a fat hairy man that looked like a hog wearing a Dominican robe. He introduced himself as brother Marrano de Cazorla and for his appearance and weight it was clear he was the man in charge of the cellar’s keys. He showed us around and my master William seemed very excited about the prospect of using the swimming pool and he felt great disappointment when father Marrano told him that the abbot had threatened to have excommunicate anybody using it even being empty. Father Marrano showed us the church instead but the baptismal basin wasn’t roomy enough to even acoomodate both William’s feet at the same time and he had to desist of his idea of taking a bath for the time being.
Like most medieval churches the Church of Saint Pancreas was decorated in a gloomy and tenebrous fashion that made dungeons look gleeful by comparision in spite of the fact that they are done by the same decorators. The ornamentation of the arches consisted in a pattern of interlocked bones and skulls. The frescoes on the walls depicted the torments of Hell in lurid detail and the place had no heating or drainage. It was hardly surprising that monks only went there on Sundays for mass and then only because they had to. They liked better to spent time frolicking in the orchard amongs the pear trees or flogging themselves in their cells, the most popular pastime in the monk community. Their austere quarters also lacked heating or furniture but at least were not decorated with skulls. It was during this first visit that we descended into the crypt for the first time with Father Marrano who wanted to show us the most valuable relic of the abbey. I was reluctant to descend into the dark crypt in the company of the sinister Dominican because Franciscan and Dominicans have a long history of animosity and confrontations since the Council of Ferment when the Dominicans lost a scholastic discussion over the virginity of the Mother of God when their representative made clear that he believed the female vagina to be located under the right armpit, when the Bible clearly describes how God placed it on Eve’s left armpit. My beloved master calmed my fears and apprehensions with a pedagogic blow on my head that propelled me down the staircase ahead of our little party. Inside it smelled of dead bones and it was even gloomier than the church. Father Marrano produced some keys and opened a heavy wooden door that gave access to the abbey’s treasure. Inside there was the elaborated golden shrine built around a small glass urn that contained the mummified penis of Saint Pancreas.
Saint Pancreas had been a Christian martyr in times of the Roman Empire when Christians were  considered the cornerstone of a feline’s good nutrition. According to Christian chroniclers Saint Pancreas had been captured in the emperor’s bedroom when he was trying to baptize the emperor’s wife although no Christian account of the events elucidates why Saint Pancreas was naked and on top of the also naked empress. Theologists speculate this was a peculiar form of baptism practiced by early Christian before the standardization of Rites and Practices agreed on the Council of Melanoma. The outraged pagan emperor offered Pancreas the choice between renouncing his faith and go unharmed into exile or having his penis severed if he insisted in baptizing his wife. This was obviously a practical joke of the emperor who was a pagan with macabre sense of humor and had Pancreas penis severed anyway when he was about to board a ship headed for Mesopotamia. His body was skinned and his skin used to upholster the emperor’s chaise longue, this is the reason why Saint Pancreas is the saint patron of tanners. His penis was discarded because it had not enough skin to make a pillowcase. Some fellow Christians salvaged it from the emperor’s garbage and hid it in the Roman catacombs. A few centuries later pilgrims brought it with them to Galicia as lucky charm for their trip and when they all died of pestilence the penis was preserved on the abbey of Lalechera.
Father Marrano told us about the miracle of the Holy Boner of Saint Pancreas: every year on Christmas Eve the penis was taken outdoors and before a crowd of faihful pilgrims the dead penis came back to life and ejaculated three times: one for the Father, one for the Son and a third for the Holy Spirit, although the third discharge was always weak and scarce. Many pilgrims visited the abbey just to kiss the penis of Saint Pancreas because it was said to be miraculous. It cured the sterility of those who wanted children and improved their performance in the act of fornication, although I didn’t understand the details because I was young and innocent and William persisted in covering my tender ears with his hands every time things got interesting or sinful, which always happened at the same time.
We were still there passing around the mummified penis when a young novice of effeminate manners named Celestino who was in charge of rubbing the abbot’s back stumbled down the staircases and landed at our feet. He was visibly startled and father Marrano had to beat him repeatedly with a votive candle to calm him down and obtain an intelligible explanation of the reason of his storming in that holy place.
Brother Celestino told us that he had gone into the kitchen to fetch a spoon to remove the dirt accumulated under the abbot’s arms and found one of the brothers dead with his head buried on a chunk of Tetilla Gallega. He had apparently suffocated while trying to eat his way to the far side of the cheese. The terrified young Dominican had run to the church to shelter from this evil occurrence and fell down the crypt’s stairs. William prompted the monk to show us the corpse but the young monk was visibly scared and requested permission to go back to the abbot before the tub’s water got cold. William borrowed  brother Marrano’s candle and comforted brother Celestino with a few well placed blows on top of his head until he calmed down and leaded us out of that smelly hole.

When the four of us got out the church into the courtyard there were monks running towards the kitchen and William muttered something on my ear.
‘Either the body has been already found or somebody is giving away wine. Either case the kitchen is the place to be right now.’ He said as he darted in hot pursuit of the cloaked crowd.
We crossed the courtyard and joined the crowd of onlookers assembled inside the roomy kitchen. Some of the monks were on their knees crossing themselves and praying while others took advantage of the mayhem to stuff their mouths with any foodstuff at hand. In the center of the kitchen there was a thick wooden table with a massive round cheese on the middle of the tabletop. Sticking out of one side there was a body wearing the robe of a Dominican. Dominicans always had the reputation of being prodigious eaters but that was too much cheese even for infamous Cardinal Fatsolini who suffocated during his ordaining ceremony trying to swallow a tuna fish. William was the first of us to reach the body and examined the scene meticulously looking for clues. He was the first to notice the outstretched right hand of the victim on the tabletop. His dead index finger when still alive had traced a message using some butter from a nearby bowl on the surface. It said:

Obviously the dead Dominican had tried to leave a last message before dying but he had spent too much time with the elaborated Gothic lettering and died before completing his task. Dominicans are famous not only for their prodigious appetite but also for their celebrated patience and craftsmanship as scribes: there was several richly ornamented B’s scattered on the dirty tabletop that apparently were not up to monastic standards of penmanship and have been discarded. Unfortunately the craftsmanship of this monk was of no help in this particular case for it was impossible for us to know if he was trying to leave a message or just exercising his calligraphy one last time before go to meet merciful God in Heaven. Unless the incomplete message was an unfinished suicide note in which case the unfortunate monk should not enter the Heavenly Kingdom and his body would be denied a Christian burial on consecrate ground because the other dead were firmly opposed to the presence of suicides near their graves.

Finally abbot Malallet appeared. He was furious and his habit soaked after having to dress in a rush before having finished his bath. His beard was wet and soap foam clouded his sight. He thought the dead monk had fallen sleep with the cheese in his arms after performing unnatural acts with it. Such cases are not unheard of and many members of religious orders who could not bear their celibacy vow had been caught relieving their urges with all sorts of foodstuffs which explains the caution and silence that customary in the refectories: the monks are too busy inspecting their meals searching for traces of sin on their plates. Pope Vilicious X found once the tongue of a bishop inside his stuffed turkey and had the bishop excommunicated and burnt in spite of the fact the prelate could not confess his crime due to his lack of tongue.
‘ What in the name of God and all Saints has happened here?’ Asked the abbot when he realized his mistake. The abbot was an old and burly man in his sixties with austere look and a thick bushy beard that gave him the appearance of a dancing bear although we found out  later his behaviour resembled beeter that of  a dog with rabies.
‘ It seems one of your monks was looking for God inside this cheese and he found Him.‘ Said my master addressing the abbot. Then added. ‘Do you know who is him? Unless any cheese-headed monk of the congregation is missing this man suffocated inside this formidable chunk cheese. Incidentally Marco Polo mentions in his travel guide the existence in faraway Catay of the cheese-people who live in the Milky Islands and are half man half cheese and pagans all of them of course.’
‘ Brother William’s I presume’ Said the abbot with a sneer of contempt in his mouth that was almost invisible behind his beard. ‘We do not need your lessons of cartography or geography or even cheesology here. I am aware who you are and why you have been sent here. We Dominicans do not need any filthy Franciscan coming here to tell me how to run my abbey. You are out of your jurisdiction brother William.‘ Said the abbot in a defiant tone.
‘ As you should know brother Malallet we are here on behalf of the Pope to conduct investigations on the mysterious disappearance of His Holiness favorite side dish but it seems that now we are facing some other cardinal sins here besides what at first seemed a simple case of gluttony. It seems we have a murderer at loose in this abbey. ‘ Said my master in a icy calm tone but I could see his fist clenching his cross and ready to strike a blow on the abbot’s head at the first indication of violence.
‘ Murder you say? Your reputation of intellectual pride precedes you as does your body odor and both stink to high Heaven my dear brother Franciscan. Isn’t it clear this man was a filthy glutton and merciful God in his infinite wisdom punished him with suffocation in cheese. I would have done the same if I was  God.’ Said the abbot and turned to the scared monks pointing his stocky finger to his temple initiating a spinning motion  while he made comical faces.
‘ We all feel relieved that the post of  Creator went to somebody  less inept, otherwise we all would grow feet in our heads and urinate through our nose. Do not the senses wasteful God has bestowed upon his grace notice something unusual in this crime scene? Besides the fact that this man is remarkably thin, almost skeletal, and it would be madness for such a weakling try to consume a piece of cheese that is at least three times heavier than himself. ‘
‘ That does not prove anything. Thomas Aquinas was thin and with the help of his faith he was once able to swallow a whole pumpkin. Besides some gluttons are thin. The Devil takes many forms brother William, sometimes it takes the form of pedantic Franciscans too.’ Joked again the abbot followed suit by the other monks who were visibly scared of him since he assigned the monastic chores and nobody liked latrine duty.
‘ Certainly faith can work miracles and you my dear brother are a good example: that such a shortsighted man has achieved the rank of abbot and now commands all these pious men is tantamount of miracle. Although if I am the only person in this room who has noticed the rather striking fact that this cheese is intact and that there is not a single crumb of cheese on the tabletop maybe these pious men deserve being commanded by a baboon.’
‘ A what?’ Said abbot Malallet.
‘ Oh My God! The Franciscan is right! ‘ Yelled brother Marrano who was by my side and startled me. Then he turned around and repeated in case somebody hadn’t heard his piercing scream which was doubtful because everybody, including William and the abbot, were looking at him. ‘ The Franciscan is right! This is witchcraft! It is the Devil’s work! The Judgment Day is here. Repent! Repent and run for cover!’ He did as he said and ran towards the door in panic and the monks began to cross themselves at even  faster speed in superstitious fear. When the disturbance was over the abbot spoke again without losing his composure.
‘ I must apologize for our dimwit brother, he always thinks anything out of the ordinary is a sign of the End of Days. Yesterday he couldn’t find his underwear and he thought it was a sign of the Second Coming. We had to remind him that Dominicans do not use underwear. He is a simple soul but the excessive fat inside his head clouds his judgment sometimes. Yours is indeed an interesting observation brother William, but is widely known that obnoxious vapors and fetid exhalations can deteriorate the dairy products. What appears to be a monk sticking from a cheese could be just a giant fungus that moved by piety and inspired by our virtuous lifestyle has tried to take the habits of a Dominican.’
‘ That is certainly a very interesting theory coming from a man whose nose looks like a fungus. I guess there is only one way  to know if it is correct.’ Said William and before anybody could stop him his fist discharged a violent blow on top of the cheese. Speeding fragments of cheese flown in all directions and we all ended up sticky under a thick layer of smelly cheese. William figure was almost totally covered with it as was the abbot’s who has been the man closer to the blast. His ugly face was buried under a mass of sticky white cheese. All that was left on the tabletop was the contorted face of a young monk with  his whitened tongue sticking out his mouth that was frozen in a spasm of panic.
‘ What in the name of God…? Brother Panfilo! ‘ Said the abbot, who after removing the sticky white stuff from his eyes had recognized the dead monk.
My master never lost his dignified composure and calmly cleaned his face with the hem of his habit. He spat some cheese out his mouth and spoke as if nothing had happened.
‘ Sorry dear brothers, I though Tetilla Gallega was a tougher kind of cheese and I might have miscalculated my strength thinking this cheese was the head of some recalcitrant Dominican abbot. The fact remains that it is impossible for a man to eat cheese from the inside out as Aristotles demonstrates in his study about cheesy logics. It is obvious the head of this poor man was introduced inside the cheese mold when the milk was still liquid and somebody hold him in there until it solidified. Then  the murderer left him on the table to die. He suffocated either because the lack of air or due to the cheese’s strong smell. Before dying he tried to write the name of the murderer on the table but his excessive devotion for proper lettering prevented him from finishing the message. I am positive he worked at the abbey’s library. Am I right? ‘ The monks were perplexed by the deductive powers of William, brother Panfilo was indeed one of the scribes at the library. He was also a competent draftsman and used his drawing skills to illuminate religious books with depictions of the torments of Hell that had become fashionable during the last millenia.
The abbot was furious but the reasoning of my preceptor was flawless and had to concede him a dialectical victory. It was obvious he was fuming because the cheese in his head was melting down his cheeks and he looked like a giant fondue. He gave orders to some Dominicans to prepare the body to be buried and motioned us to follow him to the library where he had his office because it was located in the opposite end of the pigsty.


The Name Of The Artichoke (I)

November 21, 2010 Leave a comment

Episodium I about who is the very pious Franciscan brother Pio de Pollalonga and his many tribulations during the forbidding and tumultuous Middle Ages and how he happens to meet his mentor the also very pious but much smarter William de Whiskey to have together some more tribulations and depart then together to faraway lands at the end of the World and about the people and things they witness and of how they hear of many prodigies and occurrences related to a particularly delectable and holy cheese.

I am an old man now. My hands are bald and my head shakes and I do not know how long I shall live. The dark specter of the Black Death roams the streets of Verona and I am afraid his bony hand will soon knock on my door. God in His infinite wisdom has blessed me with deafness in the winter of my life so I might be fortunate enough not to hear her macabre calling. Besides, I don’t even know where Verona is or if such a place exists. My old head is now no more clear than God’s designs and I fear I might forget the extraordinary events that I am about to consign into the written word. As I do so I pray to merciful God I won’t forget later where I put these papers. Those who were involved in these events, including my good friend William, are all now either dead or remain illiterate. Those who died were all sinners as sinners are the illiterate ones, although the latter are luckier for they can’t read the Bible and sin freely only to find out about sin when they wind up in Hell. We are all sinners, sin is the curse of the Middle Ages and its most pressing social problem, specially among sinners. Europe has been marooned in the backwaters of history for a millennia because the excessive sinning of its population and now the Black Death is about to sweep them all. The signs of the End Of Days are clear: the Black Death came unannounced, the Saracen has taken Constantinople and a goat sits in the throne of Saint Peter in Rome. The animal is crafty disguised with embroidered garments of the richest velvet and a specially designed tiara conceals her prominent horns but even the dumbest folk realizes the mischief when seeing the Pope has breakfast grazing on the Roman pastures every morning.
Soon the Renaissance will come and we all be forgotten, so it is time for me to account for my sins before I meet my Maker, who is his infinite cheapness found suited to allot me only sixty-five years of sorrow, hunger, war, pestilence and despair. I hope He judges me pious enough to be at His side because I really need a vacation. In my professional life as a Franciscan monk I have seen innumerable depictions of hell on church carvings and it is definitely not the kind of place where you want to spend your holidays, much less eternity. But if I knew that my mentor, master and beloved friend William de Whiskey ended up there I would gladly forsake Heaven just to spend cooking time together in the same caldron. That is how much I loved the man that helped me to become the demented sack of bones that I am now. He told most of the things I know: from how to use a spoon to eat to how to warm another man’s feet using only my breath.
The events I am about to recount shall shake your faith and corrupt whatever goodness faith left inside you, but doubt not of their veracity. What I am about to chronicle is the faithful testimony of those events as they took place before my eyes. It is true that my memories have lost some luster in recent years and that a number of times I have been found teaching Latin to flocks of geese but I am Franciscan and our order has a long standing tradition of religious education for birds and fowl. Saint Francis, the holy founder of our order, spent most of his time preaching to birds in the belief they had met God personally because they can fly. It is my expectation that the facts that I have wasted my life trying to make sense of will help you to lead a life of virtue and chastity for they contain a deep and resonant moral lesson although which one it is, I am afraid, I have not idea. My story begins almost fifty years ago, when I was still a novice that did not know anything about the world although at least I could get out of bed without fracturing my hip.

Everything started when my preceptor brother William de Whiskey and me were sent by the Pope to investigate the mysterious disappearance of some cheese from the kitchen of a faraway abbey in the Spanish coast on a region called Galicia. The missing cheese was not common cheese. It was said that this delicacy that was commercialized under the name of Tetilla Gallega was so delicious that it had to be made with milk from the breasts of the Virgin Mary Mother of God. The Pope was very fond of this type cheese and always ate it with great display of delectation in front of his guests and His Holiness never failed to made a point of not to offering them any of it as affirmation of the authority and power of the Papacy.
It was this sublime snack that started the war between the Holy Roman Empire and the Papacy when a Teutonic Knight Templar tried to snatch a piece from the Pope’s mouth and His Holiness almost choked. The daring Knight Templar lost one finger but still the outraged Pope excommunicated him and swallowed his finger. Pope Cannibal I remains to this day as the only anthropophagous Pope in recorded history but his was a short lived papacy. The Teutonic Knight had gone to the Crusades to crush some infidel’s skulls but worked as professional German prince and had powerful friends. His fellow German Princes raised an army that looted Rome and the besieged Pope was poisoned by a Cardinal that coveted his post after the Pope had expressed his intention of eating one of his legs.
Those were indeed turbulent times. Rumors of Renaissance circulated already around Europe and you could not visit the home of a rich merchant in Florence and not to find yourself facing a large painting or sculpture of a naked pagan goddess frolicking on a meadow. In Avignon the antipope persisted in his policy of defiance of Roman authority by imitating all the acts of the Roman pontifex but in a mocking and disrespectful manner that attracted the interest of the serfs for its comical nature. The discredit of Roman authority reached its summit when a scandal for the mistreatment of Inquisition prisoners broke out and it was made public that many of them had been allowed to eat fish on Friday in clear contravention of the Council of Aphasia. The aging Pope had his judgment clouded by his age and when he appeared before the College of Cardinals for a Concordat rehearsal did it so with his garments outside out and the tiara upside down. The Cardinals suppressed their laughter for six hours while the ridiculous Pope babbled his exposition and several of them had to be taken out almost suffocated. This same Pope was lying in bed with fevers and constipations and at the verge of death when he called for my master, friar William de Whiskey to solve the case of the missing cheese and bring some portions to Rome because the Vatican pantry was almost depleted. He dispatched us with urgency to find out who was eating his cheese and why.
We traveled for months from Italy to France and then back to Italy when we realized we had forgotten our maps in Rome. When we restarted our trip the Pope was already dead and a new strong man was sitting in the pontifical throne. The late Pope had eaten almost all the Tetilla Gallega in stock before his demise and left orders to be buried with the remaining cheese stock. The new Pope was a fat and younger former Cardinal with a great liking for food and insisted the mission should be resumed. He replaced our rickety donkeys with two of the fastest mares in the Vatican stables to speed up the process in spite of the fact that the use of female livestocks by the clergy had been banned after the infamous scandal of continued abominations in the Vatican stables was disclosed when a goat gave birth to an monstrosity that resembled one of the cardinals.
We crossed the Alps to France and from there we negotiated the treacherous passes of the Pyrenees following the pilgrimage route of Saint James, a very popular tourist destination at that period. Its popularity and our lack of financial means were the reasons why we had to camp in the open being most hostels either overbooked or overpriced due to the high demand. Wherever we went we enjoyed the hospitality and devotion of the locals who never failed to shower our little entourage with rotten fruit and vegetable leftovers when passing through a market square. With rumors or Renaissance and Humanism spreading in Europe serfs had become unruly, fed up as they were of being called sinners every Sunday at mass while the rest of the week they did all the plowing and harvesting. There was discontent and the mediaeval feudal lords were not helping with their insistence of eating raw meat in their sumptuous banquets and refusing to use a fork to do so, which always made them look decadent and feral on society chronicles. It is speculated that the not less decadents Florentine princes of the Renaissance derived much of their popular support out of the introduction of fine cutlery in palace living increasing the appeal of Renaissance values among those who disliked sticky fingers. Lorenzo de Medici himself is said to have attended an audience with the Pope with two spoons sticking out his ears as defiant remainder to the pontifex of the superior craftsmanship and artistry of Florentine silverware.
At the time of the Galician cheese crisis I had been under the tutelage of William de Whiskey just for a few months but I already have developed a deep admiration and canine devotion for his intellectual prowess and sleek religious style. Where other less dashing Franciscans carried a single little simple wooden cross around their necks William carried two: a full-scale crucifix on his neck that gave him his characteristic Christ-like silhouette when seen from afar and a smaller one tied up on his ankle as backup, in case the Devil tried something funny with him. He was called with affection by his fellow Franciscans Dirty Father and was celebrated as the toughest member of the church in the Christendom West of the Tiber, with maybe the sole exception of some really wild French Carmelite nuns. I still remember with affection the many blows those crosses rained on my unworthy skull every time I made a mistake in my Latin declinations. Those heavy blows were nevertheless an improvement over the pitchfork my father used to motivate me to plow his fields and every time I see my deformed head on a mirror I can’t help but remember with devotion my sadly missed mentor and friend.
He was without doubt the most flamboyant member of the Franciscan order whose members’ attitude and attire are so meek and humble that they tend to be taken for beggars and running over them as become a quite popular pastime among horsemen. It wasn’t just vain and transient earthly physical appearance what set apart William de Whiskey from the everyday Franciscan. It was his inquisitive mind which always got him in trouble with the Tribunal of the Inquisition whose members consider human brains good only as foodstuff for barbecues. This disparity of criteria combined with the great liking of William for the hard liquor of his Scottish native land that had given him his monastic nickname were the reason that had brought him to Rome as exile. Back in Scotland he had got into a fistfight with bishop Caraquemada, the Great Inquisitor’s envoy in Aberdeen, over a subtle scholastic question regarding the Holy Trinity. William had knocked down the bishop with a couple of well placed kicks in His Eminence’s spermatic sacks and thrown his unconscious body into a pigsty. Great scandal and outrage ensued when the Holy Trinity name was mentioned linked to the public disturbance. The Inquisition refused to pick the tab for the alcohol consumed by the two contenders and sued William for damages and slander of the Holy Trinity. Aware of the lack of intellectual finesse of the Tribunal of the Inquisition hearings and because a Franciscan with some guts never picks the tab, specially if he wins the fistfight, he had to flee to Rome and hide under the wide garments of His Holiness.
His disgrace became my fortune when his exhausted donkey died at the gates of Rome after the seven months long trip from Scotland. He was taken under the direct protection of the Pope who had a great liking for tough-looking Franciscans friars with hairy chests. In spite of the good disposition of the Pope the depleted coffers of the Vatican bank were unable to provide funds for the purchase of even a second-hand donkey. The funds had been spent on the payment of compensations to Christian families after the scandal over the financing of slave trade of children with the Saracen. So they gave him me instead. At the time I had been working as mitre shiner for a cardinal and although I had not the strength of a quadruped they assured William that with patience he could teach me all sorts of useful tricks.
One of the disadvantages of working as monk is that you are not allowed to have children and if you have one the order’s ethical code of conduct is clear: after baptizing him you shall drown your offspring on a well, so he will go straight to Heaven instead of pestering you for the rest of your life. William had taken his vows of chastity when after a night of heavy drinking he found himslelf laying on a bed by the side of a very ugly Scottish stonemason who he had mistaken by a woman because in his inebriated state he had forgot the custom of men of those lands of wearing enticing pleaded skits of bright colors. Of such a decission he only regretted was that he had always wanted to have a child or at least a pet to teach him everything he knew. That was certainly too much wisdom for a thick head like mine but at the beginning he felt I was an improvement over having a dead donkey as a pupil.
Both during our stay in Rome and later during our one year long trip to Galicia he used his time to teach me the answer to the basic questions on the disciplines that a learned man of the church is expected to be opinionated about at a Vatican cocktail party.
Theology: Who is God and why there is so much fuss about him lately. Why the Holy Ghost is so difficult to catch. How many angels can dance a jig on the top of a pin. And how many if they are all drunk. Who is the skinny guy nailed to a cross.
Scholastic: What is scholastic anyway. Are all scholastic done at a school. How to do good scholastics at home every morning to stay in good spiritual shape.
Ethics: Why serfs have to do the heavy lifting. Why serfs have to handle manure. How a member of the church can lead a productive life without raising a finger unless it is to bless his flock.
Religion: Why the Pope is always right and how to dress if he invites you for brunch. Why saints are depicted with a golden space suit helmet in their heads. Can’t they breath normal air?
Medicine: Why the Black Death does not go back to Africa and stops pestering Christendom. Why taking a bath once a day is a sin. How to cure the flu with an exorcism. How to be nice to a leper from a seven leagues distance.
Dialectics: Why is rude to speak with your mouth full of food and how that affects our credibility as speakers. How to persuade somebody to give you his money in exchange of good words. How to pretend you are listening when you are not.
Heresy: How long can a heretic hold his breath underwater without perishing. Can a man sign a confession with his head severed. Are witches burn because they are heretical or just because they are ugly. Proper cooking times for Jews, witches, heretics and Christmas turkey.
Cosmology: Interesting stories about the planets and stars and how to tell them without ending up as a mound of ashes. Funny jokes to discredit the madmen that say the Earth is round. What is the Sun doing at night. Sleeping?
Mathematics and Geometry: Why two and two equal four and beyond. Advanced algebra without the use of fingers. How to square a circle and vice versa. God’s opinions on roundness.
Grammar & Calligraphy: Why there are so many letters and how to combine them to make words. Why Latin has nothing to do with salsa and burritos. Easy ways to make ink at home using water and dirt.
Geography: Why only crusaders go to the Holy Land on vacation. Why the Garden of Eden had no rest rooms. Why Jews eat Christian babies instead of pig.
When we finally reached our destination on the westernmost tip of the Iberian Peninsula I hadn’t mastered any of these disciplines, even to this day I hardly know the answer of one or two of those important questions and then only if I check my notes but I least I was able to fasten my sandals without lacing together both feet.

The AMADEUS (Cephalopoda Musicalis)

June 21, 2010 Leave a comment
The amadeus is the only squid able to conduct a symphonic orchestra although it never gets any good reviews of his performances because critics get confused with his many tentacles and its style is too aquatic.
Aquatic is indeed its habitat and the amadeus is found mainly in the waters of Austrian castle moats that apparently remind it of orchestra pits but full of water. This is incidentally one of the reasons why the amadeus, in spite of its virtuosity as an orchestra conductor is seldom hired. It always demands the pit be filled with water which causes significant discomfort to the other players, especially the winds section that can only produce musical bubbles.
From one particularly gifted amadeus of the eighteenth century is said that Mozart took his name and musical compositions but the prevalent racism toward cephalopods at the time prevented it from being credited as the author of its own music. It was forced to live a life of deprivation in the Jewish ghetto, where it was ostracized as well due to the Jewish taboo against shellfish.
This species has many predators among other fish, even fish who are not usually predators but are trying to catch some sleep while the amadeus is rehearsing, which it does constantly and at top volume. If attacked the amadeus will emit a high falsetto note that stuns the attacker by blowing out his head.
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The PROPHEZOO (Pulex Prophetica)

June 21, 2010 Leave a comment
The origin of revealed religions and religious crazes can be tracked back to these tiny parasitic creatures closely related to the common flea. Prophezoos have the bad habit of nesting inside insanitary human ears. Unique among insects prophezoos have the uncanny hability to speak although what they say seldom makes any sense. Their chatter has been repeatedly mistaken by the voice of god causing erratic behaviour and claims of  divinity  in those with infested tympanums. If left unattended the most severe cases can spread to their host’s brain causing hallucinations in which a man with a long beard makes absurd claims and requests obedience and servitude.
Recent advances in sanitation like soap and cotton sticks have greatly reduced the  incidence of this peculiar plague, which explains the significant reduction of believers among the populations with access to proper ear hygiene. Although this resilient pest remains endemic in many underdeveloped countries they can also be found in some segments of the population of developed countries, like tele-evangelists and priests who stubbornly refuse to clean their ears.
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The CLAMPBURGER (Burgivoris Horribilis)

June 21, 2010 Leave a comment
It is not known for certain if the clampburger is a real animal or just an urban legend. Its presence has been reported mostly in urban areas by intoxicated youngsters who swore they had been chased by this peculiar creature. It seems that its natural hunting grounds are shopping mall parking areas and fast-food restaurants where it can camouflage itself among brand’s mascots and overweight shoppers. It his said that the clampburger was originally a teenager working part-time as mascot for Burger King Kong wearing a gorilla custom when he was run over by a truck driven by a blind midget carrying expired yogurt. The accident caused the toxic waste to spill over the costumed boy causing them to merge with each other and mutate into this grotesque abomination.
The clampburger has the appearance of a three-meter tall burger, the standard size of a jumbo size ration in most American restaurants. The disguise is so perfect that its inner mouth looks like condiments: lettuce, tomato and a cheese slice that is actually its tongue. In spite of his odd appearance the clamburger can run very fast and it always wears running shoes because its favorite prey are young humans with brand sneakers. It lures the fatest ones pretending to be a giant hambuguer and then devours them. It digest the body and bones but excretes the shoes so it always has a huge collection of sneakers that it uses to make a nest for its eggs. The clampgburger practices asexual reproduction, which considering its appearance is probably the only chance to reproduce it will ever get.
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The ARCTIC FLEA (Megalopulex Frigida)

June 21, 2010 Leave a comment
This species of flea is by far the biggest of them all. While most fleas are tiny pests the size of a punctuation mark the arctic flea can reach the size of an olympic stadium and weigh several million tons. Arctic fleas spend their entire biological cycle underwater leaving only their massive frozen backs exposed drifting on the surface where they are easily mistaken as icebergs.
In spite of their massive size the arctic flea is a very shy creature. Zoologists especulate that the bad reputation of its extended family as disease carrier pests has shamed this gigantic but harmless species into a self-imposed underwater existence. Due to this characteristic timidness the life span of the arctic flea is very short: they do not dare to surface to breath and they tend to perish of asfixiation in a matter of days.
As in most species, coupling is a tricky business for arctic fleas and sexual intercourse is usually accompanied by the deafening rumble of friction between their humungous frosted backs. The courtship takes place on icebanks and lasts for several days, most of the time wasted as the male painstakingly swims along the female’s coastline, which might stretch for several miles, until he finds her genitalia. Incidentally this is the reason why  the smaller females of artic flea also are the most promiscous. Once located, the spot, which is roughly the size of a dime, intercourse takes place until the male ejaculates or if he is buried by an avalanche of ice caused by the earthquake-like mating activity. The female then releases a sigh of relief and millions of small fertilized frozen eggs that drift away in the current. These cubic-shaped eggs are well known for their application as coolant for cocktails .
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The BALLSILISK (Sferokrator)

June 21, 2010 Leave a comment
Not unlike Sisyphus and Prometheus, the ballsilisk is another unfortunate mortal that fell in disgrace with the gods for a minor incident taken out of proportion. First mentioned by Herodotus, or by some other scholar of ancient Greece who looked a lot like Herodotus, the ballsilisk is a perpetually angered creature with ninety-nine balls that are always swollen and have the weight of a dead bull. According to legend the ballsilisk was originally a king who affronted Zeus by roasting him when he had transformed into a chicken to seduce his virgin daughter who had an unusual fondness for chicken wings.  As punishment Zeus cursed his testicles to multiply to the highest two-digit number and for the hair in his armpits to grow and become entangled.
It is said that Achilles defeated the ballsilisk and cut his ninety-nine balls to make a necklace for Aphrodite who thought it was the most distasteful gift she had ever received and thrown it into the Hades along with Achilles. Cursed by Zeus the ballsilisk testicles grow back more swollen and itchy than ever driving him crazy. The basillisk is indeed the most irascible creature of the Greek pantheon and that is the reason why he is never invited to parties at the spa the gods own on top of mount Olympus.
In Greece this grumpy character has been incorporated into popular language with the expression ‘to have the balls more busted than the ballsilisk’s‘ referring to somebody who is extremely upset.
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