The Curmudgeon

YOU'LL COME FOR THE CURSES. YOU'LL STAY FOR THE MUDGEONRY.

Sunday, December 01, 2019

The Father of Teeth

Text for today: I Pulp cliii-clxi

When the Father of Teeth returned, however, the civil war was over and they were busy digging for the great traitor's bones. Amid the devastated buildings and the unpatriotic screams of the wounded, the bereaved and the starving, soldiers of the legitimate government were recruiting expendables to help demolish the tomb. The great traitor had committed the unpardonable outrage of dying in private from natural causes before he could be publicly tried, humiliated and executed, so in the interests of national unity the legitimate Life President had turned the desecration of his grave into an uplifting cultural event.

The Father of Teeth joined a line of crunchy refugees and gnawed his way gradually up the queue. The soldiers watched with equanimity, for they knew that the virtuous dead would be resurrected on the day of judgement and would enter into an eternal bliss made all the more piquant by the thought of their less deserving compatriots shrieking in eternal flame. Besides, there were many shortages, so the fewer refugees the better for all concerned.

At last the Father of Teeth reached the great traitor's tomb, where the demolition crews had just about finished their work. The last few expendables were being prodded inside to neutralise the last few booby-traps, and the legitimate Life President and his spiritual advisers were making ready for the ceremonial exhumation and desecration of the corpse.

"What's all this in aid of, then?" demanded the Father of Teeth. "Why all this messing about in the dust?"
"The great traitor will be scattered to the winds and sunk in the waters," they said, "for in this way he will not be resurrected on the day of judgement, and will be denied all chance of eternal life."
"Well, what if I chew him up a bit?" offered the Father of Teeth. "His dust will get all mixed up with the crunchy refugees, which ought to make for a difficult resurrection all round, and even in the best of circumstances my digestive tract isn't the most merciful environment to await the end of time."

The legitimate Life President and his spiritual advisers were still discussing this proposition when the last stones were shattered, the last booby-traps closed upon the precautionary expendables, and the great traitor's tomb fell open for all to see. Alas, there was nothing in the coffin except a great hole through the bottom, leading into a long-collapsed tunnel which had once led who knew where. The great traitor had faked his own death and then dug his way out on the sly, and there was nothing for it but to resurrect the civil war in order to give the nation a satisfactory sense of closure.

The soldiers and refugees all cheered when they heard the news, because the job opportunities would be considerable, and before sneaking out through the tunnel a second time the Father of Teeth started a rumour that the whole business with the tomb had been a vast conspiracy and the great traitor unjustly maligned.

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