Municipal decree stardate 01012021-001 — January 1st, 2021. State
anarchosurreo- separatist municipality of central Laugavegur and the
united TGIFs of the greater eurafrican kingdom.
Citizens of love and the Tao! I beseech you! Hark, hark! Hear, here! Lo, lo! Whiff! Feel! Taste! Orgasm!
I write you now to say: Another decade gone *poof!* with all its wars,
poverty and abundance in abundance – yay! Past rejoicing, you
rejoicers-you, of holidays a’bountiful – we hope you’ve had meals
worthy of the tallest tales and presents in glittery packaging, another
winter, o ye of mostly fashionable clothing – it is, alas (we might
add), now time for more serious business. As your incumbent mayoral
dignitarious “Gnarr” (dee harr harr), I’m thoroughly empleased to
announce the latest in modern fads:
More rules! Better rules of greater precision!
First of all, less service (not really a rule – more a “rule of thumb”,
if you will), although this perhaps goes without saying: We must make
sacrifices for the common good, and even more so, for the individual
good. We must, that is to say, make sacrifices for the good, and not
just some of the good (as in the past) but all of the good, the
absolute totality of the good. This is not a joke. We do not make fun
of the good. Unreproachable, we are, in no jest whatsoever.
Hah, got ya! (No, really, we’re totally serious).
As a follow-up to the successful transaction of city concrete to the
unlaughably retro-capitalistic suburbs (for which we received an
abundance of extremely extreme nail-polish remover, traded with the
Commonwealth of northeastern Buenos Aires for 250 grand frappucinos
(including disposable stir-spoons)) it has been unanimously decided,
within the municipal council, that the bicycle paths on upper
Laugavegur (strictly speaking the property of our theocratical
neighbour municipality, a matter of some concern, I assure you) will be
auctioned … going once, twice … sold! to the Pescal Harbour Duchy of
Sæbraut (for two half-portions of delicious halibutt – two tails, in
fact, fins intact, in tartar sauce with potatoes and broccoli, yummy!)
(My telephone seems to be ringing, but I’m not answering. I’m not! No,
no, no. Busy, busy, busy. *Sigh* I wish I’d known politics was such a
And then some: as this is a greater decree of glee than thus far we’ve
permitted (the revolution must not stop at the local petting zoo), it
is with some sternness and severity (ha ha!) that we now decree a
“gleeful grumphinder”. The mosques of central Laugavegur (as well as
the prayer booths at TGIFs worldwide) will now carry mandatory cartoon
commentary on the prophet (and his terrorist followers), the
at-laughing of which will be equally mandatory (three times during the
cleaning rituals). Laughter may be rendered in the form of an slamic
prayer-call, an adhan, but only if it is provably (beyond the slightest
doubt) of a humourous quality.
No joke! (Funny, no?)
Nextly, I would like to start by apologizing for using the word “bitch”
in a recent radio interview. As amends I’ve forbidden the word (unless
pronounced with the utmost of lisps) and any mention of “the incident”,
private or public. To those concerned (I’m looking at you, sisters!)
you have my sincerest “oops”. I was speaking as an artist, a true
surrealist, and meant nothing by it. Nothing at all. Your ideologies
disgust me and I’d never sink to that level. I’m sorry already, get a
I probably need not re-mention that this is a tough job, I am under a
lot of pressure. I am just a normal guy, I am no “tough cookie”, and
cannot be expected to be a Superman nor am I, as some of the most
humourless fuddy-duddies amongst you have deigned to imply, a
super-villain – and to tell you the truth I’m, like, totally tired of
your Predator-jokes (your sense of humour, btw, is highly
unprofessional – this is a skill, people, it needs to be learned) They
are so ten years ago it’s not funny. Not even in the
so-not-funny-it’s-funny way of funny.
[ANGRY DIATRIBE SELFCENSORED]
I’ve had time to mull this over. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m
sorry. From the bottom of my heart. The depths of my soul. I have now
referred to the Bhagavad Gita and truly you are entitled to your
criticism and your own sense of humour. I’ve already deleted the worst
of it, as it was below me. I have just [insert appropriate verb] smoking again, and am a bit on the nervy side. I shall henceforth
receive your scorn as the humble vessel that I remain, despite
life-long adversities as punker, author, sugarcube, business executive,
comedian, artist, celebrity and now mayoral entity.
I shall not let the slings and arrows of outrageousness hurt me!
True individuals of spiritual means must set themselves above the
quotidian bicker of petty grievances. Ooooommmmm. Ooooooommmmm. I still
feel obliged to mention that the municipal council is not entirely in
agreement on this subject, as apparently the surrealist manifesto has
proven largely incompatible with the Bhagavad Gita, as well as the
teachings of St. Paul, whose advice we seek on a weekly basis (not
personally, of course, but in the “Bible”). But then Breton was a
communist, like Stalin, whose Gulags we despise.
Lastly, thusly: At a time like this, where years meet at the apex of
increased communal blood pressures, while the burned sticks of
yesteryear are still gliding on the nocturnal ashes of party-town – and
the world smells like Beirut in heat – it is customary to ref lect upon
past passed actions and render judgment, or to paraphrase the jolliest
of men (in a jovial sort of glee, and yet admittedly
paranoia-inducing): we know if you’ve been good or bad, so be good for
goodness’ sake (and if not for goodness’ sake, then for the absolute
totality of goodness’ sake). Mind you, that is also a rule. There’ll be
more to come, and I’ll relay them all in good time.
Ah, the good times! Remember the good times? How we wish we all were young.
(and don’t forget to thank God it’s Friday, as approved by our sponsors).
Yours truly (lol),
Herbert Friðbert Albertsson
Honourable Gnarr of the state anarcho-surreo-separatist municipality
of central Laugavegur and the united TGIFs of the greater eurafrican
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