Last week I received an invitation to a party. It never surprised me when I am invited to these events as I am an absolute pleasure to be around, but under the current circumstances, I had to carefully consider whether or not I would attend, as it was a birthday party for Aslan the Lion of Narnia.
If you are not aware of the current unpleasantness between myself and the Great Cat, then you are a poseur and unworthy of my time to explain. Please refer to my previous posts to refresh yourself lest you be called out on how lame you are for climbing on the Cthulhu bandwagon so late.
Anyway, I’m sure the invitation was an attempt for Aslan to claim the moral high ground as he often does and were I to decline, he could prove he was the better deity. Well, I was not going to fall for it. I would attend and show everyone there and Aslan himself that I am the greatest, most humble of all immortal being trapped in the mortal plane.
Being the gracious guest I am, naturally I asked if there was anything I could bring. With an air of false humility, he insisted I bring only myself and if I must buy a gift, instead donate the money I would have spent to the charity of my choice. Again, seeing that he was baiting me, I knew I’d have to bring the best gift ever, otherwise he’d embarrass me by having me show up with a lame donation. Besides, my preferred charity is my own Action Committee for Relocating the Shuggoth Residing in the Old Abandoned Asbestos Factory at the Edge of Town (ACRSROAAFET; still accepting donations, BTW) and it would be tacky and inefficient to donate to myself.
Fast forward to Thursday, Dec. 24th, the night of the party. I donned my ugliest sweater and showed up as the party was in full swing (I prefer my own style of fashionable tardiness over Aslan’s insufferable punctuality) and was greeted warmly by Aslan (he’s a hugger). As I handed him my very thoughtful and expensive gift of Gold, Frankincense, and Myrrh (Amazon), he kind of furrowed his brow. I asked what was wrong and to my horror he said he thought he had told me not to bring a gift. I tried to explain to him that a good guest brings a gift, but he just ignored me and said he has a friend he could give it to. The damage had already been done. Everyone had witnessed this perceived faux pas, although it had been a setup all along. Aslan knows I’m a great guest and I’d insist on bringing a great gift; why else would he request donations?
My embarrassment tempered my evening severely, sucking the fun out like a Shuggoth sucks out a human brain and puts it in a tube. After a few introductory drinks, the rest of the party was handing out blankets to homeless people, giving children hope at the pediatric cancer hospital, and volunteering at the soup kitchen. Three of the children went insane after I handed them each a teddy bear, and I was about to be ejected from the pediatric wing before Aslan stepped in, restored their senses, cured their cancer, and apologized on my behalf. Not being able to bear any more embarrassment, I simply ducked out the fire exit and went home. It wasn’t my kind of party, anyway. Where was the DJ? Where was the eXtasy? Where was the ritual sacrifice? No, Aslan had best stick to making coffee and writing mediocre poetry and leave the party planning to others.