Each week commenter Clarence Swamptown takes over this space and makes you laugh with his weirdness. This week is even weirder than usual, which is good news for almost everyone. As usual, the opinions expressed by Clarence do not necessarily represent those of RandBall or the Star Tribune. Clarence?
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The following is an old German folk story my grandmother would tell me at bedtime. Looking back, this was a terrifying story and not at all appropriate to tell any child if you want them to fall asleep. But that's what German grandmothers are like. Any and all similarities to Snow White, Phantom of the Opera, Harvey Pekar comics and/or your 2011 Minnesota Twins are purely coincidental. Please enjoy: The Story of Waldorf the Ale Jack. Author Unknown. Illustrations by Clarence Swamptown: Once upon a time, in the village of Targé, there was a wise old man named Waldorf the Ale Jack. Waldorf was known throughout the land for his ability to serve ale at the village Coliseum. Everyone in the village loved Waldorf:
Then, one day, a young villager asked Waldorf for a goblet of ale:
Enraged by his indiscretion, the ecclesiastical villagers exiled Waldorf from the Coliseum:
But Waldorf had nowhere to go, so he wandered the streets of Targé. By day, he found employ behind the bar at Deceitful Peter's Drinkery. By night, Waldorf secretly bulwarked himself within the belfry of the Coliseum's new clock tower. There, Waldolf patiently devised a plan for revenge upon the village. Every night he practiced sorcery and witchcraft until his skills were faultless. In time, Waldorf the Ale Jack became Waldorf the Warlock. When the two-thousand and eleventh vernal sun reached the First Point of Aries, Waldorf knew that it finally was time to exact his revenge. First, he smote the new village warrior from the Nifon Empire:
Then, he cast a mysterious spell upon the sinew and corpuscles of the most expensive warrior in the village:
He then plagued the village Sage with fervid and eternal scorn:
