Rare it is that I call upon my ignorant reader-ship to rejoice and be merry, but I am afraid that just such an occasion is almost upon us. Zweibelmas is here! Turn your filthy rags colored-side out! Clash your chains together in the most musical manner possible! Please to put the pennies in the Swiss Guard's hats! Sept. 21 brings the annual celebration of all things Zweibel, and this year shall be a Zweibelmas to remember!
Certainly it was one god-damned pig-fucker of a year! The readers of The Onion news-paper demanded my execution at the hands of the editorial board. I suffered through many strange experiences, such as being transformed into a cock-roach, watching helplessly as my grand-son eloped with a Papist, and coping with the passing of my beloved pet Galapagos tortoise, Cap'n Clyde. And I won't even go into my intrepid yet ultimately fruit-less hunt for the storied white whale of the briny-deep!
Worst of all, my lovely bride-to-be, Miss Bernadette Fiske, expired in a fit of extreme womanliness while on her way to wed me. But, in a touching coda to her short and dainty life, she left me my beautiful son N. Aeschylus.
And this Zweibelmas shall be my dear, dear son N. Aeschylus' first! Already, in the best Nine Days Of Zweibelmas tradition, I have given him a set of one thousand German tin soldiers and a brass mechanical-bank in the playful and winsome shape of John Jacob Astor. The look on N. Aeschylus' great squarish face as he bludgeoned open the shipping-crates was one of sheer delight! He ate them with great relish, along with two of the servants assigned to carry the pallets.
I told N. Aeschylus the story of the Fairy Zweibel-Child, a sprite believed to be the spirit of my still-born infant-twin Y. Josiah, who arises from the Zweibel family mausoleum each Zweibelmas Eve to deliver toys and candy to my-self and other parties I deem worthy! Across N. Aeschylus' countenance came the greedy expression which all Zweibels share on this holiday. Huzzah! Not yet one year old, and he has grasped the true meaning of the holiday!
As I write this by the warm light of the fire, N. Aeschylus prepares for the arrival of the Zweibel-child. Already he has assembled the most darling traps, Zeppelin-catchers, and net-works to welcome the holy apparition! If I know children, he will never be able to stay awake long enough. Ah, youth!