BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Over the past few days folks have probably taken note that I’ve been somewhat busy with cleaning, shopping, cleaning, cooking, cleaning, sho… Well, you get the idea.

I’ve been, to say the least, busy. And, as I have noted on my various social networks, this “bizzy” came about not only from the writing I’ve been doing, but also from my preparations for the Festival of Luetsencurbenpuken.

As you may have guessed – because you may be one of the folks I am about to mention – folks (that’d be the folks I’m mentioning) have been leaving comments and dropping me emails, most often with the question: “

“Hay! Merv. Cellers. Whot thee f*ck is Loosencrippenfahrvegnugget?”

Okay… Well maybe the spelling and grammar weren’t quite THAT bad. But anyway, suffice it to say I’ve received many a, “What the hell is that?” email. So, with today being the final day of Luetsencurbenpuken, I thought perhaps I’d give everyone an explanation.

Luetsencurbenpuken (Loots – en – curb – en – puke- en) n. – A three day holiday celebrated by a small group of  Saint Louis residents, taking place in relative proximity to the Winter Solstice (December 21-22) each year. Marked by colorful signage, abundant alcohol, food, raucous singing and the obsequious worship of a petite redhead wearing black patent leather. A traditional bonfire is required for proper celebration, and the first day of the festival is started with “The Chopping Of The Wood” followed by “The Drinking Of The Dry Dirty Martini.” Margaritas – frozen, of course – can be substituted for the Martini, however the two tasks must be done outdoors in sub-freezing temperatures, while wearing shorts and a hoodie. Overt and constant adulation of the redhead is a must. On the second night of the festival, the real fun begins.

Now, I could certainly leave it at that. After all, now you know what Luetsencurbenpuken is. However, I’m sure you wonder just exactly how this particular holiday came to be in the first place. Well… Let me tell you a story.

A BRIEF HISTORY OF LUETSENCURBENPUKEN

Believe it or not, Luetsencurbenpuken is not a new holiday. It has been around almost since the dawn of time. But, it wasn’t always called Luetsencurbenpuken. To understand its roots we have to go back a bit in history. We won’t go all the way back to the dawn of time though. We’ll just flip the calendar pages a few hundred years into the past.

Ritual Mock Beheading Of The "Pie Man" - Traditional Luetsencurbenpuken Party Game

During the time of the Roman Empire when a bunch of toga wearing, $5 pizza making, nutjobs were fornicating, stabbing each other, and farting in public bathtubs, they also celebrated a holiday around the Winter Solstice that they called Saturnalia. Historians have speculated that this was due to a script that was found for a popular serial play of the age called, “Lost in Carpathia,” in which a family, along with a guide and a demented former Senator went forth in a huge chariot dubbed Saturn II, ostensibly to visit with the Carpathians. However, due to a scroll malfunction – caused by the former Senator – they became hopelessly lost and wandered about in a futile attempt to return to the aqueducts. The plot of this serial play may seem familiar to those of you who recall the hit 60’s television show, Lost in Space. In order to get around the Aristotle Plagiarism act of 723, they renamed the spaceship Jupiter II but pretty much used the same scripts, although slightly updated. But… This really isn’t  about the Romans and a date that I pulled out of my arse.  In reality, this is about the Mumbling Drelts.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Mumbling Drelts, they are an ancient people who came into existences after some wayward Mummers interbred with some wayward Druids. These “Mummids,” as they were known, traveled a short distance to sack a village of Celts, whereupon they had their way with the women. The women, being smarter, poisoned them, beheaded their carcasses, and put their heads on poles, whereupon they danced around them into the night, attempting to yodel. This is where the legend of the Banned She, (later to become Banshee) is thought to have originated.

Afterward, with not much of a village left and no visible means of support, they lived their lives out as a band of wandering burlesque performers, picking up jobs as paid assassins on the side. However, as there was no reliable birth control back then, several of them had become pregnant via the unfortunate “way having.” These women gave birth to a whole new raft of folks. They, in turn, interbred and became the Mumbling Drelts.

The reason you don’t hear much about them is that they died out over a period of 200 or so years due to the fact that they would repeatedly beat themselves over the head with rocks for no apparent reason. (Of NOTE – as you will discover later – renowned sexual anthropologist Dokter Brunhilda has published a paper which may support the theory that the self-flagellation with rocks was a misguided form of masturbation, as there is already solid evidence that such activities did, in fact, occur as a foreplay-esque prelude to copulation. See article – International Journal of Anthropological Kinkiness, Issue 69, May, 2007.)

But on with the story.

You see, while the Romans were fornicating at Saturnalia, the Mumbling Drelts were celebrating the Solstice holiday in their own fashion. Throughout the year they would gather berries and grains, which they would then turn into a mash, ferment, and then bottle. They would also distill a portion. The resultant highly alcoholic concoctions were then imbibed at the Winter Solstice  Office Party, which usually happened on the weekend nearest the Solstice proper, since everyone needed to be off work for a couple of days in order to enjoy the festivities.

And this is how the holiday of Luetsencurbenpuken was first known by the name, DRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLL!

You see, DRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLL! was the drunken cry they would make at the moment the first of them became so inebriated that he, or she as the case may be, began to, well, drool. Why? Because they were drunk and drooling. And, since the Mumbling Drelts had no written language, this tradition was handed down orally. But, this is a family blog so we won’t get into that.

At any rate, once they died out, it seemed that the holiday of DRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLL! was gone forever…

Except (saw that coming, right?)…

A Rare Snapshot Of The Luetsencurbenpuken Queen - AKA She Of Red Hair And Patent Leather

Except that a nomadic camel dealer by the name of Mortimer “Mort” Farhquar had come upon one of these celebrations in his travels and been invited to join the Mumbling Drelts for some boozin’ and droolin’. Mort liked the tradition so much that he passed it along to his kin, except that because of the verbal language barrier and a slight hearing problem he had picked up during a freak camel spitting incident, he interpreted DROOOOOLLLLL! as “Yoooollllll!”

Hence, the holiday of Yoooollllll was created. As years wore on and language evolved, this was shortened to Yule, and became the preferred winter holiday of folks around the world.

Now, you’d think the story would end there, but if it did it wouldn’t make much sense, would it?

Fast forward back to the here and now. Well, the here and then, actually. I met the redhead (see blog entries about courtship, marriage, etc for background) and one of the things we would do each year is have ourselves a “Christmas Open House” sort of party. Well, as things would go, we ended up competing with other friends who were having the same, and didn’t want to end up REALLY competing, if you get my drift. Therefore, we moved our Christmas Open House back a bit, and turned it into a Yule celebration for close friends who were able to embrace the idea of dredging up the holiday of the Ancient Mumbling Drelts.

Of course, being modern folk and all, we live in a suburban area. Therefore we endeavored to keep things on an even keel so that no police would be called on us for yelling DRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLL! at all hours of the night and early morning.

That is, until we met Missus Loota-Chack… AKA Anastasia Luettes.

As it turns out, a DNA test revealed that Anastasia is actually descended from the Ancient Mumbling Drelts themselves. It seems that they did not all die out. In fact, one couple, Frodis and ShaNayNay Bushplucker, experienced an epiphany during intercourse and ceased to beat one another over the head with large rocks as a form of foreplay. And, it is from this “Adam and Eve” pair, if you will, of Mumbling Drelts that the lineage continued.

However, Missus Loota-Chack married up to a wonderful German guy, who likes food, and worships the Patent Leather Redhead with reckless abandon, doing any and all chores she demands, even before she demands them. So much so, in fact, that he tends to make me look bad at times. Fortunately, I am busy with other tasks prescribed by her evilness, and therefore I don’t get kicked to the curb.

And speaking of the curb…

Traditional Luetsencurbenpuken Signage

Several years back, Missus Anastasia and Mike “Yes Mistress Kat, May I Please Have Another” Loota-Chack were at our annual Yule celebration, just as they had been in the past. However, this particular year, Anastasia had been spending an enormous amount of time researching her rediscovered roots. That, and having odd, lurid fantasies about redheads, jumper cables, and low amperage battery chargers, but that’s another part of the story we won’t get into here. She claims that because of this research – although our theory is that it had more to do with the fantasies – she neglected to eat during the morning of the first day of the holiday. Fact is, she neglected to eat at all that day. Not just the morning.

However, in order to continue fueling the redhead and jumper cable thing going on in her head, she began drinking at around 3AM. The day before. Heavily. Therefore, by the time she arrived at Casa de la pelirroja, she was schnockered. I mean gone. She didn’t have three sheets to the wind, she had one sheet and she was tangled in it.

Then she ate.

Then she drank some more.

Then she stripped naked and danced on the dining room table while singing in a blend of French, Irish Gaelic, Swahili, and some dead Slavic dialect nobody else knows. All we were really able to understand was the chorus which went something on the order of, “Spank me, Oh Spank Me, You Fool, You Fool…”

Of course, none of us spanked her. Dollar bills were tossed on the table, however, while our friend Johnny “The Bologna Man” Seitz continued to eat his dinner while occasionally shouting, “GoDdAmM Luettes!”

Several minutes into the naked can-can, Anastasia suddenly stopped. Looked at all of us with her eyes bugging out of her head, then screamed at the top of her lungs, DRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLL! Achtung! Cac capaill! FEK FEK FEK!

Which, of course, is the holiday cheer of the ancient Mumbling Drelts, followed by something in German, Irish Gaelic, and Colloquial Irish Slang that loosely translates to: Attention! Horse Sh*t! F#CK, F#CK, F#CK!

Upon bellowing she ran naked out the front door and into the streets – icy, snowy, cold streets, mind you – and screamed DRROOOOOOOOLLLLLLL! repeatedly as she zipped around the neighborhood, with an embarrassed Mike following after her. The rest of us were highly amused by the sight once we got over our initial shock.

On her eleventyish pass down our street, she came to a sudden halt, much like the roadrunner in those cartoons. She was across the street, next to our neighbor’s house, and she suddenly pitched over and ralphed the contents of the pre-dinner appetizers and 36 hours of drinking onto the curb – as well as a portion of his yard. Of note, grass will still not grow there to this day.

After that it was all over but the crying.

Much like grandma being “runned over” by a reindeer (or molested at the airport by the TSA, as the case may be) we’ve never been able to forget the events of that night. Therefore in honor of it, we renamed the annual Yule celebration to Luetsencurbenpuken (kinda makes a little sense now, doesn’t it?) and decorate accordingly.

And there you have it. From my fingers to your brainpan. Thing is, I was here and had to witness it firsthand, so don’t complain. I had it way worse than you.

Hopefully, I’ll have some pics from Luetsencurbenpuken 2010 to post in the next blog. Provided Anastasia leaves her clothes on this year…

Also of note, Luetsencurbenpuken is immediately followed by, and sometimes will literally encompass on one of the three days, the high holiday of Luetsengottenolderen.

But that’s another story…

More to come…

Murv

…how to walk in high heels. Trust me, she knows… But, I suppose I should back that up with an explanation.

Now, I have to begin with the fact that we are not talking about E K here. This is not to say that she doesn’t have the aforementioned talent, because she does, in spades. However, in this particular instance I am waxing poetic (as you will see) about another young lady.

As you all well know, I travel a fair bit for book tours and the like – that much is a given. And, during my travels I see things. Sometimes they are frightening, sometimes they are strange, sometimes they are interesting, and sometimes I have no clue what the hell I am witnessing.

And then, there’s Leg Girl.

The Legend Of Leg Girl began several years ago on a weekend trip to Nashville, Tennessee to do a book signing and seminar. My dear friend and fellow author, Tish Owen, also owns a bookstore called Goddess And The Moon. I’ve done several signings there, and I always have a blast hanging out with her, her clientele, her husband Patrick who is my cigar smoking and booze drinking buddy, and all of my other friends there in “music city”.

Well, as the true story goes, one Saturday night after spending the day presenting a workshop on writing, and then signing a mess of books in one of the meeting rooms at the shopping mall across from where Goddess and the Moon was then located – it has since moved – we were going back to the store for a bit of a soiree. Wine, beer, booze, cheese, crackers, munchies, etc. You know the drill. Folks were going to come by, visit, have books signed, get a photo op or two, and all that jazz. Typical book store event sort of stuff. A great chance to just chill out and relax.

Unfortunately, the day had been so hectic for poor Tish and her staff that she had not yet had the opportunity to go pick up the aforementioned noshing items and beverages. Since I had nothing to do between finishing the seminar and the start of the soiree, I volunteered to ride along with Tish and help with the toting, lifting and other such stuff at the grocery store. And so, off we went…

No more had we pulled into the parking lot and begun our search for a space than out in front of us steps “Leg Girl”… All of mid twenties, great hair, hourglass figure, and most prominently on display a set of legs that a Rockette would sell her soul to have. And, I do mean prominently on display, for you see, this entire package was wrapped in nothing more than a sheer blouse, blazer, flared miniskirt – and I do mean MINIskirt – and patent leather stiletto heeled pumps. This was despite the fact that we were at the end of November and the temperature was in the mid forties or thereabouts.

And no, she was NOT a figment of my hormone driven imagination. Tish saw her too. In fact, Tish saw her so well that she was infuriated…

Allow me to explain. You see, Leg Girl literally stepped right out in front of us and began to slowly saunter up the middle of the aisle in the parking lot. Not to the left, not to the right. She was smack dab in the middle of the lane and Tish was unable to get around her. And saunter Leg Girl did. Slowly, deliberately, and swaying with a rhythm that would bring any red-blooded heterosexual male to his knees.

Well, suffice it to say, I had no room on the floorboards in order to get on my knees, not that I didn’t try. Still, even though I was unable to assume the appropriate position of Goddess Worship, I was mesmerized. Tish, however, was most assuredly not. Somehow, and I don’t know how, through my hypnotic stupor I was able to recognize this fact and managed to persuade Tish not to run over Leg Girl – trust me, that took some doing because that was exactly what Tish was intending to do.

Ever since that day, Leg Girl has been a running joke between Tish and me. Every time she books me for a gig at the store, or at PUF, she asks if there is anything special I need, and I always reply, “I need Leg Girl to be my handler for the weekend.” (“Handler” as in liaison / gopher / assistant… Let’s keep it clean here folks…)

Fortunately for me, though always promised by Tish – followed by a healthy chuckle, of course – Leg Girl has never materialized for said duties. Not that I would complain, however E K probably wouldn’t be particularly excited by it. In fact, I’m not really sure which one of us she would kill first…

But anyway, the Legend Of Leg Girl kind of… well… ummm… the legend has legs so to speak – no pun intended. Really. Seriously… But, pun or no, the events of that evening actually inspired a lyrical parody, written by yours truly.

Maybe someday, if we happen to have someone on site who knows all the chords to the original song, I’ll get drunk enough to perform this ditty at PUF…

Leg Girl

(To the tune of Two Hangmen by Mason Proffit)

As I rolled into Nashville with my friend her name is Tish

I saw what I’ll relate to you and it was quite a pretty dish

It seems there was this woman, who had this pair of gams

They went all the way up to her neck, and that’s
where it began

The woman’s name was Leg Girl, the best that I could see

She like to show her legs off, and that’s okay with me

I guess she saw me coming, and donned that mini skirt

And stockings and stiletto heels just so she could
flirt

She walked across the parking lot, right down the center aisle

She swayed and sauntered like a dream, it really made me smile

She stopped a moment in our way and then she tossed her hair

The wind picked up and her miniskirt billowed with
much flair

The driver’s name was Tish Owen, she said this bitch is slow

I’m gonna run her over now if she doesn’t start to go

I said to Tish please don’t do that, I really like this sight

She went to all this trouble so just let her make my night.

The wind continued blowing and gave Leg Girl a goose

She moved a little faster now, but still shook her caboose

Tish was laughing hard at me, as I began to drool

Leg Girl was such an awesome treat that made me
act the fool

Tish finally found a parking space and pulled in with a squeal

Leg Girl was going into the store on teetering high heels

We followed along behind her, and then she disappeared

But I saw her again as we checked out, with a case
or two of beeeeeeeeeeeeeer…

(Chorus)

And she’s my Leggggg Girrrrrllll, there in Tennessee, and that don’t bother me, at all-all-allllll…

And she’s my Leggggg Girrrrrllll, there in Tennessee, and that don’t bother me, at all-all-allllll…

(Repeat Whole Bunches Of Times)

One more time!

And she’s my Leggggg Girrrrrllll, there in Tennessee, and that don’t bother me, at all-all-allllll…

And she’s my Leggggg Girrrrrllll, there in Tennessee, and that don’t bother me, at all-all-allllll…

More to come…

Murv