Page Five Ghouls - December 16th, 2017



Due to a catastrophic error in the calibration of the narrative pacing, SEG is forced to present an archival holiday edition of Page Five Ghoul from the controversial, never published, secret ‘first issue’ of SEG, which would have went live on Dec 24th, 2016. However, the launch was delayed two weeks following the eleventh hour ouster of Chip Globus, original EIC of SEG.

Jólakötturinn

Fuckin’ dude is making me work on Christmas Eve. Technically, I had all week to write this shit, but Gary Llewellyn doesn’t start work until a few hours before the deadline and the deadline is on Christmas Eve. Ergo, I have to work on Christmas Eve.



I see those holes in your drawers

Speaking of Christmas, it’s the time of year when our thoughts turn to the children. Particularly what kind of batshit crazy lies we can tell them to make them behave. When they’re young and dumb as a bricks, you start with a wondrous, magical reward system. ‘Don’t start shit and you’ll get good shit’ or as we dress it up here in the corpulent west, Santa Claus. As children get older, hopefully, they start to smart up a bit.  And when they smart up, the Santa schtick loses its effectiveness. You have to escalate to ‘Don’t start shit and there won’t be no shit.’ Enter Krampus, Hans Trapp, Gryla etc. Now at this point, if you’re a real dick, you turn up the knob to ‘You better do this shit, or there will be some shit.’ That’s where this week’s monster comes in: Jólakötturinn, The Yule Cat.

As the unpronounceable name implies, this festive beast is a cat and Christmas themed. This cat rolls around Iceland, on Yule, and just fucking eats anybody, particularly kids, who didn’t get new clothes for Christmas. So, you’re too poor to buy clothes? Guess what, Fancy Feast? That’s right. You’re cat food, not even fit for a horse. The idea was that people would receive new clothes as a reward for finishing their work, so anybody who didn’t have new clothes must not have gotten their work done and is therefore a lazy ass stoner. At some point, the promise of new clothing must have lost its attraction, because soon enough a man-sized flesh-crazed cat was tacked on the end. Somewhere in the evolution of this tale, the choice went from new kicks/same old beat ass jawns to new kicks/get eaten by a cat, beat ass jawns first. It’s not just a threat of death, either, it’s a threat of a slow, agonizing cat death.

Best of all, Christmas Cat, like all cats, gives absolutely nothing in return. It’s completely up to the people around you to ensure you don’t become a screaming squeak toy. That and your ability to complete menial tasks in an allotted amount of time.

Comments