Oh, Great! Expectations

A few days ago, my parents marked their Nth wedding anniversary. (Naturally, I would've been blissfully unaware of it had not my sister The Scarlet Witch The Not-Black-Not-Widow Amora The Enchantress  helpfully texted me a knowing reminder.)

"Brother, thou must send thy salutations to thine creators, 

or suffer the consequences once again."

So yay, you crazy lovebirds, w00t w00t, thank you for making me, and legitimately at that (Nine months including June = February = Piscean Rudeboy).


And speaking of legitimacy...


Interestingly, on this day of all days, my ex-sister-in-law caught me online. And out of nowhere, casually let it slip that my nephew, Baldur the Beautiful (who had spent the past year living it up in his own little tower in my stone castle and whom I never wrote about in this blog until now) had knocked up his girlfriend.


I guess it's only fitting that the foul deed was done in the vile vixen's lair in Norway, where he spent last Christmas (at her expense, how portentous) making eggnog and other things, for this smells like the beginning of Ragnarok.

Just another typical family gathering at the Rude Realm.

My initial reaction - aside from dismay - was the same one my ex-housemate Christiane had when her Presbyterian minister husband toppled over with a heart attack in front of the entire congregation one fine Sunday : namely, "Oh, shit."

My next thought was infanticide coupled with nephew-murder.


How dare this brat threaten me with impending grandfuckingfatherhood?!??!?!?


HOW DARE HE, MIRROR?!?!?!?

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THE MEANING OF THIS SHIT?!?!"

*Inhale*


*Exhale*




There.


Not much better. But a little better.




Honestly, I feel like Queen Ravenna in Snow White and The Huntsman. With the advent of each new generation, I feel my own powers waning. I was once the Fair One, and then my nephew was Fairer Still. And now...now this cell-dividing... thing halfway across the world threatens to be The Even Fairer Than He And Thee.

Damn Norwegians and their...things.

A normal person might respond with joy at the tidings of the creation of new life and the continuation of the species.


I, obviously, am not a normal person.


The circumstances of this new addition to the Royal House of Rude are eerily reminiscent of those attendant to the creation of the new creator: not exactly planned, thus not exactly welcome. And of course, with every nascent incarnation of my bloodline, I become more and more obsolete, like a Geocities site running on Netscape powered by AOL. 


Like any creature worth his survival instinct, any perceived threat to my continuity must be dealt with, immediately, definitively, creatively. This must explain the fairly-recent influx of my young lovers.


By their blood (or other bodily fluids) I am regenerated.

Mmm the milky, milky goodness 
of the milk of human kindness.

Regenerators not quite as potent, though, as the white sticky fluids that course through the tumescent appendages of the male members of my family. The legend of our virility is well-deserved. I swear, all my brother needs do is look at a woman and bam! Bitch be preggers.


And now, his crotchspawn dutifully continues the family tradition. 


Color me surprised.


Hell, had I been straight, I'd probably be leaving genetic copies of myself all over creation as well.


The fact that I don't must argue for the existence of a God.


Or equally, against it.


And speaking of deities, I'm not quite sure how Odin aka My Father alias Angry Ruler of All Asgard is going to take this.


Becoming a GREAT grandfather, I mean.


Maybe he should take a hint from the playbook of Cronos, the Great Grandaddy of All Deities.

Om nom nom nom nom nom!