A long time ago... well, maybe not so long ago... or maybe quite recently... at least some time ago. What I'm about to describe here actually happened. Well, maybe with a slight twist of some elements... And it all probably happened far from where you're reading this. This story comes straight from an Alpine cow! Hmm... no, that's not it... ahh... This story comes straight from the distant lands of the rising moon, where books are written in hieroglyphics... Actually, that's interesting. "moon, man, zigzag, shoe, and egg" would probably be the title... But to make it easier for readers of average intelligence, I decided to translate this text into languages understandable to humans. I had to go through a lot to achieve this... I studied languages: Egyptian, drawing, unknown, German, and generally strange languages. Initially, I wanted to write this story in English, but I think he'll be out of the question too, because how can anyone imagine words like "konstantynopolotańczykowianeczka" or "imagineskopia" in English? Don't even try, or rather, what the heck, try if you have to... anyway, I won't reimburse you for the costs of treating a broken tongue.
It all started when a young, stocky, blonde boy, Hasim (Hasim Misah*), turned 15, and decided to become a man, or rather, to grow up. Eventually, he grew tired of bottle-fed food (and porridge, which was cheaper than borscht – I recommend it!), and his constant sucking on a pacifier in class became irritating... for the teachers. Poor Hasim's parents, Robbert and Heelen, also had to take care of his little brother. Actually, it was just a wig made of his hair, because the unruly child accidentally fell into the boiling soup. Don't even imagine the nanny's face as she holds her child and makes soup and turns around when she hears, "Stop! This is the police! Let go of this child." So Hasim was just turning 15 Aegean years, 7.5133114(1) Pygmy years, and 12 harvest years. It's worth noting that in a village like "Bakubaka," time is marked by harvest, so we consider Hasim to be a 12-year-old boy from now on. Seen from a distance, he could resemble the liver of an alcoholic deer—if he wanted to, of course.
Hasim picked up 12 dirty stones lying on the ground, shaking off the zówan (natural fertilizer that stinks from behind. This is not the opposite of stench—odor, but at most a curve in its parabola). Mom picked up a strange-looking box with several cranks. She turned one three times.
"Now don't move!"
Hasim had no choice. The reality-capturing device worked quite well, like something small compared to something quite small. It had only one flaw: anyone who moved while the reality-traction rays were being exposed would be torn apart by an invisible tentacle of space. Heelen quickly turned a second, slightly smaller crank and, saying "super," pressed a huge button located above the lens. And something flashed. It was a small bolt of lightning trapped in a glass container.
"I think it worked.
" "I think so," the young man replied. After all, he had no intention of remaining in the same position for another 20 minutes...
"Come and have some cake, the guests have already arrived."
Hasim, like any boy his age, has a large family—even a huge one. 12 sisters, 17 brothers, 29 aunts, 32 uncles, 152 nephews, and over 182 other relatives. In the land of TamIT, everyone's used to it, so when the 11th birthday rolls around, invitations are sent out for the next one—because it's not easy to write so many invitations, and of course, bring such a large family... there must be something to it. But why did so few people come this year? Mom, Dad*, one (literally: one) brother, one (former Siamese) sister, an uncle in an urn, and, of course, little Taigu. Taigu came from a wealthy, urban family, which impressed Hasim. Anyone his age would want to live in the city! After all, there are theaters, brick houses, and other interesting places. Of course, Hasim was the kind of person who knows that things are better in the city, even though he's never been there. The poor guy doesn't even expect that city dwellers would willingly move from this hellhole, stinking of ten people crammed into one square meter.
"I'm coming!"
Our young birthday boy hurried to his straw house.
"Do you have a roll with jam?" asked Mom.
"I don't.
" "And a roll with jam, without jam?
" "Not either.
" "A stale roll at least? A Kaiser roll?
" "NO!
" "How do you address your mother?
" "I'm sorry, Mom. "
Mom, her face painted with bitterness in watercolor, turned away and headed for the stone kitchen. Hasim entered the living room, passing the open bathroom door—which Dad, as usual, hadn't closed. He looked at something dangling majestically from the ceiling.
"Momoooo! Dad's trying to hang himself again!
" "Damn it, what this time?
" "With a shoelace...
" "Oh, maybe he'll finally succeed.
Futile regrets, futile effort..."
Something thumped loudly on the table, an incredibly empty sound. It was the quintessence of emptiness. Dad dusted himself off and cursed loudly.
Grandma entered the room, seemingly green with anger. The stench was unbearable.
"MOM!!! Grandma's out again!
" "So what are you yelling about? Go to the shed and get a shovel and bury it back in the garden."
Life is hard for a young man condemned to live in the land of TamIT. This mysterious place is influenced by the cosmic relationship between the stars and the seasons, otherwise known as manic madness with a touch of absurdity. Hasim rowed energetically with his shovel... When Grandma finally stopped moving underground, Hasim decided to return home.
Entering the living room, he saw a burning mush on the table. His mother wasn't much of a cook—but she was great at lighting candles!
"Should I eat this?" he asked.
"Not mine, you can just blow out the candles."
Everyone knew you shouldn't make a wish when making a wish, because it might come true! And then what? You'd have to make a new one for your next birthday. The cat with the lame eye meowed loudly. Pfrhfff* All 7,5133,114(1) candles went out simultaneously. Hasim, head bowed, turned to his father.
"What? I couldn't resist!
" "But it's my birthday!
" "Exactly! I've never had one like this before! I'm going to drown!
" "Only this time, tie a rock around your neck—so you don't float back up too quickly."
His retreating father said something else under his breath, but it seemed only his own lice heard him. Hasim's mother burped matter-of-factly toward the cake. And the candles were burning again. Dad had left, now you can blow out the candles in peace. Hasim, finally happy that he could perform the ritual, blew with all his might. Everyone began applauding. Mom wiped the remnants of the paste that had previously been called cake from the tip of her nose. Someone knocked on the door.
It's worth mentioning now that in the TamIT Valley, there's no custom of giving birthday presents to those celebrating their birthday. Here, in most cases, you get a kicking, and you have to earn it! Poor Hasim didn't even deserve that.
"Hasim, I'm calling you!" his mother broke the silence.
"Yes, I'm listening?" the boy said.
"Assahisuma kiriki, kamuna zdrowie!
" "What do you wish me?
" "Drrrrrr... I have an obligation to inform you that the call is being made collect."
"Assahiti, kunama! Allah!!!"
Hasim slammed down the phone, startled by the sudden sound of the explosion. He decided to watch something on TV. He flicked through the channels, then noticed the power was out.
"EAT!!!" the household heard. "I'M NOT DOING ANYTHING AGAIN!"
"Shut up!" his mother shouted. "I'll bring you something soon, but in the meantime: keep pedaling!"
The electricity returned to the house. Hasim, devastated, went to sleep on his comfortable camp bed... he probably doesn't know yet that his friend had pulled a number on him and put pins in his pillowcase...
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