Magnus Finally Gets His Hamburger

Magnus, despite his nice private bath, was still worried. What if those ladies are fixing to drink my blood after all. What if my hamburger’s not ready? What if that pig has deserted me? What if that pig really is just a sissy? What happens when I turn up at the sacrificial mall with a big, sissy pig? Woe is me. I am undone once those Druids get a hold of me. These were the questions Magnus fretted over as he made his way back to the dining and gaming area of the WG Bar and Grill.

Still fretting, Magnus arrived at the dining and gaming area. The pig, Magnus noted, was neck deep in the stale beer trough, slurping it in. Great! That pig shall be too inebriated to piggy back ride me back to the sacrificial mall. Look at him. Great! Now he’s actually climbing into the trough. Mercy! He has laid down in the trough, full length. There he lies, slurping away.

Twrch Twryth, arise from that trough, yer liable to drown! advised Magnus.

Nay Magnus. The level of the beer is below my snout so I shall not drown. Yet I am weary and unsteady on my trotters. So it is better to drink this way, so that I shall not topple over from weariness or unsteadiness.

Right! Now you shall get another bath, too. Say. Where’s my hamburger? Where’s my Jumbo RC?

Over here Magnus.

Mercy! The old lady was hollering at Magnus.

Come over here, Magnus. Your hamburger shall be up in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. It shall beat you to the table if you don’t hurry.

Magnus hurried on over.

Have a seat Magnus.

Yes Maam.

Magnus sat down.

All righty. Here come Arianrhod and Blodeuwedd with your grub. Just in the nick of time.

I reckon. Say. Where’s the Tabasco? I generally get a little Tabasco on my hamburger. What’s your name by the way? Are you kin to these other ladies? Look there. That is a delicious looking hamburger. Look here. French fried potatoes and grits. I may eat those grits up first. Mmmmmmm. Where’s the Tabasco?

Arianrhod had to go fetch some Tabasco for Magnus from behind the counter. In the meantime, the old lady set about answering Magnus’s other twain queries.

Magnus, my name is Cerridwen. Arianrhod, that is fetching the Tabasco, is my daughter. Blodeuwedd, here, is my grand daughter. I am the proprietress of this establishment. Together, we three, make up what is known as the Triplet Goddess.

Mmmmm. Do I get refills on the grits? Mmmmmm. RC. There’s nothing like a delicious RC when a boy needs to wash down some grits. These grits are delicious. Just like I like them. Not the least bit runny with plenty of salt and pepper. So after I am full of grits is when you all are fixing to suck my blood out. Right? Actually, I would prefer to have some of my hamburger first. That may be the biggest hamburger I have ever espied. Mmmmm. It shall take me a while to finish off this hamburger. By then yall may have forgotten that you were fixing to suck my blood. Mmmmm.

Magnus surmised, having heard of situations similar to the one he now found himself in, that any eventuality might be delayed by a last meal. Then, once the delay lasted a good while, a fortuitous distraction; eclipse, earthquake or such, would allow the recipient of that last meal to escape fate, entirely unscathed.

Magnus. We are not fixing to suck your blood.

It’s the bloodshot eyes, pallid skin, and hocus pocus that spooked him Granny. He’s just a baby.

No I aint! I am six years or more out of the gunny sack. I aint no baby. Can I have some pie for desert?

Yes Magnus. You can have pie. What kind of pie would you like?

What kind you got?

Well, we have chocolate pie, custard pie, lemon pie, pecan pie, pumpkin pie, rhubarb pie, strawberry pie, peach pie, apple pie, coconut creme pie, mincemeat pie, blueberry pie, apricot pie, cherry pie, buttermilk pie, peanut butter pie, shoo fly pie, sweet potato pie, raisin pie and moon pie.

Is the moon pie, home made?

See Granny. He’s a baby. He doesn’t know anything.

No I aint. I just don’t know where moon pies come from. Reckon I could get some more RC?

Blodeuwedd. Go get Magnus some more RC.

Yes Granny.

OK Magnus. We are not blood suckers. All that is illusion. We just put on the blood sucker guise for the poets. The poets expect us to look like blood suckers.

They do? Why?

As compliment to their self torture. They must torture themselves to get the best out of their art.

That makes sense. Mmmmmm. Here’s my RC refill. So how do yall appear, normally?

Anyway we want to appear. Fact is, we are all fixing to put on our normal appearances for the paying customers. And you, Magnus, shall have to earn your keep. You Magnus, shall bus tables this night at the WG Bar and Grill.

Yeah but, where do moon pies come from?