Jirik the super hero

Sinisterpenguin and The Novak collective decided to set once and for all the limits of freakness by enchanting you with fragments from the Unspoken Legend.
(also known as TLAWNS- thelegendaboutwhomnobodyspeaks).

Sinisterpenguin started the fearless mission:

The great ginger god in the sky is an ironic fellow. Which is why the debilitating semi-dictatorship which held Poland in a tight grip, and the super-hero who was sent to help the Polak race both came from the same concept…

Well, not really so much as a concept but a more like a non-concept. Jirik (Saviour of the Polak Race), also came into being via immaculate conception. The second virgin birth happened on the banks of the Vistula, but Jirik’s father unimpressed by the immaculate nature of the conception had long since scarpered by the time of his birth and his mother did a runner with three bearded men immediately afterwards. Consequently Jirik (Saviour of the Polak Race) never knew when he was born or how old he was.

This didn’t prove to be a major problem for Jirik in his early years. He soon learnt to kill wild street rats with his prominent front teeth and survived happily with his fresh rats three times a day and the beautifully red coloured water which poured out from the local American missile base. One day, when chasing after rats, he accidentally wedged one of his paws through the fence in the missile base.

“What the hell y’think y’doing y’freak?” Screamed a big bearded solider, “Well, you see, the thing is,” replied Jirik. But it was too late and his arm was blown off by the American’s gun. The ambulance driven by nuns was the first to turn up. They had originally been extremely nice to Jirik: they tended to his blown off arm, cauterised the wound, nursed him back to health, fed him, watered him and even read him bed time Plotkis to help him sleep. Then, after he’d been in the nuns care for about 3 weeks they started talking about how he should be in school. Jirik was unsure about a life which didn’t consist of running round catching rats with his big front teeth. Understandably. It was a good life.

“But what school shall we send him to? I can’t tell how old he is.” said nun number 1 to nun number 2.
“I guess he’s about, erm, well… its really hard to tell with those teeth” replied nun number 2 to nun number 1.
“How old are you Jirik?” asked nun number 3, who had been carefully listening into the conversation between nun number 1 and 2.
“Well you see, the thing is…” started Jirik.
“He doesn’t know!” exclaimed the nuns (1,2 and 3).
“Well what year were you born?” asked nun number 2.
“Well you see the thing is…. What year is it now?” asked Jirik.
“2037.” Number 1.
“Erm well, I guess about 34 years old then.” replied Jirik.

But the problem was he didn’t really know. And they didn’t believe him anyway. Was he really 31 or was he really of school age in the Greater Polak Republic? If he was that age, then his boyish good looks had betrayed him. Kicking and screaming Jirik was bundled off to school.

At this point Sinisterpenguin choked because of a dizy mousquito (was it a mousquito or was it the destiny of those who dare to  spak about TLAWNS ???) so that the Novak started to whisper in her palm :

He travelled and travelled tagadam-tagadam tagadam-tagadam tagadam- tagadam tagadam- tagadam  tagadam-tagadam tagadam tagafiuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 1

When the train was accidentally stopped in the middle of nowhere by a bunch of suicidal cows, Jirik thought it would be a good time to revenge his lonely nights of rat-tail-chewing. His daydream mixed up with coil smoke and Carpathian cow odour turned years after into a philogastrical video-poem that sent Marylin Manson to “summer school” in Switzerland (where he still plans his ultimate come back). For the moment Jirik fell asleep so profoundly that his Beach Boys-like snore got repeatedly the train off the rails until it was eventually launched forth on a dangerous mission. This one remained a total mistery to our Jirik who went on sleeping on that rumunskalian field until an unknown force begun to shake him even worse than his mothers secret kolbasz-polka…

1 yes this was the sound of his train to Rumunskalia


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