Sunday the 2^nd of September 1002

This month has begun on an ill note. I discovered the servant boys devouring the south wall of beef stew. Further aggravating this inadvertent assault on our defenses was the fact that they were using bits stolen from the Fortress of Bread for dipping. Baron Yeast has already dispatched a stern message to me promising war should any further malfeasance be inflicted upon his holdings. I can only hope that things die down, in the mean time, I have harshly chastised the boys and sent them to clean the dungeons of seafood bisque.
 

[if !supportEmptyParas] [endif]Monday the 3^rd of September 1002

Baron Yeast seems to have ignored all decency and begun a war against us. I should have expected this; the leavened bastard has always wished to destroy my Soup Castle and me. I did not expect attack so soon. Thus far he has only attacked our French Onion and Italian Wedding Soup outposts. The coward has not attacked Soup castle directly, but instead assaulted our ally Viscount Yolk. The Baron won an easy victory, disproving the widely held belief that the walls of Cheesecake Hold were impenetrable. It is imperative that I seek allies, thus I have sent emissaries to the Tower of Fish and the Fastness at Porkridge. I have even issued forth a messenger to that crumbling hulk called Castle Baklava, but I have little hope for a response from Duke Soulvaki.
 

[if !supportEmptyParas] [endif]Tuesday the 4th of September 1002.

My scouts tell me that the Onion Citadel has joined with that wretch Lord Yeast. Worse yet, he courts the aid of Chop-Suey Keep and the great hordes that it commands. My only hope now is that the allies I seek join me; else all this land shall fall under the banner of Bread. For the first time since I learned how to bleach properly I wonder if it was wise to ascend the Clam Chowder throne.
 

Wednesday the 5^th of September 1002

I am wet.
 

[if !supportEmptyParas] [endif][if !supportEmptyParas] [endif]Thursday the 6^th of September 1002

Glorious news, both Earl Carp and Count Cholesterol have rallied to my banner. With Fish and Pork aiding us, perhaps there is hope. I’ve not heard from Duke Soulvaki, but I have not abandoned the fanciful idea that he will rally to the cause. So gay is my mood at present that I have ordered a modest festival to make firm the pecker of my men.
 

[if !supportEmptyParas] [endif]Friday the 7^th of September 1002

I’ve word that Yeast’s men are sluggishly marching this way. Yeast himself is taken with gangrene. This should slow his armies; needless to say I have high hopes for Yeast’s Infection. Further good fortune came in the form of Duke Soulvaki’s support. He has promised me enough pikemen to sustain our troops on Shish Kabob for the whole campaign. Bread and Onions, even if they are able to enlist the aid of Chop Suey will be no match for the fullness of Soup, Fish, Pork, and Baklava.
 

Sunday the 2^nd of March 1003

Smirnoff’s treachery goes deeper than merely sending bad borscht instead of vodka. He is in collusion with Prince Tropicana of Flawrida whom, I have recently learned, plans to take advantage of the weakening of the major powers to seize control of many outlying territories. With Smirnoff’s aid he may well be able to take much of our land, Curiously, Smirnoff is no popular amongst his countrymen and maintains control only by keeping all the other major Dozvedanyan nobles thoroughly ferschnickered. My Uncle Judenberg, ambassador of the old country has informed me that he may have a way to assassinate Smirnoff and sober up the nobles. This would be a great help indeed, and I could a drink get maybe?
 

Monday the 3^rd of March 1003

An envoy from Prince Tropicana arrived today, presumably with the intention of negotiating a territorial agreement. Nothing came of this, however, because when I informed him that I would unflinchingly refuse all demands for cessation, he squirted a lemon in my eyes and promptly left in a huff, complaining about how cold it was. My Uncle Judenberg’s efforts, at least, have born some fruit that will not be squirted in my eye. He has indeed procured for me the services of the greatest and most terrible assassin of our times: Jerry, eater of souls.
 

Wednesday the 5^th of March 1003

My long estranged wife bore a son today. I have named him Fortinbras and I have had his nose pierced so he can get all of that teenage rebellion stuff out of him during infancy. No infections have happened, but pussing does sometime occur.
 

[if !supportEmptyParas] [endif]Thursday the 6^th of March 1003

After much negotiation, rape, and brutal murder, Jerry (eater of souls) has gone off to avenge my mistreatment by Tsar Smirnoff. This will send a message so loud and clear that even a raging drunkard could understand it, that message: if you don’t send Lord Broth his booze, he will go to irresponsible lengths to get petty vengeance upon you. In addition to dispatching Jerry (eater of souls) on his mission, I have received word that Raj Fiahnesh will be sending soldiers to help us, amongst them will be a force of armored elephants whose enormity alone inspires the involuntary defecating of men.
 

[if !supportEmptyParas] [endif]Friday the 7^th of March 1003

My intelligence chiefs, Vito and Sal, has today informed me that Raj Fiahnesh has been known to use horrible chemical weapons on the field of battle. The exact nature of these weapons is unknown as accounts of their use are rare. I must now question my alliance with Fiahnesh, I have always found the use of such weapons repugnant and I do not know that I could bear the burden of hypocrisy, but then again, I really hate Bread and Onions. For now I will concern myself with the recent appearance of the mafia in my county and wait until I have scene Fiahnesh’s troops in battle to judge them.
 

I am gravely sorry to the pages of my journal for having neglected them for so long, too has my vanity taken a grievous blow. In the five and a half months that these pages have lain dormant, the war has ground to a stalemate. Indeed the stalemate lies at the heart of these writings, as I am terribly bored I haven’t killed anyone in some time. I have attempted to occupy myself with learning a language, but I proved too flighty to focus on a single one. I also took to baking, but the troops protested my frosting the new barracks even though they are made of gingerbread. In the end I am restless and have gained only the ability to create random strings of words in French, Basque, and Hottentots to confuse people and an overcooked south wall. My troops share, to a lesser degree, my restlessness. The battles, when there are any, are short and silly affairs. We charge a Bread or Onion position, we kill a few and a couple of the men cry, then we get forced back by a bombardment of stale croutons. It is a tiresome cycle and it shows no signs of ending unless something on some side breaks down. Thus far, none of the boons I had so celebrated in the past have yielded results. Duke Soulvaki’s forces have helped keep the line fed and his influence stayed the hand of Chop Suey, but beyond that his flaccid pikes have been little help. Yeast’s infection scarcely slowed his advances and only the distraction of his painfully illicit affair with the Onion Princess kept him from countering Duke Soulvaki’s political maneuvering. Our other allies have been of limited help as well, Earl Carp’s scale-mailed infantry were mostly lost in the ill fated attack on the Fort of Bread Crumbs and Oil and the sheer number of massive heart attacks that they suffer has limited the usefulness of the troops of Count Cholesterol. Some brilliant stroke, either of genius or of Baron Yeast’s brain is necessary to break the stalemate and give me something to do. For now I will occupy myself with my Oboe or Flugelhorn lessons, I haven’t decided which. Maybe I should try the Accordion instead; it would go nicely with the bell choir.
 

Monday the 17^th of February 1003

In the absence of genius I have decided to try politics again. I have sent messengers to Czar Smirnoff of Dozvedanya and Raja Fiahnesh who rules of the Land of Needlessly Spicy foods. It is my hope that these too allies, relatively weak by themselves, can provide sufficient leverage combined to break the Bread and Onion lines and end my great depression. An alliance with them would also allow me to build a new east wall. The current one is made of condensed soup and not very effective.
 

Tuesday the 18^th of February 1003

The largest engagement since Cobbler fields occurred today. A large contingent of Count Cholesterol’s troops met a slightly smaller force from the Fortress of Bread in Mixed Metaphor Pass. The portly armies of Cholesterol fought like demons with the will of heaven behind them, but to no avail. A large force of Sauerkraut mercenaries rushed from south to the aid of Yeast’s army and by the time reinforcements were able to arrive the battle had been lost. With this Porkridge has lost all but its royal retainers and militia. It seems now that winning alliances with Smirnoff and Fiahnesh are even more important than ever. I would at least like to establish trade relations with Smirnoff; importing Dozvedanyan Vodka would certainly ease the burden on…our economy, yes, our economy.
 

Wednesday the 19^th of February 1003

Though it is irrelevant to the war that now preoccupies me, I must note that I saw a leprechaun today. He was a bit strange and his exaggerated Irish accent was annoying, but he was very nice and we had a pleasant conversation about the price of gold and the strength of the Yen, whatever that is.
 

Thursday the 20^th of February 1003

News has been received from Czar Smirnoff. He has declined to become involved in the war, but he has agreed to the trade agreement. The first shipment of Vodka will arrive tomorrow and we will begin sending out our reciprocal shipments of tomato soup very soon. I apologize in advance for the likely poor grammar and nigh illegible handwriting that will almost certainly mar the next entry of this journal. This is strange since I do not know who will be reading this, likely no one. This of course makes me wonder why I even bother. Oh wait, narcissism.
 

Friday the 21^st of February 1003

The wretch Smirnoff sent us nothing but bottles full of pale, low grade Borscht! If I weren’t suffering from withdrawal, this would mean war.
 

[if !supportEmptyParas] [endif][if !supportEmptyParas] [endif]Sunday the 9^th of March 1003

            I am afraid I have become engaged on too may fronts.  Beyond the war with Bread and Onions and the covert conflict with Tsar Smirnoff of Dozvedanya, I now find my kingdom embroiled in a criminal conflict with the seafood mafia.  To my knowledge the have bought three judges, a court advisor, and the Postmaster General.  Again proving it was really very foolish to put government officials on sale in the castle gift shop (I feel sorry for the Secretary of Sanitation, after five discounts and a rebate, people still won’t buy him).  Raj Fiahnesh’s troops report that they have a special technique, which they claim will eliminate the problem quickly.  I actually don’t believe them, but the rather unique spices they bought pleased me to such a bizarre degree that I can’t turn them down.
 

            Fiahnesh’s men will undertake their plan to eliminate the mafia problem tonight.  Today also marked the first major gain against Baron Yeast in a long time.  Some of our newly recruited forces along with the remnants of Count Cholesterol’s recently discharged (from the hospital, not the army, obviously) troops attacked the curiously crude wooden fortifications that Yeast’s men had used to block By Pass and after a fairly lengthy battle and some fondue, we took the pass.  I have sent chef’s with kegs of gruel to construct a more effective fortress and secure our strategic advantage…and get rid of the left over gruel. 
 

            Late in the night, Raj Fiahnesh’s men attacked the seafood mafia’s dock warehouse headquarters with bags full of red powder.  When the dry haze cleared, most of the mafia was dead, having choked on the powder.  What few remained alive have been taken prisoner and are being preserved in salt for the later enjoyment of Jerry (eater of souls).  All of the government officials they purchased have been repossessed and those still in the store have been recalled, except for the Secretary of Sanitation.  He killed himself with a plunger after hearing a young girl ask her mother, “why is that dirty man so cheap?”
 

            While it seems that it should be a highly amusing thing.  If ever developed, Jesus in a can simply wouldn’t be a very funny idea.
 

            Oh rapture!  Oh joy!  The buzz-killing ignoble wretch that dared to call himself Tsar Smirnoff is dead!  Around noon today a courier came running through the west wall and informed us that Jerry (eater of souls) cornered Tsar Smirnoff in his phrontistery, pinned him to the floor, and ate his soul.  The courier then made a long series of coughs, collapsed and died of suffocation.  I don’t know why we were employing an asthmatic courier in the first place.  I think it may have been a cost cutting measure. 
 

            With Smirnoff dead and Fiahnesh’s troops under my command, I feel confident that the stalemate can be broken.  Jerry (eater of souls) also returned today.  I provided him Neuman for his immediate consumption as I had promised, but he declined as he wishes to save Neuman for a special feast later.  For the time being he is satisfied with the survivors of the chemical weapon attack on the mafia.  He found them spicy.
 

Sunday the 17^th of March 1003

            Before launching an effort to freshen the stalemate, I have decided to consult the mighty and wise Rice Pudding in his cozy shack.  Journeying to consult with Rice Pudding is short in distance, but lengthy in troubles.  The small distance of sea that needs to be traversed is guarded by fierce Gnomish pirates.   Getting past them requires a great deal of haggling and trinkets.  Compounding the problem posed by the diminutive buccaneers are strong, irregular winds blowing down from the round bays of Geriatros.  Still, I expect to be at the front gates of the cozy shack not long after the rising of the sun over the Kozbi Mountains. 

Monday the 18^th of March 1003

            I did not quite meet my goal for arrival at the Cozy Shack.  The sun had just risen over the brown peaks of the Kozbi Mountains and we were but a half-mile from the gates when a queer looking bearded fellow with a host of odd-looking warriors intercepted us.  He informed us that he was Obscuron, lord of in-jokes and that he would no let us pass until we had laughed sincerely at one of his jokes.  He also warned us that insincere laughter would result in the execution of one of our party.  Regrettably, we did not initially heed this warning.  He said, “What does one cannibal say to another?”  He then waited for a moment and delivered the punch line, “how do you like your humans, cap or decap?”  We all laughed, quite insincerely, at this.  But he immediately perceived our ploy and had his men poke one of my retainers to death.  We issued some feeble protest, to which he responded with, “seriously?”  I presume from his tone that it was meant to be a humorous reference.  Undaunted, he proceeded to inquire as to whether or not our refrigerator was Prince Albert, invited us to piss on the moon, and informed us that he likes it very much.  Finally, he asked, “What’s a stupid thing to say on the Hebrew version of Wheel of Fortune.”  I smiled at this and Obscuron moved quickly to the punch line, “I’d like to buy a vowel.”  Fortunately I had just recently taught my entourage about the basic concept of the abjad, and we all laughed, if in a rather subdued way.  Obscuron nodded at this and allowed us to pass.  Soon we arrived at the Cozy Shack and prepared to meet with Rice Pudding.  Unfortunately, we have been forced to wait as the mighty and wise Rice Pudding is suffering a headache from eyestrain from spending to much time with his crystal ball.  I do not know how long we may have to wait, but I do not think this will be resolved as promptly as I would like.

Wednesday the 19^th of March 1003

      CHIEF!

MacLeod!

Thursday the 20^th of March 1003

          Today I was at last able to visit the wise and mighty Rice Pudding, however the meeting proved less useful to me than I had hoped.  Rather than addressing my questions about the war, he quickly diverted the focus of things to personal problems.  Apparently I had misinterpreted the phrase, “offers homespun advisement and wisdom to those in need,” in the ancient tome of Laendrs.  In retrospect, advice on waging a ware is seldom homespun.  A great deal of time was wasted on Rice Pudding attempting to help Jerry (eater of souls) cope with the trauma of being sexually abused by a priest.  The idea of Jerry (eater of souls) having a priest is a haunting thought that will plague my dreams for a long while.    

Friday the 21^st of March 1003

          Disappointed, I sail home to wage war anew.  After wasting most of the previous day having the wise and Mighty Rice pudding work through the relationship and personal problems of my entourage, and in the process gaining a sense of each individual’s emotional depth that will make being their lord and master somewhat trying, we quickly returned to the ship.  We set sail immediately at dawn this morning and did not look back.  The only trouble encountered was with the Gnomish Pirates.  We lacked any tchotchkes and trinkets to give them to win our safe passage through their waters.  Only fear/alcohol-induced tenacity and many small rocks won us the day.  It was a harrowing battle and I shall never forget the horrible look in the eyes of their leader, Frankel, when I told him I had no shiny object to give him.