No. 1
A Tale of Blimps, Squirrels, and Tragedy
A Tale of Blimps, Squirrels, and Tragedy
Monday
I'm beyond devastated to say that I was involved in a tragic blimp accident today. I was on my daily commute, having just left the blimp pad, when my loyal butler and manservant, Mandelbaum, cried out to me that our aft rudder chain had seriously malfunctioned. Despite his and my heroic efforts to salvage the downing vessel, we were unable. Upon impact, Mandelbaum departed this mortal coil with all the honor imaginable, having seconds previously just heaved my unconscious body into a mound of crepe myrtle branches while he single-handedly steered the craft into its deadly resting place. (Why he didn't just jump out into the crepe myrtles as well, I'll never know. I was unconscious from the sudden loss of altitude after all, so part of this story is speculation on my part based on the clues I discovered upon my waking.)
Mandelbaum's death is as sudden and unexpected as his fortuitous appearance into my life just mere months ago. I must admit, after seemingly endless and unproductive interviews with a slew of less than desirable prospects, I was highly surprised when such a diligent, well-qualified, and pleasantly masculine manservant appeared on my doorstep one day. I nearly turned him away, thinking him to be some sort of door-to-door solicitor, but he assured me that he was indeed sent by the Manservants Guild. Despite that original awkward encounter, he's made my life better in countless ways. Now that he is gone, I cannot say what fate has in store for me, having snatched him away with such suddenness and callous indifference that it makes me wish I had never been granted that brief time of adventurous joy with him in the first place.
Somehow, I always knew my life's tale would end in tragedy...
Tragedy like death, probably. I just figured it would have been my death, not Mandelbaum's.
I do know that Mandelbaum's death served some good in this world, for he, by some stroke of luck or divine intervention, was able to down the craft into a nearby forest inhabited by an extremely violent sect of extremist squirrels from the squirrel kingdom of Squercia (aka "The Great Oakdom"). It turns out that over 400 members of the sect were gathering at that very moment in the woods to plan an attack on a harmless old toad farmer's farm. The toad farmer had survived numerous attacks from the clan in the past, often taking the lives of numerous squirrels who were temporarily able to breach his farm's defenses despite the well-trained attack toads perched on toadstools around the perimeter. Thanks to Mandelbaum's downing of the blimp and the fiery inferno that ensued afterwards, which thereby destroyed the evil legion, the toad farmer has assured me that he believes the worst of the squirrel attacks is over. All thanks to Mandelbaum.
Yet unlike the optimistic and celebratory old wart-covered fellow, I am surely in a state of grief, having lost the one person who was so dear to me that not even my wife will be able to console me. There is so much tragedy in the world. While there are thousands of squirrels out there who must be mourning the loss of their 400 brethren, I can tell you that no amount of squirrel grief can compare to my singular human grief over my dear Mandelbaum. May your spirit soar high, higher than a blimp, dear friend, dear destroyer of squirrels.
#ripmandelbaum #hero #blimpmaintenance #dagwoodfamilytoadfarm
#squirreledpeace #neverforget
Tuesday
Curse those scoundrels who have turned my grief into grievance! Yes, I'm referring to the scum of the earth: blimp insurance claim adjusters. Since Mandelbaum's death (only yesterday!) they've done nothing but hound me with irreverence and lies. What's worse than their insensitive timing for callous profiteering is that they're seeking to pin this catastrophe on me, citing use of hydrogen as the cause of the fiery crash, which is absolute hogwash. No one has used hydrogen in a blimp since the Hindenburg disaster and, more recently, the Secret Spanish-American Blimp War of 1993. I do persist that I maintain an impeccable record of avoiding hypercombustible gases to fill my ballonet. While yes, I do admit that there was highly flammable 19th-century absinthe stored in the hold of the blimp - a beverage which Mandelbaum and I often transport for the high-society galas that I am wont to host (and the occasional Wednesday supper) - but doing so is completely legal when traveling via blimp, as we all know. That squeaky-voiced rapscallion from the insurance company who spoke to me on the phone is now my nemesis. I should probably learn his name.
On a separate note, the outpouring of love and support following Mandelbaum's untimely demise has been tremendous. People from all over the globe have offered their condolences. Members from every branch of Mandelbaum's extended family tree have reached out to me, which is quite a feat considering his extensive ethnic diversity. You may recall that Mandelbaum was one-third Bengali, three-tenths South African Zulu-American, one-sixteenth Arapaho Indian, one-eighteenth Shangri-La Tibetan, nine-forty-fourths Malagasy-Javanese, and one-thirty-second Javanese-Malagasy. (Or was it nine-forty-fourths Javanese-Malagasy and one-thirty-second Malagasy-Javanese? I can never remember.) The International Manservants Guild of America and Other Nations (IMGAON) sent a lovely gift to my house in the form of a choir of Mongolian throat singers. I cannot begin to thank everyone who offered a kind word to me in this dark time, and so I won't even try. You know who you are. And so I sit here typing, mourning my hulking Mandelbaum, serenaded by the sweet sounds of throat singing from the front yard and the vehement complaints of my neighbors, just as my dear friend would have wanted it.
#thattuvansound #dearfriend #hydrogenfreesince93
#newnemesis #toolongdidntread
Wednesday
Since Mandelbaum's death, it has been surprising how quickly I find myself going through Poppentarte's seventeen stages of grief. First denial, then anger, and now I'm starting to feel signs of the next stage: villainous impulses. I've begun to take out my anger on my new nemesis from the Scoiattolo & Chestnut Blimp/Dirigible Insurance Company. I found out his name by the way; it's Keith. Never have I heard such a vile sounding name! Keith. Just the taste of his name in my mouth makes me want to gargle molten lava. (Oh great, and now I've moved on to the fourth stage of grief...) Anyway, he's become the victim of my villainous impulses, as earlier today I shipped nine dozen crates of jenkem-filled wine bottles to his office. What amusement I got from my petty plot! Cheers, Keith!
In other news, I want you all to know that there will be a memorial service for Mandelbaum on Saturday at the local Manservants Guild Lodge off Highway 19 behind the Arby's. The ceremony starts at 3:22 p.m., and I'm told there is ample blimp parking, so no worries there. I've been honored with the daunting task of delivering the eulogy, and there will be an acoustic performance by Lou Watts, founding member of the band Chumbawamba. Afterward, we will make an all-nude trek in complete silence to the adjoining potter's field, where Mandelbaum's ashes will be scattered by his closest relatives and fellow butlers.
Now I must warn you, as it is my civic duty, that there has been some rumor that relatives of the squirrels who were slaughtered during the blimp crash have been planning to retaliate during the ceremony. I can assure you there is nothing to worry about. The local authorities are fully aware of the situation, and I have personally hired attack toads which will be standing by to protect guests from any adverse situation. Rumors like this are fairly typical at the funerals of manservants who serve ambitious and daring masters, and really we shouldn't wet our pants because of a little fear mongering by irreverent individuals.
Anyway, I suppose I should take control of my grief and distractions and push myself to get started on the eulogy for my herculean Mandelbaum. What on earth shall I even say? We all know finding enough words to write is not my strong suit. So as we stajddkedksks-- ...
...
...
...
...Oh my goodness. I just had the strangest experience. As I was finishing this post a few moments ago, my eyes caught a flicker of movement outside the window of my study. I glanced over and saw an enormous shadowy figure staring at me from the bushes outside. He (I assume it was a he) must have been at least 6'4". And my immediate thought was, "Could this be Mandelbaum, returned as a ghost? Or some sort of guardian angel watching over me?" Before I could register my surprise, the figure vanished, and by the time I checked outside, no one was to be seen. I could not even find a trace of footprint.
What is happening to my grieving mind? Is my longing for Mandelbaum causing me to hallucinate and see his image in every bit of shade that washes by? I didn't think I'd have such a difficult time coping. Or maybe I should simply cut back on the quantity of my Wednesday supper absinthe.
#greenfairy #mandelbaum #eulogy
#keithsucks #highway19MGlodge
-----
Poppentarte's 17 Stages of Grief:
1. Denial
2. Anger
3. Villainous impulses
4. Gargling molten liquids
5. Wormwood consumption
6. Denial again
7. Shaving
8. Bargain shopping
9. Questioning one's own existence in the vast and infinitely expanding cosmos
10. Depression
11. Gorging on poorly constructed breakfast pastries (thus we get the name for "Pop-Tarts")
12. Lack of shame in singing karaoke unsolicited
14. Skipping stage 13 because of superstition
15. Wallowing in mud, slime, etc.
16. Forging one's own death certificate
17. Acceptance
Thursday
The Manservants Guild has been kind enough to pair me with an interim butler until I'm ready to find a more permanent man for the job. It's hard for me to even consider finding a replacement for Mandelbaum (physical replacement, not emotional), but the extravagant lifestyle led by my wife and me simply necessitates the extra help.* This new fellow they gave me, Dimswell, has certainly not lived up to the high-quality reputation of the Guild and certainly pales in comparison to my Mandelbaum in every single facet of butlerism, from blimpcare to estate management to dining etiquette.
Why, just this very evening Dimswell served me a glass of 1927 LeComte absinthe with my dinner of mollusk foie gras. Can you imagine that? A '27 paired with seafood?! What an amateur. On top of that, he literally had no idea what the difference was between a mollusk spoon and a cuttlefish spoon. When I reprimanded him for his mistake, he simply said, "My apologies, sir." As if being sorry could ever excuse such grievous incompetence. I am FUMING! Goodness, I really can't stand this new fellow.
But at least there's one individual who makes Dimswell look like a saint in comparison: Keith, my nemesis from the blimp insurance company. My harassment of him has been going splendidly. Or at least it was, until stupid Dimswell messed everything up, that stupid dummy. You see I had been pranking Keith all morning with much excitement and fanfare. I had pulled off some of the classics, like the old "jar of duck farts in the mail" gag. Then I called him a few times with classic cranks like, "Is your blimp running? Well you may want to decrease your power on the battens!" and then I'd promptly hang up, laughing hysterically at myself.
I did that a few times until I got really tired of hearing Keith's rodentlike voice yapping at me from the other end. Then after giving his company 38 negative reviews on Yelp, I came up with a really dastardly plot which required Dimswell's assistance (mistake number one on my part). The plan was to fly the Eurydice II (new blimp) over Keith's office and drop seven hundred pounds of hazelnuts onto his car. But Dimswell, whose blimping skills are just as poor as his manners, accidentally pulled the lorry cord too soon and sent the nuts raining down into the wooded area about a block away from the office. I was livid. What's strange is that when we dipped down to retrieve the nuts to try again for another pass, all the nuts were completely gone. By then, the whole prank was gone to wrack and ruin.
Now, having had my fill of mollusk, I sit in my favorite armchair having just awoken from the oddest absinthian stupor I've ever had. I wasn't even sure if what happened was reality or a dream, for surely it must have been the latter. But in my inebriated state I could see all sorts of otherworldly spectres, glowing in vivid neon, and among the aberrations was Mandelbaum himself!
I couldn't believe my eyes. Immediately, all thousand questions I had for him began spewing from my mouth: "Mandy, is that really you? What happened the day of the crash? What is heaven like? Or is there like a separate Valhalla for butlers? Where did you put my copy of Blimpman Quarterly? Was that you outside my window last n--" and then he slapped me with such force that I immediately clammed up. The strike stunned me more than anything (not because Mandelbaum slapped me [in fact, I would ask him to do that regularly anytime I got into one of my "fits"], but) because it felt so real, so un-dreamlike to feel his bear-sized man-paw blasting against my face once again.
Instead of answering, he silently turned and pointed.
Following him in the misty haze was a horde of squirrels, approaching from a dark and evil-looking forest. They spoke in squeaky screams. Since the squirrel language of Squikwek is one of the many languages I am conversational in, I was able to pick out a few key phrases. "Impending war," they said. And, "apocalypse for man", "death-blimp inferno-devils", "discount moccasins", and "There he is; wag your tail with more fervor."
I was terrified beyond belief, but Mandelbaum turned to me and placed a calming hand on my shoulder. As I craned my neck to look up into his loving eyes... I awoke. Mandelbaum was gone, the squirrels had vanished, and I was back in my chair at home. Sadly though, Dimswell was still there.
#whatdoesitallmean #dimswrong #keithgotpunkd #dreamsofmandy
*We (my wife and I) are not actually wealthy (yet) but we do spend on average about $925,000 per year. In fact, nearly 100% of that figure is pure debt. Most of the expenses we've accrued are blimp fuel, rare vintages of absinthe, and antique dresses worn by European monarchs (my collection, not hers) (also, male monarchs). Despite our constantly increasing debt, I've been assured by my business partner - a Nigerian prince! - that we will very soon be earning enough money to pay it all off, plus some. We have only communicated via email so far, but I'm eager to meet so we can see the earnings from our gold investments start pouring in. Capital!
-----
I received this anonymous letter in the mail today. It really was touching to hear these kind words in such a dark time. The sender has the heart of a true blimpman:
"Dear Sir,
I am so sorry to hear of the passing of your beloved manservant, Mandelbaum. Please know that a donation to the Squirrel Violence Retribution Coalition (SVRC) has been made in his honor. He will be remembered. My thoughts are with you in your time of loss.
Sincerely,
A friend"
Friday
Oh my goodness, what can I even say? Today has been such an up-and-down blimp ride of emotions - from shocking revelations to indescribable violence and death - I scarcely even know where to begin this epic tale. I suppose I should start with the grandest piece of news... but you should brace yourself first. Find a sturdy chair in your parlour. Go ahead, stop reading and do it. Take a seat. Look around and make sure there are no hard objects on which you may impale yourself if you are to suddenly faint and slip out of your seat. Are you gripping the handrails tightly? Ready? Here it is...
MANDELBAUM IS ALIVE!!!
I know it's almost impossible to imagine, but it's true. Steady yourself, old chap! That shock you're feeling? Multiply that a thousandfold and it still doesn't compare to the disbelief I felt myself. Heavens, I'm still reeling from the very idea that the manservant I lost just days ago has been alive this whole time.
But where has he been, you ask? What happened that fateful Monday when we crashed together in the Eurydice? Believe me, I had these questions too, and more, but I found myself with no time to stop and ponder their answers, for Mandelbaum showed up on my doorstep and whisked me away as quickly as he reappeared into my life. Under the cover of night, we rounded up my new fellow, Dimswell, and the three of us quickly boarded the Eurydice II and took to the skies.
Mandelbaum wasn't willing to talk until we reached a safe location, high in the sky and safe from all villainous ears. The whole time, I tried my best to stifle the intensely growing dread that seemed to take over what should have been a joyous reunion between master and manservant. Instead, it was nothing but nervousness, then panic with each passing moment as we rose in silence.
Once we reached a nice cruising altitude and the sun had begun to appear over the horizon, Mandelbaum finally opened up about all the mysterious happenings. He told me that his position as a butler had all been a ruse. In fact, he was truly a deep cover agent for the Squirrel Violence Retribution Coalition (SVRC), a secret peacekeeping organization tasked with combating the squirrel threat. I couldn't believe all this was true, as he had been the best man I'd ever employed, and his knowledge of blimping was divine! Mandelbaum's fortuitous appearance at my door those few months ago was all a ruse, for the SVRC had been quite aware of a potential threat and needed to place one of their most trusted men at the front lines. Apparently, this squirrel threat connected to the worldwide blimping industry, though that part didn't make any sense to me. What could squirrels want with a bunch of blimps?
But he assured me it was all true and that just days ago a massive squirrel army from the squirrel kingdom of Squercia had begun mustering its forces, preparing for an all-out assault on the human race. This attack, today on the Autumnal Equinox, would mark the beginning of the glorious and tyrannical reign of squirrels and be unlike any invasion the world had ever seen. The 400 squirrels, a vanguard unit who died in the crash earlier this week, were nothing but a fraction of the immense attack force that was forming.
When I asked him why he never told me any of this, he said he actually had, just the night before. In fact, he had already spent hours telling me this exact same story, and we had even grabbed a hotdog to eat afterwards at the local mini-golf course, but a squirrel sighting ran us off. Apparently I was too hopped up on absinthe that by the time I returned home, I mistakenly thought the whole thing was a dream. I truly have no recollection of that.
Now finishing the account for the second time, Mandelbaum then proceeded toward a large chest that he brought with him, which I hadn't even noticed before when we were quickly clambering aboard the blimp earlier. He opened the chest and inside was a most astonishing sight. About a dozen tiny squirrels were there, each one clothed in a tiny blue robe resembling a Snuggie. I leapt back in fear, but Mandelbaum quickly assured me that these particular squirrels were completely non-violent, a pacifist sect of monks who had stirred up a bit of trouble for themselves. It was now the task of the SVRC to safeguard these monks.
You see, the squirrel overlords had grown quite displeased with the monks' humanist sympathizing and vocal protests of war, so a death threat had been issued upon them. The SVRC ultimately failed in its mission, and desperate secondary measures were needed. Mandelbaum explained that the only way to protect their cover, and his, was to wreck our blimp on that fateful day. Part of the squirrel army, and even I, were intended to die that day, allowing the monks a chance to escape in the ensuing chaos. But Mandelbaum had defied his orders when, at the last minute, he knocked me out with chloroform and tossed my limp body out to safety. What a loyal man indeed!
Before I could register the truth of this magnificent tale, our blimp was rocked by a tremendous jolt, tossing me to the deck. As I gathered my senses, I groggily looked up and saw Dimswell. Dimswell, that fool! He was holding a piece of rope in his hand, and that's when I noticed: it was the severed catenary cable of the forward ballonet! The vessel would be completely disabled without it! As we lingered impotently in the sky, I cried out to him about his rotten mistake. But he assured me, "It's no mistake, sir. I shall suffer your abuses, criticisms, and playground insults no more."
It was immediately apparent to me that Dimswell was far more despicable than I ever thought. He was a traitor. An inside man. No doubt paid off by the squirrels in order to gather intel from inside my home. He continued to rant, as if he were some sort of evil "arch dimwit." But then my eye caught a glimpse of something; I noticed the severed catenary cable had begun to coil itself around Dimswell's ankle as he walked. Mandelbaum and I exchanged a knowing look. As Dimswell's furious pacing led him closer to the railing's edge, the poor fool didn't even see it coming when the line abruptly snagged, causing him to stumble, spilling his flailing body over the edge like a rapidly plummeting ragdoll. We glanced over the edge, but by that point, Dimswell's figure was lost in the mists below, and all we could hear was his faintly vanishing bellow as he jettisoned toward the earth. (He shall not be missed.)
As Mandelbaum scurried to repair the catenary cable, I was confused to see him suddenly stop his work. His eyes, much keener than mine due to his Arapaho ancestry, were focused on something in the distant horizon. Like a general leading his troops, he wasted no time, barking orders at me to get the blimp repaired faster than scheduled. As we labored intensely for the next few minutes, I finally began to see what Mandelbaum did. At first it appeared to be a black cloud, then maybe some ravens, but as the dark mass grew closer I could finally tell what was approaching us: a fleet of black zeppelins. Rigid airships, battle blimps! And on board each one was a battalion of fiercely squawking squirrels.
My heart skipped a beat as the terror sank in. Then I started to see a few words printed on the side of the zeppelins: Scoiattolo & Chestnut.
"Wait a minute," I thought, "the insurance company?"
Yes, indeed, and it suddenly all made sense like never before. How could anyone that dastardly not be allied with the squirrels? It was so obvious that I lashed myself right then and there for my obliviousness.
Mandelbaum, however, was ready as ever. Through his efforts alone, our blimp was moving again, but unfortunately it was all too late as the zeppelins were upon us. Squirrels began piling onto our craft, swinging on ropes and leaping onto our rails. Mandelbaum jabbed left and hooked right, launching squirrels over our bow and into the abyss below us. I've never seen such a masculine beast! I rushed to his aid and wailed on those nefarious rodents with all the kicks and slaps I could manage. My screams pierced their ears. Our victory was swift, but short-lived, for at that moment a massive zeppelin rose through the enemy ranks.
We knew that jet-black ballonet from anywhere, the fear of all blimpmen, for this particular zeppelin was indeed the fabled Black Wendigo. Now, most blimpmen have always shrugged her off as if she were a myth, but I am telling you here and now that she is as real as the resurrected manservant who forms the foundation of my story. Mandelbaum and I quickly increased our speed, but it was a joke compared to the capabilities of the Wendigo. She was on us in a matter of minutes, opening her side holds and aiming her cannons at us. A barrage of flying squirrels was fired from the cannons, and they came crashing into the side of our blimp! We surely didn't stand a chance.
As we endeavored onward in the onslaught of squirrels, refusing to leave the defense of the pacifist monks, we heard the most remarkable sound imaginable off in the distance.
"Is that the call of the natterjack toad?" I asked. "But it surely couldn't be; not at this altitude."
We glanced over the side of our blimp and, down below, an army of unexpected allies had assembled and joined in the fray. It was the Manservants Guild, rushing to our aid! And prepared as ever, they brought with them a multitude of their attack toads!
"Huzzah!" we cried. The battle raged on and this time the tide turned more in our favor.
Now, I can go into more detail about what happened next, but I am still reeling from the incredible amount of violence I saw today. There were casualties on both sides - butlers slain, squirrels ripped in half, toad guts splattered against the side of zeppelins. The calamity was indescribable and the death was unreal. I was in the midst of vomiting on the deck of the Eurydice when a most vile-sounding voice bellowed across some sort of loudspeaker, filling the skies with a thunderous squeak.
"Suck it, losers!" cried the voice.
And that's when everything came to a grinding halt. That... voice... that revolting squeak... I would know it anywhere. KEITH. Of course it was Keith. It had to be. The fates are just that cruel. There's no way for such a battle between good and evil to take place and for the two of us not to meet each other in mortal combat.
I looked up at the main mast of the Black Wendigo, and there he was - Keith! - not a human at all, but the most putrid little squirrel I've ever seen. I scowled at him and he scowled right back.
"Did you really think humans would survive this new age? The Age of the Squirrel? Not even your pranks or your precious manservant can save you now!" I told him to stop acting like such a dick, but he just cackled and motioned to his crew.
Somehow the entire flotilla of squirrel zeppelins began converging together. They twisted and reshaped in such peculiar ways, like beautiful synchronized swimmers, some forming the shape of arms, and others as legs. Then they joined together with the Black Wendigo, forming and molding into some crazy-looking mechagundam squirrelzord. This giant vessel was enormous, blotting out the light of the sun, casting the world into darkness. Eclipsed at the head of the squirrelzord was Keith, laughing maniacally from the pilot's seat in the tiny little head.
I looked to Mandelbaum, in my heart of hearts knowing that we had lost this battle. The pacifist monks cowered in the corner in fear. Even many of the most stalwart butlers who were our allies were not brave enough, and they retreated. Keith's maniacal laughing and screaming over the loudspeakers was piercing the skies. I stared into Mandelbaum's eyes, waiting for some sort of reassurance in the face of our impending doom. It did not come. All vestiges of hope faded away until, ever so slightly... he grinned.
I looked down at his hand and saw that he held one last attack toad, tucked under the cuff of his sleeve. As Keith raised the squirrelzord's arm, preparing for a crushing blow that would obliterate the Eurydice, Mandelbaum threw forth his arm, launching the final toad like an acclaimed javelin champion, sending the sacrificial creature straight toward the pilot's seat of the squirrelzord.
I saw Keith's eyes go wide as the toad bashed into his face, clawing its webbed fingers into his eyes, and at the moment of his screaming death - Keith lost all control of the squirrelzord. The vessel's arm came down - not upon us, but upon itself - and then all hell broke loose. The squirrelzord EXPLODED in a fiery supernova, sending shockwaves for miles. No doubt you felt it yourself, wherever you were today.
The Eurydice was tossed in the explosion, pushed away at lightning speed, pounded by the onslaught of fiery cloud and tumultuous thunder until every fiber of her bulbous ballonet was stretched to its limit. We were tossed helplessly in the wake of the explosion. But the resilient gal managed to hold and stay afloat. As the sky turned back to its normal hue and the ringing in our ears died down, Mandelbaum and I looked back to see absolutely no trace of the squirrel army anywhere to be found. They were all destroyed in the zeppelin explosions, leaving just a puff of smoke lingering in their absence.
It suddenly dawned on me how such an unexpected explosion were possible. "Huh," I smirked. "Looks like they were using hydrogen in their blimps. Some squirrels will never learn."
Mandelbaum and I had a hearty laugh and gave each other the highest of fives.
...
About an hour later, Mandelbaum and I parked the Eurydice in a nearby field, and we sent the pacifist squirrel monks on their way. They diligently promised to restore the good name of squirrels and to work toward a peaceful truce with the humans. It felt promising.
All was quiet as the trauma of the day's events began to wear on us. In the silence between us, I took an emotional inventory of myself and knew what needed to be said.
"Mandelbaum," I said. "There's something I need to confess." And then I told him everything that was weighing on my heart since his "death" on Monday, all the way to his return today: how he was the greatest butler I'd ever had, how I wanted him to stay with me even though he was not truly a manservant and I knew he'd never be able to forsake his duties with the SVRC, how I found myself admiring his mocha complexion and bulky yet sculpted frame, and how... how I loved him. I truly loved him. "I love you, Mandelbaum."
He placed a hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eye, and said, "Very good, sir." And then, in stoic silence, he turned and walked away. I knew in my heart of hearts that he would never look back at me, but honestly, I felt that everything was happening in fulfillment of fate's perfect design. If ever there came an end of things with such a man as my sweet Mandelbaum, this was surely the right way to do it.
I climbed aboard the Eurydice, tears beginning to well up in my eyes, but smiling nonetheless, for this blimpman's journey has just begun.
#theend #farewelltomandelbaum #squirreltruce #keithstillsucks
#allswellthatdimswell #mandelbaum #blimptales
I'm beyond devastated to say that I was involved in a tragic blimp accident today. I was on my daily commute, having just left the blimp pad, when my loyal butler and manservant, Mandelbaum, cried out to me that our aft rudder chain had seriously malfunctioned. Despite his and my heroic efforts to salvage the downing vessel, we were unable. Upon impact, Mandelbaum departed this mortal coil with all the honor imaginable, having seconds previously just heaved my unconscious body into a mound of crepe myrtle branches while he single-handedly steered the craft into its deadly resting place. (Why he didn't just jump out into the crepe myrtles as well, I'll never know. I was unconscious from the sudden loss of altitude after all, so part of this story is speculation on my part based on the clues I discovered upon my waking.)
Mandelbaum's death is as sudden and unexpected as his fortuitous appearance into my life just mere months ago. I must admit, after seemingly endless and unproductive interviews with a slew of less than desirable prospects, I was highly surprised when such a diligent, well-qualified, and pleasantly masculine manservant appeared on my doorstep one day. I nearly turned him away, thinking him to be some sort of door-to-door solicitor, but he assured me that he was indeed sent by the Manservants Guild. Despite that original awkward encounter, he's made my life better in countless ways. Now that he is gone, I cannot say what fate has in store for me, having snatched him away with such suddenness and callous indifference that it makes me wish I had never been granted that brief time of adventurous joy with him in the first place.
Somehow, I always knew my life's tale would end in tragedy...
Tragedy like death, probably. I just figured it would have been my death, not Mandelbaum's.
I do know that Mandelbaum's death served some good in this world, for he, by some stroke of luck or divine intervention, was able to down the craft into a nearby forest inhabited by an extremely violent sect of extremist squirrels from the squirrel kingdom of Squercia (aka "The Great Oakdom"). It turns out that over 400 members of the sect were gathering at that very moment in the woods to plan an attack on a harmless old toad farmer's farm. The toad farmer had survived numerous attacks from the clan in the past, often taking the lives of numerous squirrels who were temporarily able to breach his farm's defenses despite the well-trained attack toads perched on toadstools around the perimeter. Thanks to Mandelbaum's downing of the blimp and the fiery inferno that ensued afterwards, which thereby destroyed the evil legion, the toad farmer has assured me that he believes the worst of the squirrel attacks is over. All thanks to Mandelbaum.
Yet unlike the optimistic and celebratory old wart-covered fellow, I am surely in a state of grief, having lost the one person who was so dear to me that not even my wife will be able to console me. There is so much tragedy in the world. While there are thousands of squirrels out there who must be mourning the loss of their 400 brethren, I can tell you that no amount of squirrel grief can compare to my singular human grief over my dear Mandelbaum. May your spirit soar high, higher than a blimp, dear friend, dear destroyer of squirrels.
#ripmandelbaum #hero #blimpmaintenance #dagwoodfamilytoadfarm
#squirreledpeace #neverforget
Tuesday
Curse those scoundrels who have turned my grief into grievance! Yes, I'm referring to the scum of the earth: blimp insurance claim adjusters. Since Mandelbaum's death (only yesterday!) they've done nothing but hound me with irreverence and lies. What's worse than their insensitive timing for callous profiteering is that they're seeking to pin this catastrophe on me, citing use of hydrogen as the cause of the fiery crash, which is absolute hogwash. No one has used hydrogen in a blimp since the Hindenburg disaster and, more recently, the Secret Spanish-American Blimp War of 1993. I do persist that I maintain an impeccable record of avoiding hypercombustible gases to fill my ballonet. While yes, I do admit that there was highly flammable 19th-century absinthe stored in the hold of the blimp - a beverage which Mandelbaum and I often transport for the high-society galas that I am wont to host (and the occasional Wednesday supper) - but doing so is completely legal when traveling via blimp, as we all know. That squeaky-voiced rapscallion from the insurance company who spoke to me on the phone is now my nemesis. I should probably learn his name.
On a separate note, the outpouring of love and support following Mandelbaum's untimely demise has been tremendous. People from all over the globe have offered their condolences. Members from every branch of Mandelbaum's extended family tree have reached out to me, which is quite a feat considering his extensive ethnic diversity. You may recall that Mandelbaum was one-third Bengali, three-tenths South African Zulu-American, one-sixteenth Arapaho Indian, one-eighteenth Shangri-La Tibetan, nine-forty-fourths Malagasy-Javanese, and one-thirty-second Javanese-Malagasy. (Or was it nine-forty-fourths Javanese-Malagasy and one-thirty-second Malagasy-Javanese? I can never remember.) The International Manservants Guild of America and Other Nations (IMGAON) sent a lovely gift to my house in the form of a choir of Mongolian throat singers. I cannot begin to thank everyone who offered a kind word to me in this dark time, and so I won't even try. You know who you are. And so I sit here typing, mourning my hulking Mandelbaum, serenaded by the sweet sounds of throat singing from the front yard and the vehement complaints of my neighbors, just as my dear friend would have wanted it.
#thattuvansound #dearfriend #hydrogenfreesince93
#newnemesis #toolongdidntread
Wednesday
Since Mandelbaum's death, it has been surprising how quickly I find myself going through Poppentarte's seventeen stages of grief. First denial, then anger, and now I'm starting to feel signs of the next stage: villainous impulses. I've begun to take out my anger on my new nemesis from the Scoiattolo & Chestnut Blimp/Dirigible Insurance Company. I found out his name by the way; it's Keith. Never have I heard such a vile sounding name! Keith. Just the taste of his name in my mouth makes me want to gargle molten lava. (Oh great, and now I've moved on to the fourth stage of grief...) Anyway, he's become the victim of my villainous impulses, as earlier today I shipped nine dozen crates of jenkem-filled wine bottles to his office. What amusement I got from my petty plot! Cheers, Keith!
In other news, I want you all to know that there will be a memorial service for Mandelbaum on Saturday at the local Manservants Guild Lodge off Highway 19 behind the Arby's. The ceremony starts at 3:22 p.m., and I'm told there is ample blimp parking, so no worries there. I've been honored with the daunting task of delivering the eulogy, and there will be an acoustic performance by Lou Watts, founding member of the band Chumbawamba. Afterward, we will make an all-nude trek in complete silence to the adjoining potter's field, where Mandelbaum's ashes will be scattered by his closest relatives and fellow butlers.
Now I must warn you, as it is my civic duty, that there has been some rumor that relatives of the squirrels who were slaughtered during the blimp crash have been planning to retaliate during the ceremony. I can assure you there is nothing to worry about. The local authorities are fully aware of the situation, and I have personally hired attack toads which will be standing by to protect guests from any adverse situation. Rumors like this are fairly typical at the funerals of manservants who serve ambitious and daring masters, and really we shouldn't wet our pants because of a little fear mongering by irreverent individuals.
Anyway, I suppose I should take control of my grief and distractions and push myself to get started on the eulogy for my herculean Mandelbaum. What on earth shall I even say? We all know finding enough words to write is not my strong suit. So as we stajddkedksks-- ...
...
...
...
...Oh my goodness. I just had the strangest experience. As I was finishing this post a few moments ago, my eyes caught a flicker of movement outside the window of my study. I glanced over and saw an enormous shadowy figure staring at me from the bushes outside. He (I assume it was a he) must have been at least 6'4". And my immediate thought was, "Could this be Mandelbaum, returned as a ghost? Or some sort of guardian angel watching over me?" Before I could register my surprise, the figure vanished, and by the time I checked outside, no one was to be seen. I could not even find a trace of footprint.
What is happening to my grieving mind? Is my longing for Mandelbaum causing me to hallucinate and see his image in every bit of shade that washes by? I didn't think I'd have such a difficult time coping. Or maybe I should simply cut back on the quantity of my Wednesday supper absinthe.
#greenfairy #mandelbaum #eulogy
#keithsucks #highway19MGlodge
-----
Poppentarte's 17 Stages of Grief:
1. Denial
2. Anger
3. Villainous impulses
4. Gargling molten liquids
5. Wormwood consumption
6. Denial again
7. Shaving
8. Bargain shopping
9. Questioning one's own existence in the vast and infinitely expanding cosmos
10. Depression
11. Gorging on poorly constructed breakfast pastries (thus we get the name for "Pop-Tarts")
12. Lack of shame in singing karaoke unsolicited
14. Skipping stage 13 because of superstition
15. Wallowing in mud, slime, etc.
16. Forging one's own death certificate
17. Acceptance
Thursday
The Manservants Guild has been kind enough to pair me with an interim butler until I'm ready to find a more permanent man for the job. It's hard for me to even consider finding a replacement for Mandelbaum (physical replacement, not emotional), but the extravagant lifestyle led by my wife and me simply necessitates the extra help.* This new fellow they gave me, Dimswell, has certainly not lived up to the high-quality reputation of the Guild and certainly pales in comparison to my Mandelbaum in every single facet of butlerism, from blimpcare to estate management to dining etiquette.
Why, just this very evening Dimswell served me a glass of 1927 LeComte absinthe with my dinner of mollusk foie gras. Can you imagine that? A '27 paired with seafood?! What an amateur. On top of that, he literally had no idea what the difference was between a mollusk spoon and a cuttlefish spoon. When I reprimanded him for his mistake, he simply said, "My apologies, sir." As if being sorry could ever excuse such grievous incompetence. I am FUMING! Goodness, I really can't stand this new fellow.
But at least there's one individual who makes Dimswell look like a saint in comparison: Keith, my nemesis from the blimp insurance company. My harassment of him has been going splendidly. Or at least it was, until stupid Dimswell messed everything up, that stupid dummy. You see I had been pranking Keith all morning with much excitement and fanfare. I had pulled off some of the classics, like the old "jar of duck farts in the mail" gag. Then I called him a few times with classic cranks like, "Is your blimp running? Well you may want to decrease your power on the battens!" and then I'd promptly hang up, laughing hysterically at myself.
I did that a few times until I got really tired of hearing Keith's rodentlike voice yapping at me from the other end. Then after giving his company 38 negative reviews on Yelp, I came up with a really dastardly plot which required Dimswell's assistance (mistake number one on my part). The plan was to fly the Eurydice II (new blimp) over Keith's office and drop seven hundred pounds of hazelnuts onto his car. But Dimswell, whose blimping skills are just as poor as his manners, accidentally pulled the lorry cord too soon and sent the nuts raining down into the wooded area about a block away from the office. I was livid. What's strange is that when we dipped down to retrieve the nuts to try again for another pass, all the nuts were completely gone. By then, the whole prank was gone to wrack and ruin.
Now, having had my fill of mollusk, I sit in my favorite armchair having just awoken from the oddest absinthian stupor I've ever had. I wasn't even sure if what happened was reality or a dream, for surely it must have been the latter. But in my inebriated state I could see all sorts of otherworldly spectres, glowing in vivid neon, and among the aberrations was Mandelbaum himself!
I couldn't believe my eyes. Immediately, all thousand questions I had for him began spewing from my mouth: "Mandy, is that really you? What happened the day of the crash? What is heaven like? Or is there like a separate Valhalla for butlers? Where did you put my copy of Blimpman Quarterly? Was that you outside my window last n--" and then he slapped me with such force that I immediately clammed up. The strike stunned me more than anything (not because Mandelbaum slapped me [in fact, I would ask him to do that regularly anytime I got into one of my "fits"], but) because it felt so real, so un-dreamlike to feel his bear-sized man-paw blasting against my face once again.
Instead of answering, he silently turned and pointed.
Following him in the misty haze was a horde of squirrels, approaching from a dark and evil-looking forest. They spoke in squeaky screams. Since the squirrel language of Squikwek is one of the many languages I am conversational in, I was able to pick out a few key phrases. "Impending war," they said. And, "apocalypse for man", "death-blimp inferno-devils", "discount moccasins", and "There he is; wag your tail with more fervor."
I was terrified beyond belief, but Mandelbaum turned to me and placed a calming hand on my shoulder. As I craned my neck to look up into his loving eyes... I awoke. Mandelbaum was gone, the squirrels had vanished, and I was back in my chair at home. Sadly though, Dimswell was still there.
#whatdoesitallmean #dimswrong #keithgotpunkd #dreamsofmandy
*We (my wife and I) are not actually wealthy (yet) but we do spend on average about $925,000 per year. In fact, nearly 100% of that figure is pure debt. Most of the expenses we've accrued are blimp fuel, rare vintages of absinthe, and antique dresses worn by European monarchs (my collection, not hers) (also, male monarchs). Despite our constantly increasing debt, I've been assured by my business partner - a Nigerian prince! - that we will very soon be earning enough money to pay it all off, plus some. We have only communicated via email so far, but I'm eager to meet so we can see the earnings from our gold investments start pouring in. Capital!
-----
I received this anonymous letter in the mail today. It really was touching to hear these kind words in such a dark time. The sender has the heart of a true blimpman:
"Dear Sir,
I am so sorry to hear of the passing of your beloved manservant, Mandelbaum. Please know that a donation to the Squirrel Violence Retribution Coalition (SVRC) has been made in his honor. He will be remembered. My thoughts are with you in your time of loss.
Sincerely,
A friend"
Friday
Oh my goodness, what can I even say? Today has been such an up-and-down blimp ride of emotions - from shocking revelations to indescribable violence and death - I scarcely even know where to begin this epic tale. I suppose I should start with the grandest piece of news... but you should brace yourself first. Find a sturdy chair in your parlour. Go ahead, stop reading and do it. Take a seat. Look around and make sure there are no hard objects on which you may impale yourself if you are to suddenly faint and slip out of your seat. Are you gripping the handrails tightly? Ready? Here it is...
MANDELBAUM IS ALIVE!!!
I know it's almost impossible to imagine, but it's true. Steady yourself, old chap! That shock you're feeling? Multiply that a thousandfold and it still doesn't compare to the disbelief I felt myself. Heavens, I'm still reeling from the very idea that the manservant I lost just days ago has been alive this whole time.
But where has he been, you ask? What happened that fateful Monday when we crashed together in the Eurydice? Believe me, I had these questions too, and more, but I found myself with no time to stop and ponder their answers, for Mandelbaum showed up on my doorstep and whisked me away as quickly as he reappeared into my life. Under the cover of night, we rounded up my new fellow, Dimswell, and the three of us quickly boarded the Eurydice II and took to the skies.
Mandelbaum wasn't willing to talk until we reached a safe location, high in the sky and safe from all villainous ears. The whole time, I tried my best to stifle the intensely growing dread that seemed to take over what should have been a joyous reunion between master and manservant. Instead, it was nothing but nervousness, then panic with each passing moment as we rose in silence.
Once we reached a nice cruising altitude and the sun had begun to appear over the horizon, Mandelbaum finally opened up about all the mysterious happenings. He told me that his position as a butler had all been a ruse. In fact, he was truly a deep cover agent for the Squirrel Violence Retribution Coalition (SVRC), a secret peacekeeping organization tasked with combating the squirrel threat. I couldn't believe all this was true, as he had been the best man I'd ever employed, and his knowledge of blimping was divine! Mandelbaum's fortuitous appearance at my door those few months ago was all a ruse, for the SVRC had been quite aware of a potential threat and needed to place one of their most trusted men at the front lines. Apparently, this squirrel threat connected to the worldwide blimping industry, though that part didn't make any sense to me. What could squirrels want with a bunch of blimps?
But he assured me it was all true and that just days ago a massive squirrel army from the squirrel kingdom of Squercia had begun mustering its forces, preparing for an all-out assault on the human race. This attack, today on the Autumnal Equinox, would mark the beginning of the glorious and tyrannical reign of squirrels and be unlike any invasion the world had ever seen. The 400 squirrels, a vanguard unit who died in the crash earlier this week, were nothing but a fraction of the immense attack force that was forming.
When I asked him why he never told me any of this, he said he actually had, just the night before. In fact, he had already spent hours telling me this exact same story, and we had even grabbed a hotdog to eat afterwards at the local mini-golf course, but a squirrel sighting ran us off. Apparently I was too hopped up on absinthe that by the time I returned home, I mistakenly thought the whole thing was a dream. I truly have no recollection of that.
Now finishing the account for the second time, Mandelbaum then proceeded toward a large chest that he brought with him, which I hadn't even noticed before when we were quickly clambering aboard the blimp earlier. He opened the chest and inside was a most astonishing sight. About a dozen tiny squirrels were there, each one clothed in a tiny blue robe resembling a Snuggie. I leapt back in fear, but Mandelbaum quickly assured me that these particular squirrels were completely non-violent, a pacifist sect of monks who had stirred up a bit of trouble for themselves. It was now the task of the SVRC to safeguard these monks.
You see, the squirrel overlords had grown quite displeased with the monks' humanist sympathizing and vocal protests of war, so a death threat had been issued upon them. The SVRC ultimately failed in its mission, and desperate secondary measures were needed. Mandelbaum explained that the only way to protect their cover, and his, was to wreck our blimp on that fateful day. Part of the squirrel army, and even I, were intended to die that day, allowing the monks a chance to escape in the ensuing chaos. But Mandelbaum had defied his orders when, at the last minute, he knocked me out with chloroform and tossed my limp body out to safety. What a loyal man indeed!
Before I could register the truth of this magnificent tale, our blimp was rocked by a tremendous jolt, tossing me to the deck. As I gathered my senses, I groggily looked up and saw Dimswell. Dimswell, that fool! He was holding a piece of rope in his hand, and that's when I noticed: it was the severed catenary cable of the forward ballonet! The vessel would be completely disabled without it! As we lingered impotently in the sky, I cried out to him about his rotten mistake. But he assured me, "It's no mistake, sir. I shall suffer your abuses, criticisms, and playground insults no more."
It was immediately apparent to me that Dimswell was far more despicable than I ever thought. He was a traitor. An inside man. No doubt paid off by the squirrels in order to gather intel from inside my home. He continued to rant, as if he were some sort of evil "arch dimwit." But then my eye caught a glimpse of something; I noticed the severed catenary cable had begun to coil itself around Dimswell's ankle as he walked. Mandelbaum and I exchanged a knowing look. As Dimswell's furious pacing led him closer to the railing's edge, the poor fool didn't even see it coming when the line abruptly snagged, causing him to stumble, spilling his flailing body over the edge like a rapidly plummeting ragdoll. We glanced over the edge, but by that point, Dimswell's figure was lost in the mists below, and all we could hear was his faintly vanishing bellow as he jettisoned toward the earth. (He shall not be missed.)
As Mandelbaum scurried to repair the catenary cable, I was confused to see him suddenly stop his work. His eyes, much keener than mine due to his Arapaho ancestry, were focused on something in the distant horizon. Like a general leading his troops, he wasted no time, barking orders at me to get the blimp repaired faster than scheduled. As we labored intensely for the next few minutes, I finally began to see what Mandelbaum did. At first it appeared to be a black cloud, then maybe some ravens, but as the dark mass grew closer I could finally tell what was approaching us: a fleet of black zeppelins. Rigid airships, battle blimps! And on board each one was a battalion of fiercely squawking squirrels.
My heart skipped a beat as the terror sank in. Then I started to see a few words printed on the side of the zeppelins: Scoiattolo & Chestnut.
"Wait a minute," I thought, "the insurance company?"
Yes, indeed, and it suddenly all made sense like never before. How could anyone that dastardly not be allied with the squirrels? It was so obvious that I lashed myself right then and there for my obliviousness.
Mandelbaum, however, was ready as ever. Through his efforts alone, our blimp was moving again, but unfortunately it was all too late as the zeppelins were upon us. Squirrels began piling onto our craft, swinging on ropes and leaping onto our rails. Mandelbaum jabbed left and hooked right, launching squirrels over our bow and into the abyss below us. I've never seen such a masculine beast! I rushed to his aid and wailed on those nefarious rodents with all the kicks and slaps I could manage. My screams pierced their ears. Our victory was swift, but short-lived, for at that moment a massive zeppelin rose through the enemy ranks.
We knew that jet-black ballonet from anywhere, the fear of all blimpmen, for this particular zeppelin was indeed the fabled Black Wendigo. Now, most blimpmen have always shrugged her off as if she were a myth, but I am telling you here and now that she is as real as the resurrected manservant who forms the foundation of my story. Mandelbaum and I quickly increased our speed, but it was a joke compared to the capabilities of the Wendigo. She was on us in a matter of minutes, opening her side holds and aiming her cannons at us. A barrage of flying squirrels was fired from the cannons, and they came crashing into the side of our blimp! We surely didn't stand a chance.
As we endeavored onward in the onslaught of squirrels, refusing to leave the defense of the pacifist monks, we heard the most remarkable sound imaginable off in the distance.
"Is that the call of the natterjack toad?" I asked. "But it surely couldn't be; not at this altitude."
We glanced over the side of our blimp and, down below, an army of unexpected allies had assembled and joined in the fray. It was the Manservants Guild, rushing to our aid! And prepared as ever, they brought with them a multitude of their attack toads!
"Huzzah!" we cried. The battle raged on and this time the tide turned more in our favor.
Now, I can go into more detail about what happened next, but I am still reeling from the incredible amount of violence I saw today. There were casualties on both sides - butlers slain, squirrels ripped in half, toad guts splattered against the side of zeppelins. The calamity was indescribable and the death was unreal. I was in the midst of vomiting on the deck of the Eurydice when a most vile-sounding voice bellowed across some sort of loudspeaker, filling the skies with a thunderous squeak.
"Suck it, losers!" cried the voice.
And that's when everything came to a grinding halt. That... voice... that revolting squeak... I would know it anywhere. KEITH. Of course it was Keith. It had to be. The fates are just that cruel. There's no way for such a battle between good and evil to take place and for the two of us not to meet each other in mortal combat.
I looked up at the main mast of the Black Wendigo, and there he was - Keith! - not a human at all, but the most putrid little squirrel I've ever seen. I scowled at him and he scowled right back.
"Did you really think humans would survive this new age? The Age of the Squirrel? Not even your pranks or your precious manservant can save you now!" I told him to stop acting like such a dick, but he just cackled and motioned to his crew.
Somehow the entire flotilla of squirrel zeppelins began converging together. They twisted and reshaped in such peculiar ways, like beautiful synchronized swimmers, some forming the shape of arms, and others as legs. Then they joined together with the Black Wendigo, forming and molding into some crazy-looking mechagundam squirrelzord. This giant vessel was enormous, blotting out the light of the sun, casting the world into darkness. Eclipsed at the head of the squirrelzord was Keith, laughing maniacally from the pilot's seat in the tiny little head.
I looked to Mandelbaum, in my heart of hearts knowing that we had lost this battle. The pacifist monks cowered in the corner in fear. Even many of the most stalwart butlers who were our allies were not brave enough, and they retreated. Keith's maniacal laughing and screaming over the loudspeakers was piercing the skies. I stared into Mandelbaum's eyes, waiting for some sort of reassurance in the face of our impending doom. It did not come. All vestiges of hope faded away until, ever so slightly... he grinned.
I looked down at his hand and saw that he held one last attack toad, tucked under the cuff of his sleeve. As Keith raised the squirrelzord's arm, preparing for a crushing blow that would obliterate the Eurydice, Mandelbaum threw forth his arm, launching the final toad like an acclaimed javelin champion, sending the sacrificial creature straight toward the pilot's seat of the squirrelzord.
I saw Keith's eyes go wide as the toad bashed into his face, clawing its webbed fingers into his eyes, and at the moment of his screaming death - Keith lost all control of the squirrelzord. The vessel's arm came down - not upon us, but upon itself - and then all hell broke loose. The squirrelzord EXPLODED in a fiery supernova, sending shockwaves for miles. No doubt you felt it yourself, wherever you were today.
The Eurydice was tossed in the explosion, pushed away at lightning speed, pounded by the onslaught of fiery cloud and tumultuous thunder until every fiber of her bulbous ballonet was stretched to its limit. We were tossed helplessly in the wake of the explosion. But the resilient gal managed to hold and stay afloat. As the sky turned back to its normal hue and the ringing in our ears died down, Mandelbaum and I looked back to see absolutely no trace of the squirrel army anywhere to be found. They were all destroyed in the zeppelin explosions, leaving just a puff of smoke lingering in their absence.
It suddenly dawned on me how such an unexpected explosion were possible. "Huh," I smirked. "Looks like they were using hydrogen in their blimps. Some squirrels will never learn."
Mandelbaum and I had a hearty laugh and gave each other the highest of fives.
...
About an hour later, Mandelbaum and I parked the Eurydice in a nearby field, and we sent the pacifist squirrel monks on their way. They diligently promised to restore the good name of squirrels and to work toward a peaceful truce with the humans. It felt promising.
All was quiet as the trauma of the day's events began to wear on us. In the silence between us, I took an emotional inventory of myself and knew what needed to be said.
"Mandelbaum," I said. "There's something I need to confess." And then I told him everything that was weighing on my heart since his "death" on Monday, all the way to his return today: how he was the greatest butler I'd ever had, how I wanted him to stay with me even though he was not truly a manservant and I knew he'd never be able to forsake his duties with the SVRC, how I found myself admiring his mocha complexion and bulky yet sculpted frame, and how... how I loved him. I truly loved him. "I love you, Mandelbaum."
He placed a hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eye, and said, "Very good, sir." And then, in stoic silence, he turned and walked away. I knew in my heart of hearts that he would never look back at me, but honestly, I felt that everything was happening in fulfillment of fate's perfect design. If ever there came an end of things with such a man as my sweet Mandelbaum, this was surely the right way to do it.
I climbed aboard the Eurydice, tears beginning to well up in my eyes, but smiling nonetheless, for this blimpman's journey has just begun.
#theend #farewelltomandelbaum #squirreltruce #keithstillsucks
#allswellthatdimswell #mandelbaum #blimptales
© C. Blake McIntire and Blimp Tales, 2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to C. Blake McIntire and BlimpTales.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
