Cummings
The Blucup’s Conundrum
The Irish Blucup has to kill his son. He found out that his son had fallen in love the wrong way. He picked up his mighty hurling stick and knocked his head clean off. All the villagers cheered because he had made the right decision. It took a good 5 minutes for the Blucup to realize what he’d done. His brain finally kicked in, and he thought about the time his son had lost his grip on one of his boots as he was cleaning them in the river.
The Blucup had become a figure of great pride for his tiny Irish village. A few can still remember the day he had slain the terrifying S;jojhfcnm. Only the Irish could understand its name and grasp the true terror of what it means. Luckily, his parents thought that English was the language of the future, which we Gaelics know to be ridiculous, so they decided to speak it exclusively around him as a baby. Neither of them actually knew English though, so they just kind of guessed at it. And thus the Blucup grew up without knowing what the fuck his parents were saying in the most formative years of his life, and it took a lot of formal education to fix that.
Flash forward to the Blucup’s 15th birthday, and the poor guy was still getting the hang of the Gaelic language. His classmates would endlessly take the piss out of him, calling him Irish words that would get the ADL called on me if I repeated them here. But the Blucup was unphased, because again, he didn’t know what the fuck they were saying.
But when the S;jojhfcnm showed what is considered by most to be the closest thing to its face, the village elders looked to the Blucup for his lingual deficiencies. They had a theory that if he couldn’t understand what the S;jojhfcnm’s name meant, he would be oblivious to the unimaginable horror he was facing, and therefore have a better chance than any of defeating it.
“How will we know if that Blucup fella can kill the wee fecker? We might as well be feedin it at this point!” one elder says.
“Ach, come off it! He’s the last chance we’ve got! Besides, we can just cover it up if he dies!” another responds.
“That reminds me, I’ve got mass in the morning.”
Because this was the first time in his life that an authority figure had shown him any kind of attention, he agreed to their plan when they approached him without giving it a second thought. And thus they gave him a hurling stick as his weapon and sent him on his way.
“Remember fella, this monster is harmless!” they shouted from a hundred meters away.
“Ok,” the Blucup said. “I trust you because you are authority figures, and therefore only want what’s best for me!”
“Of course kid!” they replied as one of them was getting the camera ready to sell the footage to the news.
I feel like skipping over the Blucup’s battle with the ferocious S;jojhfcnm. Because the Blucup couldn’t understand how horrifying the S;jojhfcnm really was, he went in there with way too much confidence and absolutely obliterated the poor bastard. It really verges more on animal cruelty rather than the glorious battle that the Irish disinformation campaigns have painted it to be in the years since. Seriously, I can't show this shit to you without getting a call from the Irish Government.
The elders were quite surprised that the Blucup managed this feat, but also disappointed that their snuff film didn’t pan out. The Blucup was showered with gifts from the village as thanks for his brave actions, and asked to be wed by many a young virgin, but the Blucup was a gentleman, and only accepted the virgins.
Anyway, after the S;jojhfcnm’s merciless state-subsidized slaughter, its mother got really pissed and hunted down the Blucup, and that was a whole thing, then there was a dragon, and then a couple hundred years later some guy wrote a postmodern masterpiece reevaluating the story from the S;jojhfcnm’s perspective. But none of that is terribly important. The important part is that the Blucup hurled the shit out of all of them, including the author.
Following his days of glory, the Blucup's life slowed down a bit and he had a son. By himself, I should add. The Blucup race has that ability, or so I’ve retconned, so ignore that he had parents earlier. The Blucup ended up loving his son quite a bit though. He was a bit of a dick sometimes, as most children are, but that was easy to overlook in the moments when they would sit together by the fire and tell stories to one another.
His son was difficult to understand sometimes. He was never very interested in things like hurling or animal cruelty, but the Blucup tried his best to love him even when he found it difficult. As he grew up, his son always seemed to question things that the Blucup had never really given much thought to before. Sometimes it was on the smaller things.
“Do you actually like whisky, Da?”
“Of course I do! It’s the greatest thing in the world!”
“But it tastes like the parts of alcohol that we’ve spent all of human history trying to avoid. There’s a reason we do everything possible not to taste alcohol in our drinks.”
“Bah, It’s a man’s drink my boy, it’s not my fault that some people can’t handle it.”
“But shouldn’t a man have the strength of personality to like whatever drink he likes in spite of social expectations or what others may think? That’s much better than drinking a certain drink you don’t like because you ‘have to like it’ to be a man.”
The Blucup paused for a second.
“Shut up and drink your feckin White Claw, son.”
Other times, the Blucup’s son would confront him on much heavier topics.
“Da, why does the church have washrooms employed solely by practically enslaved young women that have been taken from their families for getting pregnant and because of which the church takes away their babies and gives them away?”
“Wow, that’s fucked up.”
“A wee bit, yeah.”
“Damn, I gotta sit down for a moment, fuck.”
“Yeah, take your time.”
“Fuck…”
This was also shown when the S;jojhfcnm’s son showed up to kill the great Irish Blucup. His son slowed both of them down and explained the cycle of violence to them. Even though the S;jojhfcnm’s son probably had every right to rip the Blucup’s intestines out and slurp them down like spaghetti, he was touched by the son’s speech, and decided to only eat the Blucup’s limbs, which were promptly cauterized and replaced with hurling sticks.
While the Blucup preached violence, his son preached peace, and even though the Blucup disagreed with his bullshit, he still respected his opinion and loved that he had gathered the bravery to question his old man.
As the days went on, the Blucup’s son went on to have his own accomplishments in life. He became a respected leader all over this fictionalized version of Ireland. He was responsible for the uncreatively named S;jojhfcnm treaty, which was a step towards peace between humans and the S;jojhfcnm. This was very unpopular with the people back in his hometown though, and a point of contention with the Blucup. His father very much disagreed with associating with the S;jojhfcnms, as they killed many of his friends in his youth. But the Blucup could understand it as long as it was a way to keep peace. However, rumors started to spread that his beliefs had become too radical. Word was that he had gotten too close to a S;jojhfcnm. The townsfolk quickly turned on his son, and they looked to the Blucup to do something about it. They wanted blood.
The Blucup refused to believe such things, and he was happy when he heard that his son had returned to town to celebrate his father’s birthday. The night that his son had arrived, the Blucup went to meet him after their extended time apart, but the townsfolk went to him and convinced him to question his son about these accusations. He reluctantly agreed, and then went on to meet his son at the entrance of the village with the town’s residents following close behind.
The Blucup met his son with an embrace. His son was happy to meet it. He felt the warmth coming from his son that had felt when he was a boy and they would travel together on the same horse. He would tell his son that the fly that had landed on him was poisonous, and his son would believe him. Fear would enter his eyes, and then dissipate when the Blucup would swat it away in triumph. The Blucup was not above cheap tricks to impress his son, because deep down he felt pride in it, even if he had to lie to a 4 year old for his self esteem.
“How are you doing my Buachaille?” the Blucup asked.
“I’m doing good, Athair. How’s the town been since I left and became really feckin cool?”
“Well, well. You know how it is. Kill evil creatures and get exorbitantly overcompensated. Just living life. It sounds like you’ve been doing much more important things.”
“Importance is relative Da, I’m just glad I could make it back to see you. We’ve been apart longer than a father and son are supposed to.”
“I can agree with that, Buachaille.”
There was a notable pause in the conversation, as the Blucup realized what he had agreed to do.
“Listen, Son. I know we disagree about a few things…”
“Ah, come on Da, are we really gonna go over this now? After we’ve been apart for so long?”
“I know, I didn’t want to talk about it, but people around the village have been saying somethings and smearing your name, and I want to clear everything up before any trouble starts.”
“Yeah, and what kind of rumors have they been sayin about me?”
“Oh, nothing with any validity, you know how people are.”
“Come on, what is it?”
“Oh, just that uh…”
The Blucup paused, unsure of how to proceed.
“Well they say that you’ve uh… been with a S;jojhfcnm,” the Blucup finished quietly.
“Yeah, and what of it?”
The Blucup was surprised by this response.
“Well they just want to hear it–I just want to hear it from your mouth that it’s bullshit.”
“But it’s not bullshit.”
The Blucup laughed for a split second.
“Come on, stop pulling my leg!”
"I’m not. I am currently in love with a S;jojhfcnm. I didn’t think it would be a big deal. You know I’ve been exploring their culture!”
The Blucup went silent again.
“Oh come on, Athair! This can’t seriously get in the way of us can it?”
The Blucup thought for a second. He looked as though the entire world was passing through his head.
“Da?”
The Blucup responded by striking his son. He didn’t realize the amount of force he used until he saw his son’s body crumple to the ground.
“Da?”
“Yes, Buachaille?”
“You have to watch me! The current seems strong!”
“Ach, just wash your boots. You’ll be fine.”
As he said this, the current ripped his son off of his legs and into the river.
“Da!”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine! I’m right behind you. You don’t have to be scared of anything.” The Blucup darted into the river.
“Da!!!!!”
The Blucup caught up to him and grabbed him.
“Alright, alright son, I got you. The fuck did I tell you? I’ll wash your boots for you seein as you seem to be having some trouble.”
“Ok.” His son was very shaken
“What do you look so scared for?”
“I dunno.”
“You don’t have to be scared of nothin.”
The Blucup looked down at his son’s body as the villagers' cheers roared, and two horrifying thoughts came to him. He saw that his son looked just like he did when he had rescued him from the river as a boy. And he realized that he still loved his son.
William Cummings
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