It's Guy Fawkes night!
Today, way back in the days of Merry ole' England, Guy Fawkes attempted to heat things up for Parliament by shooting off some of his fireworks there, and now the poor guy's effigy has been being lit aflame ever since on this night. I bet he's burned up about it. Probably gets a lot of inflammatory remarks, too, even though that beard makes him look like a fairly hot guy if you ask me.
Okay, enough fire puns, but I really couldn't think of much to do for tonight since I don't have any puppet materials left to make an effigy after burning James Cameron in effigy last year for killing cinema. There are no good history books I know of about Fawkes, and I'm not in the mood to watch the History Channel. I could re-read and review V for Vendetta, especially since I haven't reviewed any comics in a long-ass time, but that's a comic which should be read with dignity and respect rather than crass accordance with a holiday. I also am sure as hell not gonna watch the movie version.
I guess I'm just jealous of those lucky brits, getting to go around setting images of a guy on fire and getting drunk. So maybe I'll just watch an unrelated movie. Think I'll do a slasher flick. Ooh, The Burning sounds good! Hmm, no the irony would be all too clear. Maybe I'll watch an action film. Backdraft? Nah. The Anniversary of Back to the Future has got every asshole on the planet watching other vapid 80's teen comedies, so maybe I'll join in the fun and pop in St. Elmo's Fire. Oh wait a minute....
Ok, I've got fire and people burning to death on the mind, so here's a poem from my old favorite, Wolf's Complete Book of Terror.
It's called The Very Sad Tale of the Matches, by Heinrich Hoffman, and comes from Hoffman's Struwwelpeter, which is a book of poems about stupid kids getting killed violently, which makes it the best book ever written in my humble opinion. Here it is:
One day Paulinchen was alone
(Her parents from the house were gone)
And as she wandered here and there
She danced and sang a pretty air
When all at once, what did she spy
A box of matches, not too high.
It was a sight that gave her joy:
''Matches'' the forbidden toy.
''I'll light them, that's just what I'll do
The way I've seen my mother do.''
But Puss and Kitty, watching her
Set up a warning miaow and purr,
They rubbed around her legs and miaowed
''Your mother said that's not allowed.
No, No, Miaow, Miaow and no!
Don't touch, it's dangerous you know.''
Paulinchen would not listen.
Oh, Those matches burned and glittered so,
The fire crackled prettily
As in the picture, you can see.
She lighted matches everywhere-
Not Puss nor Kitty would she hear.
But Puss and Kitty warning her
Set up such a miaow and purr.
They rubbed around her legs and miaowed
"Your Mother says that's not allowed
No, No, Miaow, Miaow and no!
Please stop, it's dangerous you know.''
Too bad. The fire seized the child,
Roared in her skirt and apron wild.
It burned her hands and pretty hair
And all Pulinchen then and there.
Then Puss and Kitty miaowed and cried
''Help, oh help!'' on every side,
''Won't somebody help, Paulinchen's turning
In a blaze that's raging, burning.''
Won't someone help, won't someone stop,
Our Paulinchen's burning up.''
The child was burnt completely there
Her feet, her skin, her eyes, her hair
Nothing left but a pile of ashes
Two pretty shoes, some burnt out matches.
Then Puss and Kitty, for a while, wept beside the smouldering pile,
''Woe and miaow, miaow and woe,
Now where did here poor parents go?''
Those cats wept brooks. Oh what a pity
Poor Paulichen was so naughty.
It just goes to show, cats make the worst babysitters, even talking ones.
Seriously though, that's pretty screwed up, but I never fail to laugh myself to death while reading that. If ever a really dumb kid kills himself that way, I'm going to go to the funeral in a full-body cat costume and recite this poem. With my unpredictable leg, I'd probably not get far while running and get wrestled to the ground and have the shit beat out of me, but the reactions would be sooo worth it.
So anyway, I hope that fills my Guy Fawkes night quotient for humor about people being horribly burned to death. Think I'll watch the ending of The Wicker Man on Youtube and listen to Blue Oyster Cult's Burnin' For You and then Donna Summer's Hot Stuff.
