How to Get the Girl of Your Dreams

A short story dedicated to my fiancee (with thanks to David Graeber).

Hey everyone,

As some of you are aware, I quit posting some months back after a failed fundraising campaign.

For some reason, my best attempts to berate strangers on the internet into giving me money were to no avail. I guess insulting people and demanding money from them works better IRL. I admitted defeat and headed North to get a real job.

Before leaving Michoacan, I asked my girlfriend to marry me. She accepted.

This picture was taken immediately afterwards:

For almost two months now, I’ve been separated from my fiancee while I save up money for our wedding. Upon returning to Canada, I got a job firefighting in Northern B.C.

Before you get too excited, and imagine scenes out of Only The Brave, I should specify that I’m on a mop-up crew, which is entry-level fire-fighting, and a lot of the job is just standing around holding a hose.

Yep. I’m literally a hoser.

Anyway, while at work I’ve been listening to a lot of David Graeber lectures. Now that I know how brilliant he is, I’m ashamed to admit that I was unfamiliar with his work before his unexplained sudden death back in September 2020.

After reading Fragments of an Anarchist Apology and Debt: The First Five Thousand Years, I now believe that he was BY FAR the most important political thinker of the first twenty years of the twenty-first century.

Debt is an absolute masterpiece, far more insightful than Das Kapital, The Origins of Species, or The Wealth of Nations. If universities were actually about educating people about the fields of economics, politics, theology, or sociology, Debt would be required reading for every undergrad.

If you haven’t read it, do me a favour and slap yourself in the face. Then go read it.

I will soon be beginning on a major exploration of David Graeber’s legacy, which I hope will stimulate more interest in his work, which is more relevant now than ever. But that’s not what this post is about.

Because my fiancee and I have been separated, we spend a lot of time on the phone, and we like to make up stories for each other. Not only is she a talented storyteller, she also brings out the best in me.

Anyway, one day I was listening to a David Graeber lecture and he shared a story from Madagascar, where he lived for several years while conducting fieldwork, which is a necessary step to obtain a PhD in cultural anthropology.

The story was about a man who boasted that he was better than God, and I ended up writing my own tale which is loosely based upon his version of that story.

I’ve been writing quite a few of these stories lately, so if you like this kind of thing, please let me know in the comments. People seem to like my short stories, but as this is primarily a political blog I won’t post too much fiction unless people encourage me to do so.

Everyone is invited to our wedding, by the way. The more, the merrier!

Oh, yeah! Did I mention that traditional Purepecha weddings last for 3 days?

Without further ado, I shall tell you the tale of…

How Whiskey-Jack got the Girl of his Dreams

(Dedicated to my fiancee Alexia.)

Once upon a time, there was a great chief named Dezkonde-rae who was very proud and boastful. He had ten wives, each more beautiful than the last, and more cattle than anyone in the ten villages. He had so many children that he called all the boys Juan because he couldn't remember their names. He called all his daughters Maria, except for the most beautiful one, whom he named Alexia. Not only did he remember her name, but he even remembered her birthday! As you can imagine, all her sisters were very, very jealous. If only there were a way to get rid of her!

Things became intolerable one day when he announced that it just so happened that this year's Blood Moon festival was to fall on her birthday. Apparently he thought the two dates were close enough, but when the shaman was consulted, he said "Mmmm. Muy bad ju-ju. Big no-no, Tsk Tsk." Then he went back to standing on his head with his fingers in his ears, humming like a swarm of mosquitoes. Legend had it that he’d been in deep meditation for years, forever convinced that he was the cusp of discovering a word that rhymed with orange.

The jealous sisters decided enough was enough. They decided to seek the help of Whiskey-Jack, the jester. As everyone knows, in every kingdom the jester is the only person in each kingdom allowed to mock the king, and the same custom existed in this land. When they told Whiskey-Jack their plan, he loved it. Arrangements were quickly made, and no one could wait for the day of the grand feast.

When the big day came, the party got off to a good start. Alexia was sitting next to Chief Dezkonde-rae, and everyone was celebrating and drinking mead when it was time for Whiskey-Jack to entertain the assembled guests. Normally, the jester would deliver a grand speech about how great and amazing the great man was, and how generous he was to invite all the guests to enjoy his hospitality. But this time was different. Why?

Instead of making a grand entrance, Whiskey-Jack approached the chief with his hat in hand and a long face. When the chief asked what was happening, Whiskey-Jack replied that he regretted to announce that none of the dancers or drummers could attend, and that he himself would have to leave soon.

"What?" the chief roared. "How dare they miss the great Blood Moon festival? I invited them all a month ago!"

"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, oh great chief Dezkonde-rae, but they cannot attend because they were invited to celebrate another party. I must humbly beg your forgiveness, sir, but I too must depart soon. It would be impolite to decline the invitation, and besides…,” he shuffled his feet and lowered his voice before saying “the other chief pays more than you do."

Now Chief Dezkonde-rae was truly perplexed. Wasn't he the greatest chief in all the ten villages? Who would dare throw a bigger party than his on the night of his favourite daughter's birthday? Who would have the unmitigated audacity to lure away his drummers and dancers away to an even bigger party? And why wasn't he invited?

"This is an outrage!" the chief shouted. He went to slam the table and hit the edge of his plate, causing food to fly into his own face. Of course, this made him even angrier. He grabbed his war club and demanded to know who the disrespectful galoot was who had stolen all his drummers and dancers.

Whiskey-Jack responded with a single word as he backed away: "God."

"What? God? The guy from the sky?" The chief was even more confused than before.

"Yes. Him. Well, technically, He's also on Earth, and not really a 'He' because He's beyond gender, but, yeah, the guy from the sky."

Dezkonde-rae sat down. He didn't know how to beat God with his war club. He needed a minute to think. After thinking for a minute, then two, then five, he had to admit he was stumped. He didn't know much about God, but he was pretty sure God was really big. Dezkonde-rae didn't become the big man by being a fool, and it's not wise to pick fights you can't win. And how do you win a fight against someone bigger than the sky? He took a big swig of mead and wondered what a Big Man like him would do in this situation.

Maybe there was a way to save face. After all, all he wanted was for his drummers to drum, his dancers to dance, and ideally a nice speech about how great he was. Plus, he was a little drunk, and his wives had prepared a great feast. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.

"Do you think there's any way to get the drummers and dancers back?" he asked Whiskey-Jack in a low voice.

"Well... Actually, there's one thing I can think of... There was one thing that God wanted more than anything else in the world, but I told Him it was out of the question."

"Oh, really? What’s that?"

"He really wanted to meet your daughter Alexia, whose name is famous even in Heaven for her incredible beauty. I'm sure He would send all the drummers and dancers back if you let Alexia pay Him a visit. Don't worry, I'll accompany her and take good care of her." He gave a charming look to the beautiful young woman, who blushed and looked away. She had always been in love with Whiskey-Jack.

After thinking for a long moment, the chief finally agreed, and soon Whiskey-Jack ventured into the forest with Alexia. Moments later, a loud and steady drumbeat was heard, and soon drummers and dancers appeared. Everyone got drunk and had a great time.

As for Whiskey-Jack and Alexia, they were never heard from again, but legend has it that they lived happily ever after.

THE END.