Hello, Sailor!

And so it came to pass, that the good saint needed to cross a body of water. Thus did he and his acolytes leave the monastary (wherever it was) and they headed for the city of Thud.

After a long and arduous journey of several minutes, they arrived at the port. Percious Mao buttons were no more, and the streets were filled with bureaucratic forms and empty liquor bottles similar to those served on airlines. The caravan stopped, drank some tea provided by Friar Pharmaceutical, and waited.

Presently, a group of drunken sailors arrived, and began accosting the saint and his followers. This irritated the saint mightily, also because all of the liquor bottles had been emptied by Lady Sophinator and he had nothing left to drink. He turned to a drunken sot lying under a pile of Tax Mulching Form 1066 sheets and said to him: "Oh ye who smells like a sea captain, I hereby appoint you Captain Iron Skull, Deacon in charge of the seamen! Go and expel the white semen!"

The ladies giggled, and the men held their hands over thair codpieces, and the good saint decided that he didn't need to cross that stinky body of water anyhow, and simply passed it.

How ECoL got its drugs

There was once a cabal that ws in dire need of drugs. The Polyfounder (Polyfather, or whatever) was low on Ritalin. Several of the brothers and sisters needed their herbs. Seeds were not being planted, and the Deacon of Smackdown frowned mightily upon the illicit usage of certain pharmaceuticals.

It then came to pass that Eris, She who we also know as the RNG, spoke to Saint Fnordius, saying "Keep ye an eye open for a young Briton, who bears much knowledge of these things. He shall be your new Friar, your Herbalist." The good saint trembled, but that was because some damn fool had left the window open.

Years went by, and the promised Briton never showed up. The Polyfounder lost his patience, and nominated the next person who came in the door, a scraggly bum named Elmo.

Seriously, all welcome Elmo, our new Friar of Pharmaceuticals. Just don't let the Deacon of Smackdown catch you...

Look out, girls!

I'm such a pervert. I've named Fletchar Patron Saint of Breast Touching in the Erisian Church of Loathing. He now promises to abuse his office, as we expect him to.

Did I err?


Update: I herebly declare Lukifer the Patron Saint of Gift-Giving. The title is richly deserved...

Medic on duty

By foolishly revealing that he knows of Eris, our beloved crazy bitch, Doctorbus has gotten himself assigned the position of Medic On Duty and Missionary to the Pastafarians. Or whatever.

The Abbey of ECoL

No, not really an abbey, but an update on our beloved sisters in the service of Eris, Goddess of Confusion (also known as the RNG). Please welcome koalacat and Threesomes into the Order!

That means our list of titles is as follows:

The Girls:

• J Jiggalicious: High Priestess of Sexy Jiggling
• Sophinator: Our Lady of Inebriation
• maraM2449: Keeper of the Tickly Secrets and High Priestess of Cleavage
• Rubber_Toast: Beatifier of Bouncy Breakfast Foods
• koalacat: Sister of Drunken Debauchery
• Threesomes: Our Lady of Maple-Flavored Naughtiness
• Mariasha: Sister of Necessary Violence
  

The Guys:

• St. Dumas: Patron saint of hula hoops and round things
• OldJanitor: Pope Of the Broom Closet, Finder of Secrets in the Trash and Exquisitioner
• TankBoy: Sergeant at Arms and Lord Enforcer
• Sentry22:Deacon of Smackdown
• Saint Fnordius: Founder and Polyfather
  

A quote to consider

"I doubt whether the agony an irradiated soldier goes through in the process of dying is any worse than that produced by having your body charred to a crisp by napalm, your guts being ripped apart by shrapnel, your lungs blown in by concussion weapons, and all those other sweet things that happen when conventional weapons (which are preferred and anointed by our official policy) are used."

Sam Cohen, inventor of the neutron bomb