A Treatise on the True Story of December 25th

Over the years, traditions and holidays evolve. Even religious ones that are organized by people dead set against evolution and everything it stands for – they evolve too. When people are asked what “the true meaning of Christmas” is these days, respondents often focus too hard on trying to remember the details, like whether Scrooge owned the inn that turned Mary away, or the one that let her stay in the stable. Many worry themselves trying to remember which gift each wise man brought, and forget the real message, which is that giving expensive presents to a newborn is guaranteed to spoil him.

Some people lose sight of the bigger picture while watching straight-to-DVD movies, and forget all about treatises.

However, there is an altogether different message associated with December 25th, which predates the Christmas story, and even the film A Christmas Story. Arguably the event is all the more important as it actually happened on December 25th, unlike subsequent events which are wrongly and inexplicably commemorated on that day.

To Frodologists, December 25th is Fellowship Day. It commemorates that day when Frodo and his eight companions set off from Rivendell to destroy the Ring and deliver Middle Earth from evil. There are, I think, four lessons which can be drawn from the bold step taken on December 25th.

First, the mission to Mordor is symbolic of casting off the yoke of our material possessions. The ring which Frodo takes is a piece of jewelry highly evocative of Western materialism, and he swears on all that’s holy (himself) that he will cast it into the fires of the predictably named Mount Doom. As Robert Frost belatedly observed several millennia later, “nothing gold can stay”. Unless it wasn’t infused with preternatural evil at the time it was cast from hellfire and the ethereal souls of unbaptized children. Then it can stay.

The second message that Frodologists take from Fellowship Day is that on any arduous quest or journey, at the halfway point a tall elvish woman will give you queer gifts you likely have no use for. This is a device which literature calls deus ex machina, and it demonstrates the extreme and incredible good fortune which one should always expect and count on.

Third, Fellowship Day teaches us important lessons about cooperation in the face of faceless evil. Namely, it teaches us to judge others based on rumors and hearsay, and to accuse entire cultures of being paragons of evil, particularly if they lay far to the east. It teaches us to ignore the root causes of strife, and to expend countless lives sorting out a disagreement when a little dialogue may have been just as effective.



Finally, Fellowship Day teaches us about friendship. In particular we learn the lesson that, despite brave assurances of support from friends and strangers alike, no one will actually offer to do the hardest part for us, no matter how much more suited they are for the task. Ultimately, putting a miniature flag on your dashboard or uploading a series of JPEGs to the sidebar of your blog is much easier.

With so much to teach the rest of the world, however, we Frodologists must remember never to detract from other messages symbolized by the 25th of December. In particular, if you are heavily pregnant and desperately implore people for a room all the while maintaining your chastity and virginity, no one is going to let you in.

Merry Christmas!

Holiday (in)activity

Esteemed Frodologists,

Frodo's Prophet is going on holiday for a couple of weeks on Saturday and will hopefully be spending as little time as possible on the computer, as he hears that there is sunshine, nature and a qwertyless world out there somewhere which need to be experienced.

Nevertheless, two posts have been scheduled for Frodo's loyal followers should they find themselves unable to go cold turkey. Hah.

Until the good grace of Frodo hauls our planet into a new year, enjoy your holidays , and please - don't be tempted to pray to Thinky!


Yours faithfully,

FrodoSaves

In the know: should we just stop using our brains?

Perched atop of our bodies like a crown as it is, the brain has long fascinated man. That is until he lays down, at which point it’s no higher than anything else on his body and he can become fascinated with his sex organ. But for the most part, the brain is the pinnacle of our corporeal selves, and for this reason it is thought to be greatly deserving of study.

The brain was first discovered by cavemen in 12,116 BC in a game of “rock-head”, a primitive recreational activity which required participants to fling rocks of various sizes at each other’s heads. In actual fact, however, cavemen were previously unable to distinguish between rocks and heads, and so the game’s name is better translated as “rock-rock”, or “head-head”. Scientists believe it is this same basic misunderstanding of anatomy that causes rams to lock horns and butt heads.

It was however not until the middle of the 18th Century that a use was finally discovered for the brain. For several weeks in the summer 1731 it became wildly popular among European monarchs to use gray matter compote as a primitive weather sealant. Though seasonal rains proved it expensive and ineffective, it was not until Thompson’s Water Seal became commercially available in the early 20th Century that this use of brains was finally discontinued.

By the early 19th Century, the actual use of the brain had been discovered. Early scientists were perplexed by its similarity to the walnut, leading many to think that trees were much smarter than us. When man returned to the surface from his burrow two generations later, civilization more or less returned to normal.

Only very recently has the more sinister purpose of the brain been discovered. Frodologist scientists have reason to believe that the brain is actually the principle medium by which atheists pray to their brain-god, Thinky. That this took so long to discover is somewhat embarrassing to scientists; in retrospect, atheists' appeals to “reason” and “logic” are transparent proselytizing on behalf of their deity. But most importantly, theologians wonder, are we angering Frodo every time we use our brains by appearing to worship Thinky?

Scientists are now scrambling around for an answer. After all, we can’t just remove our brains.

Can we?

No, it would seem we cannot. Frankenstein’s monster is misleading on that front and only goes to demonstrate the dangers of believing in fiction! So, if we can’t remove them, how can we turn them off?

Preliminary research suggests that it is possible and recommends the power of the mass synchronized chant: F… R… O-D-O, F… R… O-D-O … When it’s over, it’ll be hours later and chanters will remember nothing.

Frodologist scientists expect that through this program participants will soon become avid consumers of mass market t-shirts and bumper stickers.



Salvation rides a Wagoneer

Alarming “might as well” cult growing among nation’s youth

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Reindeer serial killer on the rampage

Cries of anguish could be heard around the world today at the news that Christmas might have to be delayed. Police in the Northwest Territories reported their discovery of yet another dead reindeer from Santa Claus’ stables, bringing the total to four in just a single week.

While cynical parents bathed in the tears of their disappointed children, many better parents were perplexed as to how they were going to explain to their children that the imaginary Christmas characters that filled their hearts with delight actually existed, but were now mostly dead. A Mormon counselor has advised parents to be forthright and just keep their heads down. “It’s a necessary evil, like teaching your kids about the birds and the bees. You’ll feel dirty afterwards, but it’s a sign of good parenting.”

Perhaps the most horrifying aspect of the killings is the twisted way in which each reindeer has been dispatched in a manner prescribed by his name. The most recent victim, Cupid, was discovered with an arrow through his heart. Mounties initially believed it to be felled by a hunter, but then remembered that Canadians usually prefer to hunt with empty beer cans.

The slaying of the previous three was no less deranged. Vixen died from an advanced syphilitic infection, while Dasher was pierced by a giant hyphen. Santa Claus reportedly regrets not having named the reindeer Colon instead, but it is unlikely the creature's death would have been any less grisly. The first reindeer to die was Comet, after he was crushed by a rock falling from the upper atmosphere. Police suspect his death may be unrelated, however, as technically it would have been a meteorite.

Internet forums are already alight with speculation as to what, if anything, will befall Christmas’ most cherished reindeer, Rudolph. Will he be hanged like the Nazi commandant of Auschwitz, Rudolf Hess, or merely die in prison like the other Nazi, Rudolph Hess? The North Pole is meanwhile keeping the remaining reindeer under a close watch, but Dancer is nevertheless insisting people just call him “Bill”.

The Catholic Church is apparently unconcerned about the delay. As a spokesman for the Pope explained, “December 25th was an arbitrary choice anyway. We’ll just shift Jesus’ birthday back a few weeks, remind everyone that the Pope is infallible, and advise them not to think about it too much.”

Answering criticism that the Church is unfairly insensitive to the crushed dreams of millions of children, the spokesman responded that “it would definitely be wrong to say that we enjoy ruining lives. I guess you could say we’re just indifferent.”

Before Christmas can go ahead, however, Santa will first have to discover a new method of powering his sleigh. It is thought he will look to Japan or possibly Korea for propulsion, as the United Elf Workers claim they are only being paid to make the same old toys over and over again. Despite the potential loss of their jobs and livelihoods should Christmas not occur, they are unwilling to invent or innovate, having spent their careers getting paid handsomely for decades’ worth of unoriginal ideas.


Santa's elves unveil the latest hybrid

Meanwhile, readers are encouraged to remain vigilant and write in with any reindeer deaths they witness.

Prophecy wrongly predicts own fallibility

Frodologist scholars were flabbergasted yesterday, when, during a routine reexamination of a religious text for clues as to Frodo’s opinion on winter shorts, they happened upon a hidden prophetic warning. It appears that the Frodological prophecy foresees its own fallibility:

“And it shall come to pass that none of it shall come to pass.”

The discovery is alarming in that all of the text’s other predictions have so far panned out. For example, it predicted that when the sins of hobbits angered Frodo, a terrible storm should fall upon the land. And it did last summer, when seasonal rains flooded a few fields and delayed the corn harvest by several days. While no one is sure which sin in particular attracted the wrath of Frodo, whatever it was must have been bad, because the storm came. That kind of thing doesn’t just happen.

Prophecy also proclaims that the River Anduin shall dry up when Frodo’s return is imminent. And the great river did exactly that when a group of local hobbits dammed the Upper Anduin in order to fulfill the prophecy.


That's dam fine prophecy fulfillment, boys!

Yet another example is the widely recognized claim that Frodo will not return until His Hobbit Hole is rebuilt for the third time. It hasn’t, and he hasn’t.

I could give more examples, but I won’t, because prophecy predicts that I won’t. The problem provided by the erroneous passage is of course obvious, but in case it isn’t I’ll explain it for the sake of padding out this article.

Prophecy has so far been infallible, meaning that the prediction of its fallibility is wrong and renders it fallible. But when prophecy is wrong, the prophecy that it will be wrong will be vindicated and it will be proof that the Second Coming of Frodo is imminent. But how will scholars know when the prophecy is wrong, thereby proving that prophecy was right in predicting that it would be wrong? Most predictions are so widely worded that we could attribute anything to them, and the others we just ignore.

If prophecy is to be proved correct by it being wrong, Frodologist scholars will have to be more cautious in proclaiming fulfillment. Theologians are expected to start consulting religious skeptics to judge more accurately whether any given prophecy has been fulfilled, since after so many years of sycophantic agreement with scripture, they have apparently lost the ability to think critically.

Will atheists be the ones to save the Faith? That seems like an attention-seekingly implausible conclusion…

Is our galaxy really a giant waffle?

It is no secret that Frodo was fond of food. Hobbits were known to eat several meals a day, including two breakfasts. They were champions of cooking, when the men of the world were content simply to gnaw on dirty root vegetables. Some Frodologists even suggested that Frodo was named after a dish which was a particular favorite of hobbits, just as Jesus was named after a type of sand found on the shores of Galilee.

As such, much of a Frodologist’s worldview is shaped by foods. In biology, we shirk kingdoms animal and plant, and embrace the kingdom edible. In art, we focus on those dishes most aesthetically appealing. In mathematics, we forego calculations in favor of a meal. Indeed, the single reason we don’t brand followers of the Flying Spaghetti Monster as heretics is because they worship a pasta dish. Why bicker about scripture when you can identify with a similarly enlightened soul?

However, recently our innocuous opinions have come under fire. In particular, the Frodologist belief that our galaxy is actually a giant waffle has attracted a trifle of criticism. Mindful of conciliating with places of learning, we agreed that our position was a little untenable, and were willing to change it such that we accepted it could also be an enormous waffle. Oddly, this didn’t placate the Royal Academy. Neither did gargantuan, colossal, or really really big.

It later became clear that the nature of the grievance against our belief is not the chosen adjective, but the waffle. Many scientists argue that it’s preposterous to believe that our galaxy is a waffle. If you were to believe that, they argue, you might as well believe in sasquatch, la chupacabra, and OJ Simpson, when everyone knows they’re just fairy tales made up to scare children.

Yes, you could believe all that, and we wouldn’t judge you for it in the slightest. Take note, atheists, appealing to a Frodologist’s sense of reality is like barking up the wrong horse.



Some exasperated scientists have taken a lazier tack and requested that we instead provide evidence that our galaxy is a giant waffle. Well, they asked for it. Frodo told us. He revealed it, in a document that has yet to be published, but that shouldn’t detract from its veracity as most certainly not written by people in positions of waffled interest.

In any case, who do scientists think they are to tell us that the galaxy isn’t a giant waffle? After all, situated in the very galaxy we’re trying to get a look at, it’s not like we can photograph ourselves. That would require some sort of huge mirror, just floating there in space besides our galaxy. What total nonsense!

Having catastrophically failed to disprove the Waffle Theory, secular busybodies are now imploring the state that its teaching in schools should not be allowed. That’s fair. It’s not really like belief in a giant waffle is going to help these kids get jobs. It’d probably just be a waste of time.

Finally, the reader may count himself surprised at having reached the end of the article and not having read a single pun about waffling. Frodo moves in mysterious, Jesus-like ways.