It is the first Sunday of 2011. I woke feeling a bit uneasy; somewhat queasy. As though someone were calling to me, deep inside. As a good igtheist, I ignore calls from the invisible beyond, even on Sunday.

But as the day progressed, I divined that it was Lord Ralph calling to me. Loud. After another hour, it became distressing. I tried to placate him with a wintergreen pink tablet made with compounds of Bismuth (the element between toxic lead and radioactive Polonium). But he continued calling louder. I huddled under my blankets and moaned. This helps for a short periods, repeated over a couple of hours.

Finally his call became not just clear, but imminent. Lord Ralph was demanding immediate supplication. I threw a wrap around my shivering shoulders and bolted for the room of his shrine. As I knelt before his porcelain altar, I gazed up through at shimmering ceiling to see if his ethereal chariot was nigh.

It was. Forcefully I hailed the Holy Buick. The stars then did shimmer around me. The chariot was passing. I hailed it again, slightly weaker. It receded, even though I did loyally call after it a few more times in breathlessly quick succession.

Lord Ralph must have been pleased. He set peace upon my wracked body, and allowed me go return to my covers and lie in serenity for a while.

Then my wife came to offer us a bile-colored, caffeinated, fizzy, syrup solution over ice, called Mountain something-or-other. This, sipped with great respect, did placate this irresistible lord.