The hunters all gathered on Friday evening to assist with the preparation for the ceremony due to take place on the “box that talks”, the next day.
Gatherers congregated in the preparation and cleaning room, where they sat around the central preparation area while imbibing of the sweet fermented nectar, squeezed from the black berries they had gathered a few months earlier. Great carafes of this nectar were emptied into small containers and quaffed between giggles, screams and general squeals of pleasure.
The hunters congregated outside around their horseless wheeled chariots while they debated which area was the best to hunt. Some favoured small private areas while others preferred the more established multi game areas. I and a couple of the hunters headed to a private collector/dissector where we could select the buck to hunt. I selected a long eared fat tailed woolybuck, hauled out my gold card bow and arrow and shot it through the cash register. This is a much cleaner and safer shot then the head or heart shot because it does not damage any of the edible bits. The others did the same and we stopped to refresh ourselves at a friends hut called the Bubble and Burp.
The hunters returned triumphant to hand over the spoils to the gatherers to prepare for the feast, but by this time some of the hunters were falling over from fatigue and bubbly water and were left to revive on their own, as the rest went off to their various sleeping areas. The detritus of comatose hunters were dragged to one side so I didn’t squash any with my chair on the way to my hammock.
When the sun peeped over the horizon the Nokia drums started to sound the message to call the hunters and gatherers back to the ceremonial room with the “box that talks”. They all donned their ceremonial green and gold dress, some put horns on their heads and one hunter (it’s always the same idiot) got his ceremonies mixed up and painted himself blue, putting a pair of those sub-standard cow horns on his head. He had evidently got the time mixed up and was about 8 hours early for his game.
The hunters got the fire going long before the sun had fully shown itself in preparation for the sacrifice of long eared, fat tailed woolybuck and various other treasures like mealies from the land of the Cheetah cat, Potato from the rich lands of the beasty king, Onions from the land of the long horned losers and some Fish from the warm waters of Sharkland, some of the blue and white striped hunters were too full of bubbly water and the grass that sings, to change their ceremonial gear as usual, so they were allowed to remain seated while the rest of the hunters toi toid around the ceremonial fire.
The “box that talks” suddenly came to life as the Rugga ritual started in the land of the long white shroud and the hunters fell silent. This Rugga ritual is too complicated to explain on this parchment but just think of running in a line while passing a red hot coal to the next man as soon as it burnt your hands. This coal is called the rug, hence Rugga, and the object of the ritual is to plant it at the end of the ritual field. On the way there you can fight each other to keep the rug or you can vent your frustrations and kick the shit out of it. In these fights, gouging of the eyes, squeezing of the jewels and strangulation are frowned upon and could result in revenge being sought. This revenge has to be stopped by the chief who can blow on his screechy bird to stop and restart the ritual. After the fire has died down a winner is announced depending on the number of rug buries.
The ritual was on and the black Blacks, such a stupid name, were burying the rug at regular intervals and the hunters watching in the ceremonial room were getting angrier and angrier as they drank the water that burns and saw that, the Bucks that spring, another stupid name, were getting their asses kicked. With jeers, threats, curses and tears the hunters got quieter and quieter until they started dropping like flies.
The fire burned out and the ritual came to an end. The gatherers gathered their respective hunters and moved off to their own huts knowing full well that this same strange ritual would take place again after seven moons had been and gone.