This is a good time and place to say, thank you to all of you who have been following this story, be it from the start or even if you just picked it up a week ago, I thank you for coming back again. This is the finale, the end of the book of rules story, but by no means is it the end of the podcast, nor the end of my stories. in fact, there is coming a brand news story, come next week.

Note, It was in my intention to bring an introduction into book two, come Tuesday evening, however, that plan has been scrapped because, a magazine has shown interest in this story in it's "never-before-published form," which is great news for me. however, I can't proceed with publishing any part of it here.

Not to worry though, it will still get published. In the meantime, here comes another story called, Black Blood. Trace the family tree. Tuesday, Apr. 21st. 8: 00 PM. Now, here is chapter 16 of the book of rules story. Listen to it on the podcast.

Chapter sixteen: Jamming in the Jan can

What have we gotter here? He would have queried over his beer. Slurring the words off of the place where his tongue used to be heard. But now, he just needs to do the peep, like, take a peep, pee-peeping in the lavatory.

“Here,” he was to swear, “hold this for me,” it was his can of beer. “I’ll be right back.” Said the man, and he was a lot gone, just like that. “What’s taking him so long?” Asked the boy now still holding on to the can, he can no longer hanger-on to this beer can watching plan.

So, he was to hop along to knock upon the Jan, or more like, upon the door of the pan, and much, much more than. No score, no response came back to dance at the banging dooring circumstance. So, he would have push, push against the bush, sorry Flore, I meant to say, upon the door, as you already know the score, people don’t bush the bushit anymore.

So, he would have pushed the door and stepped right on in, into what he thought was a forgotten sin, the dude had forgotten to hit the light before switching to do the pissing rite. Right? He was wrong.

He was falling through the darkness, headlong. Down, down, down he’s going down. But then came the sudden stop, lucky for him it was to splash, and the breathing was to hit him once again, softer than the goner which he had thought had come upon him.

Now, he’s in the swim with lots of others there with him. Yelling and shouting, and clawing away at getting to them up there where they were seated, on the exalted place up above there where we did, …you kidding kid? No. I’m not, this right here was the actual act. We were way down low, they were up top on the bow, upon the rainbow circle seating area above the fighting flow.

They didn’t know though that there were yet other eyes looking on, looking on and watching all of the happenings. Whose eyes were they? Questions to find out and obey. …but. That was what the rest of us was there doing, fighting our way at getting it to them, to give to them what was coming. And still is coming, to them.

Speaking of coming, another person just came dropping in, did you not hear that? He comes dropping in through the same crack, through the very same dark hole which catapulted me in, I am now getting the feeling as if that’s how we all got here. Leaving behind the fountain of beer.

Now here we are, again, in the den. All men. None of those others with them, you know them, who? The woe! …the who? The woe. No, don’t do that to them, or that thing will surely come upon you, like the woe one which you were about to spew, but no, we are talking about the women here.

Meanwhile, up there on the ballroom floor, the party is as haughty as before. But every now and then, there goes another of the men, you know them, they have to do their thing when they are out doing the other thing, -the drinking sin thing. The restroom door says gentlemen, so, that was where they would go to do the go thing, you know, when a man has got to go he’s got to go.

So, one by one they would have gone and went, not to be returning back again. Well, at least not yet, and not via the same way they went, where they had gotten wet.

Something was cooking down there in the kitchen. That would be the place where each man had fallen. Or more like, somewhere there in the peripheries of those drop-in centers, was the kitchen.

An answer to the calling, from the higher up callers who was actually down there lower than the ballroom shoulder. And getting cold and colder, well, they were cold altogether. Not only those who were down at the bottom and in the water but also those at the header.

They were surely colder, yes, somewhere between each ones’ shoulders. …how cold? How cold? Grab a hold onto your soul, you are about to growl at what is about to unfold.

Dinner time is almost here. But before we get there to the Tupperware, some more happenings are about to happen down in the darkroom. Boom! Boom. Does this spell doom? Oh! No. not yet. But.

When the smoke was cleared, and they could again look upward, well, they could have always look but that didn’t mean that they were going to be able to see what they were looking up there to see. Because.

The smoke from the boom blast had darkened the entire room fast, well, it wasn’t even a room to speak of. Just an oval-shaped dome looking somewhat like the belly of a thermos home, which mercifully, it had a deep pool of water which was to serve to break the fall of all who took the tumble in, and after.

Unawares though it might have been, they were in and could not seem to be able to find a way out again, other than that which their “host,” those who were sitting there on a platform several arms spans up above the water post.

They were made very aware, I’m sure. Up there where they were, and looking on and over the goings-on downstairs. But as for us, we were down there on the narrow ledge on which we were now soaked, cold and scared stiff, hostages were we, standing there and nursing our shaking knees, and begging for our lives properly. But as for those knives.

The knives are sharp and short, but the night is long and is about to get longer. There seemed to be a cut-off point in the age ranges of those men there in the can. In the minds of those deranges, the selective selecting clan.

Better that though, than the man, you know, as it pertains to the cutting plan, but. Ahead of them was the cut-off point at which a different fate was to befall them.

The young, well, let’s say younger, the younger men, those who would have been about twenty-five and under, under them, they were sent to one side and all of the rest to another.

Then those young men would have ended up serving as waiters on the ballroom floor for the night, starting mere moments after they would have been initiated and given their queue to frights.

As for the others, the older men, they were to serve too and be served, as well as be served up. “Shuts.”Well, not all of them, or more like, not all parts of them, just that part. They were all given a choice. “The jewels or your lives,” like, I mean, the real jewels, like, the real family jewels.Yeah! That kind of a jewel.

And you know where that was going to lead, don’t you? They would have to duel, no man was going to be quick on the gift, you know! When it comes to that kind of giving. The gift-given on the shilling. No, not that willing Mister Gilling.

So, they were going to have to fight it out. But that battle would have been won by not the other side but the one, you know him, the one with the upper hand, as always, it is he who always wins. And he would have been sitting up there on the stand well-rested and in command, and still holding on to the strength in his brand.

Each of the others was done wasted after the waterfall which he would have tasted, and the time being so long on which he had was to stand, standing there upon the plank, just hanging on to, or tumbling off of the ledge, with a pledge to do as the man had said, just get me through and out of this strange twist of fate, who would have been mere moments before, lying with him there in bed.

But they, their hosts, they were twist-twisted men of wits. So, as the negotiations go, they would have agreed to give up the garden seeds in return for the man in need.

And then, into the kitchen, they would proceed, like, proceed to go. And then came the other men, the younger ones under them. It is now time to go take commands from the men in command and go waiting tables all night long. What such delicate and exotic treats! The women were delighted to eat?

Served up upon a blazing platter with bitter herbs, the meat, in the presence of a hundred and seventy of each man’s chosen women folks, to eat, to begin with. Those were the spouses of the mutilated dimwits.

At the end of the evening though, half of those women would have remained to go because, every time one of those women would wince, grimace or gasp at the reveal of what was the contents of the meal, she would have been eliminated by the method of choice. Leaving there the many potfuls of rice, without them even getting to taste a bite.

One hand bearing up the silver platter, the other hand pretending as if it wasn't properly guarding the family jewelry, while the knees wobble below the peas as they approach each of the tables where the high and mighty men, were and sitting above their knees.

Therefore, only the bravest, coldest or most talented actors amongst the women there, was to remain atop the stain at the end of the day, not just that night but the day, as it was to be from that day on.

What do we do now, with them, with those women? Note: Take your emotions out of the mix and just read the writing scripts. That’s it. Now sit. As we go right back to doing it, to them. But how was it going as it applies to those serving servers since they would have been privy to some knowledge greater and further?

While he was there walking the floor, and passing again by the restroom door, the same one through which he had tumbled before. But now, lucky for him, he’s not down there anymore, he is back there walking the floor, doing the rounds. And serving.

One hand bearing up the silver platter, the other hand pretending as if it wasn't proper, like, as if it wasn’t properly guarding the family jewelry, while the knees wobble below the peas as they approach each table where the high and mighty men, not so mighty again, were sitting there above their knees.

Or more like trying hard at sitting atop the scars. But they were men who also happened to have been the several fathers of several of those shaky-kneed waiter friends. They were sitting there, uncomfortable in the chair, waiting to try and devour each man's most reluctant meals ever, since they must.

It was a part of the trust which they were made to sign as surety to find another time walking atop their every man’s grave line, atop the dust. And hence preserve what was left of their tentative lives. But how about husbanding the bandings with their wives? Is this the end of that thrive? Go ask Clive, he might know.

But seriously though. Things are about to go down another give. They, yes them. Those same twisted wits of men. They are the very ones who are left up there to do the shake-up and the give. And they are even now thinking up another place in which to live. For all of the natives, of Kingsland world inclusive.

In the end, a new way of doing things was being attempted which sees a lot of the things, the norms and customs of the distant to immediate pass being turned on their heads, and fast. Not some other world somewhere else, but this present Kingsland world has done over and a lot better for everyone.

A place where, when negotiating he negotiates with the idea of: He who takes the knife to the apple, it is he who gets to pick last, like, the bottom of the bottle.

So, if you are that person, and you are sitting there on your rrrass-tafar-I, and it is you who is sitting and making the rules, and who is to decide each other man's portion, even in the pools. You will then get to pick your piece of the apple pie after everybody else. In so doing you are more likely to be fair in apportioning the shares sharing.

This is to take effect after the jubilee, which will follow the night of the family jewelry. And is to be that chance we have long waited for, where everyone gets to start afresh and with no debt load to carry when we jump on the lorry on the way over.

Imagine a new reality. Imagine a Kingsland world where men truly live in peace and equity. Where this man helps and encourages the other one to become his best self, where what this one does well, will complement what the other one does well, for the ultimate good of all. Where if this one hurts that one feels the pain.

Like a line from a well-known song said it very eloquently again: how high will the sycamore grow? If you cut it down, you will never know… (Adopted, not mine.) But. That is to be the new mantra in this new place and phase, let’s see the other extremes of the possibilities upon your face. Such as afore-times we have never seen.

Let alone taste. Let those Sycamores grow, see what I mean? Instead of this man grabbing the spoil from that one after he was done with killing him and all of the possibilities which might have been lying dormant within him.

Or even those which he was in the process of working on at the time when that other man fell down on him and kill him because he thought that there is no good in him. He is better off dead so he said, and so too is the world’s equilibrium, it too will be better off without him, sleeping in peace in his own permanent bed.

Not to mention the resources which he was sitting on over there doing nothing with, it is sure going to be more valuable in this thieving man’s possession sit than it was in his hands. And the beat goes on. But, does it?

Does it have to be that way? Or is there another, another better way, my brothers?

Thank you. And all the best, from your good friend, E K, the Writingelk, I am out.