The McDonoliad

Book 1

Sing, oh iHeart, of the dramatic legend of Fred, the destined champion of all average men. Let the story of greatest proportions echo down across the generations, and let none forget the grand journey, the journey of all journeys, that mighty Fred did undertake! Let it be told across the cities of the world of men, from the cities of America to the quiet ranches of England! Let it be broadcasted across the world, so that all may hear and rejoice, pleased by such a tale. May not even the eternal battle between beloved Spotify and mighty Pandora prevent its telling. I call upon thee, oh great pop singers, grant me the wisdom and voice to let such this tale begin!

Ere thus did Fred Greene, son of Carl, begin his great journey. Long had he toiled, sweat composed upon his brow within the offices. Great were his deeds there, but far less than what he did decree to do upon the clicking of the clock, the great mover of destiny. 

Mighty and powerful is the clock and the alarm, which controls the fates of men. White is its background, and black are its arms, the hands that point to the utter truth of reality. The clock sets for stability and order, for time is the basis of stability and order. It is the platform of understand, the basis for the workings of reality. Yet ere also is it the great prison of man, for those clutched in the fists of jobs must ever concede to the almighty clock. 

From its unyielding frequency, arcs are set, and man is subjected and chained to his post for a set time, and only the pass of the arms shall set him free. Many are those who languish, eagerly eyeing the mighty machine, o bringer of joy and sadness. Those who see their time is near rejoice, for at last shall they be freed, let loose to return hither to home and fireplace. But great is suffering of mortals who have only begun the period of their prison, for long shall they toil in their tasks, as set forth by the clock which yields not to man's desire. For it tells time, and time listens to no man.

But at last the cordial hands of the small but mighty clock did at last strike their cords, and ere did Fred look up and notice his bonds of constraint had been loosed by the clicking of the clock. Joy filled his heart, and quickly he did gather his companions to him, and spoke thus, 

"To me, O brothers and sisters, my dearests of allies. Look there, upon the grey painted wall, our salvation at last! The mighty keeper of time has signaled the passing of the door, the opening of the gates, and the shedding of chains and ropes! Hither, I implore you to gather 'round to me, friend and ere a true ally to you all; come and I shall give you thus insight into what next our course shall be."

"Peace, good friend," spoke Stacy, friend to Fred, "And let us hear your words. Indeed, I will listen most excellently to you, companion, for well have I learnt the manner of your talk. Born I was Martha, daughter of Kester. Of ancient yore, I will impart, for long is the history of my family."

"My great-great-great-father was, of birth, an old Swedish, that ancient race that dwells in the far-off lands of Scandinavia. Long have those people dwelt there, bitter frosts and clamoring cold that chill the frozen fjords of that land. They were called the terrors of the seas of their age, Vikings, who did come forth upon wooden prows to strike upon the shores of other men!"

"Greatly afeared were the ancient men of that land, who dared even to travel far to hither lands unknown, even to North America, the residence of our own in this modern age. But long has this time passed, into the ages of legend and myth."

"I am of that of that noble line, among the descendants of that people, the wrath of the Northmen still felt in his blood, and the call to greater lands yearning in his veins. Ere did he thus travel to yonder lands, far across the black-clad roads of great cities, to coffee shops and antique store untouched by mortal hands, to unkempt places within the mighty city of mankind."