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Subscribe to this list via RSS Blog posts tagged in trolls

Posted by on in Culture Blogs

 

 

Mere weeks after the end of World War II, a prosperous but widely-despised New York mogul takes his young wife on a skiing vacation to the Norwegian mountains. While there, she vanishes, apparently into thin air.

Interpol and the FBI turn up nothing.

Three months later, she mysteriously reappears, to all appearances unharmed. No explanation for her disappearance is ever forthcoming.

After a difficult pregnancy of nearly ten months' duration, she delivers an outsized, obstreperous baby with a head of unnaturally orange hair.

You will, perhaps, have wondered why, in certain circles, a certain disgraced ex-demagogue is known as “President Half-Troll.”

Last modified on

Posted by on in Culture Blogs

 

It was the end of Winter, the Hungry Time.

Food was starting to run short, but Sugaring hadn't started up yet. So a hunter went out to see what he could track down.

He didn't come back and, although people went out to look for him, they mostly didn't have the strength to look very far.

Well, lots of things can happen in the woods in Winter, people said.

Next a young girl disappeared.

She'd gone down to the lake to get some water. They found the waterskin, empty, out on the ice near the hole that they always keep chopped open to draw their water from. (You always want to draw your water from where it's deep; it's cleaner there.) But the girl herself they never found.

What they did find were a set of tracks in the snow heading North, and those tracks were backward tracks.

So they knew they had a wendigo to deal with.

(Call them trolls or etins if you like; same difference.)

The elders sat down in council to try to figure out what to do next, but they talked around and around and couldn't come up with a workable plan. Finally young Weasel speaks up.

“I have an idea,” he says.

Last modified on

Posted by on in Culture Blogs

 

 

In the days when Norway was ruled by Denmark, there was once a farmer from Vågå, in Norway, who had gone to Copenhagen to settle a court case, as one did in those days, because there were no local courts.

On Yule Eve, the case was finally decided—in his favor, fortunately—but afterwards he found himself wandering the streets of the city aimlessly, downhearted at the prospect of a cheerless Yule far from home.

As he walked, a huge man hurried past, leading a horse, and well-wrapped against the cold.

“And where are you off to at such a great clip, my friend, this Midwinter's Eve?” the farmer asked the man.

“I'm off to Vågå,” said the man.

“Would that I might go with you this night, for it's there that I'm headed myself,” said the farmer.

“Ride with me if you've a mind,” said the man, “for my horse goes twelve steps to the mile; but mind you hold on tight, now.”

He mounted up onto the horse that he'd been leading, which was as much larger than a horse you or I might ride as the man himself was larger than you or I. The farmer climbed up behind him, and indeed the horse went like the wind, twelve steps to the mile. The farmer clung on for dear life, seeing neither earth nor starry heaven, so quickly did they go.

In a long while and a short while, they reached Vågå, and the farmer climbed down, somewhat shaken. For all that, he thanked the man, as well he might, and wished him best of Yule.

“And to you,” said the man, dismounting. “And if you should happen to hear a great noise or see a great light behind you, now, don't you go turning around to look.”

“Indeed I shan't,” said the farmer, and turned his face towards home.

But just as he reached his door, he heard behind him a great crash, loud as thunder, and saw a great light shine out, so bright that he could have picked up a pin from the ground. Forgetting his word, he turned back to see the source of the light and thunder.

Last modified on

Posted by on in Culture Blogs

 

A pagan couple once bought a house in the rural part of a Midwestern state. This house stood next to a bridge.

A few days after they'd moved in, there came a knock at the door.

“Hi,” said the couple at the door. “Our car broke down on the bridge; can we use your phone?”

(This, of course, was B.C.: before cell.)

“Sure,” said the home-owners and, being good pagans, they played the gracious host until the tow-truck arrived.

A few days later, there's another knock at the door. Another break-down on the bridge.

A few days after that, it happens again.

Finally, the couple gets pretty sick of it. (Call it hospitality fatigue.) So the husband walks over, stands under the bridge, and really lets loose.

“Listen, you!” he hollers. “I don't know who you are or what you're playing at, but I'm warning you: my wife is a witch, and if this doesn't stop right now, she's going to come over here and take care of things good and proper. And believe you me, you really don't want that to happen!

From that day forward, there were no more break-downs on the bridge.

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The Ugliest Troll in the North Country


When you've been abducted by the Troll-in-Chief, it's good to have some magic as backup.

 

The Loathly* Worm

 

President Trump, he must be

the ugliest troll in the North Countree.

President Trump, he must be

the ugliest troll in the North Countree.

 


President Trump, that lives in Trump Tower,

the ugliest troll in the North Countree,

has trysted me in and up to his bower,

and many a fair speech he's made to me.

Last modified on

Posted by on in Culture Blogs
In Chief

 Warning: Contains Vulgarities

Abuser-in-Chief

Blowhard-in-Chief

Chump-in-Chief

Dotard-in-Chief

Embarrassment-in-Chief

Flip-flopper-in-Chief

Grabber-in-Chief

Hater-in-Chief

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Recent Comments - Show all comments
  • Steven Posch
    Steven Posch says #
    To Any Yetis Who May Have been Offended by This Post: My profound apologies for my unthinking Yetiphobia. I am currently enrolled
  • Gus diZerega
    Gus diZerega says #
    A good start except for your slur on yetis... :-)
  • Steven Posch
    Steven Posch says #
    Silicon Valley doesn't own English, and long after Silicon Valley is gone, English will still be here. BtW, "Yahoo-in-Chief" is
  • Anthony Gresham
    Anthony Gresham says #
    I was actually thinking of the Merriam Webster's Collegiate Dictionary meaning. 1 : a member of a race of brutes in Swift's Gulli
  • Greybeard
    Greybeard says #
    So nice to read single digit intelligence on PaganSquare.

Posted by on in Culture Blogs
American Faerie Story

A man and a woman once moved into a house near a bridge.

A few days later, there was an automobile accident on the bridge.

The next week, there was another.

The week after that, yet another.

Finally, the man climbed down under the bridge.

“Look,” he yelled. “I don't know who you are or why you're doing this, but my wife is a witch, and if you don't stop, she's going to come down here and give you what for.”

Then he climbed back up and went home.

After that, there were no more accidents.

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