Sir Ice Cream & Jelly

“What would you like to feast upon on this harvest night?” said the mildly mannered thrall.

“Ice cream and jelly, ice cream and jelly today and tomorrow, and tomorrow’s tomorrow!” Hissed back Sir Ice Cream and Jelly as he played with his tattered hair.

He combed it forward, combed it left and then right. His golden mirror followed him as he bounced around the room. Sir Ice Cream and Jelly studied his hair in the different lighting. The corner, the one away from the candle gave him a sultry appeal, a “I want you more than you want me” look. He didn’t want to appear promiscuous on this night. So he came on to his balcony. The breeze brushed his hair slick back with a curl at its end. He studied himself, like he studied science, for he had studied with worldly professors. Sir Ice Cream and Jelly had studied science during his greenness season. And science had taught him, that the moon reflected prisms on the mote that gave him a certain curious blue glow to his coat which made his receding fur appear much fuller.

So Sir Ice Cream and Jelly kept to himself, ruling over every human all along in his tree house. Built upon a Mendocino tree, he had hollowed it completely out by his subordinates. Sir Ice Cream and Jelly furnished it with a French revolutionary baroque theme. He lived a-la-grande! He was loose with money, like he was loose with women. The women that climbed the thousand step stairwell to visit Sir Ice Cream and Jelly expected the unexpected. The women that had come and gone before them had either become mutes or forever in an orgasmic state. Moaning and groaning undecipherable words and phrases. The fervor of these ladies was taken as madness, and they soon fell into the embankment of the city. They groped of one another, until they arms were numb and useless.

But on this harvest moon he would be the one venturing down below for a mid night snack. He meandered down the steps, thrusting his gaunt figure forth.