Only joking. That would be massively horrible and really, really uhhh  vague.  Eight thousand pages of a roughly edited story of Caligula aka Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus running away from home and getting lost in the woods only to be almost eaten by a witch who lives in a gingerbread hou…a house made of crackers! Or biscuits, but I mean that in the way that English people call cookies biscuits.

For all the students of the Roman Empire and the “Byzantine” Empire, which is just the bullshit historiographical term for the medieval Roman Empire after the western side fell, and all the Harry Potter fans… Wait. That is one narrow Venn Diagram.

Caligula was woken up by his mother while she snuck past the centurions at his door to place his Christmas stocking on the end of his bed. His stocking was comically large. He himself had picked it out when he was 10, but it had been a profitable year of pillaging and it was full all the way through. There were fentanyl patches and the eyeball of one of his love rivals on a golden chain, there was a Lionel trainset and a coupon book for kisses from his mother. Caligula yawned and got up, pocketing the book with mom’s kisses. “That won’t last until the new year,” he laughed.

His unnamed man servant laughed with him and Caligula had him tortured and killed while he ate his Froot Loops.

Elvis’ “Blue Christmas was playing in the palace. Outside it was hot and sunny. “Can’t believe it’s already Christmas,” he said. I totally missed Halloween this year. I was going to dress up as a butcher and go around with my butcher tools and remove slices of meat from neighborhood children. What do you s’pose is the best cut of meat from a brat?”

His cook didn’t answer. He wasn’t trying to be rude, it’s just he didn’t speak the language. Caligula ordered him to be killed.

His mother looked at the calendar. It was only August but her son had mandated that today was December 25. Christmas.

It was the year 31 AD and Christ was actually still alive. Caligula had picked Christ in the empire’s Secret Santa game. Last year he gave somebody an aqueduct. “Fuck,” he had said when he read the name. “Jesus of Nazareth. What the hell am I supposed to get him?”

“It might be another guy,” said his friend, Romanius. “Jesus is a pretty common name. And how many people come from Nazareth these days? The odds are pretty good that it’s just some shitmuncher.”

“It’s not necessarily the son of God,” said his mother, kissing Caligula on the lips and tearing a coupon from his book. She tucked the coupon in her cleavage.

“Mom,” said Caligula. “You’re such a slut!”

She winked at him.

“I’ll have you waterboarded,” he said, directed at nobody in the room, which means it was directed at everybody. Or maybe nobody. Or maybe everybody.

 

 

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