Yes, my friends, there is a Rutabaga of Love, and he can be anybody, but especially he can be anybody who consumes two tequila shots, four Gingerbread Men, and a bottle of apple cider in the space of about an hour. You will know him by his laugh, his walk, and by the bemused expression of the woman following him. (His wife, poor woman. She follows out of curiosity, mostly.)
He exists as certainly as tequila and Goldschlager exist, and we know that he would not exist without them, as they bring his consciousness to its highest comedic sensibility.
Alas! How dreary would Beltane have been without the Rutabaga of Love. It would be as dreary as if there were no alcohol. There would be no aimless wandering, then, and no expostulations that of course the Rutabaga of Love would get laid that night. We should have had no hilarity, except in our own sobriety.
Not believe in the Rutabaga of Love! You might as well not believe in the Internet. And in this world, there are very few things that are more real and abiding than the words that appear on the Web.
And a thousand Beltanes from now, the story of the Rutabaga of Love will continue to remind us of our human foibles, and the evils of drinking vast quantities without eating a proper dinner.
Happy Beltane, folks. (snrk)