Dancing George The Obese Eskimo, Chapter 4

           Finally, it was the day of the Grand Talent Competition and all of the Eskimo villages of the Arctic and many more visitors besides, including a multicultural dog's breakfast of foreign dignitaries, had turned out to watch. Stewards shepherded the crowd to one side of the great ice-plain, whilst the contestants lined up anxiously at the other end. Much of the chatter that animated the crowd was not only of what spectacles awaited them and who would prove victorious, but also in anticipation of the impending arrival of the Eskimo King, for peculiar as it might seem, not one single Eskimo, even the Elders of the Villages, could actually recall ever having beheld their snowy sovereign in the flesh, or even seen a pic of him on Wintagram or Coldsnapchat. It wasn't his image on the Eskimoney,  just a triangular igloo with an occult-looking single eye on top, a lot like the dollar bill in fact.  Even in the Arctic, it appeared the Illuminati still manned the Mint!.  

    Suddenly the crowd was hushed as a caravan of snow-crowned, whitewolf-drawn sleighs materialised on the blizzardy horizon. A crystalline reveille of imperial ice trumpets was audible and then unignorable as the Royal Entourage approached, then 'unmushed' (as Yukon Cornelius might put it) up next to the competition entrants on the far side of the ice-plain. Out of the smaller carriages emerged Eskimo Guards in snow-leopard fur-coats with swords carved from walrus-tusks, as well as the heralds who had tooted on the mystical-sounding yet authoritative ice trumpets that signalled the coming of the King.  

    And so, from the largest, most ornate sleigh of all, descended the foresaid Eskimonarch and his Queen.To say a collective stunned silence pervaded the assembled Eskimos at their  ruler's incongruous form would be an understatement, well, that is if you can downplay a total sonic void. Suffice to say, a dropped pin could have heard itself curse under its own breath at its fall from grace.  Why, the King was a gorilla, a gorilla in golden pants! No-one,  not the Elders,  nor the most avantgarde of the Eskimo artists or most radical of Eskimo philosophers had ever conceived that the Eskimo King might be a skantily-clad simian! How had this silverback in aureate shorts ascended to the apex of Eskimo society? Not even the Eskimo gossip columnists or Eskimarcopolos, who had travelled across every icy inch of the Arctic, could explain it. And neither can I, but who knows, I might think of something one day... 

    But as bamplussed as the crowd were by the sight of the regal primate, this state of nonboozlement was counterbalanced by how universally uplifted all were at the luscious vision that was the Eskimo Queen. Her name was Victoria Fries and one of the chief Elders instantly recognised her as a legendary Warrior Princess, who had vanished from the public eye-skimo several decades earlier, after single-swordedly establishing justice and peace in the once anarchic Arctic. This recalling and retelling of her legend spread thru the crowd, wildfire words. The same whispering Elder also let it be known that the reason Victoria looked like she was barely in her mid-20s ( say, 24 years and 364 days old) was prolly coz, according to myth, she took a bracing swim amongst the ice-floes every morning, which slowed her metabolism and preserved her peerless phwoarwoofwoofhubbahubbaness.  Even at the very sight of this bootilicious Boudicca,  many of the male Elders felt their Eskimojos thawing free of  concupiscent canescence, hormonal hibernation. She was certainly sexier than the Sea-hag, Sedna. 

    But why had she chosen a gorilla in golden pants  to be her consort? However, more than a few Eskimaidens present might have been able to answer that question, for a coy ripple of giggles attended the Eskimo King's every brown-eyed scan of his subjects, a shufti with something of the smouldering quality of Shabani, the great  Ape-donis and internet hit from Higashiyama Zoo.  But such meditations on inter-hominine amore were providentially dispelled by a right Eskimotormouth of a herald announcing that the Grand Talent Competition was set to begin!