In the beginning, there was the creation myth...

There is a strong awareness that there are those of you who, through no fault of your own, have been Bramified. Of late, there has been little Bram to speak of and, with no direct inheritor of the Bram (Waterford Whispers is a bit like the Bram but rather less brilliant), you have been left wanting. Disappointment is however an Irish delight. In true self-referential Bram fashion, it now aims to take away even that small pleasure, in the name of Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

This is, in all senses, an affair of constancy, but also something rather new. This brings to mind the Franciscan historical endeavours of the seventeenth century, utilising the continuity of the past in an ever-changing present with its elements in flux, and is a fit analogy for the present pursuits of modernising in the frameworks of tradition, traditionalising in the framework of modernity, if you will. However, if you won't, you can feck off with yourself.

There have been interim media predating this new project of projects: The Bram continued to be a vehicle for humorous, amourous outpourings, and The Cake of Floots contains gems of witibility and jestacious neologisms. See in particular

'The 99¼th anniversary celebrations of the 1916 Rising'

'Visitation'

 'Taoiseach and Tánaiste Announce Pregnancy'

 'Taking & Supping the Soup'

This chronicle has a vision: an approach to silly humour that is anachronistic, nonsensical, anarchic, innovative, sardonic, satirical and all a little bit ridiculous. Sure, what's the point of being vital components of a non-existent ruling intelligentsia if we can't have a bit of fun at the world's expense, ey?

All the very best from the Bram Fraternal Community of Love, Missouri, USA.