15h57 UTC; SUNDAY, 11 DECEMBER 2011: Before I begin this post, readers, a short note of explanation is in order: Your Correspondent acknowledges something of a secret and yet longstanding affectation to the onetime Troll mascots of the Magic Mountain theme park of the Santa Clarita Valley north of Los Angeles, now part of the Six Flags group. Mostly in his mind, though, largely in a mix of dreams and fantasies as simmer in his dyslexic, psychoemotionally-scarred mind from time to time even though the Troll mascots themselves are technically pensioned off, making many of the fans thereof (you probably know who you are themselves) wonder if they're probably still around, howbeit in isolated seclusion across Southern California's canyons, hills and even along the coastline, still managing to keep alive the "Get High on Fun!" message among themselves.

Without further ado, here goes (and I hope the effort will be duly appreciated among such who still recall Bloop, Bleep and Bleep, and think about their brothers-in-fun kin who must probably be out there):

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To the Trolls of Southern California:

You probably may not know who I am ... but living as I do in southern Minnesota somewheres (please spare the jokes about snow and cold weather, let alone queries about whether any of your Trollish cousins out this way actually manage to cope with such extremes of weather common this way), I have to admit to being mentally and psychologically obsessed with and about your kind, even if Magic Mountain up in Santa Clarita may have retired you and essentially sent you off to live out your days among your wilder kin.

I admit that I have the occasional daydream and fantasy about you, imagining there was time enough to encompass, perhaps, an extended holiday weekend with some of your kind (including a few younger Trolls who, perhaps, are picking up life lessons), recognising me as one of, perhaps, a few humans out there who still thinks much about you and your kind and how the wilder sort of Southern California Trolldom manages to get their dosage of fun (a/k/a Vitamin F, as the legend around your kind back at Magic Mountain put it) as they do.

Imagining such involving a 1970's-stylee van stopping short of outright tackiness in the appearence department, rebuilt for four-wheel-drive operation to allow access to remote canyon tracks and even isolated beaches such as some of your kind are fond of surfing at. (Bodysurfing in particular, but could it be possible that some of your kind manage to ride Malibu-type longboards of their own construction?) Yet, as required, cruising the freeways and streets of the Los Angeles Basin in what would seem like endless nights of fun-seeking as manage to involve crashing the crowds at some of the bigger malls and tourist venues (among them Hollywood Boulevard and the beaches of Santa Monica and Venice) and try not getting noticed or otherwise blowing your cover ... interspersed with what must be extended dining experiences at some of the more "out-of-the-way," and hence rather interesting, places for comfort food you probably seem to know about for malted waffles at 1:30 in the morning, the most succulently overloaded fajita platters outside Olvera Street, the juiciest (yet managing to avoid an excess of grease) burgers with French fries salted with just the right touch of spiciness (and enough to complement the ketchup at table), the Farmer's Market bargains ordinary mortals (even those Hollywood regulars who make it part of their shopping routine) don't quite seem to know about (as well as the legendary nut butters from Magee's Nuts you seem to crave every so often), even a fondness for the simple things when it comes to that (like, say, a hot mug of Pero just before the dawn patrol hits the waves).

And managing to know about those beaches and surf breaks which only California Trolldom seem to have known about since their first appearence in what could best be called "the dream time," knowing plenty of the "locals" enough to have plenty of fun-inducing stoke and even managing to find some Troll acquaintenances to give moi a lesson in surfing, not to mention a session around a roaring fire at dawn or so over hot coffee where surfing-related legends involving California Trolldom are related ... as well as sessions soaking away in isolated hot spring pools such as you seem to know of and are fond of experiencing, swapping stories and lore as well. And it seems that after quite the session on the waves, you can't help but think that the coffee must taste better and the peanut butter-on-whole-wheat sandwiches seem a little tastier.

I hear also where there's a modest colony of Trolls who reside in the interior of Santa Catalina Island ("Catrollina," as you like to put it), mostly along the shoreline, whose presence in the annals of Trolldom isn't all that widely known, yet enjoy their fun through surfing and diving underwater quite a bit. (Which even a few Trolls on the mainland enjoy, from what I understand. And speaking of the diving, you manage to hold breath quite well and can dive to decent depths, with the fur as much as your bulk keeping you warm underwater. Not to mention the eyes being capable of seeing very well without need for a diver's mask.)

Yet, too, in those hours of encounter I have with you, it also emerges that there's some sort of ritual (details of which are best not discussed here, except to say that such involves utmost intimacy) required of such humans in the company of your kind to establish trust between the two. Which I willingly play along with, managing to avoid embarrassment or surprise in the bargain (especially as it's mentioned that only a handful of humans who have found themselves amongst California Trolldom managed to pull off the ritual willingly and graciously).

And if there were to be but one especially beautiful moment of our time together as would be especially worth remembering, were one of your party to ask such a question of moi in returning myself to the real world, it would probably have to be the van serving as bivouac and rendezvous parking at some scenic pullover along Pacific Coast Highway just as the full moon rises from the Pacific, with the waves breaking on the rock-strewn shoreline below and catching a brief glimpse of some fellow surfriding Trolls padding out and riding the sunset glass. Observing, over a hot mug of Pero, just how wonderful it must be to be among Trolls such as those who need fun to keep going, and discovering that after Magic Mountain, there must probably still be plenty of your kind around.

I just hope, out of all this, that I've done you and your kind a favour by this little admission of mine vis-a-vis my fondness and affectation for your kind, even if it's just in dream and fantasy away from an otherwise abusive and madding world which seems to dominate that mind of mine which otherwise precludes my being able to find normal routines where it seems that fun is hard to find. Time may have mellowed things, as they say, but I certainly hope this letter will find you all fine and well, managing as the holiday season makes its presence felt across the Southland to have your share of fun across all hours.

And I trust you will appreciate my thinking about you on occasion as I do.

So, without further ado, I will just say that I'm

An Honourary Troll (as it were)



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