RE: [OpenHeroQuest] Camelot was a Yurt

From: jlord_at_zZ8xPOWD9iFAykoy3z5QfHk3b8WYdmTnpWI9ierAXFqimMYAdEPVQsnnHFz289SBC1MHdu
Date: Tue, 17 Jun 2003 10:35:01 +0200 (CEST)


Chris, Andrew :

> > American analysis would be more like: "Hey, that was
> > a good story. Tell me the part where he chops heads
> > off again, but make the ending happy."
>
> Well, yeah, we like happy endings.

OK, how about this then :

As the supreme Nart Bruce Galaxus lay dying (for verily a giant spear shaft had been inserted forcibly into his arse hole), he proudfully contemplated the many severed heads of his enemies that were strewn around the battlefield, and knew that his final day had come, and that the sacred yoghurt would no longer be adulterated in hateful worship of the gelatine demoness Slaïma, for her slaves were all dead and his holy sword was covered with a thick coat of grease from the corrupted pot bellies of the slain.

As his eyes dimmed, and he began to slip his mortal coil, Galaxus saw movement on the edge of his vision, hopping movement, and he smiled, knowing that his sacrifice was not in vain, for one at least remained to carry the tale of his last battle and the legacy of Sarmatian redneckism back to the yurts of the poststructuralist sheilas, and carry the remembrance of his Quest to future generations, indeed even so far as the British Iles and the godforsaken lands of the Welsh, for they were in great need of a new calcium-rich foodstuff to supplement their ordinary diet of boiled leeks and boot leather. The young Nart, Sir Billy Graham Mallory, was hopping towards him on Galaxus' trusty mount, Goth Skippy.

Sir Billy kneeled, and uttered the word of ritual : "G'day Bruce."

Galaxus coughed out a gob of blood, and grasped young Billy's wrist. "G'day! Listen, Billy, there's not much more time, and there's one last task to be done before I leave you."

"No! No!", interjected the young Bible-thumper and budding mythographer, "It can't be true!"

"Silence! You must take my holy blade of power, Dixcalibur III, and thrust it in yonder Lake, and when you have done that deed you will come back to me."

"OK Bruce!", and with those words, Billy took up the holy weapon, and hopped gingerly accross the gory battlefield down to the lakeside. He raised the sword, but then his eye caught the beauty, the thick masculine hardness of the blade, and the weight and preciousness of the gold and silver globes on each side of the pommel, and Billy grasped the weapon to himself, and felt a mystic power of virility, randiness, Alpha-Male-hood, and cutting-people's-heads-off- ness stir in his loins, and he hid the weapon in a nearby bush, for he was sorely grieved that such a wonder should depart from the world. He returned then to the side of the Great Nart.

"Hi Bruce, been there, done that, and all I got for it was this stupid tshirt..."

Galaxus sighed. "Then you have lied to me, Billy."

And Billy cracked down, "But Bruce! I just couldn't do it! You're dying mate, and surely someone will be able to keep and use Dixcalibur, for the benefit of a healthier breakfast for all children worldwide!"

"Take Dixcalibur up again, and go down to the waters, and do as I have commanded."

Billy hopped forlornly away.

With a tear in his eye, he contemplated the mighty slayer of veto-wielders, coloureds, and fat guys, but steeling his resolve he chucked it into the water.

And Lo and Behold! For as the weapon plunged into the Lake, great big gobs of creamy, healthy, fermented yoghurt began spewing into the waters, filling them with white purity and goodness. Billy knew then that Dixcalibur's virile powers would not be lost, but the whole world would now be filled with a powerful desire to chop off the heads of long-haired pinko wrongthinking Axis-of-Evil- ite everywhere.

... et cetera ...

Julian            

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