Archive for the 'knights' Category

Pussy anyone?


A Bard’s Life: What’s a bard to do?

The fair minstrel has journeyed to his summer cottage in the land, D of C.  He has been reunited with his love from the east, and they revel weekly as the fair minstrel gallavants in the diamond fields with other men; sticks and balls in hand.  Alas, this humble minstrel longs for the presence of Madame Umbilicus, who has not sojourned with the him to the land, D of C.  Madame Umbilicus remains in the womb-like palace, a fortnight’s horse ride west of the Atlantic.

The minstrel has never journeyed alone, and has taken his glowing box, bequethed to him by Lord Microsoft, in Madame Umbilicus’ stead.  This magical, glowing box has been granted the power of projection by Lord Microsoft’s jesters, and the minstrel wants nothing more than to view the lovely Madame Umbilicus, one last, heart-rending moment, before Lord Microsoft’s glowing box is flooded with the all-encompasing Blue magic from the Silicon Valley.  “To arms!” yells the minstrel…

…and the knuckle children did flow.  And the villagers rejoiced.


Since i really don’t feel like writing much tonight, see percocet on wikipedia, i have decided to contribute with a lame video appeal.  Savagery at its finest…

Chinese Chicken Salad Anyone?

while i have the floor, i’d just like to ask, does it smell like updog in here?

Venice Beach: The Freakshow

As i have visited californ-i-a twice now and long to join me fellow scallywags in their pirate adventures in la la land, i feel a tribute to their base is in order.  well, i have been to many parts of the city including the four parts jp has seen in his two years there. 

dodger stadium is sweet, but roasts in the desert mountains.  roughty, make sure you bring your spf 75 and slob it on with every pitching change, which will most likely be every inning as both clubs will sorely mistaken their inadequate rotations and bullpens with fatigue, weather, or some other ludicrous excuse. 


East L.A. and the DR:

Sweet as well.  I feel suit will find a home in the drawing room and the relative diversity in relation to the rest of la in the former paradise that stoney called home.  you must absolutely show the former kingdom in all its glory and cold showers.  this was the first place i found in my visits to la with true, unsuperficial culture.  remember my 4:00 am walkabout in search of a sip of any liquid in my half drunken, half hungover stupor as stoney had neither drink nor refrigeration.  i walked at least 7 blocks to be dissapointed by powered down vending machines that i had to beg the grocery store owner to turn on to get an orange soda that t and i shared (what up, t) .  on my ramble i encountered at least two hookers with one clearly disguising a dick.  my day consisted of walking around east la and eating gut bombs for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  i was happy to escape my previous experiences of yuppiness disguised in kewlness. 


weird and extemely superficial with a bunch of douches disguised as hipsters and guns and roses impersonators. 


i was accurately described by lady t the wonderous freak show that is venice beach.  of course we were all fucked up and noided out, so we sat at the public bathroom and gazed out upon the circus.  there was definitely a small degree of reality here in their rejection of superficiality, but their conscious objection seemed superficial in itself.  of course i am superficial as hell, especially then and enjoyed pretending to be normal for a minute, despite my schizoid drug induced psychotic personality disorder’s ‘outside looking in’ perspective.  there is culture there that is not completely obsessed with the image driven falsity of the rest of la. 

the rest of la:

gay and expensive, but worth seeing for the experience

stoney’s debaucherous court of self-destruction:

 one of a kind as always and enjoyable beyond any measure.   

a lonely wish:


where’s waldo? hint, short bags that were still a deal

politics, religion, et cetera… . .. . … .. …. .. …. .. . .

(those periods are for you, stonesylvania.) 

i have been delinquent lately and didn’t know about either of stoney’s  guys’ debauchery.  i wish i had, but politics is boring — even when it deals with blowww and hookers.  i won’t vote for this guy any more now than i would have before i knew about the drugs and sex.  until i meet a politician who will look you in the eye and say he’s never made a mistake and he never plans to make one,  i’ll be fairly convinced i could do a better job governing myself than any of them could.  i mean, jiuliani (or “orange” [in honor of his boy’s huge nose candy purchase] julius as i will call him from this day forward) doesn’t even know me.  how the shit is he supposed to know what decisions are in my best interest?  in the old days, way on back in the days of grunting, beards and hunter/gatherers, people would form a society to protect themselves from other societies (not to mention the ravenous sabre-tooth tigers, mastadons, etc.).  i’m sure at the beginning of society, some guy was laying out, chilling in the cut, maybe reading a playboy and minding his own bidness, and the tribe leader said to him, “glork, you better get that firewood.  the rest of us are counting on your lazy ass.”  and glork was thinking, “damn, it was so much better when i could do whatever the hell i wanted to do without all these dicks bossing me all the time.”  but you know what glork did?  he collected the wood.  because he needed the protection that could only be afforded by the society.  nowadays, people don’t think like that, in my opinion.  nowadays, people simply accept the fact that they were born into a society, and so that must be the best place for them to be.  i stand that this is simply no longer the case.  man has tamed the shit out of nature.  we don’t have anything to worry about except snake bites and the occasional shark attack.  furthermore, no human cares enough about me to attack me.  what the shit would they even do that for?  waste of a bullet.  i won’t attack them either.  i can grow shit in my back yard and eat dogs and cats and squirrels and shit if it really comes right down to it.  no reason for me to mess with anyone.  my point?  glad you asked.  society is no longer the same shizzazzle it was back in the day.  individuals don’t really need to protection of a huge gov’t.  besides, when people did need such protection — take hurricane katrina, for instance — where the fuck was our great society?  thumb up the ass, watching the weather channel and drinking beer, wondering where the hell they’d move mardi gras to… and that was george w.  that proves (for me anyways) that society can no longer perform its primary function — protection of its members.  that’s the main reason why i haven’t, don’t and won’t vote.  you be asking yourself, “well then suit, why don’t you just LEAVE and do your own thing if you don’t like the american way?”  well, this is a good point.  i wonder this about myself sometimes, too.  i think it comes down to this.  i gotta get mine.  if i left right now, i’d be broke before i got to a place where i could really do my own thing for real.  you gotta have money to make a real move.  hence, the master plan — participate in society to as minimal a degree as is practicable until i save up some real green.  then, peace out.  merc on to someplace where i can do my own thing without worrying about what anybody says.  part of this minimal participation is making it a priority to not vote.  voting would lock me in.  i would start to follow this shitstem and never be able to break out. 

(ps — when you register to vote, you also have to fill out a draft card.  i knew this was a shitty idea when i was in high school, and so i didn’t fill out the shit.  therefore, i am registered for neither voting nor slaughtering brown people.) ((pps — the gov’t teacher in 12th grade tried to fail me for for not filling out the form, but i aced all her tests, so she didn’t have a leg to stand on.))

as far as breeding terrorism, i’m either too stupid or too smart to question the fact that all politicians have spin doctors (and i don’t mean the “2 princes” spin doctors).  to reference a simile i made earlier, discussing politics is like going all in on a blind hand of poker.  doesn’t make any sense because you know neither what you have nor what your opponents have in their hands.  all i know is this:  the golden rule is faulty.  “do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”  if we hurt the arabs, then we deserve to get sliced a bit, right?  it’s the golden rule, after all.  if arabs did bad things to us, they deserve to get bombed, too, right?  it is in the golden rule.  but then what?  people all know the golden rule, yet bad stuff keeps happening.  if people keep “doing unto others” based on what has been “done unto [them]”, we’ll all be fucking DEAD!  this is not what i consider a good time.  the golden rule doesn’t work.  it just breeds recursive murder wars.  neither the victor nor the loser is ever happy.  everyone’s still got a bone to pick, and the killing continues.  here’s what i propose.  throw out the golden rule.  adopt another rule.  how about the one jesus came up with?  how about “turn the other cheek”? how about “love thine enemy”?  i mean, america is a judeo-christian nation, right?  it says so right on the money.  that means we all believe in heaven, right?  that means that what we do down here makes no difference in the big picture, right?  sure.  because heaven is eternal, but life on earth is “but a blink of the eye.”  that means, if some asshole wants to shoot us, who cares?  they’ll go to hell, and we’ll be laughing our balls off, playing hop-scotch with john lennon in heaven.  fuck this killing.  for real.  i am over it all for real.  a guy from my high school just got killed.  i was a total ass to him (roids, teenage hormones, popularity… you know), and now i will never be able apologize or slap him a high five and come back on the flip side.  it’s fucked up for real.  and the worst part — he thought he was doing right by his country!  sad sad scene.

so, any of you who have made it through this post are all stupider for having read it.  i award you no points, and may god have mercy on your souls. 

now, go slaughter some people whose skin is darker than your own!!  before they do it to you first.

and don’t forget to vote.  in fact, vote three times.  keep on voting and voting until you cast a fat, brown ballot in your pants.

Rudy Giuliani in ’08: Cocaine and Hookers for All

Rudy Giuliani is the leading candidate for the Republican nomination for President, if you want to go by campaign donations. He is, if nothing else changes, the Republican representative for the highest office of our grand country. Rudy, however, has hit a few roadblocks by way of some dubious colleagues, who have recently been hitting the news on a string of sex and drugs. Love it.

Let’s look at the facts.

Exhibit A

Rudy Giuliani’s STATE CHAIRMAN for his campaign in South Carolina, Thomas Ravenel, was indicted on federal charges of cocaine distribution. Ravenel was also acting as Treasury to the State of S.C. at the time. Ravenel is the person who was supposedly in charge of running the campaign for Rudy in South Carolina, or at least acting as Rudy’s #1 figurehead and representative in S. Carolina. Ravenel was Rudy’s #1 boy in South Carolina, and he got straight busted for dealing cocaine. Dude is 44 years old.

“The millionaire is accused of buying less than 500 grams of the drug to share with other people in late 2005, U.S. Attorney Reggie Lloyd said.”, courtesy of the AP.

Does anyone here who reads this blog know what that means? Let me explain. 1 gram of cocaine is enough to last a normal person roughly 1 night of partying, some friends included. Anything more than that is for more people, or for a longer time period. There are 28 grams in an ounce, which is one of the primary “chunks” of big weight. As cool as it is to say, I’ve never heard or seen anyone dealing in “Keelos,” so that must be for the big boys only. Anyway, buying an ounce is a BIG fucking deal, probably costing you anywhere from 800-1500 dollars a smack. This dude got busted for “less than 500 grams.” 500 grams equals 17.8 ounces. I dont know what the next one under this bracket is, but its probably around the 1 oz mark, set for distribution. This dude was buying LOADS of cocaine, on the job, up to as much as 18 ounces. I don’t think he was going the whole way to the 18 mark, but I would bet some money on this guy getting a couple ounces at least. The guy is a millionaire, and he’s buying a shitload of cocaine….he’s probably going to get a lot.

In smaller, less important notes, he also spent a lot of time on taxpayer’s time in office working for Rudy’s campaign, getting his friends jobs and shopping for yachts.

So, I’ll sum up Tom Ravenel by saying he was a raging cokehead, distributing the spicy whiteness, using his office as a campaign HQ for Rudy (ethics violations??) and just being an all-around politician. Keep up the good work.

Exhibit B

Senator David Vitter, Republican from Lousiania, got straight BUSTED for rolling knee-deep in hookers with the DC Madam. The DC Madam had a big business, running girls for politicians and others in the DC area. She got busted and released her phone records. Vitter was on the list.

The thing that’s such a big deal about Vitter was that he was Rudy’s highest-ranking Republican supporter from the south. You know, down South they like it real conservative, and that’s just what Vitter offered.

“I’m a conservative who opposes radically redefining marriage, the most important social institution in human history,” Mr. Vitter, a 46-year-old Republican, wrote in a letter last year to The Times-Picayune, the New Orleans daily.

Anti-abortion, family values, no same-sex marriage, probably a fucking creationist….and a client for a high-end call girl service. Classic. This guy was supposed to be a big force for Rudy, helping him get past the neo-cons who don’t like their politicians to be pro-abortion transvestites. Well, folks, I’m sorry, but the leading Republican candidate is a pro-abortion transvestite. Are you reading this, Dad?


The icing on the cake for Vitter isn’t the DC Madam list, it’s that after that came out, this other Madam from New Orleans (Vitter’s old hometown) came out to say that SHE knew him too, and that he would come by and be “so nice” to her little army of tricks.

“As far as the girls coming out after seeing David, all they had was nice things to say. It wasn’t all about sex. In fact, he just wanted to have somebody listen to him, you know,” Maier said in an interview with the Associated Press.

At least Rudy’s boys are nice to their ladies of the night after the fact. Some might not be so lucky.


The only conclusion I can draw from these 2 back to back anecdotes is that Rudy is here to party. I’m sure the American people can get behind a guy who stocks his advisers and major supporting staff with major drug dealers and bordello frequenters.


Rudy uses 9/11 as a platform for candidacy, and also distorts facts to mislead people into stepping into line with partisan policies. Watch him deny that U.S. foreign policy breeds terrorism. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that before,” he says. Did you read the 9/11 Commission Report? I didn’t but I’ve read quotes of it that state exactly that, that U.S. foreign policy in the Middle East pisses off a lot of people and makes them want to kill us. They don’t hate us because we are capitalist, eat pork, vote and kill the earth. They hate us because we fuck with them and their homies. Give me a fucking break.

Major quote from Bin Laden’s fatwa against the U.S. and ally:

“[t]he ruling to kill the Americans and their allies civilians and military – is an individual duty for every Muslim who can do it in any country in which it is possible to do it, in order to liberate the al-Aqsa Mosque (in Jerusalem) and the holy mosque (in Makka) from their grip, and in order for their armies to move out of all the lands of Islam, defeated and unable to threaten any Muslim. This is in accordance with the words of Almighty Allah, ‘and fight the pagans all together as they fight you all together,’ and ‘fight them until there is no more tumult or oppression, and there prevail justice and faith in Allah’.”


“It should not be hidden from you that the people of Islam had suffered from aggression, iniquity and injustice imposed on them by the Zionist-Crusaders alliance and their collaborators; to the extent that the Muslims blood became the cheapest and their wealth as loot in the hands of the enemies. Their blood was spilled in Palestine and Iraq. The horrifying pictures of the massacre of Qana, in Lebanon are still fresh in our memory. Massacres in Tajakestan, Burma, Cashmere, Assam, Philippine, Fatani, Ogadin, Somalia, Erithria, Chechnia and in Bosnia-Herzegovina took place, massacres that send shivers in the body and shake the conscience. All of this and the world watch and hear, and not only didn’t respond to these atrocities, but also with a clear conspiracy between the USA and its’ allies and under the cover of the iniquitous United Nations, the dispossessed people were even prevented from obtaining arms to defend themselves.”

I am not down with the terrorists or pro-Palestine or anything. I think Israel is a huge part of the problem, and it doesn’t help when we sell them laser-guided cluster bombs to drop on grape farmers.

I just think that our political leaders should tell us the truth about what is happening, and try to correct the problem, instead of having a Presidential Pep Rally to see who gets the loudest cheers.

Long Live the USA


***editor removal of flagrant picture*****

Well, i started this post looking for a funny cycling picture to add some humor to my rather bland story of an incident related to an earlier post. Of course, in finding this i was compelled to share this golden nugget with my brethren of the blog. this one’s for you guys. stoney, no stall ones up in the heezy.

unrelated to this post’s purpose i wanted to relate my cyclist story. so, i’m flying around town as everyone knows i do, (especially suit– i know how you hate me in the driver’s seat when i’m not stoney baloney) and i see a cyclist coming onto the busy mountain road i’m cruising up. i anticipated his upcoming disregard for traffic law because of the previous story about dumbass cyclists. he runs the stop sign turning in front of me to maintain his speed to get up the hill. now, of course i was all but prepared by my defensive agressive new jersey fuck you driving skills (my only weaknesses being looking out the window and looking at the people i’m talking to) and i yelled “that’s a stop sign” out the window at 45 in a 35. when reached the top of the hill i decided it prudent to pull over and try and reason with this american flag jersied cyclist. hoping to fulfill my duties as a good american, objectors note t. j. our great hypocritical alumnus’ quote, “dissent is the highest form of patriotism, i waited for him.


tj: oh yeah, he liked pure chocolate. he bought as much as he could

surprisingly he reached me fairly quickly and pulled right to the side of my car, hand on my roof. he looks at me and i say, “you know there was a stop sign back there, right? you could have gotten killed out here.” in a wanker english accent, defiling our constitution by wearing the flag as a garment, he responded, “you’re right.” well, as i was about to say something to the effect of “it’s a little different in the states” or something selectively patriotic to the tune of love it or leave it, he interupted with a rude good bye. well, that was the end of the encounter, i almost got a flat pulling to the side of the road to wait for him, but i thought of the irony of the situation in checking the wheels. obviously a good cyclist judging on the speed he took the hill, you would figure he would first, know the rules, second, enjoy the hill climb, and third and finally, not be so gay. i guess i think it’s nice he is representing lady liberty, but nonetheless it’s pretty gay. if he truly analyzed the importance of old glory and the time it was made, as well as refined, he would know that his motherland represents everything we fought against. however, rather ironically, it now represents that which americans fought so hard to rebel against. i guess it all comes down to how gay the age of the nation state has become and always was. if we want to be realistic about it, it all comes down man as beast (ahh, my favorite topic)

while visiting the extremely gay d.c. infected nova, i found a first year secondary school paper documenting a school required event that was possibly sponsored nationally. it was called random acts of kindness week. now, far superior to tv turn-off week, i found great joy in reminiscing as well as disgust in the requiring of such week. while waiting to pick up my buddyon his last day i began talking about high school life at my school with some lady and a beautiful dog panting in his huge coat not made for any climate like ours. She put it clearly in saying, “it’s so different here from virginia. it’s like the cool kids are mean. if you’re nice you’re weird”. in the land of the almighty dollar and the bottom line, as opposed to the equally bad image obsessed west coast, their is no time for southern hospitality because you interfere with making another buck. ever notice when you ask, “how ya doin’ “, people don’t know what to say. they have so long heard it used as a statement rather than a question that it shocks them, stuttering out a response after you wait seconds for one. anyway, this post did not go in any direction i intended, but i am resolved to invite my fellow brothers of the cough to participate in random acts of kindness. in now way am i suggesting you do not already act in kindness , but i hope you will join me in spreading love at your most busy and difficult time.

if you don’t well, that’s your bag baby, but i hope you will join me in search of self-improvement.

on another totally unrelated side note, stoney, i was reminiscing with roughty about blasting the curveball you tried to sneak by me at the monticello fields. what a cowinky dink– monticello–sweet.

and, i’m slumping in the drunken firemen’s softball league of champions at a dissapointing .667, but i’ve been shagging plenty out in the cornfields and ripped my first inside the park homerun of the year though it’s in question by my harshest critic– good ol’ i me mine. i would mark it as excellent base-running and terrible rag arms though it’s in the book as a giddyup.


that’s for you, suit. that’s my boy, a buffalo soldier. though he plays nothing like me, i enjoy his love of the game and hatred for the business. that’s why he takes as much money as he knows they’ll give him and jogs to first base. all while working on his hitting more than any player in the majors. plus, you know he smokes the pot. sweet.

Editors note: an act of kindness could be removing the objectifying pic at the top, but in the passage of time (seems 70’s-80’s) this violated lady might revel in her beauty and youth. in addition, anonymity is on her side. the backside, oh snap!

2nd Editors note: (other driving weaknesses include, but are not limited too: lighting cigs, talking on the phone, rolling blunts, rolling joints, bouncing a tennis ball against the windshield when bored, searching through my ipod, the combination of up to three of these at a time, improper maintenance as evidenced by the baloney skin i’ve been driving around on for months, and hands at 12 and deez.

Czeslaw Milosz, Nobel Laureate in Lit, 1980

this savage polish poet was actually introduced to me as an audio file of the following poem a couple years ago.  the additional sensory excitement made it all the better, but it’s all in the word.  see, we poles do know a thing or two.

 Song on the end of the world

On the day the world ends
A bee circles a clover,
A Fisherman mends a glimmering net.
Happy porpoises jump in the sea,
By the rainspout young sparrows are playing
And the snake is gold-skinned as it it should always be.

On the day the world ends
Women walk through fields under their umbrellas
A drunkard grows sleepy at the edge of a lawn,
Vegetable peddlers shout in the street
And a yellow-sailed boat comes nearer the island,
The voice of a violin lasts in the air
And leads into a starry night.

And those who expected lightning and thunder
Are disappointed.
And those who expected signs and archangels’ trumps
Do not believe it is happening now.
As long as the sun and the moon are above,
As long as the bumblebee visits a rose
As long as rosy infants are born
No one believes it is happening now.

Only a white-haired old man, who would be a prophet,
Yet is not a prophet, for he’s much too busy,
Repeats while he binds his tomatoes:
No other end of the world there will be,
No other end of the world there will be.
Warsaw, 1944

Copyright 1996 by Czeslaw Milosz

The Scowl, A Tribute

Friends and Biatch,

My initial disgust and self-esteem hit by our founder’s placement at the bottom of the barrel has been replaced by firm resolve. The beatles topic, thrown around in the past, always related to music and the circle of friends and so my initial disgust was understandable. Relative to our unsavage bloggery I am still disgusted by the claim of lacking originality and depth. Perhaps my satire goes beyond the understanding of our wise founder. This however, is a separate issue that is related to over-self-awareness and the subsequent sometimes total self-involvement that plagues us all.

The scowl, this one of actor Johnny Lee Miller

**Stoney Note**- Here is a better picture of said scowl.

As the Godfather of my weed soldier with eons more to learn, I birthed the self-proclaimed Stoney. Stoney, you can thank me for this enlightened self-deprecating, self destruction that you now embrace. Without my gentle guidance i wonder where our Prince might have gone.



Peer pressure is a motherfucker.

As Stoney may or may not know, all of us have a great reverence for him in different ways. In retrospect I have come to realize its manifestation in this endeavor. My banter has escaped him, I know, in my writings because of the sensitive relationship that he and I have come to have with our tested brotherhood. The full details of it are only known to one other. This post was started in defensive passive aggressiveness, but after reflection, has become a tribute and hopeful vehicle for introspection.

My first experience of Stoney was one of jealous and moral ridicule. The quote, “I bet you I can have three girls in here in 30 seconds” and subsequent success, I thought, pitted us on opposite sides of the eternal struggle. With the future understanding of my brother’s psychological cogs I have better comprehended our initial personal encounter. Because of my own insecurities and romantic moral inflexibility, I rejected my brother’s bid to partake in the then sacred ceremony of ganja smoking.

Of course, our friendship blossomed through the beautiful bud and then spawned another to create the original Minstrels. This band of self-aware and insecure merry-men grew and shrunk as others had the patience to get beyond our aloofness and penetrate the unintended exclusive group. The Eastern-American modern jazz band is now defunct, though it survived the petty quibbles of all of its members, only to be destroyed by the individual paths its members took. It was tried and tested in so many ways, including two yokos, one early on and properly addressed, one later, that allowed the small fissure to fester and explode into near total destruction, and another of my own insane creation of true love, displacing feelings of another on a innocent stranger caught in the midst of the tornado.

This forum, organized by our truest sensitive savage, perhaps in hopes of reunion has allowed for us all to once again come together despite the miles that separate us all.

Twitch, though I have never met you, I have heard a few stories and feel some sense of brotherhood in our common experience of the Prince’s rakishness, but look forward to learning about and experiencing someone who is so close to someone who is so close to me.

In closing, I would like to say in the tradition of full disclosure that you former minstrels have been victims to in the past, I love you all dearly.

Hail Mary, Fools of Grace

In reviewing the newest province of our King’s domain i included some dank accessions, violating the king’s decree of single words.  However, i was immediatley struck by the limitation of perspective, though very pleased with the King’s curse and all of our curses of self-awareness, i felt some additions were neccesary.  In the savage dissapearance of two members of court, I will address the unsavagery of our disputed New Jersey savage. 

This fabled tale begins in the golden age of the savage kingdom of Sunken Delight, a magical land of unbridled sensuality, limitless freedom, and philosophical exploration.  There were three balladeers that roamed the land, always picking and smoking the weeds that were deemed evil by the blind followers of the terrible regime that ruled the country. 


if your heart is true,  pass through this threshold of the garden oasis within the evil kingdom of King William the DeceiverThese three minstrals traveled throughout the land, discovering uncharted territories and challenging the the boundaries of the kingdom.  As the present ruler was not fond of the dynamic, these three noble savages were forced into the night, only mythically seen during the day, rumored to have attended some sessions of court, but supposedly protested the king and queen, within the royal compound, in their garden, with liberated merriment.


One of the dangerous mires of the kingdom, a site of tragedyIt was in this air of stagnant oppression that these brave young men resolved to battle the forces of evil until they mortally perished in the eternal quest.  


Supposed sighting of one of these mythical balladeers As in all of their introductions of initial conflict, some of these virtuous crusaders were perhaps skeptical in their meeting of the King’s Irish post-runner, decked in a uniform of tyranny in the latest fashion of revealing short shorts.  Shamus the Unruly, as he later became named in his total rejection of the royal family and total drunken debauchery, would soon correct his blasphemer in his hasty judgment, running his messages of savagery for many moons with broken foot and indominatable spirit. 


The modern style of the messenger’s garbTwo of the revolutionary balladeers challenged the king’s mail runners in their chosen form of battle.  The battle field would be level, three hundred of the king’s feet long by 52 wide.  In this virtual contest of simulated battle, all warriors were on even battle filed, but the boisterous bawdiness that Shamus would later be titled for and his partner Jesse of Katsopolis


unwisely incited the two balladeers’ repressed bloodthirst with brazen shit-talking.  The battle began in the province of Yates under the cover of darkness.  The battle was tilted toward the favor of the unjust throughout, but the wizard’s potion would soon turn the tide.  Facing their death in the final moments of battle, the Fools of Grace pleaded for divine intervention by their often dissapointed Virgin mother Mary.  In seven seconds, the battle was one by their faith in their favorite weapon-the bomb.  


Da Da Duh Da Duh Da Duh

The victors’ spoils did not escape them, but they respected their defeated opponents in their time of infinite dissapointment, confusion, and emasculation. 

Let this be a cautionary tale to any who offend the patience of the two warriors and any who dare speak with thorn-ed tongue of their still-standing epic victory.