Greeny Queeny - A medieval Love-Story

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Misc Section > Humor > Greeny Queeny - A medieval Love-Story

Joe	#1
Сообщений: 1 Я�/22/2011 13:27:31	Greeny Queeny - A medieval Love-Story A thousand years ago, my friend, There was a little-known land which- over more than sixty years- did see no wars, no swords, no spears. The knights, therefore, were forced to rest-- The lack of war caused them to test their skills in bloodsports: tournaments- and more such entertainaments which- to their minds- did keep them fit and held intact their battle-kit. Sir Rambeau was one of these men: No brain to speak of- which was then no hindrance if one was a knight- for all one had to do was fight. But fights- they were short in supply: To get one, one had to apply by letter to the Minister for war (...and for the sinister!), to get a permit- which was rare: "...Not even for to kill a hare!" Our man now wanted to impress his hearts desire- a Princess-, and thus he thought he’d go and slay a dragon- so her heart would sway. The wretched creature’s hacked-off head would proof the beast to be quite dead... How she would love his manly stance! So screw the permit..."Where’s me lance?" (Well- permits, laws and paragraphs were- to his mind- just good for laughs!) The lady was- however- keen on fauna, flora, issues green- while all of these were still alive- not killed by sword or lance or knife... "Sir Rambeau- who? That stupid prick? Puleeese- not HIM- i’m getting sick...!" (Thus, while Sir Rambeau thought she’s nuts about him, she just hates his guts... The point this macho kept ignoring was that her highness found him boring!) He put his armor on and then went off to find a dragon’s den. (Well, he was not alone, of course: His servants came on foot, by horse and wagon. One can not expect a gentlemen with selfrespect to cook his dinners, wash his socks or clamber lonely through the rocks! So- thus he’s got a kitchen-maid, as servant, lover, dragon-bait...) A mere ten years they had to travel, before they found a pit, of gravel with loads of bones heaped all around. From inside came the horrid sound of munching. (But the smell was nice: Like horseman, fried, with long-grain rice...) A soldier went to fetch the maid: The den was found- now for the bait... (The girl did scream a bit and wriggle, which caused the soldiers for to giggle.) With sword in hand (behind his men...) Sir Rambeau now approached the den and screamed "Come out and fight, ye beast!" Upset to interrupt his feast a grumpy dragon left his den, and took a look and yawned, and then he took a thigh-bone unperturbed and picked his teeth, spat out and burped. (...The job-description of a beast includes that it enjoy it’s feast!) The soldiers, at this grisly sight, took off at once in manly flight possessed by terror- past the maid, and past Sir Rambeau (who was swayed); They ran as fast as they could run, to leave him standing in the sun alone. And as the dust did settle Sir Rambeau did prepare for battle: Not that this had him overjoyed- his soldiers had been meant to fight... The dragon asked: "What do ye want? It’s dinner-time, ye ignorant! I’d like to dine in peace and quiet- and you turn up and cause a riot: Yer predeccessor’s getting cold, and my digestive-tract’s too old..." (His doctors warned him to go easy on food in cans- it’s much too greasy... But on that day, he’d liked the taste- and anyways, he hated waste!) "Get back in line and be polite and wait yer turn, ye little shite!" With this, he turned around to go back to his "Chevalier flambeau" and to prepare his pots and pans for a second course of food in cans. Sir Rambeau found it opportune to aim and throw- with great fortune- his sword at him. He nearly died of cardiac arrest- sheer fright! Our knight untied the kitchen-maid and told the wench to fetch a plate of silver, for the dragon’s head (Who, at this stage, was not quite dead, but realised he soon would be- unless Sir Rambeau’s chivalry prevented him to do the deed: That dragon was last of his creed, and if he died, there would be no more dragons left- so he said so. Sir Rambeau showed no interest: "I’m sorry- but i’m on a quest to show my lady-friend how brave i am- i want your head, you knave!" (He didn’t know that, in his bed, the King was found quite cold and dead two years before. The Queen was keen on fauna, flora, issues green...) The dragon did accept his fate, lay down, and died, head on the plate. Our knight went off to dream of glory- the maid was left to do the gory dragonhead-removal-act. (She twice did faint- this is a fact!) The two of them then put the dragon- or his remains- onto a wagon. Thus they went home. They passed the gates, and through the streets. Sir Rambeau’s mates uneasily looked on. "I’m ready to get my due reward already!" The Queen had watched with much dismay the dragon’s corpse put on display: Sir Rambeau noticed her cold stare- and suddenly felt nude and bare... "Your graciousness- your majesty! How glad i am to be with thee..." The Queen did interrupt him rudly: "Shut up, you twit!", said she quite crudly. She then came up to take a look- and hit him with a heavy book. "This is the book of brand-new laws", said she- and hit him in the jaws. "You did exceed the quota set in ’Hunting-Regulations’, pet! You also want a due reward? Just wait for it... Where is the guard?" With this, she caught him by the phizem and had him thrown into prison. (Well- he was not alone in there- five other knights already were chained to the walls, with rats and mice for company- to keep things nice.) The greeny-Queeny’s harshness did eventually cause a split, resulting in a revolution. The knights went free- then "evolution" just took its course: Wolf, boar and bear all went extinct, by sword and spear, which thus did cause a lack of game. The knights found hunting far too tame in any case. They took their shields and went back to the battle-fields... Oh- well, it almost slipped my mind: Sir Rambeau in the end did find a wife. Alas she was no queen: A kitchen-maid of just sixteen was she. It didn’t really matter; the queen’s head ended on a platter just as the dragon’s. And about fifteen years later, in a rout Sir Rambeau died: Not by a sword- but of a heart-attack. My word! (WJB)

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