Kafka2
Whale-raping abomination
- Joined
- Oct 30, 2001
- Messages
- 1,204
(I can't remember ever posting this here. It was the first "Filth" article I wrote, and I still think it's one of my best. Enjoy.)
It's the little things you've got watch out for. The famous example of Chaos Theory in action is how a butterfly beating it's wings starts a chain of eddies that eventually result in hurricanes on the other side of the world. History is the best example of this in practice.
Let's set the scene. The setting is Kingston, in what we now call England, but was then called Wessex. Wessex was the dominant kingdom in Anglo-Saxon "Engle-lond"- and the time is 956 AD. King Eadred has died without heirs, so the people to watch are his nephews- the 15-year old Eadwig and the 12-year old Edgar. The powerbrokers of the land have chosen Eadwig as king of Wessex (making him the big cheese of this sceptred isle) whilst Edgar has been elected as the king of the lesser kingdom of Mercia.
Things are looking just plain groovy for young Eadwig, but he's not entirely happy. The previous four kings of Wessex had also ruled Mercia, but this time the King's council has acknowledged local feelings and elected joint kings as a gesture to regional tradition. Still, Eadred had terrorised the unruly Northumbrian Danes into a sullen silence and so Eadwig's reign looks secure. Surely nothing can go wrong, can it?
It's at Eadwig's coronation feast that the **** hits the fan. Now young Eadwig's a good-looking kid, known as "The All-Fair", but like most 15-year olds he's got an itch he can't scratch. You remember the feeling- a set of genitals so unruly that it's like having a pack of puppies in your pants, but no action in sight. At that age, we all feel like the rest of the world are thrashing themselves ragged in a semen-drenched orgy of titanic proportions while we, as individuals, will have less chance of taking liberties with a lady's rude bits than we have of splitting the atom with a haddock.
So....the great and good of Wessex are sinking the mead with gay abandon, whilst Eadwig's at the head of the table, bored out his skull, and sporting an erection that could carve glass. Suddenly his eye catches sight of a severely nubile noble nymphette called Aelfgifu, and he's on point instantly. Aelfgifu's a sweet and innocent(ish) young thing, but her mother is a social climber who could wind the Pope around her finger, and she's only too keen to wring the last few miles of seduction out of her still-impressive flesh. So she takes her daughter over to young Eadwig (who has started to drool and has steam visibly rising off him) and all three sneak quietly away from the feasting hall.
After a short interval, even the most bladdered of guests has noticed a significant absentee at the head of the table, and this is considered an insulting faux pas of the highest order. Enter Dunstan, Abbot of Glastonbury, a man who managed to become Archbishop of Canterbury and a Saint despite facing serious charges of witchcraft and probably having at least one English king killed. Religion was a lot livelier in those days. Now Dunstan is noted for many virtues, but subtlety and a steady temper aren't among them. In fact, he's a grumpy old headcase, and when he's told of Eadwig's vanishing act he goes impressively psycho. Dunstan storms into the royal hall and physically kicks down the door to the king's bedchambers. There he is met by the sight of Eadwig partaking in an extremely energetic bout of shagging with Aelfgifu and her mother simultaneously.
At this point Eadwig's hips are moving faster than an epileptic breakdancer's in an earthquake and he's happy as a pig in slurry in this abundance of female flesh and folds. His sunny good mood is destroyed in seconds as the morally-enraged monk hauls him off the sweaty and squealing mound of womanhood and drags him back to the feast by his hair. The earls of Wessex are presented with the reappearance of their king, red-faced and breathing heavily with the regal love truncheon still dripping on the carpet.
Here's where it hots up. Eadwig is deeply pissed off and exiles Dunstan. However, Dunstan's a powerful man and Eadwig's position becomes precarious as the earls start to propose uniting the kingdoms under one banner. In a panic, he seizes land to give to his own supporters, but sparks off a civil war in the process. Within two years, all the most powerful earls have given up on the randy little tyke and united behind the more biddable young Edgar. Eadwig loses his kingdom, and dies shortly after (shagged to death by his ladies? Let's hope so.) whilst in 959 Edgar is consecrated as King of a united Wessex and Mercia.
......and that, my children, is how England came to exist. The final unity was achieved by Edgar, which means that 1000 years of colonial exploitation, sexual repression and the drinking of milky tea is entirely due to one boy's throbbing dobber. Know your history, and be proud.
It's the little things you've got watch out for. The famous example of Chaos Theory in action is how a butterfly beating it's wings starts a chain of eddies that eventually result in hurricanes on the other side of the world. History is the best example of this in practice.
Let's set the scene. The setting is Kingston, in what we now call England, but was then called Wessex. Wessex was the dominant kingdom in Anglo-Saxon "Engle-lond"- and the time is 956 AD. King Eadred has died without heirs, so the people to watch are his nephews- the 15-year old Eadwig and the 12-year old Edgar. The powerbrokers of the land have chosen Eadwig as king of Wessex (making him the big cheese of this sceptred isle) whilst Edgar has been elected as the king of the lesser kingdom of Mercia.
Things are looking just plain groovy for young Eadwig, but he's not entirely happy. The previous four kings of Wessex had also ruled Mercia, but this time the King's council has acknowledged local feelings and elected joint kings as a gesture to regional tradition. Still, Eadred had terrorised the unruly Northumbrian Danes into a sullen silence and so Eadwig's reign looks secure. Surely nothing can go wrong, can it?
It's at Eadwig's coronation feast that the **** hits the fan. Now young Eadwig's a good-looking kid, known as "The All-Fair", but like most 15-year olds he's got an itch he can't scratch. You remember the feeling- a set of genitals so unruly that it's like having a pack of puppies in your pants, but no action in sight. At that age, we all feel like the rest of the world are thrashing themselves ragged in a semen-drenched orgy of titanic proportions while we, as individuals, will have less chance of taking liberties with a lady's rude bits than we have of splitting the atom with a haddock.
So....the great and good of Wessex are sinking the mead with gay abandon, whilst Eadwig's at the head of the table, bored out his skull, and sporting an erection that could carve glass. Suddenly his eye catches sight of a severely nubile noble nymphette called Aelfgifu, and he's on point instantly. Aelfgifu's a sweet and innocent(ish) young thing, but her mother is a social climber who could wind the Pope around her finger, and she's only too keen to wring the last few miles of seduction out of her still-impressive flesh. So she takes her daughter over to young Eadwig (who has started to drool and has steam visibly rising off him) and all three sneak quietly away from the feasting hall.
After a short interval, even the most bladdered of guests has noticed a significant absentee at the head of the table, and this is considered an insulting faux pas of the highest order. Enter Dunstan, Abbot of Glastonbury, a man who managed to become Archbishop of Canterbury and a Saint despite facing serious charges of witchcraft and probably having at least one English king killed. Religion was a lot livelier in those days. Now Dunstan is noted for many virtues, but subtlety and a steady temper aren't among them. In fact, he's a grumpy old headcase, and when he's told of Eadwig's vanishing act he goes impressively psycho. Dunstan storms into the royal hall and physically kicks down the door to the king's bedchambers. There he is met by the sight of Eadwig partaking in an extremely energetic bout of shagging with Aelfgifu and her mother simultaneously.
At this point Eadwig's hips are moving faster than an epileptic breakdancer's in an earthquake and he's happy as a pig in slurry in this abundance of female flesh and folds. His sunny good mood is destroyed in seconds as the morally-enraged monk hauls him off the sweaty and squealing mound of womanhood and drags him back to the feast by his hair. The earls of Wessex are presented with the reappearance of their king, red-faced and breathing heavily with the regal love truncheon still dripping on the carpet.
Here's where it hots up. Eadwig is deeply pissed off and exiles Dunstan. However, Dunstan's a powerful man and Eadwig's position becomes precarious as the earls start to propose uniting the kingdoms under one banner. In a panic, he seizes land to give to his own supporters, but sparks off a civil war in the process. Within two years, all the most powerful earls have given up on the randy little tyke and united behind the more biddable young Edgar. Eadwig loses his kingdom, and dies shortly after (shagged to death by his ladies? Let's hope so.) whilst in 959 Edgar is consecrated as King of a united Wessex and Mercia.
......and that, my children, is how England came to exist. The final unity was achieved by Edgar, which means that 1000 years of colonial exploitation, sexual repression and the drinking of milky tea is entirely due to one boy's throbbing dobber. Know your history, and be proud.
You teach with humor
