Location: the waves, the ocean

Hoist the sails, raise yer bloody goblets, ahoy & onward me laddies!

Monday, May 02, 2005

Belowdecks Me Ponders

Aye, laddies all, a long while it's been in me thoughts since me last posted to this here infernal contraption. After warring it be difficult, me bones sore to the marrow, to dedicate me time to me log, for, forgive yer cap'n, but the small matter of typing with a hook can grow wearisome o'er time, & not a few contraptions have found themselves afloat in the azurite, roiling sea as a result of me frustrations. Aye, well, then, it seems that last me hook touched lightly to page me crew was involved rather vigorously & valiantly in battle with northerners, & aye, true to 'is word, yer cap'n steered 'is ship to victory, delivering unto great Odon & 'is faithful a swift bouquet of tickets to Valhalla's feasts. May they eat their mutton in relative peace, for their bodily vessels've been mutilated beyond belief-- aye, what me hook didn't achieve the tooth of the shark will, I wager. The Viking fights with an odd blend of fierce will & intransigent stupidity, he does, & in the end, the two marry to make a dullard aboard decks & a flaming idiot in martial combat (& aye, I mean it quite literally, for many aboard me ship were ensconsed in orange flame ere they thrust themselves o'erboard for some small relief before they saw the great hall). Ye need only consult the commentary of Hjord, who thinks 'imself already a dutiful servant of the pantheon in spite of 'is earthly shackles of cowardice & rather limited maritime capacities. But we've enough of the Vikings, have we not? Let them bark, & until they bite again I bide me own time, fetching me bounty from the other six seas until me hook be gold with anticipation & me thoughts turn towards quick victory with the veritable haste of Nike of Samothrace herself, winged messenger of yore. What be the point of invalidating via written words the mission of the Viking? What the word would tell the sword would clarify, & as such I'll put me pen in me scabbard & leave me sword poised for slaughter. I've enough time wasted on petty argument that me forecastle appears wanting. Sadly, all that we could plunder of the Vikings has proven useless or culturally obsolete I could say (i.e. whittled statuettes of Ragnar, a few helmets adorned with antlers & horns, vests made of fur & spoiled by mutton stains, a few photos ostensibly of a lurid nature but more closely tied, it would seem, with Hesiod's Iron Age if ye catch me drift, some gargantuan bones picked clean by human molars, & several volumes of hand-clipped "Hagar the Horrible" cartoons which, dare I say it, paint the appropriate picture of the warring Viking as an imbecile with neither the cunning nor tenacity to plunder naught but a lollipop from a schoolgirl). As such, we turn to starboard & make a line for the West, aye, where there be no drought of fine booty for the taking. Until then, laddies, be off with ye, & swiftly at that.


Anonymous fjord njordssenn said...

keep close watch on your tallywhacker, dagger. it shall be removed soon.

11:41 AM  
Blogger henry dagger said...

Aye, I'll a close watch keep on me nether-regions, njordssenn, a close watch indeed whilst I t-bag yer bloated corpse!

12:36 PM  
Anonymous fjord njordssenn said...

indeed, i am a corpse, a walking charred corpse, sailing about in a mere tiny frigate equipped with a 7000 watt stero system and the latest in scandinavian death metal. my chain mail shall be soiled with your blood, young dagger, wait and see. you cannot kill what has already died, only to be revived through allegience to darkness.

2:34 PM  
Blogger henry dagger said...

What, laddie, am I now to believe that ye think yerself a bloody zombie? Aye, for chrissake, ye pea-headed Vikings...

2:46 PM  
Anonymous Randy Moss said...

Stop hatin' on my team, dagger. I know my end-zone antics piss some people off, but they get the crowd into it. Plus, I'm way taller and faster than you.

6:19 AM  
Anonymous henry dagger said...

Pardon me, Mossy, but methinks ye miss the historical significance here, for I would sooner lose me good hand than defame yer endzone antics. Nay, methinks a healthy & jocular sensibility may be precisely what saves yer dear league, Mossy. As it were, though, me parrot told me ye'd been traded to the Raiders. Get yerself straight, ye insolent knave.

6:24 AM  
Anonymous Randy Moss said...

Shit, I've been traded?!? I gotta talk to my agent.

10:10 AM  

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