Tag: medieval

More Coffee, Boy!

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“More coffee, boy!” shouts Galileo from the tower.
It’s always the same. My master shouts More Coffee, I run down to Pizaro’s to fetch it, and then run back up to the tower while he does his stupid experiments.
“More coffee, boy!”
“I have a name!” I shout.
“Yes, ” says Galileo. “It is More Coffee Boy. Now fetch more coffee, boy!”
As I walk out the door, I hear Galileo shout.
I look up.
A brown cloud, tumbling… turning… spreading… a searing rain on my face…
My eyes! My eyes!
And then I’m covered with a pound of feathers.

Squaring the Round Table

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“History shall remember us as the Knights of the Round Table!” bellowed Arthur.
“Guenievere isn’t a knight,” mumbled Gawain. “But she’s sitting at our table.”
“She’s my wife,” said Arthur.
“Can I bring my wife?” said Tristan.
“No,” said Arthur. “I hereby declare Guenievere to be special authorized personnel.”
“I used that same exact argument for myself and you said no,” said Merlin. He vanished in a puff of smoke.
“I don’t mind her being at the table at all,” said Lancelot.
Arthur felt something rub against his armor.
“Stop that, ” said Arthur. “Go sit on the opposite side.”

Greasing the windmills of your mind with the blood of the guilty

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Hans hated tulips. He had a special pair of tulip-stomping boots he wore when he went on his tulip-stomping walks.
“Why do you do this?” said his neighbors. “Tulips are beautiful.”
“Tulips are Satan’s handiwork,” growled Hans, stomping.
Hans’ neighbors replanted the tulips.
And Hans kept stomping them.
The neighbors were worried for Hans, so they asked the mayor to pay Hans a visit.
They argued, Hans stomped the mayor (with his mayor-stomping boots), and the neighbors began to worry for themselves.
That night, an angry mob killed Hans.
I bet you can guess what flowers were at the funeral.

Cujus Regio, Impero Decapito

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King Richard sighed. There was another fight in the Royal Observatory. Five assistants were laid up at the Healer’s.
“Bring those damned eggheads here!” shouted the king.
“Yes, Sire,” said the Chamberlain.
Phillips and Mossbeard were still attacking at each other, even as the guards threw them to the throne room floor.
“The Earth revolves around the Sun!” shouted Phillips.
“The Sun revolves around the Earth!” shouted Mossbeard.
Richard scowled at them both.
“Off with their heads!” he shouted.
“Sire?” asked the Chamberlain.
“They are both wrong,” said the king. “The world revolves around me.”
“Yes, Sire,” said the Chamberlain.

The Death of Chivalry

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Darkness!
“Damn fuse!”

“Voltmaster hates visitors!” The Hermit growled. “Cautions to you!”

Sir Arthur nodded. “Wear my magic helmet, Lucy.”
“But…”
“I insist!”

For hours they walked through Grimwood.
Then, they came to a clearing.
Within, Voltmaster’s Watchtower stretched into the stormy sky.
“Shall I knock?” said Arthur.
“Is it safe?” asked Lucy.
Before Arthur could respond, lightning struck the tower, shattering the battlements and raining stones on the couple.
“I guess not,” said Lucy. “Arthur?”
He lay dead on the ground, skull crushed.
Lucy screamed.

Safe at home, she put a penny in the fusebox.
Light!

The tale of Sir Vapid

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Sir Vapid paid for musicians to accompany him on his adventures. He thought he’d be more impressive with some kind of theme music.
So a deal was struck, and off they went.
They climbed mountains, crossed swamps, went on holy pilgrimages, and even negotiated a treaty between some farmers and an ogre.
“Impressive,” said King Richard. “You’ll go far, Vapid.”
But the moment he got into a fight, the other knight ran him through with a sword.
“Perhaps I should have bought some armor instead of minstrels,” were his final words.
They played at his funeral for no additional charge.

Questo spazio in bianco intenzionalmente lasciato della pagina

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After the DaVinci Code came out, everything Galileo ever wrote or painted was searched for hidden messages. X-Rays, magnetic waves, deep-radar signals, and refractive lasers wobbled the molecules to and fro until the researchers declared there was nothing to find.
Or as they say in Italy: “Niente!”
Then someone realized that Galileo invented the “This page intentionally left blank” page.
That someone was me.
Know what you get when you rip all those blank pages from his diaries and journals, rub them with a lemon, and hold a match up to them?
Arrested.
But now I know God’s shoe size.