Marie Antoinette was known for her extravagance, insisting on the finest things and only using them once before tossing them aside.
She also insisted that nobody else be permitted to use them, so the cellars filled quickly with silverware, porcelain plates, crystal glasses, silk handkerchiefs, and even her linen undergarments.
Standing before the angry crowd, she saw that they’d raised the palace’s storerooms, and were waving forks and knives and plates and handkerchiefs and…
Her underwear.
All of her dirty laundry, out there for everyone to see.
She looked at the blade and winced.
“Mind cleaning it first?” she asked.
Tag: history
Martian canals
Astronomers in the 19th Century said there were canals on Mars.
Whether this was because of the poor optics available or the construction of several major canal projects here on Earth, I’m not sure. But over time, better telescopes demonstrated that there were definitely no canals on Mars.
Still, I like to imagine ancient Martians, punting gondolas from domed city to domed city, chanting Martian chants as young Martian lovers watched the clouds, hand in hand, talon in talon, tails entwined.
Ah, Science! You foul destroyer of Romance!
I push the astronomer’s head back into the toilet and flush again.
The Tale Winner
The Canterbury Tales are a collection of stories about a group of pilgrims heading to a shrine, passing the time with a storytelling contest.
The winner was to get a free meal upon return from the pilgrimage.
Today, only a portion of the manuscripts are known to the public, as many tales are missing, and we are left without knowing who won the contest.
Until today.
Reading the ancient papers on a lighted workbench, I learn of a man dressed in a black cloak and hood, silent as the night, dining alone.
Yes, it’s true.
The Ninja won the contest.
Freedom Riders
They called themselves the Freedom Riders.
No, I’m not talking about the brave who rode interstate buses to break up segregationist policies.
I’m talking about the passengers on Kendargu freighters who, despite paying a fortune for passage, suffered cramped and horrible conditions in the ships.
So, they put together a plan to break out of their tiny cabin mid-voyage.
The cabin was cramped because temporal and inertial dampers take up a lot of room.
Those that didn’t get phase-shifted to jumpspace ended up as that messy paste spread out on the cargo bay walls.
Oh well. Go get some mops.
Crazy Horse
There’s been some speculation regarding Crazy Horse’s name, and I’d like to set the record straight.
He got his name from his father, who had also been named Crazy Horse, but gave his name to his son.
Some legends say Crazy Horse stole his father’s name, but all he ever did was rifle under his cot and look at his porn collection.
Oh, and Crazy Horse’s horse wasn’t crazy. He was a rather well-adjusted horse, a good mount.
His name was “No, I’m Not Crazy, But This Crazy Motherfucker Riding Me Is, So Cut Me Some Slack, Dude.”
Any questions?
Occam
Occam The Philosopher had a face that was as smooth as a baby’s butt, and he was quite proud of it.
“I have a very sharp razor,” said Occam. “I also have very expensive shaving cream, a soft lathering brush, a silver mirror, and a rare herbal aftershave.”
“Isn’t that horribly complicated?” I replied. “Wouldn’t it be simpler to use a depilatory cream?”
“Sometimes the simplest solution isn’t the best one,” Occam said.
Many years later, I saw him hawking an all-in-one shaving contraption on television.
“Just one button!” he shouted. “What could be simpler?”
Growing a beard, I thought.
The Ship
That, my friend, is no ordinary model of a ship.
Behold, The Magnificent Mechanism of Master Craftsman Blert!
What a fine galleon is it, rendered in miniature with the most exquisite rare woods, semi-precious stones, spun silks, and intricate gears.
It is not just an ornamental centerpiece, mind you. It is also highly functional.
Pull the anchor chain to play music.
The sails are endless self-cleaning napkins.
The cannon fire pepper, salt, or any number of spices for your meal.
Dip your fingers in the fingerbowl-hold to wash them… or is that the cigar-cutter?
Bow, stern. I get so confused.
The Llama
Somewhere outside Peru, I have a vision of the llama.
“Gold is the sweat of the sun and Silver is the tears of the moon,” he says.
And vanishes.
I kneel down, digging through the dirt with my hands.
I pick out a small silver and gold llama, exquisitely crafted by the Inca many centuries ago.
It is beautiful. It is magnificent.
It is worth a fortune.
Laughing in the heat, this is no mirage, no delusion.
I wipe my sweating brow with my handkerchief, and look…
The cloth is covered with gold.
I rise from the ground, burning… burning…
The Princesses
The legendary Silk Princess concealed the worms, baskets, looms, mulberry leaves and other means of production in her headdress to steal the industry from China.
The Stationwagon Princess, on the other hand, stuck all the components and supply-chain of the auto industry into her headdress in an attempt to smuggle off the mystery of stationwagon production to her people.
The similarities end there.
Unlike the Silk Princess, the Stationwagon Princess has no legends surviving into modern times. Also, unlike the highly-valued silk, nobody wants stationwagons anymore.
So take off those ugly-assed stationwagon panties and get your ass to bed, dear.
Sand
“Nothing is permanent,” says the priestess.
“We only write our names in sand,” chants the crowd following her to the beach.
Young men gather sticks and write their names in the wet sand.
Then, they lay in small pits and bury each other up to their necks.
The priestess helps with the last man, and they wait for the tide to come in.
The waves get closer… closer… soaking the mens’ faces… some burst up from the sand and flee.
One more to go… and… did he drown?
No! He rises and stands!
Bow down, for he is your chief!