A Plague of Insanity Looms over Europe...

December 21, 1491

I hear odd things nowadays. I mean, everyone seems to have gone mad in Madrid. The
Inquisition’s headquarters is displaying banners with pentagrams, and signs saying “be one with
the devil”, the most thrifty merchants are giving stuff out for free, the sun is suddenly rising in
the west, the king is giving orders for the entire army to disband, the clouds are forming signs
with the words “doom on you” and “this city ain’t gonna be around much more” with arrows
pointing to our beloved city, and my wife has stopped shouting at me! Portents of something,
though what, I cannot say...

Excerpt from the diary of a barber, recently running from crowds asking for his autograph as the
only “Barber of Seville”, with people shouting, ‘I loved your opera’...


Deep in the confines of a man’s mind, a virus enters a brain cell. It then multiplies by two and
infects two more, continuing, continuing, there is no stopping it...

“And my demands for that peace treaty with Granda are to annex–bluh, ugh, dri, jumweeeeee–are
to annex the provinces of Valencia, Estradamuras, Toledo, and Murcia to Granda, and to give
them some gold as well,” said the king of Spain.

A few of the ministers quirked an eyebrow. “What did you say, my king?” asked one. The sat in a
semi circle around the throne of the king, in the grandest hall of the palace of Madrid.

“Give them everything we can, I believe. I don’t quite remember.”

“Sir, are you all right?”

“Yes. Bring me my ferret.”

“You-er-don’t have a ferret, sir.”

“Yes I do. Bring me Fluffy!”

After a bit of muttered conversation, the ministers sent out a servant to get “Fluffy”. They
weren’t sure what Fluffy was, but they did not want to anger the king. The servant returned with
a sleek, brown, ferret, writhing in his hand and attempting to bite everything around it.

“Your Majesty,” the servant said, bowing and handing the king the ferret.

“No, he’s Fluffy,” the King said, and began to coo, “Yes, Fluffy, you’re a cute little ferret, aren’t
you?” In response, the ferret bit him on the nose.

Blood streaming down his face, crown lopsided, and his beard half eaten by the ferret, the king
held up a hand. “No, I don’t need a doctor, don’t even ask.” He then bit the ferret’s head off.

More blood pumped from the ferret’s neck, and the king got some right in the eye. He didn’t
seem to mind, though.

“Tastes just like chicken.”


(OOC: I think that answered your question. .)

Aparrently Insanity gives strange tastes in food, too...

“Sire, the Granadans have accepted the peace offer. And they appeared to be drooling with
anticipation and pleasure, rather like the rabid dogs they are.”

“Dogs? Dogs drool. I like their drool. Best wine on the planet. Just ask me.”

“Yes, sire.” The king was getting worse. If that was possible.

“Now, listen to this and listen to it carefully: declare war on Portugal, France, Navarre, and
Granda.”

“BUT WE JUST SIGNED A TRUCE WITH GRANADA! WE’LL LOSE 5 STABILITY
POINTS, YOUR MOST CRAZY MAJESTY!”

“Stability points? Sounds like a video game. Speaking of which, bring me my Gamecube.”

The minister sighed. The king truly had gone insane. Gamecubes were toys for children. When
he said this aloud, the king replied,

“Children are tasty too. Here, try some!” He held up a roasted drumstick a little bigger than that
of a chicken’s.

The minister stared in horror, but then the insanity gripped him. It was not so simple as that, of
course. It more, washed over him, until he could not take it any longer, and grabbed the
drumstick and began wolfing it down.

“I always thought children would be more tender.”

“That’s because I TRICKED YOU! IiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiT’S TURKEY!” shouted the king
gleefully.

The halls of the palace seemed to shake from the gales of laughter that both men emitted. Or
maybe that was just the altering of perceptions that the madness caused in them. In fact, it started
to shimmer. The world is going to end, the world is going to end! MUHAHAHA–

You there, stop that. Narrators aren’t supposed to go insane.

I suppose we aren’t. Right, now, where was I? Oh, yes–

and a messenger popped into the room. Both men looked at him hungrily, and yes, I do mean that
literally. “Sire, the French are assaulting our northern fortresses. So is Navarre. Granada and
Portugal in the South, and WE HAVE NO ARMY!!!”

“No need to shout,” said the king.

“WHAT ARE WE TO DO!?”

“Stop speaking in all capps.”

“Fine, But What Are We To Do?” the messenger said.

“Stop emphasizing every word as though there is a capital before it.”

“Your missing the point,” the messenger said exasperated.

“Very Observant,” the king said dryly.

The messenger inhaled and exhaled deeply, and began murmuring, “Find the inner calm. Listen
to the waves. Listen as the pound on the seashore.”

“Stop sounding like a pseudo Japanese relaxation routine.”

“Huh? That’s just what my mother taught me to do.”

“She must be the ancestor of the people who write the scripts for them.”

“What?” said the messenger, thoroughly nonplused now.

“Never you mind. Just do this to respond to their invasions: release Austrias, Leon, and Catalonia
as vassals and declare war on them.”

“Finally, an answer–Wait, WHAT did you say to do.”

“You heard me. Do it.”

“And what if I said no?”

“Then We’d lop off your appendages, roast and eat them, cook the heart over a slow fire and eat
it, throw the brains to the dogs, the intestines to the ferrets, and have the liver at the royal
banquet. With your spleen and kidneys we’d–”

“OK, I get the point! I’ll do it.”

“Good,” the king said. As the messenger, he leaned over to his minister and whispered, “He still
might make a good meal.”

As the King and his minister discussed the culinary delights of the human body, the walls of
Rousillion, Seville, and Gerona were falling... And they laughed manically at this. They knew
they were insane, but they did not care. Such is the nature of insanity.

Well, yes, it is a weird plot. I specialize in those...

" I remember you Snow King...and I have read some of your earlier efforts...this has grabbed my attention...pirates sinking Columbus...you gotta love it!"

If you could call them "efforts"... And thank you.

(Edit: And what do you know? Post 800!)

The Death Of Iberia...

The results of the king’s war are catastrophic! Who could have guess what he would do? But
you have to admit, it was a good plan, and all... And you have to praise him for his new
invention: ferret eating. I admit that I am a fanatic of this new diet plan. Just... The tingles of joy
that run up your spine when you bite its head off...

–Excerpt from the diary of San Juan Jose de Bistro a.k.a. San J. J. d. Bistro a.k.a. the man who
travels with a large herd of middle initials...


The palace was a mess these days. Rumpled and torn tapestries lying all over the floor, marble
columns had names chipped in them lie modern graffiti, the floor was a mess of ferret bones
(excluding the skulls), and the throne’s velveteen back looked like an overused pincushion.

The king himself fit this air of insanity, for his crown was now an anvil and a hammer made of
gold that he kept clanging together, his hair looked like his barber... er, who knows what his
barber was doing... and to ad the complete insane picture, all his robes were torn to shreds
(conveniently left in a few crucial areas... You gotta love political correctness...), and, to put the
perfect finishing touch, he was frothing at the mouth and nose (the rabies from the feral ferret’s
bite had finally gotten to him, it seemed).

All around him, his formerly regal ministers were doing a simply horrid mix of “the Mexican Hat
Dance” and singing “Le Cucaracha” at the top of their lungs, all of them bare chested and beating
their bare chests. Only the messengers, it seemed, were immune, and how little good that did...

A messenger came running into the hall, and stopped short when he saw the spectacle in front of
him. “Uh, Sir?” he asked, hoping the king could hear him. Apparently, no. “SIR!?” he screamed.
The king looked up.

“I can’t hear you! Come closer!” the king shouted back.

The minister walked up in front of his throne. “Can you hear me now?”

The king shook his head, and the minister screamed in his face “Can you hear me now?”

The king again shook his head, so the minister cupped his hands and shouted into the king’s ear
“CAN–YOU–HEAR–ME–NOW?”

“Stop shouting, and stop sounding like a Verizon Wireless commercial, boy! Now what was it
you wanted?”

“SIR–THE–PORTUGESE–HAVE–TAKEN–ANDULASIA–AND–THE–GRANADANS–ARE–
ADVANCING–ON–US–AS–I–SPEAK!!”

“You’re not speaking, your shouting. Anyway, send the army to deal with them.”

“WHAT–ARMY?!”

“Don’t argue, just do it. No, no ifs ands or buts. Or butts. Just do it.”

“ALL-RIGHT!”

The king and his ministers went back to their revelry, and though the Granadans took heavy
casualties upon entering the Castile province from the army of Madrid (consisting of two rabid
cattle, a large bull moose, five llamas, two feral ferrets, and a single person waving a rolling pin
at them, upon seeing which the Granadan general commented dryly, “The Spaniards seem to
have control of the beasts, or maybe their just rallying their comrades in arms...”) they marched
right up to the gates of Madrid. The town, however, was deserted.

Apparently, all the people on the king’s new ferret diet–that is to say, everyone–had died... Of
malnutrition.

The virus had done its job, quickly and efficiently, and now it was to continue. The virus rose
on a brisk breeze, heading west... West, to the royal court of Portugal...



(More Notes: Yes, that means our next target is Portugal. And yes, it will be continuing in the
above fashion. [disclaimer mode] I’m not stereotyping any nationalities, just insane royalty...
[/disclaimer mode] Hope you enjoyed our little messing up Espana.

Thank you for the feedback, and for the comments...

"Wow... this could be pretty funny! I'm subscribing! Good job so far!"

Thank you again. I'm glad to have a subscriber... or two.

"I'll subscribe to this as well. I always enjoy a nice bit of serious historical documentary... "

Of course. What did you think it was? A comedy?

"Very...Interesting. Its really hard to follow a crazed three way part internal part external dialogue when your tired. Poor ferret."

I'm glad you find it...interesting. For your concerns and those of tired people everywhere, I tried to clarify who was speaking at the time in the above section. And yes, I'd agree, poor ferret.

"I was right, this is interesting. Its great, actually!! "

Glad you like it.

The Rise of Portugal-or why insanity does not rule out winning wars.

It is interesting to note how in a time of madness, Portugal seemed to flourish, until it finally
succumbed to combined invasions...

–Excerpt from A History of the Insanity Plague

“It really was weird, the way Spain acted up on us. And then when we invaded and thought we’d
find the Duke of Alba’s army waiting for us–”

“We did, My King.”

“Yes, but with only a thousand men!? It was a massacre. And now Andulasia has fallen to us...”

“Yes, but Spain is refusing to give us that and the Canaries. What shall we do?”

In the king’s brain, the virus started its dirty job again...

“Well, I think we shall–bluh, ugh, dri, jumweeeeee–we shall declare war on Leon, and invade
them, besiege their province, then annex them.”

“What?”

“If we can’t have Spain, we must have other things. Hence, Leon will be invaded.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Of course it is what I say. I am king!”

“No one ever tried to deny it.”

“You did.”

“When?”

“When you tried to deny it, naturally.”

“When was that?”

“YOU ARE DISOBEDIENT, DISRESPECTFUL, AND ALL TOGETHER UNBECOMING OF
AN ADVISOR TO THE KING! THROW YOURSELF TO THE LIONS!!”

“How would one go about throwing one’s own self to the lions?”

“Don’t ask me!”

“I mean, wouldn’t it be physically impossible?”

“Then just jump in!”

“And do we even have any lions? Isn’t that just a relic of ancient Rome?”

“I TOLD YOU WHAT TO DO, NOW I EXPECT YOU TO DO IT!”

The minister began to tick points off his fingers, saying, “I can’t possibly throw myself, we have
no lions, and finally, you are acting totally out of character.”

“Go! Commit suicide! Or get executed! See if I care either way!”

“Hence, I think I’ll just deliver your orders, and ignore the crazy part.”

“ARE YOU DISOBEYING ME?”

“No, just having a selectively deafening disease.”

“Doesn’t that count for the same thing?”

“No.”

“Oh, well, just go and deliver the message, then.”

Historical Note: it is unlikely that the king stood much chance in the above argument, due to
his deranged mental state.

****************************

The fortress of Leon stood in front of the army. Irritatingly. And the king was visiting. And not in
the mood for irritations.

“Assault it.”

Companies advanced, rank upon rank of brave, scarred men, holding aloft pikes and ladders.
They charged forth, bearing banners of red and green. As the king and his men watched, they
placed the ladders against the walls, and attempted to scale them. The men went up courageously,
but alas, they did not succeed, and many on both sides were slaughtered. In response, the king
said,

“Assault it.”

Companies advanced, rank upon rank of brave, scarred men, holding aloft pikes and ladders.
They charged forth, bearing banners of red and green. As the king and his men watched, they
placed the ladders against the walls, and attempted to scale them. The men went up courageously,
but alas, they did not succeed, and many on both sides were slaughtered. In response, the king
said,

“Assault it.”

Companies advanced, rank upon rank of brave, scarred men, holding aloft pikes and ladders.
They charged forth, bearing banners of red and green. As the king and his men watched, they
placed the ladders against the walls, and attempted to scale them. The men went up courageously,
and though the defenders’ cannon boomed, and their crossbows let loose streams of arrows, the
assaulting forces of Portugal were victorious.

To add to this, they received the news that Spain had surrendered Andulasia and the Canaries. To
which the king replied,

“Well, I can’t object to receiving Seville, but what’ll we do with the birds?”

rafjorbro said:

You should have the strain appear in all of the Georges of Hanover. It would give in a historical twist (but since the gamesalready gone to the dogs in terms of history, it might look like you trying to salvage it) good job, keep it coming.

Click to expand...

To all: I suppose that last update wasn't very good compared to the previous. I guess I wasn't at peak writing ability.

Portugal is insane... Even on a normal day.

A messenger walked into the throne room. Another time, it might have been a grand place, now,
with everything in pieces and the occupants doing odd dances and beating their chests, half
naked, it was nowhere near its former splendor.

“Uh, King?”

The king looked up from his dancing. “Yes?”

“The generals are getting... Restless. Who shall we kill now?”

At this one of the ministers looked up. “The other team.”

“What?” said the messenger, thoroughly nonplused.

“Were playing a game of football,” said the king. “Newly imported from England.”

“Ooh,” said the messenger, “I like football. But where are the goals?” he asked, looking around
the room.

“The fireplaces, of course,” said a minister.

“Of course-wait, what did you say?” the messenger asked.

“The fireplaces,” repeated the minister, as if speaking to a child.

“Wouldn’t you go through a lot of balls that way?” the messenger asked, wondering if this was
all a joke.

“No,” the King said.

“Wouldn’t they burn?” asked the messenger.

“No,” said the King.

A minister piped up, “The goalies retrieve them.”

“Wouldn’t that burn the goalies?”

The king bared his teeth in a very animal like way, half grin, half snarl. “Gives them just a little
more incentive to save them, doesn’t it?”

“I guess,” the messenger said, still desperately hoping it was all a joke.

“Now,” said the king, wildly kicking a ball at the opposite fireplace, whereupon fifteen people
leapt upon it, a pummeling whirl of fists, “What did you want?”

“The generals are getting restless.”

“Don’t you just hate insomnia?” the king said.

“No, restless as in, they have nothing to do and are bored of it.”

“Rather wooden of them.”

“What?”

“Board of it?”

“No, your majesty, they are bored of it. Same spelling as in ‘the termites bored a hole
in your cabinet door.”

“Curses! I knew I was ripped off by that carpenter!” cried the king.

“No! Sir, I was using a homophone.”

“Huh?”

“You know, same pronunciation, different meaning. Like as in bee and be.”

“As in, ‘I will bee king when I grow up’, and as in, ‘the be stung me?’” the king said eagerly.

“Yes sir. I mean, no sir.”

“Why not?”

“Because you used the word bee for be and be for bee.”

“How do you know that? They sound the same, so how do you know I said bee in the place
of be, and be in the place of bee?”

“Because, sir, er, well, I don’t know that!”

“How did we get on this topic, anyway?”

“I was telling you about homophones, Your Majesty.”

“And what are homophones?”

“Do I get a sense of deja vu?”

“No.”

“It was a rhetorical question, your majesty!”

“Where does the word ‘rhetorical’ come from?”

“From rhetoric, or, to speechify.”

“Speechify?”

“It’s a real word, my king.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it doesn’t have the red squiggly line under it.”

“What squiggly line?” the king asked, confused.

“The one from the spellchecker in the author’s writing program. The one that just marked
spellchecker a nonentity.”

“They allow ‘speechify’, but not ‘spellchecker’?”

“Apparently.”

“Why are we even talking about this, anyway?”

“Your Majesty?”

“We’re talking about English words, messenger. We’re Portugese.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Why?”

“The closest the narrator can get to Portugese is, well English.”

“English? Why would anyone bother to speak that?”

“Because apparently, in the future, it will be the world’s main language of trade and commerce.”

“English? Commerce? The only commerce THEY know is trading longbows.”

At this point, the soccer ball zoomed into the king’s goal, and he dived in after it. The messenger
saw an opportunity to slip out, and did. If the upper echelons are all as raving mad as he is, it is
a wonder Portugal is holding together. For that matter, I feel like I could use a little fun, myself.
Maybe after I tell the generals the King’s ‘order’ is to invade whoever you want, then I’ll go
accuse myself of being a heretic in front of the Spanish Inquisition. No, that wouldn’t be good
enough. After all, they’re all pagans there, anyway. Maybe I’ll visit my wife at home. She might
even let me sleep on the couch! Imagine that, the messenger thought absently.



In the meantime, the entire city of Lisbon seemed to have gone mad. Not only did the above
happen, but the sailors seemed to be sober, the farmers were proclaiming ‘Socialism forever’, the
populace seemed to be going on the new, popular ‘ferret diet’, Da Gama proclaimed he would
sail to the south pole on a large tree log, streetside prophets stopped proclaiming the world was
about to end, but instead that the world was going to live forever, and people actually seemed
happy about their lives! Well, even if in a crazy, debilitated way, such was rather unusual in Late
Medieval Europe...