I think this is the first time an Elvis-incarnation has trod the fields of CK-AARland. 
Well done.
Well done.
The SalopAARds: A History
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OMG
:rofl: :rofl: :rofl:
That's so funny, you're brilliant, man. More brilliant than you've got any right to be. Normans, English weather, Apulia jokes, Saxon language, marriage jokes, Elvis impersonators, and a wonderful scene with the suitors besieging the run-down inn. No, wait, that's a motte! :rofl:
:rofl: :rofl: :rofl:
That's so funny, you're brilliant, man. More brilliant than you've got any right to be. Normans, English weather, Apulia jokes, Saxon language, marriage jokes, Elvis impersonators, and a wonderful scene with the suitors besieging the run-down inn. No, wait, that's a motte! :rofl:
Aelwis Impersonators...that was good, mate! I liked that a lot. :rofl:
That was a hell of a lot of marriages proposals you got there. Your courtiers are some talented ladies. I expect you'll get many more of those...which means miles and miles of jokes.
That was a hell of a lot of marriages proposals you got there. Your courtiers are some talented ladies. I expect you'll get many more of those...which means miles and miles of jokes.
I will say your handling of the proposal bombardment has tickled me pink. Well done, well done. Don't worry about disappointing me, I've only been a "native" for a few months, before that I was of the Warwick locale.
Well done, and quite funny. One imagines Roger managed to cope with being... um... Rogered, as it were. He seems the sort to ignore the immediate critical in favoer of the future trivial.
So... we have a county, a castle of sorts, a court and a wife and at least one henchman.
What now?
So... we have a county, a castle of sorts, a court and a wife and at least one henchman.
What now?
Very, very funny unlike been bound, gagged and, erm, conqured. As posted above the use of "Aelwis Impersonators" made me giggle some.
Love it,
Tanesis,
Love it,
Tanesis,
The Big Book Of Blushing Brides-To-Be + Saxon Phrasebook for Feudal Lords. The library becomes interesting Short-Shorts is a good nickname for Bill the Bastard's son .
Short-Shorts is a good nickname for Bill the Bastard's son .
The best comedy aar to be found on ck forums at the moment.
Knytlings are dead, so are the Crovans. Time for the small norman testicles!
Knytlings are dead, so are the Crovans. Time for the small norman testicles!
phargle: Yes, having William the Conqueror slipped in has a strong effect on people. Just ask Roger.
Snugglie: Thankyuh, thankyuhverymuch.
The_Guiscard: It's you! I was hoping you'd end up reading this. Thanks for the compliments, and right back at ya.
coz1: There were even more, but I couldn't be arsed to Gimp up the screenshots.
Saithis: I'm glad you like it.
Director: Yes, Roger's going to get rogered quite a lot, and do some rogering in turn. As for what now, you'll see...
Tanesis: Well, it's important to be able to find the humour in anything, even being violently sodomised by a blunt weapon. Always look on the bright side of life, and all that.
kadvael56: So, it's the books you like, eh? I'll have to think of some more, then.
Enewald: As far as I can see, it's the only comedy AAR on the CK forums at the moment, so that's not much of an accomplishment. Thanks for the effusive praise, nonetheless.
Olaus Petrus: Regrets? He's had a few, but rest assured, too few to mention. Let's just say Rog appreciates Alison's, khm, penetrating insights.
Bingo Brett: Welcome aboard.
Next update to come Saturdayish. College is out until the 8th or so, meaning the updates will possibly be more frequent in the coming two weeks.
Just ask Roger.Snugglie: Thankyuh, thankyuhverymuch.
The_Guiscard: It's you! I was hoping you'd end up reading this. Thanks for the compliments, and right back at ya.
coz1: There were even more, but I couldn't be arsed to Gimp up the screenshots.
Saithis: I'm glad you like it.
Director: Yes, Roger's going to get rogered quite a lot, and do some rogering in turn. As for what now, you'll see...
Tanesis: Well, it's important to be able to find the humour in anything, even being violently sodomised by a blunt weapon. Always look on the bright side of life, and all that.
kadvael56: So, it's the books you like, eh?
I'll have to think of some more, then.Enewald: As far as I can see, it's the only comedy AAR on the CK forums at the moment, so that's not much of an accomplishment.
Thanks for the effusive praise, nonetheless.Olaus Petrus: Regrets? He's had a few, but rest assured, too few to mention.
Let's just say Rog appreciates Alison's, khm, penetrating insights. Bingo Brett: Welcome aboard.
Next update to come Saturdayish. College is out until the 8th or so, meaning the updates will possibly be more frequent in the coming two weeks.
Alison ought to be a good character, yes. The small army of bachelors was a brilliant take.
Glad I found this, I havent seen any Blackadder before, but by god I wish I had.
William the Conquerer! :rofl: I nearly died!
Bravo!
William the Conquerer! :rofl: I nearly died!
Bravo!
EPISODE III: REBEL REBEL
'Twas the merry month of May, in the year of Our Lord 1067, and conflict shook the merry kingdom of Merry England. William the Conqueror's Saxon vassals rose up in rebellion against their rightful liege, hoping to beat back the Norman invaders of their ancestral land. Roger's lands were, meanwhile, at peace.
"Haeff you hyrde ye folkes upp norde are rebeling, Hrothgar?".
"Rebeling, Eadgar?".
"Yes. Ye Northumbrians, and Eadric Wilde."
"I her hys wyfe is a faery."
"I her he's unne, too."
"Scoulde we rebele, Hrothgar?".
"Maybe we scoulde."
The two old men sat under a miserable looking oak tree, ponderously masticating straws and watching the sheep lazily grazing at the meadow below.
"Naah.", they both muttered.
The merry month of May had made way for the depressing month of December, and the northern rebellions were still going strong. Lancaster had risen as well but a few days back. William the Conqueror's tactic, the cunning if unorthodox "sit on your arse and hope the enemy gets bored and gives up", was not bringing much in the way of military successes. The situation was made even worse by the fact that most of the Saxon rebels adopted the similar "strike menacing poses and hope the Normans get scared away" strategy - only Eadric Wilde, the hotheaded aesthete who had risen first against Norman authority, pursued his own course, and was currently besieging Chester, which the Bastard had taken from him earlier.
Roger sat at his desk, pensively running his fingers through his goatee and examining a crude map showing the more-or-less accurate positions and strengths of the rebel armies. There was some profit to be made from this rebellion thing, he was certain, but he was damned if he knew how to obtain it. Asserting his right to the titles of one of the rebels according to the ancient legal principle of jus quod possum - "because I can" - was the likeliest course of action, but unfortunately Roger was not yet possum enough for such a bold move.
"You asked to see me, my lord?", Hadwis asked as she entered the room, wondering what Roger wanted of her.
"Yes, about this rebellion...", he replied, motioning to one of the available seats.
"Do not worry, my lord, the Saxons were doomed from the start. Soon, the full might of the Crown will come crashing down upon them.", she assured him, "Our estates shall be safe, from what I've gathered."
"I was thinking... Could we, conceivably, expand our territory at the expense of the Saxons?".
"You mean, invoke jus quod possum? My lord, that is quite a radical step. The other earls of the realm shall not have a good opinion of you.", Hadwis said, "Then again, you are fairly universally loathed both among your own courtiers and among the rest of the English peerage, so I suppose you haven't anything to lose."
"Yes, yes... So we can do it?".
"Not quite, my lord."
"Not quite?".
"Well, I'm afraid you're not seen as a credible threat, sire. Given the condition of our army, I'd have to agree."
Roger continued to pensively stroke his goatee, furrowing his brow and trying to think of a way to boost his standing among his fellow earls.
"And how would we go about becoming seen as a credible threat?".
"There are many options, my lord. Building great buildings, doing great things, marrying someone important."
"Marrying, you say.", Roger mumbled, his gaze wandering from Hadwis' cleavage to a small beige envelope that sat on his desk. He smirked.
"Not neccessarily marrying someone yourself. Even if someone from your court were to marry well, that would make your standing increase."
"Well, in that case, mazel tov, darling. You're getting married.", he said, passing her the envelope.
"Married?!", Hadwis said, shocked by the sudden announcement. She opened the envelope and read the letter within.
"Geoffroi Count of Sens? What's he like?", she inquired, slowly coming to terms with the situation. Leaving Salopard's court wasn't that unpleasant an experience, and she would be a Countess in her new home, which was a marked step up from glorified secretary.
"I haven't a bloody clue.", Roger replied, "But I'm sure you'll be very happy with him."
"What about all those things you said... About how I'm an independent, modern woman that doesn't need a husband?".
"You actually believed that rot?", Roger seemed genuinely amused. He was always surprised whenever someone mistook him for an honest man.
"Oh, before you pack your things and ship off to France, could you just do one more thing?", he continued as Hadwis fought back the urge to bash his head in with a blunt object, "Send a letter to Eadric Wilde, and tell him I'll be relieving him of his title shortly."
As he rode towards the enemy encampment at the head of a small group of men, Eadric Wilde was not pleased. The siege of Chester was dragging on, his armies were whittled down by battles and attrition to a mere 150 or so desperate men, his fief in Shrewsbury was under siege by a Norman upstart whose army was ten times the size of his own, and most horribly of all, his hair was beginning to feel the ravages of war.
"Split ends! Oh, bollocks.", he sighed, observing wearily his reflection in a dainty hand-held mirror.
"Yes, Sir?", his manservant, riding beside him, asked.
"No, not you, Bollocks. I meant... Oh, nevermind.", Wilde replied with a gentle smile, "Say, do we have a white flag ready?".
"No, my lord. Hrafgar used the only white flag we had to wipe his arse on the way."
"Yes, that sounds like him. Do we have anything white?".
"Well, Sir, there's the lace underwear you've got. Mebbe if we stuck that on a pole...".
"Use that, then.", Eadric said.
And so, under the white panties of peace, the small Saxon contingent rode into the Norman camp. Not even Normans were callous enough to attack a man asking for a truce, so the group continued unmolested. Soon enough, the commander of the Norman armies was alerted to their presence, and stepped out of his tent to meet them in full battle regalia.
"Ahh, Wilde, is it? Come to surrender unconditionally?", Roger sneered.
"Surrender? Heavens no, Salopard. I have a proposition for you.", Eadric said upon dismounting his horse and brushing back his errant locks.
"Sorry to disappoint you, but I just don't swing that way, old boy.", Roger replied and took off his helmet.
"That's not what I've heard.", Wilde retorted with a feline smirk, "But in any case, that's not the proposition I had in mind. I've come to offer peace."
"Peace? On what terms, exactly?".
"I shall pay you 49 bezants if you call off your little toy soldiers and head on home."
It was quite a sacrifice – he would have to postpone buying that adorable set of blue china teacups with the little sunflower motifs – but Eadric would rather lose his money than lose everything, and this Norman fellow seemed cowardly and greedy enough to be easily bought off. However, Roger simply laughed heartily.
"49 bezants? Do I look like one of your rentboys to you, Wilde?", Roger sneered, "No, I'm afraid I shan't stop until you are utterly and abjectly defeated. Serves you right for rebelling against your rightful liege."
"My dear Roger, the only thing worse than rebelling against one's rightful liege is NOT rebelling against your rightful liege.", Wilde said with a smug grin, feeling an urge to pat himself on the back.
"You'll wish you haven't said that."
"I will, Roger, I will.", Wilde remarked dejectedly, "Well, as there's no changing your mind, I'm afraid I'll have to run off and return to the siege at Chester. Toodle-oo."
Roger grinned like a shark who had just stumbled upon the annual convention of the Blind And Paraplegic Fishes Society. Soon, he thought, that effete dandy's title would be his for the taking.
"Mmmfwhat ifh itf?", Alison mumbled, caught in the act of wolfing down a stack of Cornish pastries by an exuberant LeBoeuf. She had been pregnant since June of last year, having temporarily retired The Conqueror in order to allow Roger (whose manhood she quite aptly nicknamed Pippin the Short) to try and conceive an heir.
"Excellent news, milady! Lord Roger sends word from Shrewsbury. The castle has fallen, and Eadric Wilde has been stripped of all his titles and belongings and sent to exile!", LeBoeuf announced happily.
Alison replied with a muted growl.
"Are you not happy, milady?".
Alison screamed, clutching her midsection.
"Oh I know, I'm so happy I could scream as well!".
"NO, you idiot! My... water broke."
"Oh. Well, I shall fetch you a new one on the double."
"LEBOEUF! It's... the baby! I'm going into... labor.", she managed to utter between agonising contractions.
"Baby? OH! Baby!".
Alison screamed some more, this time joined by a panicky LeBoeuf.
"But, milady, I don't now nothin' 'bout birthin' no babies!", he whimpered, grabbing his head and nervously pacing around the room as Alison tried to make her way to the bed.
"AAAAAAAH! I hate... him!", she growled as LeBoeuf regained a bit of his composure and helped her lie down.
"Just, ahh, just stay calm, milady. Breathe, or something."
"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-AAAAAAH! I HATE HIM! Hatehimhatehimhatehim...", Alison cried between contractions, "I swear I'll strangle him like a... chickEEEEEEN!".
"Just, erm, breathe and, ehh, push? Push! That's it!".
Alison roared, clutching LeBoeuf's hand so hard she nearly broke a few bones.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!", they both cried.
"Milady, you're crushing my..."
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!".
"HAAAAAAAAAAND!".
"ROOOOOOOOOGEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER!".
"Keep going! I can see its head! Or is that its arse?".
"I HAAAAAAAAAAATEEEEE YOOOOOOOOOUUUU!".
"Almost there! Almost there!".
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!".
"It's out! And there's some slimy... fleshy... thing, attached to the... Ugh, God.", LeBoeuf shouted excitably before passing out. The baby cried.
Busilla and Emonie stormed into the room carrying warm water and a towel, having finally heard the noise, and rushed towards the baby.
"Oh, look at him! A bouncing baby... boy? Is that... I can't tell...", Busilla cooed, inspecting the wailing sprog's privates.
"I think those are two tiny little bollocks there.", Emonie noted, "Definitely a boy, and unfortunately it looks like he takes after his father."
Exhausted, Alison cracked a smile as Emonie placed the child in her arms.
"He's so... ugly.", she remarked as the spawn of Salopard continued to wail like a siren, "I think I'll name him Roger."
END OF EPISODE III
'Twas the merry month of May, in the year of Our Lord 1067, and conflict shook the merry kingdom of Merry England. William the Conqueror's Saxon vassals rose up in rebellion against their rightful liege, hoping to beat back the Norman invaders of their ancestral land. Roger's lands were, meanwhile, at peace.
"Haeff you hyrde ye folkes upp norde are rebeling, Hrothgar?".
"Rebeling, Eadgar?".
"Yes. Ye Northumbrians, and Eadric Wilde."
"I her hys wyfe is a faery."
"I her he's unne, too."
"Scoulde we rebele, Hrothgar?".
"Maybe we scoulde."
The two old men sat under a miserable looking oak tree, ponderously masticating straws and watching the sheep lazily grazing at the meadow below.
"Naah.", they both muttered.
***
The merry month of May had made way for the depressing month of December, and the northern rebellions were still going strong. Lancaster had risen as well but a few days back. William the Conqueror's tactic, the cunning if unorthodox "sit on your arse and hope the enemy gets bored and gives up", was not bringing much in the way of military successes. The situation was made even worse by the fact that most of the Saxon rebels adopted the similar "strike menacing poses and hope the Normans get scared away" strategy - only Eadric Wilde, the hotheaded aesthete who had risen first against Norman authority, pursued his own course, and was currently besieging Chester, which the Bastard had taken from him earlier.
Roger sat at his desk, pensively running his fingers through his goatee and examining a crude map showing the more-or-less accurate positions and strengths of the rebel armies. There was some profit to be made from this rebellion thing, he was certain, but he was damned if he knew how to obtain it. Asserting his right to the titles of one of the rebels according to the ancient legal principle of jus quod possum - "because I can" - was the likeliest course of action, but unfortunately Roger was not yet possum enough for such a bold move.
"You asked to see me, my lord?", Hadwis asked as she entered the room, wondering what Roger wanted of her.
"Yes, about this rebellion...", he replied, motioning to one of the available seats.
"Do not worry, my lord, the Saxons were doomed from the start. Soon, the full might of the Crown will come crashing down upon them.", she assured him, "Our estates shall be safe, from what I've gathered."
"I was thinking... Could we, conceivably, expand our territory at the expense of the Saxons?".
"You mean, invoke jus quod possum? My lord, that is quite a radical step. The other earls of the realm shall not have a good opinion of you.", Hadwis said, "Then again, you are fairly universally loathed both among your own courtiers and among the rest of the English peerage, so I suppose you haven't anything to lose."
"Yes, yes... So we can do it?".
"Not quite, my lord."
"Not quite?".
"Well, I'm afraid you're not seen as a credible threat, sire. Given the condition of our army, I'd have to agree."
Roger continued to pensively stroke his goatee, furrowing his brow and trying to think of a way to boost his standing among his fellow earls.
"And how would we go about becoming seen as a credible threat?".
"There are many options, my lord. Building great buildings, doing great things, marrying someone important."
"Marrying, you say.", Roger mumbled, his gaze wandering from Hadwis' cleavage to a small beige envelope that sat on his desk. He smirked.
"Not neccessarily marrying someone yourself. Even if someone from your court were to marry well, that would make your standing increase."
"Well, in that case, mazel tov, darling. You're getting married.", he said, passing her the envelope.
"Married?!", Hadwis said, shocked by the sudden announcement. She opened the envelope and read the letter within.
"Geoffroi Count of Sens? What's he like?", she inquired, slowly coming to terms with the situation. Leaving Salopard's court wasn't that unpleasant an experience, and she would be a Countess in her new home, which was a marked step up from glorified secretary.
"I haven't a bloody clue.", Roger replied, "But I'm sure you'll be very happy with him."
"What about all those things you said... About how I'm an independent, modern woman that doesn't need a husband?".
"You actually believed that rot?", Roger seemed genuinely amused. He was always surprised whenever someone mistook him for an honest man.
"Oh, before you pack your things and ship off to France, could you just do one more thing?", he continued as Hadwis fought back the urge to bash his head in with a blunt object, "Send a letter to Eadric Wilde, and tell him I'll be relieving him of his title shortly."
***
As he rode towards the enemy encampment at the head of a small group of men, Eadric Wilde was not pleased. The siege of Chester was dragging on, his armies were whittled down by battles and attrition to a mere 150 or so desperate men, his fief in Shrewsbury was under siege by a Norman upstart whose army was ten times the size of his own, and most horribly of all, his hair was beginning to feel the ravages of war.
"Split ends! Oh, bollocks.", he sighed, observing wearily his reflection in a dainty hand-held mirror.
"Yes, Sir?", his manservant, riding beside him, asked.
"No, not you, Bollocks. I meant... Oh, nevermind.", Wilde replied with a gentle smile, "Say, do we have a white flag ready?".
"No, my lord. Hrafgar used the only white flag we had to wipe his arse on the way."
"Yes, that sounds like him. Do we have anything white?".
"Well, Sir, there's the lace underwear you've got. Mebbe if we stuck that on a pole...".
"Use that, then.", Eadric said.
And so, under the white panties of peace, the small Saxon contingent rode into the Norman camp. Not even Normans were callous enough to attack a man asking for a truce, so the group continued unmolested. Soon enough, the commander of the Norman armies was alerted to their presence, and stepped out of his tent to meet them in full battle regalia.
"Ahh, Wilde, is it? Come to surrender unconditionally?", Roger sneered.
"Surrender? Heavens no, Salopard. I have a proposition for you.", Eadric said upon dismounting his horse and brushing back his errant locks.
"Sorry to disappoint you, but I just don't swing that way, old boy.", Roger replied and took off his helmet.
"That's not what I've heard.", Wilde retorted with a feline smirk, "But in any case, that's not the proposition I had in mind. I've come to offer peace."
"Peace? On what terms, exactly?".
"I shall pay you 49 bezants if you call off your little toy soldiers and head on home."
It was quite a sacrifice – he would have to postpone buying that adorable set of blue china teacups with the little sunflower motifs – but Eadric would rather lose his money than lose everything, and this Norman fellow seemed cowardly and greedy enough to be easily bought off. However, Roger simply laughed heartily.
"49 bezants? Do I look like one of your rentboys to you, Wilde?", Roger sneered, "No, I'm afraid I shan't stop until you are utterly and abjectly defeated. Serves you right for rebelling against your rightful liege."
"My dear Roger, the only thing worse than rebelling against one's rightful liege is NOT rebelling against your rightful liege.", Wilde said with a smug grin, feeling an urge to pat himself on the back.
"You'll wish you haven't said that."
"I will, Roger, I will.", Wilde remarked dejectedly, "Well, as there's no changing your mind, I'm afraid I'll have to run off and return to the siege at Chester. Toodle-oo."
Roger grinned like a shark who had just stumbled upon the annual convention of the Blind And Paraplegic Fishes Society. Soon, he thought, that effete dandy's title would be his for the taking.
***
"Mmmfwhat ifh itf?", Alison mumbled, caught in the act of wolfing down a stack of Cornish pastries by an exuberant LeBoeuf. She had been pregnant since June of last year, having temporarily retired The Conqueror in order to allow Roger (whose manhood she quite aptly nicknamed Pippin the Short) to try and conceive an heir.
"Excellent news, milady! Lord Roger sends word from Shrewsbury. The castle has fallen, and Eadric Wilde has been stripped of all his titles and belongings and sent to exile!", LeBoeuf announced happily.
Alison replied with a muted growl.
"Are you not happy, milady?".
Alison screamed, clutching her midsection.
"Oh I know, I'm so happy I could scream as well!".
"NO, you idiot! My... water broke."
"Oh. Well, I shall fetch you a new one on the double."
"LEBOEUF! It's... the baby! I'm going into... labor.", she managed to utter between agonising contractions.
"Baby? OH! Baby!".
Alison screamed some more, this time joined by a panicky LeBoeuf.
"But, milady, I don't now nothin' 'bout birthin' no babies!", he whimpered, grabbing his head and nervously pacing around the room as Alison tried to make her way to the bed.
"AAAAAAAH! I hate... him!", she growled as LeBoeuf regained a bit of his composure and helped her lie down.
"Just, ahh, just stay calm, milady. Breathe, or something."
"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-AAAAAAH! I HATE HIM! Hatehimhatehimhatehim...", Alison cried between contractions, "I swear I'll strangle him like a... chickEEEEEEN!".
"Just, erm, breathe and, ehh, push? Push! That's it!".
Alison roared, clutching LeBoeuf's hand so hard she nearly broke a few bones.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!", they both cried.
"Milady, you're crushing my..."
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!".
"HAAAAAAAAAAND!".
"ROOOOOOOOOGEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER!".
"Keep going! I can see its head! Or is that its arse?".
"I HAAAAAAAAAAATEEEEE YOOOOOOOOOUUUU!".
"Almost there! Almost there!".
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!".
"It's out! And there's some slimy... fleshy... thing, attached to the... Ugh, God.", LeBoeuf shouted excitably before passing out. The baby cried.
Busilla and Emonie stormed into the room carrying warm water and a towel, having finally heard the noise, and rushed towards the baby.
"Oh, look at him! A bouncing baby... boy? Is that... I can't tell...", Busilla cooed, inspecting the wailing sprog's privates.
"I think those are two tiny little bollocks there.", Emonie noted, "Definitely a boy, and unfortunately it looks like he takes after his father."
Exhausted, Alison cracked a smile as Emonie placed the child in her arms.
"He's so... ugly.", she remarked as the spawn of Salopard continued to wail like a siren, "I think I'll name him Roger."
END OF EPISODE III
I counted at least two Monty Python references there, and one Gone with the Wind. :rofl: I particularly enjoyed the play on Oscar Wilde. Great!
So now Roger has a son. Certainly he won't be accepting that peace offer. He should wave his private parts at Wilde and call him sons of silly things.
So now Roger has a son. Certainly he won't be accepting that peace offer. He should wave his private parts at Wilde and call him sons of silly things.
Indeed, I think Butterfly McQueen is rolling over in her grave right now... with laughter! :rofl: A fine update!
Roger Rogerson, I love it.
A splendid update, all around. The joint birth? Splendid. The siege? Splendid. The time-honored tradition of seizing titles? Splendid. I give it three out of four splendids.
A splendid update, all around. The joint birth? Splendid. The siege? Splendid. The time-honored tradition of seizing titles? Splendid. I give it three out of four splendids.
Wonderful chapter, Morsky. You're not only funny, your writing is also really good. I particularly loved your portrayal of the Saxon yokels, and your Wilde parody as well. That one was only funny, but also astute, with the reference to blue china and all. Super!