When I think back to all the hardships that the original Vikings went through, just to get through the day, let alone conquer most of northern Europe, it makes me glad that I am living now and not way back in the Dark Ages. I have enough trouble finding a place to park the longboat now every single day, let alone centuries ago when there would have been dozens of them circling round and round the parking lot. And trying to find red diesel suppliers may be tough, but I’m sure it was tougher when you lost your only son to wolves after sending him into the forest to get some firewood…
It can be pretty difficult being a modern Viking. Unlike my ancestors, who had it pretty easy, it’s almost impossible for me to find a village that hasn’t already been plundered by the local authorities and the Westminster government. By the time I turn up wielding my trusty axe, the poor sods have literally got nothing left to give. It doesn’t do much for a Viking’s self esteem to be leaving empty handed so often…
When you think of Vikings, art classes aren’t really usually something that come to mind. Nah, Vikings much prefer to spend their time beating things with big clubs or heading out on the water to get up to some mischief. But surely there must have been some Vikings out there with some impressive artistic skills? And we’re not just talking spraying blood on a wall or making some art out of some crunched up animal bones. We’re talking a Viking More
In this digital age of nonsense that I do not understand, I hear much talk of going out on the morrow and getting drunketh…blind drunketh…and I will have no part in it! No, much as I love a swig of pig’s blood mixed with a hearty helping of snail’s slush, I also love my raping. Thus, on a Friday night, me and my Viking friends rush forth to rape and terrorize hoards of innocent women.
OK, now this is not entirely true, for I have already lied-eth! No, the truth is that back in the bygone ages of time we could do the raping, but now we must only play what is called the make-believe. Now, we must be content with running into what the modern people call ’bars’and stealing women, throwing them over our shoulders and running off down dark alleyways. Before releasing them back unto the world, kicking and screaming.
The last thing to be taken from my person was my lucky beggar’s tooth, ripped from the mouth of a beggar in the late 18th Century by a great ancestor of mine who has a name too long and complex to be written down here
Ah, the fake-rape is such a rush and a tradition of the Vikings that it must be practised often as can be.
There is one such problem with this, of course, and that is the fact that very so often a policeman or woman will see us do this and give chase. Believing the women to be in danger, the police then promptly arrest us and ask us if we have been drinking. They also go through our sheep-skin coats and raid us of our livelyhoods. The last thing to be taken from my person was my lucky beggar’s tooth, ripped from the mouth of a beggar in the late 18th Century by a great ancestor of mine who has a name too long and complex to be written down here (and plus literacy is not my strongpoint).
One thing is sure and certain as a goat is angry when having its throat slit with a sharp knife: we will forever carry out our traditions, even when they converge with the ways of the modern man. For the modern man may pretend to be greater and more refined – with his art tuition and his feminine values which disgust us Vikings – but he will never know the true greatness that can be found in a man who actively keeps hold of the strange-hold of tradition! (And not must he ever know of the greatness. We fear the day that this is learned by modern man. It will be the day a piece of our Viking heart dies a slow awful death, blah!)
In this digital age of nonsense that I do not understand, I hear much talk of going out on the morrow and getting drunketh…blind drunketh…and I will have no part in it! No, much as I love a swig of pig’s blood mixed with a hearty helping of snail’s slush, I also love my raping. Thus, on a Friday night, me and my Viking friends rush forth to rape and terrorize hoards of innocent women.
OK, now this is not entirely true, for I have already lied-eth! No, the truth is that back in the bygone ages of time we could do the raping, but now we must only play what is called the make-believe. Now, we must be content with running into what the modern people call ’bars’and stealing women, throwing them over our shoulders and running off down dark alleyways. Before releasing them back unto the world, kicking and screaming.
The last thing to be taken from my person was my lucky beggar’s tooth, ripped from the mouth of a beggar in the late 18th Century by a great ancestor of mine who has a name too long and complex to be written down here
Ah, the fake-rape is such a rush and a tradition of the Vikings that it must be practised often as can be.
There is one such problem with this, of course, and that is the fact that very so often a policeman or woman will see us do this and give chase. Believing the women to be in danger, the police then promptly arrest us and ask us if we have been drinking. They also go through our sheep-skin coats and raid us of our livelyhoods. The last thing to be taken from my person was my lucky beggar’s tooth, ripped from the mouth of a beggar in the late 18th Century by a great ancestor of mine who has a name too long and complex to be written down here (and plus literacy is not my strongpoint).
One thing is sure and certain as a goat is angry when having its throat slit with a sharp knife: we will forever carry out our traditions, even when they converge with the ways of the modern man. For the modern man may pretend to be greater and more refined – with his art tuition and his feminine values which disgust us Vikings – but he will never know the true greatness that can be found in a man who actively keeps hold of the strange-hold of tradition! (And not must he ever know of the greatness. We fear the day that this is learned by modern man. It will be the day a piece of our Viking heart dies a slow awful death, blah!)
There is much talk in this modern-cursed-age of pick-pocketing as a sound technique to acquire the belongings of others. I for one have never heard of anything so unethical! Where is the integrity? Where is the pride? I shall tell you this, for one thing: should I find out that anyone I know is doing this, it will be off with their head!
I once had a good friend called rowan dartington who is proof. He now lays buried and More
Dear man – for no woman should be allowed to read my writings – setting alight things, whether they be villages, or people, or animals, or the sky – yes I have seen it! – should be done properly, for when it is not grave danger can come upon you.
Such as what follows in this here scribe:
1) The nether regions can come under fire quite literally from flames. This is bad news, and can singe the hair of More
Alas, back in the day when I was a boy, taking over a village was a simple affair: the men surrounded the village while the women, back at a nearby base-camp, prepared meal of roast hog.
Nowadays it is much less simple. All kinds of things get in the way, and here are just a few you need be wary of.
1) Difficult to get into accommodation: ah! No longer are doors wooden, oh no! Instead, the demon of plastic More
Being a Viking marauder isn’t the unadulterated thrill it used to be. Sure, it’s still fun. The axe of my grandfather is still the axe of my grandfather and all that. It’s just that modern technology makes the whole thing so much more difficult. Used to be, in the old days of longboats raiding the Saxon coastline, the only warning villagers would get would be the sight of our sails on their horizon. Nowadays it’s all coastal radar, early warning More
I’m not sure why it is that we Vikings have such a bad reputation. Everyday Viking life is certainly not all wanton violence and mindless destruction like they make it out to be in the history books; we are actually a very sensitive people! Besides, if you believed everything you read, then you’d be convinced that Freddie Starr ate people’s hamsters and that Elvis now worked at a supermarket in Putney…
‘So, what exactly does your average Viking get up More
Praise not the day until evening has come, a woman until she is burnt, a sword until it is tried, a maiden until she is married, ice until it has been crossed, beer until it has been drunk.
