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Tale (mf)
Spot 'b' we inc. proudly presents:
The Foodtester's Tale
by Septicemic Plague
Background:
Well, this thing was originally an English assignment for school, and I
decided to make it into an official text file. Those of you that are
familiar with the Canterbury Tales will understand this a bit better,
everyone else, well, read it anyway.
Prologue:
'The reason I'm here, I'd rather not say,
But because I'm so drunk, oh, what the hay!
Being a food-tester is a most dangerous work
For around every corner a poisoned yam may lurk.
The last morsel I was to eat
was far more dangerous than any ale, bread, or meat.
I barely escaped with my very own life,
For I was testing the taste of the King's wife.
The King came after me with an enormous machete,
Being all bare, I was hardly ready.
With sheets wrapped 'round my bottom, a most embarrassing sight,
Away I ran like the wind, and so began my plight.
After a day, maybe two, of searching for food,
Needless to say I was not in a jolly mood.
While amidst all this moping about, I came upon a man
Who happened to be planning a large caravan.
Of whom I speak is of course our own host,
Right here and right now, I would like to make a toast
To the man who gave me clothes and a place to sleep,
If caring was measured in depth, his valley would be quite deep.
I would also like to thank him, and please do not laugh,
For introducing me to the exquisite Wife of Bath.
So now please drink up and make merry,
For my tale is best heard with a nose that's as red as a berry.'
The tale:
There once was a man who had a job of high esteem,
He was very important, however lowly he may seem.
This person could save the King's life with only his tongue,
And when it came to courage, he was second to none.
This particular person (whom we shall call Al)
Was a very likable fellow, though he hadn't a pal.
He was at dinner one night in front of the court
When from outside the castle there arose a clamor of some sort.
Being the bravest one there, Al at once ran outside.
It was then, with a pickle still in mouth, that he cried
'We're under attack, we must crush our foes!'
They didn't even have time to collect all their bows
Before the valiant Al was struck with inspiration
To defeat the bad guys with little confrontation.
As fast as he could he ran to get the royal moose
That could be used to make the opposition's belts too loose.
The way this could be done was really quite easy,
The moose would simply nibble off their belts until he felt queasy.
With all of the enemy's trousers about their knees,
Al was sure that he would win with the greatest of ease.
Soon after the secret weapon was deployed,
The troops on Al's side became quite annoyed.
Instead of nibbling at belts, he was used as a shield
For the foes that would surely not yield.
Because Al was now the laughing stock of each side
He decided to show them all that he would not hide.
So right away, with his mind always thinking,
He thought of how all men so love drinking.
Straight away he started working to get the kegs ready
So that the other side would soon stand unsteady.
When his own men saw what he was doing,
None of them felt much like brewing
All of the ale that was necessary to replace what was taken,
So they had a party themselves, forgetting all they had forsaken
In order to get where they were, as far as they came,
It was all being ruined, it was really a shame.
When a good amount of brew occupied each belly
Their legs began to feel somewhat like jelly.
To the opposing side which had never let up,
Now was the time for all to get up
And deliver the deciding blow that would bring to an end
This bloody battle involving foe and friend.
While the battle was ending, Al sat off in a corner
Mourning his friends when he was met by a foreigner.
This foreigner said, and he said it with feeling,
'Do you want to stay here, or go potato peeling?'
Al, knowing the stranger was not jesting,
Was excited to find a new life away from food-testing.
So Al gathered up his things, of which he had little,
And was off on his way, avoiding dog spittle.
While there not even a year, and after a violent tornado,
The great Al was brought down by a poisoned potato.
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Call the Works: 861-8976, 4100+ text files, it might not call you. Any
suggestions, thoughts, etc., I can be reached as linoleum (Septicemic Plague)
on the Works, Metallica on Argus (and a couple of other places), and simply
Septicemic Plague everywhere else. Save a cow, eat cheese.
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"So what if it's green?"
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