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Posts Tagged ‘The Round Table’

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“Everyone tells a story about themselves inside their own head. Always. All the time. That story makes you what you are. We build ourselves out of that story.”
Rothfuss, Patrick. The Name of the Wind (The Kingkiller Chronicle Book 1) (p. 658). DAW.

More days pass. In this the time of my decrepitude. As my memory slowly shreds, I find the quiet contemplation of nothing enjoyable.

In the past, I could never get into meditation or even the idea of quiet contemplation. It would irritate me. If I had nothing to do, I would prefer taking a nap, reading, throwing stones into the water, starting an argument or shouting at someone — things like that. I could not understand going so far into myself that the maelstrom of my senses, the screaming of my id, or that somehow the constant preaching by that little voice within that is always with us would go silent and that in some way that would make me better, happier.

Perhaps your inner voice enjoys happy talk. Good for you. Mine, alas, is a complainer. Always telling me how I screwed up or how I would fail at what I planned on doing.

If there were not something out there in the world around me upsetting me or demanding my attention, I don’t think I could feel completely alive.

Now, however,  in my dotage, not so much. Now, when I sit on a bench along some path in the Enchanted Forest, the dog laying panting at my feet, I smile, confident that whatever harangue or flight of fancy the voice within me obsesses on, it soon will be forgotten. That thought always cheers me up.

I guess for me, I should consider it one of the few upsides to my decrepitude.

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“[A praiseworthy] man is liked and appreciated by women; this is because the woman loves the man only for the sake of coition. His member should, therefore, be of ample dimensions and length. Such a man ought to be broad in the chest, and heavy in the crupper; he should know how to regulate his emission, and be ready as to erection; his member should reach to the end of the canal of the female, and completely fill the same in all its parts. Such a one will be well beloved by women…”
The Perfumed Garden,
Richard Burton, trans.

The Last Afternoon of the Knights.

Now it has always been, whether with the Fellowship of the Ring, The Knights of Camelot or the Mystic Knights of the Sea, that periodically the membership moves on to other things for a while. These voyages are sometimes referred to as quests. We really do not know for sure what they are looking for and for this reason the object of the search is often called the “Grail.” Now no-one knows what the hell a “Grail” is. Perhaps more ink has been spilled on explaining what it may be than anything save that which has been spilled on explaining “God.” I believe, however, that what men have explored the by-ways, and roads of the world and braved its oceans deserts and frigid wastes in search for is “The Magic Vulva.” As the poet said:

“The person who dreams of having seen the vulva of a woman will know that if he is in trouble God will free him of it; if he is in a perplexity he will soon get out of it; and lastly if he is in poverty he will soon become wealthy, because…[it] will mean the deliverance from evil. By analogy, if he wants a thing he will get it: if he has debts, they will be paid.”

So like the gathering of other brotherhoods prior to departing on their quests whether in “The Shire,” at “The Round Table” or in the “Lodge Hall,” the Geriatric Knights assembled at the Oval Table in the back room of “The Kennel Club” for a final get together before going their separate ways.

Jerome, who prefers to be called Horace, was not with them this evening. He had departed a few days before for the mountains and valleys of Nepal to find himself. This prompted one of the other Knights to comment, “He’s been groping himself for as long as I have known him. If he hasn’t found it by now he’s not going to find it on any mountain.”

He has been replaced this evening, by a Knight from south of Thailand beyond Indonesia who found himself that night at the Oval Table in the Kennel Club just like that other besotted Knight from the South who stumbled into Camelot and found himself seated at the Round Table diddling Guenivire. For that reason, we shall call him, Lance, played or course by the aged Robert Goulet.

Tomorrow, Spy will be leaving for the vermin infested jungles of Borneo for three months. He appeared subdued. He drank Coca-cola, not his usual gin and tonic and ignored the various ladies in waiting who tried to cheer him up by rubbing his crotch.

On the day after that, Harvey leaves to return to America to resume his life as “Sword for Hire” and Density travels to the Philippines in his ongoing quest for “the Perfect Yoni.”

“it has the splendid whiteness of a forehead,
In its dimensions it is like the moon,
The fire that radiates from it is like the sun’s,
And seems to burn the member which approaches;
Unless first moistened with saliva the member cannot enter,
The odor it emits is full of charms.”

A few days later, Giufa also will depart in his never ending search for redemption.

But those are other days and other nights, tonight at the Oval Table, the Ladies in Waiting were waiting.

Lance offers Miley-maliwan 100 baht to take off her bra and toss it on the table to get the festivities rolling.

Miley, now an experienced Lady in Waiting, removes her well padded bra without a hitch, revealing the breasts of an underdeveloped 11 year old underneath. In perfect English alliteration she announces to all at the table “I have tiny tits.”

The Knights heartily agreed with her observation.

Giufa, however, pointed out, “As the old Arab observed, ‘Don’t be too eager for round-breasted women’.”

Miley smiled at this comment, revealing a pair of canines larger then her ta-tas.

“Perhaps she is a vampire,” suggested Harvey soto voce.

At which point Selma mentioned, “Carmine said, ‘She may have tiny tits but she has a good heart’.”

“Let’s then drink to tiny tits and good hearts,” proposed Spy.

And everyone drank a toast to Miley’s tits and heart, which pleased her a lot.

… “Last Afternoon of the Knights” to be continued, ” In which the Knights Get Down to Business…”

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