Once upon a time there was a young, handsome, well fit Danish prince who asked, "Big Blogger is good?"
English clearly wasn't his first language, so he was excused for not remembering the verb comes first when. Constructing a question in the present simple tense.
"Yes," our hero told Prince Rasmusan whose blonde hair glimmered in the afternoon sun of a spectacular Copehagen day. "Big Blogger is the most benevolent ruler in all of Blogland."
"I'm confused," said Rasmus, the veins in his forearms bulging as he gripped his Danish lager. "What is thisa kingdom and why has no ambassador been invited to sup at my thick wodden table?"
Our heo explained that he had been summoned to Prince Rasmus' kingdom as a guest upon the most noble vessel of goowill, the Lady Imant, and that Prince Rasmus was more than welcome to join us for a libation upon the ship.
"I shall come," he said, his blue eyes glistening like pools of sapphire in the midnight sun "
"And that, my liege, is my most willful intent," oir hero said dutifully, wiping the slightest hint of drool from his perfectly formed mouth.
And so, our hero brought the handsome and apparently quite lonely prince aboard the vessel, which gently rocked with the swelling tide.
Big Blogger had arranged for open bar and an endless supply of hors d'oeuvres, ranging from fois gras to frog legs (which, much like the prince, would taste of chicken). The prince was introduced to many of the Court's dinitaries, some less lecherous than others, but never did Rasmus' eyes. Stray from he who had invited him aboard. Rasmus was, after all, a prince of virtue and well as means.
A young Cat-like creature paused from her DJ-ing duties to rub up against the prince's legs. To which he most graciously responded, "oh look, isn't that Morrisey over there."
"Would you like to play a game?" Asked young Joseph, appearing out of nowhere, nearly blinding the prince with his technicolor robe.
Our hero quickly intervened, acting purely as an ambassador of goodwill. "What game do you have in mind, 'he who shall not be referred to in his given names's diminutive form?'"
Never has a Noerthern lad been more direct. "It's callled 'stowaway'," said Joseph, handing Rasmus the key to his cabin. "Go quickly henceforth and I shall tend to your every whim on our way to Gdansk."
Prince Rasmus was tempted, but being a prince of virtue declined, sensing that our hero had more noble intentions.
Our hero assured the prince that he should be with whomever he liked, but would be honored to teach him the rules of 'stowaway'a challengee which the prince said he would be happy to rise to.
And just as the vessel set sail for Poland, the prince was ushered off the boat.
"But I want to play 'stowaway'," he cried. "I am a prince who has served in the Danish military police for the last five years! I wish to sample the pleasures of the Big Blogger kingdom."
Joseph swooned. Cat purred. Tippler reached for the Marmite while Mr. Angry did a few crunches (glad to be rid of any competition for the next nude photo shoot). Penfold began Photoshopping a banished great dane and Angelalala hugged a sobbing Ordinary Girl.
Our hero melted, sliding his card into the back pocket of the prince's form-fitting jeans, whispering, "come see me in London. I'm sorry but you can't come along. Rules are rules in the Big Blogger house."
As we sailed away, the prince waved to our hero, wiping a tear from his crystal-bjue eye, mouthing the words, "I'll be with you soon. Big Blogger is bad."
Blimey. I feel stoned just reading that!
Posted by: Clare | Wednesday, 04 July 2007 at 22:34
I demand to know who let Bob read what I keep under my pillow.
Posted by: Joseph | Thursday, 05 July 2007 at 11:51
I'm confused but, somehow, in a good way...
Posted by: Angelalala | Thursday, 05 July 2007 at 12:44
I'm confused but, somehow, in a good way...
Posted by: Angelalala | Thursday, 05 July 2007 at 12:44