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Greetings, varlets and sodomites!

Last posted Feb 12, 2013 at 02:28PM EST. Added Feb 12, 2013 at 01:06AM EST
5 posts from 5 users

I am Sir Jonathan, a knicht of the realme more worthie than thee, and i’faith I am a-fillen with naught but contempte for thee. Thou art fat and witlesse, wrecches who spend their every wakynge houre beholding carvygnes most profane. Thou embodiest all that be forsaken by God. In truth, I ask of thee the number of maidens thou hast deflowered. Certes, I hazard that to tell a jape most well-deserved will temper the tongue of a fool, but thy tongues lack wit. I’faith, ‘tis more sinfulle than to waste thy seed by means of thy hand.
Approach me if thou darest. Spit thy envenomed words at me. I am a knicht most exemplary. I have earnt the lady’s favour at many a jouste, and hunt both boares and fowles. What japes do thou partakest of, other than “pleasure thyself”? I also am learned in rhetorick and alchymie, and have the hand of a maiden fairer than the Ladye of the Lak (In truth, I have carnal knowledge of her, and ’tis a rare thing indeed). My argument proceeds thus, that thou art witlesse pitiful wrecches forsaken by God.

Portrait relatede, ’tis me and mine ladye.

Feb 12, 2013 at 01:06AM EST

What in the name of the Lord didst thou speak of me, you knave most insignificant? Thou shalt know I preformed exemplary during my apprenticeship, and have engaged in numerous clandestine sieges against the heathen Moors, and I have proven myself with fifteen score triumphs in battle. I am trained in mounted warfare and I’m the most revered jouster in the entire English Vassaldom. Thou art nothing to me but just another peasant. I will smite thee with an arrow slung so precisely that such shot will be sung of for generations, this you may trust. Thou hast the queerest notion that you can tarnish my name through parcel without repercussions? Thou hast best reconsider, knave. As we speak I am contacting my clandestine network of English loyalists throughout thy pathetic land of France and your manor is being traced right now so prepare thyself for the tempest, serf. The tempest that extinguishes thy insignificant existence as a tidal wave would a tallow candle. Thy life is over. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can slay thee in over a score of ways, and that is merely without my trusty steed. Not only am I a master of jousting, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the English King, and I will use it to its full extent to crush thee under the heel of my boot, swine. If thou hadst had the insight to divine what unholy retribution thy little “clever” comment was to bring down upon thee, perhaps thou would hast held thy babbling tongue. But, alas, thou didns’t, and what thou art soon to receive is merely just punishment, you god forsaken wench. I will rain hell fire over thy pathetic kingdom and thou shalt burn. Prepare for thy reunion with Satan, fool.

Last edited Feb 12, 2013 at 08:16AM EST
Feb 12, 2013 at 08:16AM EST

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