Tuesday, October 16, 2007

The Welsh-Ryan Tales

Once upon a time there was a young asiatic frenchman from Sacramento who could sling oblong spheroids great distances and with great accuracy. Many kings sought for him to lead their army's into battle, in far away lands such as Oregon State.

But nay, he said, "I must go to the lands of the Northwest, a man named Walker calls me to squire his purple-clad squadron to victory against far greater foes."

And it was such. The frenchman went east to the land of the Northwest, where he waited for his chance to prove himself in battle.

But then there was a time of great tragedy, and Walker was struck down before his time. The purple army was adrift in a sea of strife. Walker's great victories and killing of Wolverines were soon forgot, as the purple band's losses to Boilermakers and Hoosiers mounted.

But lo -- a new king rose in the land of the Northwest, a square-jawed monster determined to lift the purple warriors back to prominence through pure force of will. The square-jawed one knew he must find someone to aid him in his quest. And he saw the frenchman.

So the frenchman entered the fall of 2007 with the hopes of the entire Northwestern lands on his shoulders. Fortunately he had good warriors at his side, notably his longtime companion Tyrell the Stout.

The frenchman and his fellow purple-clad combatants successfully rebuked two enemy advances, but not without casualties. Tyrell the Stout was sent to the infirmary in a hard fought contest against a marauding Wolfpack.

So it went, as the lands of the Northwest were sacked by Blue Deviled invaders, crushed by Buckeyes and mauled by Wolverines. The square-jawed one called the frenchman into his chambers and issued him an ultimatum.

"FRENCHMAN, YOU MUST BEAT SPARTA OR I WILL EAT YOUR FACE. FORSOOTH."

"I will not fail," the frenchman replied through clenched teeth. "Even without Tyrell, we will defeat this spartan menace."

And the frenchman made it so -- setting East Lansing, Mich., ablaze as he sacked homes and raped coeds. When the carnage was completed, the frenchman retired to his meager quarters that he shared with another warrior, Mimms.

"Mimms, we have taken sparta, but a greater evil lurks on the horizon, I can sense it."

"Mmmpff," Mimms replied. Mimms wasn't known for his wisdom, or his ability to speak English.

A strange purple mist filled the room. And then a two-headed apparition appeared/

It spoke in a hollow voice, "Frenchman, you have usurped my sacred records, now I require the head of the gopher of gold."

"Who's there? Mimms is that you?"

"Noooo, tis not the tard. I am the spirit Brezac Basenok and I require penance. You have forgotten the teachings of Walker. You must slay the gopher of gold to honor your forbears. Woooo-ahhh-oooohhh." The Basenok then faded into nothingness.

Will the frenchman obtain the gopher of gold? Or lead his army to a bowl victory? Is this story going anywhere at all? Who knows? Here's Victory Right.

2 comments:

TMoney said...

epic. i could go for some tavares hardy fan fiction right now.

thope said...

that could get pretty ugly, if only because of the mythical place known as "Rau's Room"