There has never been, nor will there ever be, a woman as beautiful as Helen of Sparta.
I’m totally serious, you guys. One look at that foxy mama and it was all Boner City: Population You.
I’m talking an enchanting face that you could stare at for hours, eyes you could get lost in, long luxurious blonde hair you’d kill just to touch its sublime softness and those tittays?
Don’t even get me started about those tittays. There were like two giant, perky chest rockets standing at attention.
No joke, I’m Homer, the greatest poet in all of Ancient Greece and it was all that even a scholar such as I could do to keep myself from dreaming about motor boating those puppies all day long.
“Vrrooom vrrroooom ung nung nung nung nah!”
But I digress. Given Helen’s epic splooge inducing hotness, it was no surprise that those crusty old fucks Theseus and Peirithous, the kings of Athens and Larissa, respectively, kidnapped our beloved Helen and took her back to a dank, dark undisclosed lair.
“Come, Peirithous!” Theseus did say as he dropped his robe to the floor to reveal his oily hide. “Let us put our super wrinkly, disgustingly gray pubic hair infested nut sacks on full display!”
“Yes,” Peirithous did reply. “For we are very, very old and I do not know about you, my good friend Theseus, but I would surely enjoy having my way with the most beautiful woman in the world before I drop dead from a heart attack or ass cancer or some other bullshit disease that we are susceptible to for as you are no doubt aware, we are both ridiculously old!”
And so, Helen did cringe and cry and bemoan her fate as two lecherous, old, decrepit and dilapidated perverts closed in upon her. As they did so, both men held out their hands, opening and shutting them in the internationally understood “I want to honk some hooters” sign that men of poor moral character are known to engage in when approaching a woman with a copious bosom.
“Oh cruel fate!” Helen shouted. “Surely I am not doomed to be accosted by two crusty old fucks with super wrinkly balls, am I?”
At that precise moment, the business end of a sharp sword tore its way through Theseus’s belly, spritzing the lair with a thick douse of crimson red blood. A second blade made short work of Peirithous’s gut in similar fashion.
Both of the crusty old fucks fell to the floor, gyrating and convulsing. It was a horrific yet hilarious sight. If only video technology had been invented at the time. That shit would have gone viral on GreekTube.
The swords belonged to two young warriors, fair haired lads with chiseled jaws and rippling physiques.
“Brothers!” Helen said with glee as she hugged her rescuers.
“What treachery is this?” cried the crusty old fuck Theseus as his blood drained out into the dirt.
“Egads!” hollered the crusty old fuck Peirithous, “’Tis the Dioscuri! Castor and Pollux making with a cock block most foul!”
“Fi on thee, Dioscuri!” Theseus said. “Hast thou not heard of the ancient law known as, ‘bros before hoes?’”
“We have,” Castor said.
“But it pales in comparison to the law of ‘sisters before misters,’” Pollux added.
“Ha, ha!” Helen laughed as she looked down upon the geezers. “Enjoy your most deserved deaths, crusty old fucks!”
“Uncool, Helen,” Castor said.
“Indeed,” Pollux said. “They’re already dying and…they’re dead. Yes. Its official. The crusty old fucks are dead now.”
“And not a moment too soon,” Helen said. “Couldn’t you boys have saved me sooner? I was unacceptably close to having to touch their wrinkly balls.”
“We do have lives, Helen,” Castor said.
“Right,” Pollux said. “We do our best.”
“I know you do,” Helen said as she pecked each brother on the cheek. “Now come! We must return to father immediately. He shall be very worried I’m sure of it.”