Tag Archives: queen elizabeth

Undead Man’s Hand – Chapter 33

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“Kill it,” the Queen said.

“My Queen, if I may…”

“You may not, Sir Francis,” the Queen said. “The thought that I ever considered this…this…’thing’ a friend fills me with dread. I won’t have it alive so that it can continue to plot and scheme against the realm.”

“Your Majesty,” Sir Francis said. “I implore you to consider how rare it is to have a vampire in captivity. Allow me a fortnight to question her. Who knows how many vampires have infiltrated the highest levels of society? Why, any member of the trusted aristocracy could in secret, be a vile bloodsucker.”

“Well, that’s nothing new, is it?” Sir Walter asked.

The Queen sighed heavily. “I’m loathe to ask this but Sir Walter, do you have counsel on this matter?”

“I do,” Sir Walter said as he held up Lady Beatrice’s medallion. “Give her back her trinket tomorrow morning then haul her ass outside for the whole world to see. When everyone’s watching, rip her bauble off and let her cook. The vampires will know we’re onto them and run scared.”

“I must protest,” Sir Francis said. “To do as Sir Walter advises would be to lose our advantage. The Legion does not know we have one of their own and thus we’ll be able to use the information we receive from our prisoner to strike when they least suspect it.”

“Bah,” Sir Walter scoffed. “The wench will give you nothing.”

The Queen tapped her chin as she considered the dueling opinions. Finally, she sought a tie breaker.

“Archbishop. What say you?”

The holy man looked at the prisoner. Her head was hung low, her face covered by her hair.

“Sir Francis and Sir Walter are both very wise,” the archbishop said. “However, there is so much evil in this creature. To allow it to live much longer is to court disaster.”

The Queen stood up. By reflex, all three advisors bowed.

“The matter is settled. Get this abomination out of my sight. Sir Francis, you shall have the rest of the evening to question her. If she hasn’t provided any useful information by sunrise, Sir Walter shall carry out his plan.”

Sir Francis frowned. “As you command, Your Majesty.”

The Queen stepped across the room until she reached the vampire. The knights tightened their grips on her.

“Beatrice,” the Queen said.

The lady lifted her head.

“Was there ever a time when you were truly my friend?”

The lady snickered. “I’d sooner befriend a lowly human than I would a dog, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth turned so as to avoid looking at the lady any further. “Take her away.”

Lady Beatrice refused to stand, so the knights gripped the lady under her arms and dragged her away. The Queen’s three advisors followed.

“God save the Queen!” Lady Beatrice shouted. “Because father is coming for her!”

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Literary Classics with Professor Nannerpants – When I Was Fair and Young – The Poetry of Queen Elizabeth I

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Professor Horatio J. Nannerpants – Esteemed Literary Scholar/Poop Flinger

Good Day, 3.5 Readers.

Class is in session so take out your notebooks and start flinging your poop.

In my very first lecture, I should like very much to discuss one author of the Elizabethan era – Queen Elizabeth I herself.

When she wasn’t busy running an empire, she was quite a wordsmith I’ll have you know.

Take a gander at one of her finest poems:

When I Was Fair and Young

By: Queen Elizabeth I

When I was fair and young, then favor graced me.
Of many was I sought their mistress for to be.
But I did scorn them all and answered them therefore:
Go, go, go, seek some other where; importune me no more.

How many weeping eyes I made to pine in woe,
How many sighing hearts I have not skill to show,
But I the prouder grew and still this spake therefore:
Go, go, go, seek some other where, importune me no more.

Then spake fair Venus’ son, that proud victorious boy,
Saying: You dainty dame, for that you be so coy,
I will so pluck your plumes as you shall say no more:
Go, go, go, seek some other where, importune me no more.

As soon as he had said, such change grew in my breast
That neither night nor day I could take any rest.
Wherefore I did repent that I had said before:
Go, go, go, seek some other where, importune me no more.

:::Sniff Sniff:::

:::Blows my nose in a hanky:::

Oh Elizabeth.  I know your pain, girlfriend.

When we’re young and beautiful, the world feels like it belongs to us and we’re convinced this feeling will last forever.

For the young, there is always plenty of time.

Plenty of time to tell a potential mate to take a hike in the hopes that a better mate is on the horizon.

Even your humble professor is guilty of this. I once told Miss Tiddlywinks, a fellow lab chimp who had the hots for me, to hit the bricks.

Sure, she had a luxurious coat and was eager to please but I convinced myself that I could find a woman capable of throwing larger piles of poop.

Alas, in my middle age, as I cry myself to sleep with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s in one paw, the remote in the other while watching old reruns of Gilmore Girls and wondering where the time went, I wish Miss Tiddlywinks would burst threw the door and throw her small, pathetic piles of poop at my head.

You never know what you have until it’s gone.

Yes, students.  That is a sentiment felt not just by the lowly masses but even by people as high and mighty as Queen Elizabeth I.

Of course, who can blame her?  Her father, Henry VIII chopped off so many of his wives’ heads in search of a son to be his heir and in the end, Elizabeth was left to the job of keeping the throne in the Tudor family.

Like anyone, she surely desired love and romance but she knew that marriage would have led to a man coming in, taking over, becoming the King, and acting like he owns the entire country she’d inherited just because of his insipid penis.

Oh penile domination, how many countries will you tear asunder until your demonic hunger for power is satiated?

Close your eyes, 3.5 students.

Picture a young, hot Queen Elizabeth.

She’s in one of those gigantic dresses rigged up with a series of iron bars, ropes and pulleys to make her ass look scrumptiously fat.

Her hair is done up so high it touches the ceiling.

Her face is coated with a thick slathering of milky white, lead based paint.

She’s hip.  She’s cool.  She makes all the hearts of men at court go pitter patter.

But she sends them packing.  She bides her time. She’s not going to give up that royal booty to just anyone.  She’s waiting for a true love she can trust not to take her throne from away from her.

It was the late 1500’s people.  Men just weren’t as cool with working women as they are today.

Alas, time moved on for Queenie.  She got old.  “Her plumes were plucked.”  She lost her looks.

Men are such visual beasts so ruler or not, few men were willing to get busy with an old broad with plucked plumes.

And so, Queen Lizzy poured her heart out into this poem, lamenting the loss of men she’d told to get lost back in the days when all the men of the realm wanted to get their grubby mitts all over her royal badonka donk.

Moral of the story, 3.5 students?

If you’ve got it, flaunt it…then use your bait to hook a tasty fish before they start swimming out to sea.

Because you never know when your bait will shrivel up, dry out and leave you with an empty hook.

Class dismissed. Throw your poop at will.

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