Fully on the Spot

Fully on the Spot

       by Douglas Adorno

                 sir topas took his lovéd horse

                 with him upon the sea

                 and when they'd got to darlingford

                 where all the waters stilled

                 he mounted her and therewith 

                 an offspring none of us can help

                 but love adore admire

                 without them we'd have never

                  had a bath with the good wife  

                  nor kissed the pretty's nether parts

                  just when she let a loud one go

                  we would have missed the cleric's clue

                  nor seen the pard'ner's shitten pants

                  and would too not have ta'en a chance

                  on love with the fair maid 

                  whom nicolaus held

                   mischievous by her precious queint

                   while she with force of quite another sort

                   the kind avail'ble just in higher works of art

                    wried her sweet face away

                    and quiet called avaunt

Mongo couldn't be the name for the main character in a story about a family who grows up in ancient times (say about the time of Beowulf), whose offspring carry its genes through seven centuries till the mid eighteen hundreds when they begin to plan and deliver on a heroic emigration to America carrying with them the seeds of a lofty, hardy, tough culture that flourishes in the Americas and teaches New World inhabitants the great, prodigious, magnificent and delightful history of Europe, thank you very much for coming here so we are not left in darkness. Especially not if he was dyslexic. Mongo the Dyslex.

       Missionaries. That's what the Germans, French, English, Icelanders, Ukrainians, Dutch and Norwegians were. We bring you light, Keemasbe. Yep. And that reminds me of Jürge. That's pronounced "your gee" (hard 'g'). Jürge traced his family roots back to the time when his hoary relative, Hujürgon (soft 'g') the Poopfingerer, decimated the Mongolian hordes camped about his city, besieging it, and then breaking through the east and only gate quite easily one night. Intent on raping, the Mongols saw the lovely women lined up for them at the far side against the city's backside (cities were not so large in those days that you couldn't see from one end to the other, and the buildings were all clustered along the stockade walls; thus soldiers could stand on the roofs to fire down at the enemy).  

       So, when Mongo the Mongolian, exalted chief of this band of ruffians (he was a brother-in-law to the Reverent General Sabutin) led the horde in, and they saw all those beauties shoulder to shoulder at the far end cowering against the walls, his thoughts were nothing but rapacious. He is said to have whinnied like a horse and charged his mount in that direction, followed close behind by all his men except for one Hundongo, a common soldier, who soon outdistanced Mongo in his eagerness and need. Before one could yell "Yippeeee!" the gallopers were on the luckless women, swarming them, helping themselves, invading every privacy right there as if that city's marketplace had been built in the year 1066 especially for such large-scale carnal sallies, thrusts and forays.

       "Foray" is, incidentally, the etymological root of the French "foyer." "Foray," from the Norwegian "fling yourselves without discretion on all the available women in a specific public place at an occasion of one sort or another and enjoy them fulsomely on the spot," must take historical precedence over "foyer," for it first saw print in the poetry of the Scandinavian, Duane the Dane, in 799 in the lines describing one of his cousins on a "foray" at a family gathering around the town fountain during a wedding:"aen Duane aent haes cusaines tre hae gatheraed ale tae faemilé wimman ale taegither / ant taeke tem ale une bae une aboute bee tae queint ant both aeten mickle ant fiecken mickle haes fille”.

       When the soldiers were all engaged and busy, Hujürgon the P sidled up to a place on the walls and rooftops above them and, after watching the horde with evident interest for a few minutes, ordered the cutting of the cords that held, cleverly suspended above the unsuspecting heads, the enormous vats of hot oil, pitch and excrement.

(to be continued)