I’ve achieved so much less than Henry VIII

Posted: July 15, 2023 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The above title might read as though I’m eager, so eager, to behead more of my wives, and I won’t deny that I am definitely behind Henry VIII there.

He’s ahead in the beheading.

But I’ve got better wifi than he did, although that’s not really my doing.

In fact, I think beheading as a competition is a dead-end, much like Anne Boleyn’s neck.

It’s all very unpleasant, but at least they didn’t die from being be-footed. That’s not something you can walk-off.

Henry VIII was very accomplished prior to being notorious (when he was – it seems – lovely). More so than me anyway, and I’ve been notorious since the 90s.

This is making me feel inadequate. Regally.

Henry was a well-regarded jouster (I don’t even have my own Herald – so embarrassing), he wrote poetry and studied philosophy, spoke French and Latin, and established the Church of England – which I didn’t do.

In fact, I was raised CoE, which is also embarrassing. Of course, now I’m Catholic, just to spite him.

I need to get busy living if I’m going to catch-up with that dead monarch.

He lived till he was about 55, which means I’ve 22 years to out-do him in at least that regard.

I could start with Latin, but splitting from Rome and establishing my own religion seems a lot easier.

I’ll develop it from Taoism, and since I don’t really know what that is, and I’ll be the only practitioner, it’ll maintain a degree of ecclesiastical mystery. Then I’ll need robes, a big book, and something golden to hold and waggle about to convince people I’m informed in that ‘post-death’ sense.

Next up, the wives thing.

Just checked with my wife and she says that’s a no-go area. Zero divorces, zero beheadings. She was happy with the ‘survived’ prospect as a wife, but despite being a founder of my own religion – I’m not stupid enough to overrule my wife.

Lastly, poetry.

“Roses are red, violets are blue, good poems are short, so I think that’ll do.”

The second I click ‘publish’ on this blog, I’ll be a published poet. Genius.

So, since it’ll take a while to learn Latin, I’ll plow away at that until I’ve gotten the gist of it – at least to the point of being able to throw a few phrases at people.

“YES I KNOW TIME FLIES SAM, THANK YOU! AND YES I ALREADY WAS SEIZING THE DAY – LEAVE ME ALONE!!!”

Jousting though.

I’ve still no Herald, nor a horse.

But I’ve got loads, an enviable amount in fact, of long sticks.

And a big dog.

This may be a problem, even if it goes according to plan.

I also am without an opponent.

But I do have a wife, and she’s annoyed with me due to the divorce and beheading discussion from earlier, and she has her own collection of long sticks, so she may be well up for it.

She has a bicycle she can use, but I’ll stick with the dog so I’m less lonely.

Henry VIII probably was lonely too at times.

I wonder if anyone knows his dog’s names?

Anyway, 22 years to go.

Sam (the first)

How to Play Football Like Messi, Pele…ME (I am the Greatest Human to Ever Live. Part 7)

Posted: April 9, 2016 | Author: | Filed under: culture, The Greatest Human to Ever Live, writing | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I thought you’d be asking me this at some point.

I like that.

It’s not so much that I enjoy being asked questions; rather more that I cannot help myself answering…things.

Mother Nature’s Champion on the field of sporting combat. That’s quite a compliment to pay to myself. Thanks.

Of course, your questions will revolve around football because it’s distinctly not deadly; whilst my expertise are the precise means of dismounting a foe upon horseback.

Who doesn’t joust; I mean really?

And my trick is simple.

Ride underneath the horse.

A good sturdy knot and a love for the risk of being kneed by your steed; that’s all you need to succeed in jousting.

Plus a slingshot, shiny pebble and as much hand-eye coordination as is required to clap.

Why a slingshot? Christians love it.

It’s good to please the ecclesiastical market; and they love themselves a hero with a slingshot, particularly if they’re diminutive and diminutive is a natural state of a good fellow saddled beneath a horsey.

By the way, horsey is the correct term for your mount. It shows your childish-side and this is key in fooling your opponent into thinking they’re lancing a child strapped to the belly of a steed whilst they bellow “Faster horsey! Faster!”

And then they find themselves slingshotted directly in the heart by a damn fine actor beneath a horse; plus an exquisite choice in pebble.

As I said, Christians love a slingshot-hero. The villains tend to go about their dastardly deeds with a hammer and nails (typically 3).

Oh, you want football?

Breathe these next few sentences in; why don’t’cha.

To begin with; boots are for pussies.

Barefoot your way to victory.

Take no prisoners but do take their boots (because you’re a helpful chappie).

Next up comes some actual tactics.

Shooting.

Don’t do it.

Scoring.

Do this far more regularly that shooting.

Passing.

Don’t do it. This could be valuable time spent scoring.

How to score…

Real men of manliness don’t casually tuck the ball in the net, with a whooping and looping curvy bastard to delicately arrive like a really rather helpful and hopeless fish into a fisherman’s net.

Instead, please, break the net’s heart with nothing deceptive.

A ball that moves in the air is dishonest; and that’ll never do.

A real man’s kick is like a cannon.

Not a cannon that fires cannon balls, but rather more like a cannon rocketing through the air, causing defenders to scatter and wish that one day they might grow up to become a cannon kicked by me.

Also a real man doesn’t run; he chases.

And he doesn’t chase balls either.

Balls, though full of breath, neither breathe or bleed.

I require both of these facets in order to justify a chase.

Besides; we’re in no position to be in any position but a Goalkeeper.

The Goalkeeper should allow the opposing team to approach as near as they like and then, once a shot is shot (a shot being all it’ll amount to), he shall simply swipe away the ball with casual reproach, uttering extremely quietly to himself (and the ball): “No.”

That’s how I’d play football if I weren’t so occupied dismounting baddies from their horsies.

I always take their boots.

That’s how you play football; by taking the spoils.

You know you all desire the plunder.

So go get it; with superior kicks.

Keep up the sports guys and girls; it’s good for the success story.

Like me.

Like me; because I’m the greatest human to ever live.

And so are you.

Champion.

Sam