So if you go on a date and only hump once, that's a dromadory?Only one ! So, it's a dromadory !
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We Three Blokes of Orient Aren't
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messaline
Crucified Amazon
I dont know why but I feel like if I was taking like a
Hey! Not my fault. All those Pharisees and Sadducees kept getting in my way. They should all be arrested and crucified for jaywalking!!!
Quiet Paul
Tribune
Maybe I’ve misunderstood, but wasn’t the King/Queen of the Jews supposed to be forgiving, and generally avoiding sitting in judgement.
Which means irrational and over-emotional demerits surely aren’t appropriate.......
I think I'll drop it off myself, so she can, um, try it out before buying . . . . .
"Mark my word,s" Phlebas told them "this one's going to be trouble!"
I'm sure, this rebelious Queen will turn Judaea in a blue state. But Herodes want made Judaea great again.
Et tu, Twonines?
Well, don't go blaming me for this. I may have said it in the story, but you wrote me that way.Et tu, Twonines?
4. Jerusalem
We arrived in Jerusalem in early afternoon, a couple of days after we’d left Phlebas and Madiosi, and they’d been absolutely right about Golgotha. Not only did it stink to high heaven, but holding our breath was not an option: the Romans were busy nailing up a rebel slave called ‘Marcella’ and consequently there was a terrible traffic jam on the road as hundreds and hundreds of people jostled each other for a good view. As for us, our camels afforded us a grandstand view, and despite the smell and a nasty case of camel’s hump arse I was content enough to sit and observe proceedings. I pulled my turban over my face, as we do during a sandstorm, which improved the smell as well as bringing about a significant cosmetic improvement.
There was just one slightly worrying moment. At the instant the Roman struck the first nail, poor Marcella in her agony yelled out a single word:
“BARBARIA!!!!”
This rattled Jollyrei and me a bit.
“I say, Bob…” Jollyrei had to raise his voice over Marcella’s screams, and the racket the crowd was making, “this isn’t quite what I was expecting. I thought star signs announced the birth or the crowning of someone, but Barb’s reign doesn’t look as though it’s going terribly well.”
“Well, one bit of good news,” I announced. “It’s really helpful of the Romans to put people’s names up on their crosses, and none of this sorry lot are actually Barbaria, as far as I can see.”
Bob looked worried. “Nevertheless, we’d better watch where we put our feet, or we’ll all end up with an even better view of Golgotha!”
My cowardice got the better of me. “What are we waiting for? Let’s get out of here! Asia Minor beckons!”
“I wish you’d quit wittering on about Asia Minor, Wragg!” Jollyrei was exasperated. “There’s more to life than belly dancers!”
I watched as Marcella’s cross was raised and dropped into its socket, and she put on a show to rival any belly dance. “True, but belly dancing is a bit less… cruel!”
“We’ll investigate a bit.” Bob looked puzzled. “I can’t understand why, if Barbaria is just some doomed rebel leader, the heavens should put on such a show? We’ll look pretty stupid if she kicks out the Romans and we haven’t paid our respects!”
Some of the crowd wanted to stay and watch Marcella, but sufficient of them were content to move along for the road to clear and we could complete our journey into Jerusalem.
Soon afterwards, Jollyrei and I followed Bob up a massive flight of semicircular stone steps into the Palace of Herod the Great. We went through the massive doorway and there, behind a desk, were two of the most ferocious Pharisees I’d seen in my life. I’ll go further. They were two of the most ferocious human beings of any kind that I’d seen in my life. They were certainly dressed to impress, full head-dresses, breastplates with the twelve stones on them, beards that could have hidden one of our camels, and phylacteries on their foreheads that looked to us like a sinister third eye. The two real ones that they each had were bad enough, piercing into us with a glare that told us in no uncertain terms how welcome we weren’t. Even Bob was awed by them.
“Erm, good afternoon, gentlemen.” He though it wise to bow. Jollyrei and I followed his example.
“Good afternoon,” replied the senior of the Pharisees, in a voice that could fracture granite. I glanced anxiously at the pillars holding the roof up. “My name is Monty Crusto, Chief Scribe to His Majesty King Herod. This is my assistant, Nineteen.”
I coughed, to try and stifle a guffaw. Jollyrei, as usual, was less discreet. “Nineteen? Is that his age or his shoe size?” Bob glared at him.
The ‘assistant’ persisted in wearing an expression that made him look as though he was sucking a lemon. “Actually, my name is Twonines. My colleague is being amusing.”
There was an embarrassed silence while the three of us rehearsed the opening stanzas of our nine times tables and came up with a slightly different answer, but it seemed rude and potentially life-limiting to contradict.
“I know what you are thinking,” Twonines added majestically, “but it has taken me six months and a very expensive abacus to fail to convince him that two nines are, in fact, eighteen.”
Jollyrei looked as though he might explode.
“I’m sure you’re wrong, you know.” Monty’s granite-slicing voice rang out again. “Two sevens are seventeen, two eights are eighteen, and two nines are nineteen. Everybody knows that.”
Twonines rolled his eyes, and Bob decided that he urgently needed to change the subject before Jollyrei did himself an injury.
“My name is Bobinder, and these are my friends Jollyrei and Wragg. We are travellers, and we seek one whose sign we have seen in the east.”
Twonines spoke again. “As I told you, sir, these are the Three Wise Men foretold by the prophets.”
Monty looked at each of us in turn, obviously counting, and for the first time that afternoon his arithmetic agreed with that of Twonines.
The maths might have been spot on, but it had been a very long time since either Jollyrei or I had been described as ‘wise men.’ But, then again, at least we could both do basic arithmetic. Maybe these things are relative, so I let it go.
Monty continued to glare imperiously at us. “And what, pray, is this sign?”
I quaked a bit. How could we explain astronomy to this man? But Bob was equal to the task. “We have seen a sign among the stars, which spoke of a new born or new-crowned ruler of the Jews. We wondered if His Majesty has recently had glad tidings?”
“His Majesty has not recently begotten an heir. His sons are of full age.”
“Oh,” said Bob.
“Right-ho!” I said. “Well, thanks anyway! We’ll be off on our way to Asi….” I shut up as Jollyrei kicked me, hard.
Bob ignored me. “I should point out that the stars were not specific about the gender of this ruler.”
Monty’s brow furrowed, “You mean…”
“He could be a she.” Jollyrei, helpful as always.
A voice boomed out from an adjoining room. “Bring them in here!”
We arrived in Jerusalem in early afternoon, a couple of days after we’d left Phlebas and Madiosi, and they’d been absolutely right about Golgotha. Not only did it stink to high heaven, but holding our breath was not an option: the Romans were busy nailing up a rebel slave called ‘Marcella’ and consequently there was a terrible traffic jam on the road as hundreds and hundreds of people jostled each other for a good view. As for us, our camels afforded us a grandstand view, and despite the smell and a nasty case of camel’s hump arse I was content enough to sit and observe proceedings. I pulled my turban over my face, as we do during a sandstorm, which improved the smell as well as bringing about a significant cosmetic improvement.
There was just one slightly worrying moment. At the instant the Roman struck the first nail, poor Marcella in her agony yelled out a single word:
“BARBARIA!!!!”
This rattled Jollyrei and me a bit.
“I say, Bob…” Jollyrei had to raise his voice over Marcella’s screams, and the racket the crowd was making, “this isn’t quite what I was expecting. I thought star signs announced the birth or the crowning of someone, but Barb’s reign doesn’t look as though it’s going terribly well.”
“Well, one bit of good news,” I announced. “It’s really helpful of the Romans to put people’s names up on their crosses, and none of this sorry lot are actually Barbaria, as far as I can see.”
Bob looked worried. “Nevertheless, we’d better watch where we put our feet, or we’ll all end up with an even better view of Golgotha!”
My cowardice got the better of me. “What are we waiting for? Let’s get out of here! Asia Minor beckons!”
“I wish you’d quit wittering on about Asia Minor, Wragg!” Jollyrei was exasperated. “There’s more to life than belly dancers!”
I watched as Marcella’s cross was raised and dropped into its socket, and she put on a show to rival any belly dance. “True, but belly dancing is a bit less… cruel!”
“We’ll investigate a bit.” Bob looked puzzled. “I can’t understand why, if Barbaria is just some doomed rebel leader, the heavens should put on such a show? We’ll look pretty stupid if she kicks out the Romans and we haven’t paid our respects!”
Some of the crowd wanted to stay and watch Marcella, but sufficient of them were content to move along for the road to clear and we could complete our journey into Jerusalem.
Soon afterwards, Jollyrei and I followed Bob up a massive flight of semicircular stone steps into the Palace of Herod the Great. We went through the massive doorway and there, behind a desk, were two of the most ferocious Pharisees I’d seen in my life. I’ll go further. They were two of the most ferocious human beings of any kind that I’d seen in my life. They were certainly dressed to impress, full head-dresses, breastplates with the twelve stones on them, beards that could have hidden one of our camels, and phylacteries on their foreheads that looked to us like a sinister third eye. The two real ones that they each had were bad enough, piercing into us with a glare that told us in no uncertain terms how welcome we weren’t. Even Bob was awed by them.
“Erm, good afternoon, gentlemen.” He though it wise to bow. Jollyrei and I followed his example.
“Good afternoon,” replied the senior of the Pharisees, in a voice that could fracture granite. I glanced anxiously at the pillars holding the roof up. “My name is Monty Crusto, Chief Scribe to His Majesty King Herod. This is my assistant, Nineteen.”
I coughed, to try and stifle a guffaw. Jollyrei, as usual, was less discreet. “Nineteen? Is that his age or his shoe size?” Bob glared at him.
The ‘assistant’ persisted in wearing an expression that made him look as though he was sucking a lemon. “Actually, my name is Twonines. My colleague is being amusing.”
There was an embarrassed silence while the three of us rehearsed the opening stanzas of our nine times tables and came up with a slightly different answer, but it seemed rude and potentially life-limiting to contradict.
“I know what you are thinking,” Twonines added majestically, “but it has taken me six months and a very expensive abacus to fail to convince him that two nines are, in fact, eighteen.”
Jollyrei looked as though he might explode.
“I’m sure you’re wrong, you know.” Monty’s granite-slicing voice rang out again. “Two sevens are seventeen, two eights are eighteen, and two nines are nineteen. Everybody knows that.”
Twonines rolled his eyes, and Bob decided that he urgently needed to change the subject before Jollyrei did himself an injury.
“My name is Bobinder, and these are my friends Jollyrei and Wragg. We are travellers, and we seek one whose sign we have seen in the east.”
Twonines spoke again. “As I told you, sir, these are the Three Wise Men foretold by the prophets.”
Monty looked at each of us in turn, obviously counting, and for the first time that afternoon his arithmetic agreed with that of Twonines.
The maths might have been spot on, but it had been a very long time since either Jollyrei or I had been described as ‘wise men.’ But, then again, at least we could both do basic arithmetic. Maybe these things are relative, so I let it go.
Monty continued to glare imperiously at us. “And what, pray, is this sign?”
I quaked a bit. How could we explain astronomy to this man? But Bob was equal to the task. “We have seen a sign among the stars, which spoke of a new born or new-crowned ruler of the Jews. We wondered if His Majesty has recently had glad tidings?”
“His Majesty has not recently begotten an heir. His sons are of full age.”
“Oh,” said Bob.
“Right-ho!” I said. “Well, thanks anyway! We’ll be off on our way to Asi….” I shut up as Jollyrei kicked me, hard.
Bob ignored me. “I should point out that the stars were not specific about the gender of this ruler.”
Monty’s brow furrowed, “You mean…”
“He could be a she.” Jollyrei, helpful as always.
A voice boomed out from an adjoining room. “Bring them in here!”
And after all that thought and careful planning???
bobinder
ARTISAN
Nonsense - Jerusalem is the Mecca of crucifixion, if that isn't mixing too many metaphors...?
I say, do you know a chap named, Barabbacus...?
Amongst other references, we have named it, the 'Jollyrei Cosmic Sludge'...
Finally, it looks as though we're being granted an audience - stand by with the Adoration, guys...!
5. King Herod the Great
Monty and Twonines wasted no time. They ushered us into the throne room.
“O King, live forever!” they chanted in unison, and bowed low.
We followed their cue. “O King, live forever!” and I damn near kissed the floor.
After I had regained an upright position, I looked at the king. These Jews certainly dressed strangely. He had a wide brimmed hat, and his eyes were hidden behind two shaded pieces of glass. My conviction that everyone in this town was as mad as a box of frogs deepened
“More Seagrams!” he snapped, and a slave rushed to refill his beaker.
“I’m waiting!” He glared at us. “Your offerings!”
I was buggered if I was going to give him my myrrh. “What does he want?” I hissed to Twonines.
“A limerick. King Herod loves limericks! Do you think he retains Monty Crusto for his numeracy skills? He’s brilliant at limericks. For you, it’s very simple. Make the King laugh, and all will be well. Fail, and…” he drew his finger across his neck.
My brain whirled. All those evenings in dodgy bars, and could I remember a single limerick?
Fortunately, Jollyrei came to my rescue:
“A certain young randy Cyrene . “
An incredible fucking machine
Could screw either sex –
Concave or convex
And jerk himself off in between!”
I breathed a sigh of relief as the king roared with laughter. Jollyrei had saved my life! Or so I thought…
“Your turn!” Herod pointed at me.
I gaped. He wanted a limerick from each one of us! I breathed a sigh of relief as my memory served up a Philistine girl from Ashdod, but I worried about Bob. I’d never heard him utter a limerick in my life. I tried to buy him time, but how long could I take over a limerick?
I cleared my throat.
“Get on with it!” roared the King.
“A Philistine girl from Ashdod
Thought babies were fashioned by God.
T’was not the Almighty
Who took off her nightie
But Roger the lodger, the sod!”
Luckily this rendered Herod helpless for quite a little while. Jollyrei had his fingers crossed, but I shut my eyes. I couldn’t see how Bob could possibly come up with anything.
Suddenly, I heard his voice.
“The limerick - an art form complex
Whose contents run chiefly on sex.
It deals with virgins
And masculine urgings
For vulgar erotic effects.”
There was a deathly silence. The King peered at Bob. “Oh, shit,” I thought, “I told him we should go to Asia Minor!”
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Bobinder, Your Majesty.”
“Actually, Bobinder, that was very good! Clever. I liked it. You can live. Now then, what brings you to Jerusalem?”
“Sire, we saw a sign in the heavens that told us of a new ruler of the Jews?”
Monty Crusto coughed, “Sire, we crowned Barbaria Queen of the Jews only yesterday.”
Herod looked at him, confused. Then his face cleared. Once again he roared with laughter.
He drained his beaker. “Seagrams!”
The servant refilled the beaker.
“Very well. Take these gentlemen to Queen Barbaria and her Ladies-in-waiting!”
Monty and Twonines wasted no time. They ushered us into the throne room.
“O King, live forever!” they chanted in unison, and bowed low.
We followed their cue. “O King, live forever!” and I damn near kissed the floor.
After I had regained an upright position, I looked at the king. These Jews certainly dressed strangely. He had a wide brimmed hat, and his eyes were hidden behind two shaded pieces of glass. My conviction that everyone in this town was as mad as a box of frogs deepened
“More Seagrams!” he snapped, and a slave rushed to refill his beaker.
“I’m waiting!” He glared at us. “Your offerings!”
I was buggered if I was going to give him my myrrh. “What does he want?” I hissed to Twonines.
“A limerick. King Herod loves limericks! Do you think he retains Monty Crusto for his numeracy skills? He’s brilliant at limericks. For you, it’s very simple. Make the King laugh, and all will be well. Fail, and…” he drew his finger across his neck.
My brain whirled. All those evenings in dodgy bars, and could I remember a single limerick?
Fortunately, Jollyrei came to my rescue:
“A certain young randy Cyrene . “
An incredible fucking machine
Could screw either sex –
Concave or convex
And jerk himself off in between!”
I breathed a sigh of relief as the king roared with laughter. Jollyrei had saved my life! Or so I thought…
“Your turn!” Herod pointed at me.
I gaped. He wanted a limerick from each one of us! I breathed a sigh of relief as my memory served up a Philistine girl from Ashdod, but I worried about Bob. I’d never heard him utter a limerick in my life. I tried to buy him time, but how long could I take over a limerick?
I cleared my throat.
“Get on with it!” roared the King.
“A Philistine girl from Ashdod
Thought babies were fashioned by God.
T’was not the Almighty
Who took off her nightie
But Roger the lodger, the sod!”
Luckily this rendered Herod helpless for quite a little while. Jollyrei had his fingers crossed, but I shut my eyes. I couldn’t see how Bob could possibly come up with anything.
Suddenly, I heard his voice.
“The limerick - an art form complex
Whose contents run chiefly on sex.
It deals with virgins
And masculine urgings
For vulgar erotic effects.”
There was a deathly silence. The King peered at Bob. “Oh, shit,” I thought, “I told him we should go to Asia Minor!”
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Bobinder, Your Majesty.”
“Actually, Bobinder, that was very good! Clever. I liked it. You can live. Now then, what brings you to Jerusalem?”
“Sire, we saw a sign in the heavens that told us of a new ruler of the Jews?”
Monty Crusto coughed, “Sire, we crowned Barbaria Queen of the Jews only yesterday.”
Herod looked at him, confused. Then his face cleared. Once again he roared with laughter.
He drained his beaker. “Seagrams!”
The servant refilled the beaker.
“Very well. Take these gentlemen to Queen Barbaria and her Ladies-in-waiting!”
Ohhhhh, this is going to be good
But nothing can beat the image of @thehangingtree as Herod drinking Seagrams and appreciating limericks. Giggle snort!
xso
Tribune
Great alternative Christmas story! Thanks!
mp5stab
Hair and Nails
They do. Technically they are Not kosher because they don’t have split hooves.
M
montycrusto
Guest
If only my mathematical powers were half as good as that, they’d be twice as good as they were when I was three sevenths of the age I am now
Quiet Paul
Tribune
You really do learn all sorts of things on here. Such a mine of information to treasure
M
montycrusto
Guest
A star sign delivered the news:
Behold! A new Queen of the Jews!
Her name is Barbaria
She’s known in this area
For her constant complaints about shoes.
Behold! A new Queen of the Jews!
Her name is Barbaria
She’s known in this area
For her constant complaints about shoes.