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Post by mary on Dec 29, 2002 10:45:32 GMT
;D what a good and sexy Chicken we have tonight... thanks Jana...but the idea was yours...you are the "great"  |
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Post by mary on Dec 29, 2002 17:59:44 GMT
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Post by MAC on Dec 30, 2002 14:28:24 GMT
Mary, that's what I do all the time! Hello again good (an' bad) peoples! Hmm....Mellon's bedtime stories....luuverly! Mary, I love the Fleet of Mac pic, except you used the wrong pic of me! I prefer the skull face! Flashing chickens? Ahh....sheer poultry in motion! OUCH!! OWW!! OWW!! OWW!! Ok, stop! Never again! promise! Have a great day people, be back soon to sing to your discontent!  |
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Post by mary on Jan 2, 2003 20:48:05 GMT
hey....nothing for tonight?
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Post by Barrow-wight aka MELLON on Jan 2, 2003 21:55:10 GMT
No goodnight stories ?!  This shall be mended !  We haven't finished the story of the end of Grendel, slain by Beowulf, have we ? ;D So here it goes again: Mighty and canny,
Hygelac's kinsman was keenly watching
for the first move the monster would make.
Nor did the creature keep him waiting
but struck suddenly and started in;
he grabbed and mauled a man on his bench,
bit into his bone-lappings, bolted down his blood
and gorged on him in lumps, leaving the body
utterly lifeless, eaten up
hand and foot. Venturing closer,
his talon was raised to attack Beowulf
where he lay on the bed, he was bearing in
with open claw when the alert hero's
comeback and armlock forestalled him utterly.
The captain of evil discovered himself
in a handgrip harder than anything
he had ever encountered in any man
on the face of the earth. Every bone in his body
quailed and recoiled, but he could not escape.
He was desperate to flee to his den and hide
with the devil's litter, for in all his days
he had never been clamped or cornered like this.
Then Hygelac's trusty retainer recalled
his bedtime speech, sprang to his feet
and got a firm hold.
Fingers were bursting,
the monster backtracking, the man overpowering.
The dread of the land was desperate to escape,
to take a roundabout road and flee
to his lair in the fens. The latching power
in his fingers weakened; it was the worst trip
the terror-monger had taken to Heorot.
And now the timbers trembled and sang,
a hall-session that harrowed every Dane
inside the stockade: stumbling in fury,
the two contenders crashed through the building.
The hall clattered and hammered, but somehow
survived the onslaught and kept standing:
it was handsomely structured, a sturdy frame
braced with the best of blacksmith's work
inside and out.
The story goes that as the pair struggled,
mead-benches,were smashed
and sprung off the floor, gold fittings and all.
Before then, no Shielding elder would believe
there was any power or person upon earth
capable of wrecking their horn-rigged hall
unless the burning embrace of a fire
engulf it in flame. Then an extraordinary
wail arose, and bewildering fear
came over the Danes.
Everyone felt it who heard that cry
as it echoed off the wall,
a God-cursed scream and strain of catastrophe,
the howl of the loser, the lament of the hell-serf
keening his wound. He was overwhelmed,
manacled tight by the man who of all men
was foremost and strongest in the days of this life.
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Post by MAC on Jan 3, 2003 15:33:04 GMT
thanks for tucking me in with that pleasant story Mellon! HEY GANG!! What's shakin'? Well, asides from that? I hope you are all ready to get up, get down, get jiggy wid it, and do the wild thing with some Funky Cold Medina!! (remind me never to fall asleep with the Hip Hop 80's on TV!) See you all soon! Whatever you do, do it HARD!! ;D
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This shall be mended ! 