The Stranger's journey has now come full circle.
Join me in the bright sunshine at When Words Go Free...

There are still stories to be told.
Read them at The Stranger Looks Back.

Mastery Of The World: Part I

They were as sorry a ragtag bunch as ever tried to rule the World. They seemed to know that they were doomed to failure from the start, but they didn't care. They were in it for the fun, and they had much of it. Mostly descended from Islanders, they answered the Alpha's query and set to properly assigning themselves rank and title. By general consensus, the Horseman became the leader, but there was some confusion as to who was second-in-command, and nobody seemed to care much.

Hopped up on amphetamines thanks to the Dealer, their plan of attack was distracted by the arrival of lunch. Not wanting to take over the World on an empty stomach, they ate and drank and forgot why they were there in the first place. The men among them sought after amorous diversion, some of the women among them became men so as to join in, and at least one of the men among them became woman for no apparent reason. The Hermaphrodite wasn't sure which way to turn, but did so several times anyways.

Eventually, they had it all sorted out and awoke from their slumber, only to find that their leader had left them for the dubious pleasure of feline company. By this time, the World had caught wind of their plans, or at least their intent; they were still a long way off from having any actual plans. The World thought to put an end to their enterprise, then decided otherwise, confident that they would hang themselves, given enough thread.

After a breakfast of haggis and frites, they noticed the remains of the veela they had ravished and devoured the night before, and wondered if that should be thought of as cannibalism. After a brief discussion they decided not, finished up the leftovers for lunch, and wondered what they would have for supper, during which discussion the Eggman was chastised for referring to the veela as french fries. The Cyclops pointed out that indeed, the lovely ladies had been grilled, not so much for taste as to avoid trans-fat.

The Cowboy wandered off, muttering something about having been invited to play golf with a nice but manly-looking Baroness in a plaid skirt, while the Princess inspired the others with her awesomeness. This sort of thing went on for what seemed like quite some time, and while weapons were designed and tested, no advance was made upon the World, and recruitment efforts failed miserably. A few others, among them the Jester, the Referee, the Venerable, the Queen, the Harpie, and the other Giraffe, dropped by out of curiosity, but none were impressed enough to join in.

In the end, they didn't so much give up as forget about the whole thing, and when a random pillock came by to hawk his wares, nobody was left to notice. The World smiled.
    

11 comments:

DanWins said...

Least ye forget --

I raised the banner and then bowed and became the Jester!

Thanks for the Memories....... LMAO

Iron Criterion said...

This is pure genius...

DanWins said...

Another of the fellow Conspirators shows up. Hmmm Mayhap Legacy has begun it all anew?

Amber said...

Hey hey HEY!!

THe Princess is here and you all should show some fucking respect.

RESPECT MY AWESOMENESS.

-Princess Scrappy of the New World Order

fizzee rascal said...

Am I the Queen? I hope so.

Miss Melicious said...

ooo, what fun!...I just can't figure everyone out though!!

DanWins said...

I am waiting Scribe to see what other bits of this History you have written down to recall.

Made2Show said...

Good luck :)

Just Me said...

Wonder who you left out in this.

Ramakant Pradhan said...

It is a fantastic representation of something that happened in the thread. And loved the idea of a quiz based on it. You have a brilliant mind.

Iron Criterion said...

Re-reading this, I feel so overwhelmingly melancholic; what an absolutely wonderful thread that was. The blogsphere isn't the same now: most of the people involved have either moved on into obscurity, or becoming increasingly infrequent.

I miss our little community.