Warning: Not for overly sensitive viewers
I used to enjoy novels by Wilbur Smith. This old fart has the ability to take a piece of history – add twists, turns, intrigue, and fabrications – until his version becomes the true account of an historical event.
He is indeed the Master of: “Never let the truth stand in the way of a good story.”
Smith’s style of writing is in sharp contrast to my own. As you should know by now, I swore an oath never to tell a word of a lie in any of my stories. So help me, Bob.
But, be that as it may. A prominent and distinguished contributor to these pages, Sir Rammsteen (PBUH), a Saint of a Man, has recently decided to give up his only surviving vice: The Deadly Sin of Smoking.
Sir Rammsteen went through Hell, I tell you. He refused Nicotine Replacement Therapy, patches, self-flagellation, Huggies, hot rock treatment, Pampers, hypnotherapy, Zyban, and Tampax. (He even refused to have withdrawal symptoms.)
He ventured forth; and after forty days and forty nights, alone in the desert – without a single smoke of water – Sir Rammsteen was back! Better than he was before! Better…stronger…faster.
The Six Million Dollar Man!
But that’s not important right now.
I decided to discover who was responsible for dragging Sir Rammsteen’s tar-filled lungs through Smokers Hell.
My search took me hither and thither, from pillar to post, in flotsam and jetsam, behind stalagmites and stalactites. I finally found an ancient Book in the ruins of the ruined building of the Department of Home Affairs, called: “Ward’s Book of Days.” The Book was more than ten thousand years old…
After blowing away the clouds of dust, cobwebs, and tobacco ash from the Book – and waking the Home Affairs official who was sleeping on it – I was finally able to decipher the prehistoric script on its nicotine stained cover:
*Op deze dag in de geschiednis in 1618, overleed Walter Raleigh en zijn karbonade.
So! This was the dirty rotten scoundrel who has been the cause of billions of coughs, overfilled ashtrays, and burnt carpets, throughout the ages! Die Bliksem!
I continued deciphering the Cuneiform hieroglyphical cryptology, and found the following:
Walter Raleigh was the male escort, or “kept man,” of Queen Elizabeth I. He was expected to be at her constant beck and call; serve as her dancing partner; place his cloak over her puddles; provide her with a pomp (and sometimes with a ceremony); put out the garbage; mow the lawn; drive her to the shopping malls; tend the garden; do maintenance around the palace; walk the corgis; provide companionship and sexual services, etc, etc, ad nauseous.
(In other words: Walter’s life was very much like that of the average married man of today.)
Walter was born in 1554. Little is known of his early life; but we do know that he burned down his school in 1572 as a protest against Afrikaans being used as the medium of instruction. He became a struggling hero overnight. His motto was: **Ut dolor, et viverra.
Because Raleigh serviced the queen well, he received trading rights in spirits, wines, beer, and various goods of inferior quality, all imported from China.
Then, a strange thing happened. In 1585, in a private’s ceremony, the queen knighted Raleigh’s chop for services rendered above and beyond the call of duty. But, addressing someone as “Sir Chop,” sounded rather silly. So it was decided to call both Walter, and his chop, “Sir Walter Raleigh,” from that day forth.
In 1588, Raleigh married Lizzie Throckmorton without obtaining the queen’s permission. The spiteful old bitch had him and his chop locked up in the Tower of London – along with the forefathers of those disgusting little murderers: the Watterkloef Faw.
Raleigh had contacts within the Department of Correctional Services; he paid the usual bribe, and was released on his own recognizance.
To escape from the exhausting nightly pomp and ceremony with the queen, Raleigh sailed to North America; where he established a colony which he called Virginia – after a mythical virgin queen. (In those days, very much like today, virgins and ghosts and unicorns were often heard of, but were never actually seen in the flesh, so to speak.)
The colony in Virginia produced large crops of tobacco and potatoes.
Raleigh, who had developed a bad cough from smoking, sent tobacco and potatoes to the queen, and to some of his friends in Ireland. Somehow the user’s instructions got mixed up, and for many years the Irish ate their tobacco crops – and smoked the potato spuds. Some of them are still doing it to this very day, as we speak, right now. This explains why the Irish act so strangely.
King James I of England came to the throne in 1603. He was envious of Raleigh’s chop, suey he sent him to the Tower once more. Here, Raleigh met up with his old friends, the Watterkloef Faw Forefathers (WFF). They watched a bit of porn on the Internet, got drunk, smoked, coughed, made some video clips, compared notes and chops, and had a jolly good time in Walter’s cell.
Once again, Raleigh managed to bribe his way out of prison; buying off a corrupt prison warden with three packets of Marlboro’s cigarettes.
Raleigh then led a second expedition to America, but they were attacked and killed in Mamelodi by a cash-in-transit gang from Spain. Only Raleigh escaped with his life, and he returned to England empty-handed.
Unfortunately, King James, who had also developed a bad cough from smoking, was straight. He did not require a pomp, or a ceremony from Raleigh, and sentenced him to be beheaded to death until he died from it.
Sir Chop, and Walter Raleigh, went to the block at 08:13 on the 29th of October 1618. Raleigh, defiant to the very end, personally put his chop on the block, shouting: “The Surgeon General is a liar! Smoking is good for your health!”
Walter Raleigh, plus his bad cough, minus his chop, was buried in St Margaret’s Church, Westminster. His chop was never heard from again.
“The locals say, on a quiet moonless night, amongst the tombstones at the back of St Margaret’s Church in Westminster, you can still hear a lonely chop… coughing silently in the darkness…”
*Op deze dag in de geschiednis in 1618, overleed Walter Raleigh en zijn karbonade – from the Nayderlunch, meaning: Walter Raleigh and his chop passed away on this day in history, in 1618
**Ut dolor, et viverra – from the Latin, meaning: have chop, will travel
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