Today is a momentous occasion; No, there is still no cure for cancer, aids, or being French. Instead, I am proud to announce the return of my educational program, for which I still have no name for (something I attribute to alcohol, recreational drugs, and the French). Of course, you may remember the show was put on hiatus after the tragic death of my travelling companion Derek while filming an episode of my program. It is a terrible and unfortunate loss, as Derek was one of my finest (see: most unlike the French) companions I ever had the joy of travelling with. Also unfortunate is that I will not be able to release the last episode he starred in, “Derek kicks random South African cars and sees what happens!”, nor have I been able to get the smell of burnt flesh out of my clothing.

In honour of my Derek’s passing, I decided to dedicate this episode to him, giving it the topic “The Best Rapists and Pillagers on Earth”. Naturally, given this topic, I immediately obtained plane tickets to Paris, France to go on a tour of their country; however, due to the French government apparently having some sort of vendetta against me (I have no idea why those moronic barbarians wouldn’t let me in), I was forced to land (i.e. shot down by French fighters) in the North Sea. While this was an unfortunate turn of events, I was able to recall, while devouring the corpse of the plane’s pilot, that another group famous for plundering and raping resided nearby: The Vikings. Native to Scandinavia, the Vikings were one of the most feared raiding societies of all time, famous for their bloodlust, pointy helmets, and ability to sing loudly enough to shatter glass and yet still not prove interesting enough to pay attention to. By my calculations, I was only a few kilometers away from Oslo, Scandinavia (or “Norway”, as the copilot screamed in response to my query as to where the nearest point of land was, only being silenced by the black box I slammed into his skull), meaning I could easily make it there with the supply of thigh-meat I had been storing in the plane’s barf-bags. With surprising ease, I was soon able to construct a ship from the remains of the passengers and crew, and soon set off from the floating remnants of the plane towards Oslo. With the sun in my face and the wind in my sails (the copilot’s skin proved an exceedingly effective sail, and his thigh-meat was my most cherished meal on the journey), I embarked on a grand sojourn…

= = =

As I made landfall in Oslo, I immediately announced my arrival, howling into the air while beating my bone-sword against my chest, as is traditional Viking custom. I was greeted in turn by the screams of the hundreds of children of the school I had just disembarked outside of, one of the little tykes even pointing at my sail and wailing, obviously with the rage over how he had not got the spoils of that kill. Wanting to make a good impression in this new land, I took the sail down and ran towards the tyke, pinning him down and wrapping it around him tightly. With my Viking friend now clothed in fine copilot-skin-leather, I began moving further inshore, towards their strangely modern-looking town.

Upon arrival in the town, I immediately sought out the mead hall, knowing the town chief would be residing inside. The Vikings I came across were not very helpful in this regard, simply bellowing war-cries which sounded suspiciously like screaming to my blood and offal stained ears. After a few hours of searching, I finally found a building which seemed to be what I was looking for; the sign outside the large building stated “Møtesal” and below it, in what almost looked like English, “Meeting Hall”. It became obvious to me that my Viking Friends had been trying to spell “Mead Hall”, but their primitive barbarian educations did not give them the capability to do so. Chuckling at their primitive diction, I entered the building in the most respectful manner possible.

Dropping the wooden ram I had used to break down the doors of the building, I immediately sought out the nearest bar wench to supply me with mead, but was only greeted by the stoic greetings of those inside, bravely and powerfully cowering in their cubicles. Moving throughout the office, tossing aside any chairs, desks, or people in my way, I finally found what appeared to be the chief’s room, as evidenced by the aura of power emanating from the room and the fact that I was too lazy to check another room. Kicking down the door, I bellowed out “I LEITA YKKAR YFIRMAÐR, HAFA SIK KOMA ÓR EF I FŒRA EÐA BRENNA SJÁ ÓSTERKLIGR BŒR LIGGJA!!! HINGA HINGA HURDEN!!!”. Surprisingly, I was not immediately greeted as such in turn much as I was by the screaming of the small man behind the desk; a screaming which did not seem like that of a chieftain to me (given the girlishness of it) and as such I struck my best Captain Morgan pose and pondered this situation. After a while I noticed the man was speaking to me, the look of fear on his face now having been replaced with confusion.

“Uh ... Hallo? Hallo? Hva gjør du på? Kan du høre meg?”

I looked at him quizzically, wondering what strange language he was speaking, a language which only seemed to bare a cursory reminiscence to Old Norse. Eyeing him cautiously, I mulled over this conundrum: “What strange language does this man speak? Can he really be the village chief? Did I forget to put on underpants this morning?” Suddenly, the man seemed cognescent of my thoughts and said

“Oh, um… Sir, you do know you are speaking out loud ri-”


I screamed at the man,


The man, now having leaned back in his chair as far as it would allow (no doubt due to the authoritative air about me. That and the bone-sword I had swung and planted into his desk), stammered

“Sir, what are you talking about? How can you plunder and… rape… a language?”

Considering this, I responded,

“Duct tape, chloroform, GHP, and a good-sized van would work I imagine”

The man stared at me, his mouth gaping a little, failing to respond to this for several minutes. Finally, he said

“Right… Uh… Sir, I don’t mean to be demanding, but could you stop posing like that? It’s making me very uncomfortable”

Realizing I was still in my proud and overbearing Captain Morgan pose, I quickly lowered my leg and plopped myself in the chair across from his desk, never ceasing eye contact (or blinking, for that matter) with the man while doing so (I didn’t want him to think me rude). Uneasily, the man leaned forward in his chair and readjusted his tie before speaking:

“Well, thank you, I guess. I suppose I should ask now… Well, what are you doing in my office Mr…?”

“GOD”, I quickly responded.

“Right, well, Mr. God. Um, as I was asking, why are you-”

I put my finger over his lips and made a shushing noise,

“Shhh, Shhh now fuzzy little man-peach, no need to ask me twice; I’m here to find out more about you and your Viking warriors Chieftain...?”

“Stang. MAYOR Fabian Stang. I don’t really understand what you mean by-”

I shushed him again, stroking his cheek with my blood-soaked hand,

“Alright, now that I’ve answered your questions, we can go onto mine and-”

“I actually have many, MANY more questions for you sir”

“…And I think it would be best if you shut up now before I have to give you the Viking tongue-kiss of respect to ensure your cooperation in these matters”

The man immediately ceased talking, a look of fear clear in his eyes.

“Now, Chief Stang-”

“Mayor Stang.”

“… Chief-Mayor-Better-Shut-His-B@tch-Arse-Mouth-Before-I-Pimp-Slap-Him, what’s the dealie yo? How are you speaking English?”

“Well, Mr. ‘God’, most Norwegians speak English in the modern age, in fact, English is starting to replace many countries’ native languages as the primary language due to it widespread usage and-”

“Oh sure, I get it. A bird in the hand is worth two raped languages in the bush.”

“… Sir, please stop talking about raping languages. It disturbs me almost as much as the amount of blood caking your body.” I let out a hearty laugh, and punched Chieftain Stang square in the mouth, reveling in the merriment we were partaking of.

“Oh, you crazy Vikings. Anyway, I have a whole bunch of questions I’d like to ask you as part of this interview, so if we could cut the malarkey and talk turkey I would be most appreciative”

“Wait a second”, the chief said while cradling his hands under his mouth to catch the blood and/or teeth spilling forth “You don’t honestly think Norwegians are Vikings, do you? I mean, we are descendants of the Vikings, sure, but there are no Vikings around anymore”

“What do you mean there are no Vikings? Are you talking about the fact that your guards aren’t here today?”

“We have no armed guards in this building sir, the only possible ‘guard’ I have is my secretary, and she’s out today because some maniac wrapped her son in the skin of his father, who went missing when his plane crashed a few days ago”

“Oh, she wanted some skin-leather too?”


“Nevermind, anyway, I was hoping as part of the interview I could accompany you on a raid, see your longships, all that stuff”

“No, sir, you don’t-”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the pillaging and burning, you can do the raping of as many women and languages as you’d like”

The man rubbed his temples and sighed loudly before speaking again,

“What I am trying to say sir is the Vikings do not exist anymore. There are no Vikings left. The Vikings ceased to be an institution hundreds of years ago! I mean, are you retarded or something? THERE ARE NO VIKINGS LEFT. Do you understand me?”

A sudden realization struck me, which caused me to instantly regret everything I had been doing in these lands.

“Yes… I think I do… God, I feel so foolish…”

“Thank god. Now, please leave so I don’t get caught in the struggle when the police arrest you and-”

“I UNDERSTAND THAT YOU HAVE LED THE VIKINGS TO RUIN CHIEF STANG”, I roared and stood up, a red haze falling before my eyes.


I pulled my sword from the Chief’s desk and began swinging it about wildly, my eyes becoming intensely bloodshot.


“Wait… Isn’t that from the Chronicles of Ridd-AACK!!!”

The chief’s words were brought to a halt as my blade struck his head, blood and flesh and references to the movie “Scanners” filling the office.


I burst from the office waving my swords, now ablaze with glory (and the sustained combustion of the ethyl alcohol I had soaked it in earlier), swaths of blood, fire, and carnage cut before me. As my bloodlust took over, the world went to black, the screams of the dying and my roaring laughter the lullaby by which my mind entered into terrible sleep.

= = =

I woke up about four days later in a hospital on the outskirts of Oslo, the weight of reality weighing down heavily upon me. Well, that and the handcuffs that were used to restrain my wrists to the bed rails. Apparently they had captured me in the ruins of what used to be central Oslo, knee-deep in blood and gore. They said I had to stay in the hospital for a while, since they had been forced to use Elephant tranquilizer on me when I proved immune to normal tranquilizers. Really, they said, I honestly shouldn’t even be alive given the amount of tranquilizer used on me was enough to kill several elephants (something I attribute to the psychiatric medications I am on being a hell of a lot more powerful than their wimpy “Elephant Xanax”). When I asked what would happen to me, what with the destruction and death I had caused, they said I was actually free to go since no prison was willing to hold me and I was really creeping the police out with all of my sleep-talking about language-rape and what not. They said I would be deported to the United States in the next few days, which is nice since I didn’t have to pay for tickets (or the comfy strait-jacket they gave me!). When I asked about whether or not my Viking forces were ready for conquest, they had no comment.

--Haegemonia(talk) 15:38, December 20, 2009 (UTC)

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