After 21 entries, the story is finished!! Here it is!

"Ye Olde Medieval Days" -- started by betty
The esteemed authors and their contributions are: betty(10) greg(8) bonnie(2) jen(1)
 Story #5. Finished on 7/1/2004.

Greg the lowly serf, plodded toward the field of wheat, dreading another day of bending, kneeling, scorching heat, and gathering buckets of vomit, which had accumulated quickly because of the plague. "What are I going to doest with all yon vomit?" asked Lady Betty. Sir Greg replied, "I think thou shouldst know that I am now a knight! No more slogging away in the hot wheat fields for me! Now I must needs go don my chain mail so patiently chained for me by Lady Man. Lady Man was known through the olde towne as a ravishing womanizer, and had gotten in trouble with one too many gladiators who had come from Rome to the countryside of England to train. They came in groups of 100, building arenas in which to fight. Their living quarters were made out of popscicle sticks, painstakingly glued together, then painted with multicolor butterflies swarmed through his brain. "I hath quaffed a poison potion!" he exclaimed. "I have a demon in my castle tower. I think I will unleash him upon my evil enemy, the Earl of Sandwich!" He strode in purposely, a roast beef hoagie in one hand, and a salami grinder in the other. "So," Count Muenster declared, "We have thee to thank for these delightful victuals." "Yes!" The Earl replied with a bow, "And I named the cheese after thee, milord." Then the Count called all the servants together to tell them the bad news: They would no longer get free sandwiches until the draconian taxes levied by the Duke of Hazzarde were removed. Count Muenster, along with the Earl of Sandwich, agreed to approach the Duke, but first the catapult must be reloaded. So everyone got together and loaded it with sausage. Some cheese, bread, and wine, and minutes later they were feasting away. But only an hour later, the King and all his countrymen gathered on the field of battle. The enemies were pouring across the hillsides, and they were all wearing clothes that were way too lightweight for the unexpected turn of events which had placed them here, shivering, being splashed with icy hot oil poured from the castle walls. No matter, after all, that's why you wear armor. It did not hurt at all, however, what did hurt was when I landed on my head in a huge pile of goo. Interestingly enough Sir Greg headed for the gallows with great trepidation. As he drew nearer he saw to his horror, the king had been slain by a pack of eldritch blagglecruncheons! "O King," he cried, "Save me from the hallowed gallows! I will eat at your feet for the rest of my days!" The king looked down at him and replied," OFF WITH HIS HEAD!" and then threw back his own with peals of diabolical laughter. Thus began the century-long "Reign of Terror."

THE END!

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