Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Three folktales

The Devil is in Chelm when he sees a young man in the town square, hammering nails into a CD of Sting’s greatest hits.

“Young man,” says the Devil “I can give you gold, women, and power over others in this world. But you must guarantee me your soul.”

“What?” says the young man.

“Gold, women, power,” says the Devil, speaking more slowly this time, “but you must give me your soul when you die.”

“What?” says the young man.

“This aggravation I don’t need,” says the Devil and vanishes in a puff of sulphur as the young man continues his hammering.

Moral: Why does the Devil spend so much time in Chelm, looking for souls? Is he an idiot or something?


Irish champion Finn MacCool makes a bet with his neighbour that whoever can row across the loch and set their hand on the far shore will be entitled to that land and all the Irish-themed pubs it can support.

The deal agreed, both men set off the next morning to row across the loch.

Soon Finn pulls far ahead.

“Man, this is going to be great,” thinks Finn MacCool, “I’ll call my first pub Bridie O’Reilly’s and folk will come from far and wide to have the crap kicked out of them by dim-witted thugs.”

Not to be outdone however, Finn’s neighbour draws his sword, cuts off his left hand and throws into onto the far bank, winning the bet.

“O.K.” thinks Finn to himself, “This bloke is a complete fecking lunatic” and makes a mental note to move as soon as possible.

Moral: Don’t mess with people from Ulster. They’re complete fecking lunatics.


Once upon a time, there lived an old man and woman who were so poor they had nothing to eat but salad.

One night the old man goes out to have a quiet smoke and sees a faerie in the back garden, also enjoying a ciggie.

“Shit;” says the creature, “don’t tell the others I’ve been smoking and I’ll grant you three wishes.”

Overjoyed, the man rushes back into the house to tell his wife.

“Oh, I wish we had a salad spinner,” cries his wife and there on the table, appears the magic salad spinner.

“A salad spinner!” says the old man, “who the fuck wishes for a salad spinner,’ and goes down the pub before something else stupid can happen.

Moral: There always seems to be something that goes wrong with this whole “three wishes” caper, doesn’t there? Boy, you wouldn’t catch me in one of those scenarios.


catlick said...

“This aggravation I don’t need,”

The Devil is Jewish?

wari lasi said...

Have you been on the Coopers already this morning Ramon?

There's some weird shit going on inside your head today.

Ramon Insertnamehere said...

I believe he's since converted to Catholicism, Catlick.

At least, according to the Seventh Day Adventists.

Ramon Insertnamehere said...

And Wari?

You wouldn't believe the weird shit that goes on in my head most days.

Boogeyman said...

First tale: Devil, how about you have my soul now - no, really take it, I have no use for it - but in return you grant me everlasting life, plus the other things you offered.

Second tale: Why are Irish rowing across a loch and not a lough? Are they lost in Scotland?

Thrid tale: Why don't the ones who win the wishes in these tales ever protest the spouse's right to use them up? Third wish - for a lawyer clever enough to sue the pants off the pixie for more wishes.

wari lasi said...

You do expose us to some of it. But it's entertainingly weird.

And what's with the poor people having enough money to buy fags? My (ex) missus still smokes and they cost a bloody fortune down there.

Ramon Insertnamehere said...

Good point Boogey on loch/lough, but I can't be arsed changing it.

Wari, the people of people I see down here begging - while smoking a ciggie.

squib said...

Poor Sting

Ramon Insertnamehere said...

I thought he got off quite lightly, Squib.

After all, I could have had the nails being hammered into him!

squib said...

Oh very charitable Ramon

Ramon Insertnamehere said...

BTW, the second story is based on an actual Irish legend.

Sort of.

A little.

Boogeyman said...

And here I was thinking the "Red Hand of Ulster" was a euphemism for doing what young men know best.

Ramon Insertnamehere said...

That would make it "The White Hand of Ulster", surely.

Boogeyman said...

Not if you do it too much.

Ramon Insertnamehere said...

I feel a bit queasy now, Boogey.

wari lasi said...

That would make it "The White Hand of Ulster", surely.

You may have noticed already, but I'm more of an "invisible hand" kind of guy Ramon.

Off topic, sorry, but is anyone else sick to fucking death of Barack Obama? And he isn't even president yet. Talk about saturation coverage. They say there's 3 million visitors to Washington, are 2.9 million of them journalists?

Ramon Insertnamehere said...

Not as sick as I am of Lleyton Hewitt.

wari lasi said...

Hear hear. I've been sick of him and his ex-soapie-star wife for ages. Whay is that once you're famous you not only become an expert on everything, if you have a child you also inevitably become a "doting" parent. Has he been knocked out of the Open yet?

I heard from a distance that Dokic got up. Not sure what to think about her. I can't help but feel sorry for her having that nutjob for a father.

Fad MD said...

From the wikipedia page Ramon linked to:

Except for the origins of the symbol with Labraid of the Red Hand, each of these stories are likely to be retrospective fabrications, most particularly the one about the giants.

hmmm... you think?
And to think, some people take wikipedia as a primary source...