These last few days have made me question my very existence. First, donuts rained down from the clouds in a torrential outpouring of sprinkles and sugary cream. Then, when it looked like the purple and orange sky was winding down for the night, a whole contingent of Athenian praetorians marched by my house- an anachronism, considering they should have been Roman. The audacity these Athenians showed when I pointed out this plothole, however, is cause for concern. I don’t care much for their unkind words... not at all. I don’t have to take no guff from a bunch o’ old world piffle-wifflers!
So I dusted off the old adage, “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” and combined it with the proverb “you can’t get milk from a turtle.” Hence, “you can’t get milk from an enemy dressed as your turtle companion.” I’m not an English teacher, and I have no idea how the mechanics of this neologism functuate. But I do know from my historical treatise on ancient Greek war posters that the Athenians and Spartans were, like, total foes. So when that Athenian contingent waltzed through my backyard (trouncing a perfectly trimmed patch of sorghum) I knew who to turn to- the Spartan Oligarchs.
After a few thousand years of mellowing out, the municipality of Sparta was overeager for a battle with Athens. I promised the phalanxes riches. I promised them glory; a thousand laurels to hang ’round their collective necks. The numbers were against us, though- twenty to one. But a single fully-armed Spartan hoplite is more than a match for sixty Athenians!
“For Sparta! For the oligarchy!”
War drums sounded o’er the grassy hillside... the moon peeked out from behind a billowy pink-red cloud, indicating weekend-long rain. Deep down, I hoped for bear claws. Commanding the great phalanx, I ordered the Spartans forth in a standard Riemann Sum evasion pattern. The Athenians were prepared for this, sadly, and countered quickly. Their arrows nearly blocked out the sun...
The battle was long. Many brave hoplites, helots, and praetorians skinned their knees and ran screaming from the fray. But at long last, when the last of my sorghum was trampled into oblivion, I saw no point in continuing the boondoggle. I grabbed the closest keyboard I could find and gushed my guilt into the invisible pages of a web medium, combining the unquenchable arrogance of the Athenians with the noble anger of the charismatic Spartans.
Behold, a new blog template to commemorate the Battle of Donut Ridge!
So I dusted off the old adage, “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” and combined it with the proverb “you can’t get milk from a turtle.” Hence, “you can’t get milk from an enemy dressed as your turtle companion.” I’m not an English teacher, and I have no idea how the mechanics of this neologism functuate. But I do know from my historical treatise on ancient Greek war posters that the Athenians and Spartans were, like, total foes. So when that Athenian contingent waltzed through my backyard (trouncing a perfectly trimmed patch of sorghum) I knew who to turn to- the Spartan Oligarchs.
After a few thousand years of mellowing out, the municipality of Sparta was overeager for a battle with Athens. I promised the phalanxes riches. I promised them glory; a thousand laurels to hang ’round their collective necks. The numbers were against us, though- twenty to one. But a single fully-armed Spartan hoplite is more than a match for sixty Athenians!
“For Sparta! For the oligarchy!”
War drums sounded o’er the grassy hillside... the moon peeked out from behind a billowy pink-red cloud, indicating weekend-long rain. Deep down, I hoped for bear claws. Commanding the great phalanx, I ordered the Spartans forth in a standard Riemann Sum evasion pattern. The Athenians were prepared for this, sadly, and countered quickly. Their arrows nearly blocked out the sun...
The battle was long. Many brave hoplites, helots, and praetorians skinned their knees and ran screaming from the fray. But at long last, when the last of my sorghum was trampled into oblivion, I saw no point in continuing the boondoggle. I grabbed the closest keyboard I could find and gushed my guilt into the invisible pages of a web medium, combining the unquenchable arrogance of the Athenians with the noble anger of the charismatic Spartans.
Behold, a new blog template to commemorate the Battle of Donut Ridge!
I'm not too clear on my ancient history, it was only one of my majors, but I have a suspicion that bear-claws were invented after the time of which you speak.
Historical note: Bear-claws were invented by the nasty uncle of easily frightened Salmon for Halloween in 1915. Coincidentally, A stream full of adolescent screaming salmon were the contributing factor in the Anzac defeat at Gallipoli. Turkish salmon have been served stuffed with pastry at Australian BBQ's ever since.
You forgot the part where I destroyed Inca.
Never forget.
Curse those bear-less bazaars!
I still oppose cat testing, though.
Actually, I hate to disagree with rich, but that's NOT how bear claws were invented.
They were invented in the era of the neanderthal man (quite a while before rich's GMO'd Turkey & Salmon crossbreed).
They were not the fried phlegm that they are today either (obviously neanderthal's had a good 25 years to go before perfecting the 'deep fat fryer').
They were, in fact, actual "bear claws", cut right off of the bear, which was then sent to live a hopeless life in rehabilition. Worse yet...they were mainstreamed with ants, aardvarks & hummingbirds which REALLY made the bears feel out of place. Poor poor bears.
Anyway, I digress.
Neanderthal man would store the bear claws in their refrigerators. (There was no power yet so they weren't very cold.) When they started to dry out they would nibble on them, hence creating another oft used modern phrase "Biting your nails".....
Lies!
I can't believe you are subverting history this way, it's fridge I tell you!
You won!
Wait wait wait wait, hold on a minute here. It was raining donuts and you didn't call me right away? Why not, man?
hmzbpa
Have a wonderful weekend!
~xo
i barely made it out alive.
Raga!
While I have to admire the minimalism of the new template, I can't help preferring the old one. I must be a conservative at heart.
Sparta and Athens would severely disagree with the National Barking Spider Resurgence Party platform, that's for sure!