But, What's A Fopdoodle?

Young Brett’s Barrel of Ale, Calendars and The High Court of Nobles (Shortened For Commercial Exploitation) 

‘Twas the glorious days of Good King Arthur, long shiny swords, spiked balls on chains and blood flying everywhere. It was truly glorious! Nobles in fancy tights and frocks with many ladies waiting, the ladies wearing very heavy hats.

     In these days walls were built to keep frightening people out (they had no aero-planes then). A noble could select from among the ladies anyone of their choosing. As a lad of that time Young Brett of the northeast and his seconds could not perceive anything finer, that being any lady and a barrel-cask of ale. They executed their frivolities with the deftness of donkey-headed knaves. 

     Many years passed, and Young Brett’s name came to be called - with a possibility that he be named to the high court of nobles, (due to this there was a great wailing throughout the land). During the interim of those years the ladies tried to forget him being a rake, cad and general sleaze-ball but when The Great Orange Dilberry selected him to be on the high court they could not contain their horror. At their own peril they let the truth be known. They felt it their duty to expose Young Brett, even if it meant their own doom.

     When these things came out the great orange quatch and his money snatching tax policy providers twisted and ignored the obvious and well substantiated recollections of the ladies. They listened to Brett’s wailing and weeping while he spoke of how hurt he was that someone might actually hold him accountable. Then he whined his way through a list of ladies names, as if merely pronouncing them meant that he was not an evil fopdoodle. He also produced a calendar of sorts, totally meaningless and outright preposterous to any honest man, but to the great orange’s jackals, hyenas and cloying parasites it meant the world.

 

     Thus, after checking beneath several sanitary canal bridges and obtaining the oaths of a handful of good-for-nothing men, they called everything fair for Brett and had the ladies beheaded. Good Brett became an ale burping high court lackey, doing everything in his power to maintain the kingdom’s debauched state, demeaning the women and repressing the powerless. He also allowed the mill owners to dump their wastes directly into the streams and rivers. (Not that they had no other options, they were just greedy dilberries).

 

     Then the nobles and their lackeys* all lived happily forever after.

 

 

 

*not the ladies, serfs or migrants…