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  • War Arrows...(a repost)



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  • This is my Blog...There are many like it, but this one is mine...

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        Wednesday, March 19, 2008

    War Arrows...(a repost)

    I wrote this last April, and I really enjoy it. This is vintage...Bane:

    Have any of you ever seen any? No, not these scrawny Tinkertoy sticks with high tech, barbish things on one end, and plastic feathers on the other like Ted Nugent uses. I mean, the big war arrows that were used by people who really wanted to kill people on purpose, and they didn't fuck around.
    If they were in charge today, our troops wouldn't be armed with fancy telescoping pellet rifles, but with drum-fed, .50 cal bmg's, and exploding ammunition.

    A war arrow is to a regular arrow, as a big crayon designed for three year olds and retards is to the little skinny ones that come in a pack that could hold cigarettes.

    When hit with a war arrow, you would likely flip back over your horse's ass, and be drug the rest of the way to death whilst stuck in your stirrups. Whump! and you are struck down. The recurve bow was invented to deliver these arrows, and there are verified tales of American Plains Indians firing them completely through a buffalo while on horseback. A similar (yet wildly different) bow, the English Longbow, was reliably recorded to have pinned more than one armored knight to his horse; in one case I am familiar with, pinning a knight through both of his heavily armored legs, through his war horse's heavy scale armor (and other leather-ware) and leaving the doomed knight to remain seated on a great horse, as it slowly collapsed on the field, trapping him... and then the village boys come out to do their nasty work with their poignards.

    Oh, I'm sorry, you didn't know about that? Yes, these civilized men, whom all liberals and intellectuals look up to as the Fathers of Modern Civilization, gave children long-bladed knives, with which to scamper about with on the battlefield, and poke through the eye-slits of fallen knights and hack their eyes out, at the very least.
    These knights were otherwise unassailable, being riveted, literally, into plate armor, and placed with a crane upon a horse that makes a Clydesdale (their descendants) look small.

    So the boys swept the field, and took what booty they could. And then the local blacksmiths came out, with hammer and tong, and opened up the cans these rich men had sealed themselves into, and took the armor away to be repaired and refinished, and resold again (and oh yes, they took any of the intimate jewelry they found inside, given to Sir Knight by M'Lady for good luck, and for love, and other silly notions.

    Isn't war grand?

    And finally, the beggars and the ragpickers and the Gypsies descended upon the field, and stripped the bodies naked (the horses having been butchered in place, and drawn off in wagons to be sold in the market) and the impatient, hungry ravens, and their lesser brethren, the crows, who have been stalking around in the blood-made mud, now hop over to the abandoned dead, and begin to pluck out delicacies.

    As darkness falls, the rats will swarm away from the town, and their usual feast of garbage and infant's lips, and for a while, each corpse will look alive again, as its skin ripples from the busy pack within it, roiling around inside, choosing the best bits.

    We'd like to think we have moved on. We'd like to think. And many of us have. And forgotten. Or never knew.

    But there are, in the human family, those who still live there. Oh, many of them live in palaces, and have fleets of luxury cars. Yet still, their past calls them. They know their past, study it, worship it. And yes, live in it.
    As a Lycanthrope answers the call of the moon, these desert dwellers are compelled by their own inner natures, routinely, to answer the call of the desert. They leave behind their Western facades, and go out to where their own nature tells them they belong, and they race camels, and horses, and play games where an animal head is the ball, and I daresay many of them use human heads just as they did before, when prying Western eyes are not present.

    It has been said of me that I hate these people because 'I do not know them'. I say to you, that I hate them because I do know them.

    I have seen the little boys, raised to be girls, and thence, women. Coiffed and perfumed, put in dresses, wearing makeup. One father of such was a physician, so we cannot attribute it to... what, ignorance?

    And the brown vermin we allow to spread across our borders like so much spilled chocolate... oh, I've heard it all:

    "But...but, we Mayans had calendars and science and..."

    Sorry, still stuck on that whole 'ripping living human hearts out' thing...

    "But...but, we had a great civilization!"

    Hmmmmm, what part of 'ripping living human hearts out' is confusing you?

    "Oh fuck you, infidel, we Arabs invented the concept of Zero!"

    Yes, and you've been giving us exactly that, ever since.