The Search For The One True Grail - Chapter 2 - Nelly The Namibian Princess

Once apon a time, a week last Wednesday, a very handsome young wannabe writer was asked to write some shite by a beautiful princess. Not wanting to let her down, for she thought his ramblings were good fun and deludedly thought he had a modicum of talent, he set about showing her that she is a bit doolally tap for thinking such things. Also, it gave him chance to piss about before he resumed his epic search for the Holy Grail, via Bartholomew Twartzenfadge, the Archduke and friends... or perhaps didn't. Wow, it's going OK so far, I can still actually type a bit. Just ignore the spelling, punctuation and grammar you picky buggers and give it the thumbs up perhaps. That is up to you of course, I can't force you.....

Once apon a time, a week last Wednesday, Nelly the Namibian Princess woke up bright and early in her Fairly (average to mediocre )Tale Flat. Nelly was excited because today was the day she was to find out the secrets of the Vindaloo and Aloo Gobi recipes, which where of Indian origin, and she was African, which was nice. A mixing together of two continents worth of culture is always the best way to go when you are a smart arse like me.

Two things should be noted at this point. Firstly, Vindaloo is actually European, being a Portuguese dish, which was made to disguise the taste of rancid pork on long sea voyages around shitty parts of the world, which is most of it. For fucks sake don't tell Princess Nelly, she will be upset coz she thinks it is Indian, and secondly, although not uncommon, Our Nelly was a white African, with beautiful long blonde hair that glowed brightly whether it was fine, or misty, as is often the case in Namibia. It also smelt of strawberries. This wasn't due to her being a Princess though. It was due to the fact she bought strawberry flavoured shampoo from a toiletries shop in the local bizarre bazaar.

She also bought jamrags from the very same shop. I am unsure whether they are strawberry flavoured, but they have certainly the same colour and coating as a nice freshly opened pot of strawberry conserve, or jam as some like to call it, when they have been soaked for a few hours... enough said. Nelly loved all things strawberry. Well nearly all.. It's a pity she obviously hasn't read my Spoof about strawberry jam factories, which I have thoughtfully provided a link for here for you to enjoy, for she would never then have risked asking for a fairy tale, and certainly wouldn't have been stupid enough to give her mother the details of her friends Spoof Identity.... Whoops!!! indeed, too late now to tell her not to read my shit... or for that fact her sister Red Sonja.

Yes, it's far too late mon ami/amie, let the tale continue to it's inevitable nasty conclusion, for I am a complete bastard. Anyway, I misheard her... I was sure she said a fairly tale... and a fairly shite one at that... As usual I am following my self imposed rules of writing off the top of my head and doing exactly what I want with my own rules, which I make up as I go along... Quick, duck, a spaceship with a zombie vampire leaning out of it pulling a grotesque moonie is about to land... Only joking... I think...

Once upon a time, in the every recent past, a wizard was sat watching a Namibian sunset from his vantage point atop the dunes overlooking the sea. It was bastard cold, for although it was summer from whence he came, here it was the end of winter and twas a load of shite. The wizard was a lanky fokker, as was decreed by the Afrikaans language, that gutteral language spoken by many, including Klingons, Trolls and, up until his recent death, Eugène Ney Terre'Blanche.

The Wizard was warm though, for he had done a little bit of magic to encapsulate himself in an air conditioned bubble with the temperature kept at a steady twenty three degrees celsius. He was so warm in fact, his spuds were dangling nicely within his wizardly garb, not shrivelled up, or trying to hide inside his body, unlike Princess Nelly's tit ends, which were actually bleeding, they were that hard and it was that cold. He carried on watching the beautiful sunset as he thought of why he was actually in Namibia in the first place.

It was all down to The Master. The mysterious multi-talented master manipulator who dictated all that happened in the wanky world of wizards, amongst other things. Yes you guessed it... this wizard was none other than Thaumaterge Gilead Random Gilespie, who had buggered off pronto after upsetting The Master greatly a number of months ago somewhere in the eight part Super Spoofy Saga that began with The Wizard and the Wanker and grew, until The Master got a gob on, as usual, and ended it.

The Master had been very busy indeed. He had been visiting the real world, which he really hadn't liked at all. The real world was a shithole and not very lekker... That's Afrikaans for nice, or perhaps a nearer definition would be tasty, if you didn't know. Now he was back, or hoped to be, but was a little worried that although he was obviously crap at writing because nobody read his stuff and his few fannies had deserted him. He was even more worried that he was actually even shitter at writing now than before, as he had in his own mind been improving.

Gilead Gilespie knew none of this of course, for although he was a wizard, he did not possess the powers of Nostradamus, unlike The Master, who actually also didn't possess the powers of Michael de Nostredame either. For that matter neither did Nostradamus now I come to think of it! The Master just had access to certain secrets that where no longer secret, but when they where secret they had to stay secret and The Master was very good at keeping secrets, but liked to prove he knew the secrets by putting clues in Spoofs instead of Quattro's like old Nostie did, just for a laugh...

Gilead sat on the top of his dune as the sun kept on going down thinking wistfully about how he missed the Slightly Spooky Woods and all his fucked up friends, whence from above came a sign. It landed on Gilead's head with a warm splat, for although his bubble kept the heat in, it didnt keep guano out unfortunately. Gilead blinked and cursed... and used the Cillit Bang Spell immediately... He bloody well knew it... The Master had found him...

He looked up to see a ginormous Shitehawk circling lazily overhead. The Shitehawk then glid down all graceful like, and landed in front Of Gilead with what looked like a smirk on its cruel beak. Attached to its leg was what looked like a piece of parchment. Cautiously Gilead lent forward to take the parchment from the Birdshitter. The Shitehawk took a step back as it hissed, 'Piss off,' at Gilead, who stepped back a little nonplussed.

'That's my name tag.' remarked the Shitehawk in explanation and proceeded to show Gilead the other side of the parchment... or parcel tag as it is known in Mingehampton. On the otherside in that stupid 'Comic Sans' font, that twats like you probably like using, was written the legend:

SHY TALK

...but in that fucking awful Comic Sans font much admired by Lib Dems, School Teachers, Morons and unfunny idiots like you/that smug twat you know. [PLEASE DELETE AS APPROPRIATE]

Gilead grinned. 'Hello Mr. Talk, or may I call you Shy?' he asked.

'It doesn't matter what you call me coz I'm going soon.' replied the Shitehawk as it winked. 'If we do meet again you may call me Shy however, rather than Mr. Talk, coz The Master has learnt his lesson about calling people names that are hard to type.'

Gilead wondered if he should insist on calling Shy, Mr. Talk, but thought he'd see what else the seriously shitty arsed avian had to say before he did so and infuriated The Master further.

'You're a seagull aren't you?' ejaculated Gilead to the Shitehawk.

'Of course!' replied the Shitehawk scornfully, quickly beginning to think that this wizard was a wanker.

'Ahhhhh.' said Gilead. He realised the seagull was unaware of the connotations of its name and once again was decidedly discreet whilst he waited to see why it was here.

'The Master has sent me over from Blackpool in England to give you a message.' said the disease riddled European Herring Gull, Larus Argentatus being its latin name, which is an anagram of Tarantulas Surge... (inundated with creepy crawly eight legged bastards), Gaul's Restaurant... (cook the bastard in garlic), Translate Augurs... (err...An auger is a device for moving solid or liquid material by means of a rotating helical flighting, which broadly translates to 'shut up you boring bastard')... Oh damn, I spelt Auger incorrectly... shit...

An Augur was a priest and official in the classical world, especially ancient Rome and Etruria. His main role was to interpret the will of the gods by studying the flight of birds: whether they are flying in groups/alone, what noises they make as they fly, direction of flight and what kind of birds they are. This was known as "taking the auspices." The ceremony and function of the augur was central to any major undertaking in Roman society-public or private-including matters of war, commerce, and religion. Quite apt really... fucking Shitehawks... I hates them.

Other anagrams include... Natures Gastrula... (God's embryonic bastard at the stage following the blastula, consisting of a hollow, two-layered sac of ectoderm and endoderm surrounding an archenteron that communicates with the exterior through the blastopore)... and let's not forget Angular Statures (A pile of Shitehawk Shite set out in the Tate Modern Gallery in honour of the Cubist Movement by Tracy 'I shit the bed' Ermine Chin)... and loads of other shitty ones too no doubt.

'I had to shit on your head because that is what I do in Blackpool to all the Scottish Alcoholics that holiday there at this time of the year, as well as stealing icecreams out of small childrens hands and dive bombing old aged pensioners eating fish and chips.' continued the cunty soon to be cadaver - I hope, coz I fucking hate the ugly, noisy, thieving bastards... I mean the Shitehawk now, not the Glaswegian holiday makers of course... but I digress as usual...

'Are you sure The Master didn't put you up to it?' asked Gilead cautiously.

The Shitehawk looked down its blood, icecream and fish and chip smeared beak at Gilead. 'There could be something in that... I can't say unfortunately... but I do have a message for you... It's up to you if you think it is a coincidence or not.... The Master says all is forgiven, he deserved what you did to him and he isn't looking for revenge anymore. You are free to return from this foreign land, just in time to help in the search for the Holy Grail, if you so wish.... err.. that's it.' blinked the shitty Shitehawk.

'Oh yes, he also said you will know the meaning of my name and may act accordingly hint, hint.' said the Shitehawk in a puzzled way.

Gilead instantly knew... this was a final test... He was to kill the Shitehawk to redeem himself and piss off all those namby pamby people who believe that all God's creatures are sacred... What a dilemna... Well, the bastard thing had proper shit on his head and it was awful...

'Right I'm offski back to Blackpool, or maybe Fleetwood, as I should really eat a lot better by following the Trawlers to get fresh fish rather than eating terrible takeaway food and fingers.' said the Shitehawk, and without waiting for a reply because it was a rude rascal too, the shite one unfolded its wings and turned its back on the wizard.

Gilead made up his mind. As the Shitehawk alighted from the ground and started its ascent to the heavens, Gilead waited a moment for it to get really high then whispered the Icarus Spell quietly... 'Icarus Melticus Fuctupicus' ...The Shithawk's feathers immediately all fell out and the phantom shitter plummeted from the sky straight towards the jaws of a terrible sea monster that had just surfaced for a quick yawn after waking up because it was dusk and that's when monsters wake up.

Gilead heard the plaintive shrieks of Shy Talk as it plummeted to its inglorious bastard demise.

'What a gawd awful time to get total and instant alopecia of the fooking feathers you pluckers!'

The look of shock on the sea monsters rubbery face was a picture to remember forever and Gilead wished he had brought his digital camera along now, as the Kraken, for that is what it was, greedily devoured the naked featherless Shitehawk before submerging back to the depths of the ocean floor, where it would later shit out the Shitehawk in a final gesture of contempt on behalf of The Master, the small children, some with digits missing, and the old aged pensioners who would soon starve to death, now the shitehawks had stolen the one meal a week they could afford to eat.

Job done, thought Gilead in a self satisfied way. Strange how coincidences like a yawning Kraken kept popping up in his life, and on this occasion, Shy Talk's death. Gilead watched the final death knell of todays sun and then turned to walk back to his lodgings. Up there in the township was the wonderous castle he was staying at, with the ajoining flat of Princess Nelly the Namibian Princess.

Gilead was Princess Nelly's personal tutor and was teaching her at the moment the wonders of Indian cuisine. He had special parchments called recipes, where all manner of herbs and spices and meat off tasty animals you've probably never heard of like Gemsbok, which is very tasty, could be put together in a way, much like some of his own magic potions, to make dishes to tantalize your tastebuds and sometimes make your ring sting, as well as stink, of course. It was all very worthwhile. Nelly and the rest of the Royal Family loved them all. Well, her father didn't like cauliflower so wasn't impressed with Aloo Gobi, but Nelly and Her mother didn't give a shit because it meant there was more for them.

Princess Nelly was at this moment getting ready for Gilead to pop round to her flat and show her the recipes that would be so nice. She was especially looking forward to learning the secrets of the Vindaloo, a rumoured right royal ring stinger. The vindaloo was hot, but the weather!It was so cold her nipples had started bleeding and Nelly was busy rubbing some special white potion that Gilead had given her to ease the pain and irritation.

It didn't actually seem to work, but when Gilead gave her a little bottle of it at night it was always lukewarm. Gilead had obviously spent some time and energy making it as he was always out of breath and red faced. Nelly didn't have the heart to tell him the potion lotion didn't really work as he worked so hard at making it. She annointed her bleeding nipples with the strange smelling balm and then washed her hands carefully afterwards of course. She was never tempted to taste a drop because she was so pure, even though the little teal blue label on the bottle said:

-=Gilead Gilespie's Infamous White Potion Lotion=-

-=Perfectly safe for human consumption, feel free to have a taste, or guzzle the lot=-

-=Best consumed while still lukewarm. Also great for use as a vaginal douche=-

-=NB: This has nothing at all to do with The Master...lolol=-

...in that bastard Comic Sans font... not this nice one in italics.

She quickly put on her Princess dress as it was soon time for Gilead to arrive. She had a Bong That Goes Dong that Gilead had given her. It sat in the open window as was prescribed and the horrendous stench it emitted was sucked straight outside into the Namibian night, or day. The bong went dong twenty times, for it was set on the twenty four hour setting, and Princess Nelly waited expectantly for Gileads solid wizardy knock on the royal flat door.

Gilead, the seven foot tall, manky, wanky, lanky wizard was striding quickly up to the Royal residence, ably twatting all the jackals that always attacked him with his big gnarled staff. It was the only dangerous wildlife around these parts, especially now that the shitty Shitehawk was now thankfully dead. The jackals yelped in pain and ran back into the shadows to lick their wounds until the morrow.

There was a smart rap on the door with what sounded like Gilead's gnarled old stick... but we don't actually know what the wizard used to knock because we are all on the inside. Princess Nelly went to open it. Gilead curtsied for her Right Royal Lowness, for she was sixteen inches shorter than him, and stooped to get in through those awfully tiny human doors, a bit like, Sir Stickin McCockin, did when he was busy being a bit of a gay paedo in the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Still, it was a fuck sight better than when Gilead visited his dwarfy mates. He had to crawl into their slightly soiled residences. There was a slight aroma he couldn't quite put his finger on... just yet...

'Gilead, my betraubeare vriend hoe wonderlik is dit om jou te sien.' enthused Princess Nelly who was delighted to see him. She thought he was wonderful... and betraubeare ... which means faithful in her gutteral mother tongue.

Ok you thick fokkers I will revert to the Queen's English so you may follow the story.. You can be assured that the two were talking fluent Afrikaans though...

'Nelly, what is that strange smell? asked Gilead puzzled, for he couldn't quite fathom it still.

'Oh, you know.. it's that special potion you gave me!!!' said Nelly. 'Which reminds me, it's nearly run out, can you make me some more please, if it's not too hard?' little knowing that the exact opposite was needed to make this special brew. She passed over the little bottle with the cork stopper, after pulling out the stopper with a little 'plop'.

Gilead was dreading this... He smelt the bottle and reeled back... The Master was being a bastard again. He had mixed Gilead a right bottle, literally... Gilead was shaken with this... What the flipperty flick flak was he to do?

'What are you using it for again Nelly?' asked Gilead, hoping that The Master hadn't made it a treatment for thrush.

'You know... I rubs it on me tets and nipps coz they keep bleeding it is that cold. Here cop a look at these Chapel Hatpegs!' said Nelly.

'No. no.. that won't be neccessary.' hurried Gilespie who was a gentlewizard. 'Are you sure it works?'

Nelly thought a moment. 'To be honest Gilead, it doesn't seem to do anything but make my titties sticky. I quite like that, and I've got used to the smell now too. Mummy and daddy keep looking at me in a funny way, but I told them you had prepared a special potion for me. Daddy says he wants you to pop up to the castle tomorrow for a quiet word. I think he wants to thank you for your troubles.'

For Fucks Sake, thought Gilead. The Master had reprieved him at just the right time, even though he had caused the problem in the first place. He'd be up for the chop in the morning when he went up to see Nelly's dad... and he didn't mean a nice pork or lamb one either...

'Nelly. I have come to tell you I must leave this evening. I have brought you the parchments with the special texts called recipes to aid you in making Aloo Gobi and Vindaloo, but sadly I must leave this foreign land and return to the area surrounding the village of Mingehampton to help my good friend Bartholomew Twartsenfadge look for the One True Holy Grail.'

'Oh Gilead, I realise you have to leave as the search for the Holy Grail is very important, but can thou not waiteth til the morrow to see what honour my father bestows upon thine broad shoulders?' asked Nelly with wide shiny eyes.

'Errr no... I must get going presently, this is far too important.' said Gilead gently, as he thought of the big axe that was probably being sharpened at this very moment for the thing above his broad shoulders, rather than the shitey knighthood that Nelly was thinking about.

'Ok Gilead. As you must. You never know, you may be back in this area as there is a rumour the Holy Grail is to be found in Ethiopia, I remember from your teachings of The Ramblings of The Retards... That would be nice if you where nearby.'

'Nelly you numpty,' said Gilead. 'That is the Lost Ark of the Covenant, not the Holy Grail. And It's 2500 miles to Ethiopia from here anyway, not that the Lost Ark is there or it wouldn't actually be lost. Everybody knows it's sitting in a big whorehouse as we speak...'

Gilead paused a second... 'Sorry Nelly, I meant warehouse, my grasp of Afrikaans Trollish Klingon isn't what it used to be... The Ark is in Area 51, quite close to the dead alien that doesn't actually exist...'

'... The Holy Grail is most likely on Phantasy Island on Lake Eerie next to the picturesque English village of Mingehampton. My good friends are in limbo, stuck on a victorian paddle steamer about to go there... It's a long story... I can't go into it now, but they have been sat there waiting for five long months to set off on their quest coz The Master has been busy in the Real World.'

Nelly's shiny eyes welled up with tears. 'Gilead, can I come with you please? I would love to be in a rip roaring adventure that I will remember for the rest of my life with much fondness. Please say yes. I will leave mother and father a note and all will be OK. Father will bestow even more honours on you when you bring me back.'

Gilead thought differently, but he really liked Nelly and she would be an asset as she was a bona fide princess. The Archduke would be impressed and Godgyfu would have someone to talk to and help make the curries, with a little training from the sacred curry parchments and the correct ingredients.

'OK Nelly, you can come. Quickly pack all your strawberry smelling things and we will be on our way.'

'Jipee' said Nelly, instead of Yipee, coz she spoke Afrikaans. 'I will bring some tjoklit too and some cheese curls.'

Gilead loved the Afrikaans word for chocolate... tjoklit... coz it looked exactly how chocolate should be spelt.. tjoklit was his favourite Africaans word... as opposed to Keffer, which was his least favourite.

'You know you told me that Vindaloo causes a stinging ringpiece Gilead?' said the Princess.

Gilead didn't, coz The Master hadn't told him, the bastard, but he managed to nod wanly.

'Do you think your special warm white potion lotion may help if we rub it on our bottoms the morning after we have eaten it?'

Gilead was mortified. 'No Princess... It definitely won't. In fact give me the bottle here I am going to wash it out as the potion is obviously useless.'

With that Gilead took the bottle over to the sink and started to rinse it out as Nelly brushed her glowing long blonde hair before she slipped her Princess crown on. Gilead read the label on the bottle and muttered the 'C' word under his breath quietly so The Master, and of course Nelly, wouldn't hear it...

Gilead then had a thought and shuddered. If The Archduke ended up bedding Nelly, which was more than likely, he had a lot of explaining to do... Damn, too late now to say she couldn't go. Oh well, it was time for Nelly to go out into the real world now and learn about the things she had been shielded from for so long.

Nelly looked up at Gilead with her bright, inquisitive, naive eyes and smiled. Gilead was glad she was coming along. She would grow through this journey along with the rest of them. Nelly packed her bag, which Gilead had also given her because he looked a right dick with a Manbag, like every other man who has one.

Gilead's ex Manbag could contain anything she wanted it too, but was still only the size of a largish Handbag. Nelly left a note for her mum to feed the menagerie of animals she had living with her... except one which was a present from a far eastern Prince and was ginger in colour!!!... It snook into the bag... for these creatures where good at sneaking... as well as licking and lapping... and smothering enemies.

Nelly wrote a little note to her mother and father saying she was just nipping out to find the Holy Grail with Gilead, cancelled her internet connection which was a load of shite anyway coz this was Africa, picked up her BlackBerry and the bag, and she followed Gilead out of the flat door to walk down to the dunes by the sea and the start of her great adventure.



The Master sat brooding in his Internet Hermitage... it was time to reveal the pathetic figures thus far for his Masterpieces, noted on, the 4th day of September, in the year of some peoples lord, 2010, Anne's Domino, to the uneagerly waiting general public to piss their sides laughing at...

Bartholomew Twartzenfadge: The Search For The One True Grail - Chapter 1... 149 views

End of Days: [8] Doctor Who and the Jarmrargh Jehovah of Jupiter... 181 views

End of Days: [7] Doctor Who and the Growling Gremlin of the Golgotha Gash... 272 views

End of Days: [6] Davros Unmasked - Now Chaos Ensues... 300 views

End of Days: [5] The Self Preservation Society... 186 views

End of Days: [4] The End of Time... 448 views

End of Days: [3] Jack Straw meets The Maker... 153 views

End of Days: [2] The Ghost of Spoof Past... 142 views

End of Days: [1] The Wizard and The Wanker... 167 views

Undeterred by the very disappointing results, he carried on with his new masterpiece, hopefully, for he enjoyed his fantasy friends very much. Bollocks to the heathens who didn't pass them on to their friends to laugh at and give this useless writer some encouragement. :-)