Bork the Nasty (story #87)

So, I think I’ve found a couple minutes to write a story.  Hooray.  But the internet is running slow in my house, and my butt hurts from sitting at a computer all day.  Boo.  That being said, I wanna give a shout out to my friend, Kevin, and his Magical Space Pony web comic.  Mainly because I am going to steal a line from his comics to use somewhere in the story tonight.  I don’t know how or why it will come up, we’ll have to find out together.  You will surely know when we get there, however.  Because of the Magical Space Pony reference, I would think.

BORK THE NASTY

Once, many years ago, when history was still the future and stories were told, not written, there was a viking tribe called the Fungschway.  They weren’t really sure if “tribe” was the right word to describe a group of vikings, but they also didn’t really care.  The Fungschway tribe were mostly known for their predisposition towards planting pretty, pretty flowers.  Well, that and merciless torture.  It was kind of a toss-up.

Our story concerns one of the Fungschway whose name was Bork.  Bork was often given to wild flights of fancy, and more often than not at extremely inappropriate times.  Once when his father, Meep, was threatening a helpless crowd of villagers with hideous torture and window boxes full of begonias, Bork began to give a puppet show for all the children.  Pretty soon everyone was laughing and no one was taking Meep’s threats seriously anymore.  Poor old Meep was forced to plant a couple of window boxes right then and there just to prove he was serious.

After they left the town, Meep said to Bork, “listen, son.  You know I love your imagination, but you gotta learn time and place, kid.  You made me plant way too early back there, and those begonias are way out of season.  They won’t survive the winter.”

"Look! Up in the sky! It's a magical space pony on a jet-propelled rocket duck!" Art by Maria Gullickson

“Yes, daddy,” Bork said.

“All right, have we learned a lesson, here?” Meep asked.

“Look!  Up in the Sky!  It’s a Magical Space Pony on a jet-propelled rocket duck!” said Bork.

“That would be a ‘no.'” Meep said, sighing.

Another day found Bork weaving an elaborate tapestry of tales to all of the prisoners the Fungschway were keeping in the dungeons (you know those dungeons that vikings have).  Meep came upon him just finishing some outlandish story about a Kingdom full of trolls and giant cats and beautiful girls, and the boy from another world who had to deliver them all.  Ridiculous, right?  Meep was the opposite of pleased.  Which you could take to mean he was desaelp, if you were feeling very silly.  Which is obviously okay around here.

“What are you doing?!?” Meep cried.

“Why, father, I’m just entertaining the prisoners,” Bork replied.

Meep was crestfallen.  “Are they not entertained enough by my beautiful rose bushes?” he asked.  He was quite proud of how well he had managed to get the roses into full bloom even being planted underground and in a stone floor.  He had one heck of a green thumb, did Meep.

“I’m sure they are most entertained by your hearty roses,” said Bork.  “I just wanted to tell them a story to keep them even more entertained.  They looked sad after all the torture, you know.”

“Well, that’s what the rose bushes are for, son,” said Meep.  “Remember, our tribe is known for flowers and torture.  Not for stories.”

“Yes, daddy,” said Bork, frowning.

One of the prisoners, whose name was Mana-mana,  looked at the sad little boy and then at the great, jagged cat o’ nine tails that Meep held in his fist.  He whimpered a little and Bork looked up at him.  Mana-mana winked slyly and then began to cry.

“Oh, great and terrible Meep of the Fungschway!” he wailed.  Meep looked up at him.  “Your roses,” Mana-mana continued, “are a great comfort to us.  But your boys’ stories…  Oh, the stories!  They are like torture!  They hurt our very souls to hear!  A greater torture one could not devise than to be forced to hear such tales!”

“Really?” said Meep.

“Oh yes, your viking-ness,” said Mana-mana.  “We all dread his visits here.  We call him Bork the Nasty, for he is so evil in torturing us with tales!”

Meep thought for a moment.  “You really call him Bork the Nasty?” he asked finally, a gratified smile curling his lips.

“Totally,” said Mana-mana.  As Meep lowered his head in thought, Mana-mana once again winked at Bork.  Bork grinned and winked back.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” Meep said finally.  “I’m gonna have Bork the Nasty come down here and tell you guys a story every week.  How’s that for torture, suckers?”  The prisoners all groaned and pretended to be extremely desaelp, but it was not easy to contain their true joy.  Of course, they all loved Bork’s stories and looked forward to them.  Now knowing he would be able, even committed, to telling them a story every week, they were quite happy.

So, Bork started telling the prisoners a story every single Thursday, and everyone was happy.  Bork had a cool viking name, Meep had a son who could “torture” people, and the prisoners got a break once a week.  It was a swell arrangement for everybody.

Until Bork stopped telling his stories on the right day.  Some weeks he wouldn’t even tell a story at all.  He always had excuses like “I’m sick” or “I’m busy” or “my butt hurts.”

Geez.  What kind of jerky storyteller acts like that, huh?

THE END

Okay, time to stop this story before “self-referential” becomes “self-pitying.”  Ha ha!  What a great Magical Space Pony reference though, huh?

See you soon,

the SotWC