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The Ballad of the Baron and the Berry

The May afternoon had turned overcast, the wind had just dropped to a hum
When Baron Aedan’s brewing class was finally over and done.
To cool from his beery endeavours, to spar with his men he did chance;
And in spite of his own minor beer haze, succeeded in whipping their pants.

One young Viking noble named Ragnar, acknowledging his liege’s great skill,
Said, “Sir, I offer a challenge – how well can you drink your fill?
I’ve eighty ounces of liquor, a dark rum, smooth through and through.
Plus twenty more ounces of vodka – enough to inebriate you?”

The Baron patted his stomach, a smile on His excellency’s face.
He said, “Boy, I’ll meet your challenge to put alcohol through it’s pace.
“Many a soldier I’ve personally downed, though long from good battle I’ve been –
What can a few small drinks hurt me? A little libation’s no sin.”

The young Viking Ragnar just smiled, for all in his home canton knew
That when it came to alcohol’s alchemy, the Norse mixed anasty-ass brew.
A fine group of gentles then gathered to see the contestants toss off,
To lay bets on who would be the first one to belch out,, “Ye gods, ENOUGH!”

Present were Bardok of Beasthaven, and Iain of Limavady
Terence Kirkpatrick, Robere de Beauvais, and Arnora Dunestan, lady.
Into the magical mixer went the first virgin ounces of rum,
Followed with speed by the ice and berries, and soon, the first batch was done.

The Baron was handed his weapon as the glasses were passed all around;
The mixture was poured soon thereafter, and the good Baron made not a sound
As he raised the nectar to his lips; the company watched with awe
As he drained the glass in one fell swoop, reached out, and asked for some more.

Ragnar now was grinning wide, as his own full glass he drained,
Then he stared at the empty vessel with a look that seemed rather pained.
“My lord,” he sighed somewhat sadly, “we have a slight problem here.
My glass, it seems to be empty, And yours is too, I fear.

“Shall you be daring another? Or will you be calling it quits?
I’d be upset if you chose to go – drinking alone is the pits.”
“Dear boy, what can you be thinking? Me? Walk away from free drink??”
The Baorn looked very indignant as he rinsed out his glass in the sink.

“Pour me another,” he ordered, drawing gasps from the on-looking crowd
The Baron then tossed down the next one, turned ‘round, and gracefully bowed.
The mixer was filled for the next round, and drunk quickly; Ragnar said,
(with no attempt to hide his remorse): “My God, Jim, IT’S DEAD!”

On and on they mixed and poured and drank (and drank, and drank)
Offering to the gods of Booze their increasingly slurring thanks.
Starting to find it harder to stand, to the den the Baron retired
Whereupon he met the Great Black Dog, which did his playfulness fire.

“By god, this beast’s in want of play!” So he barked, and the great dog replied;
Aedan dropped to all fours growling loudly, scaring the dog till she cried.
“Oh, Baron!” trilled Ragnarr from up the stairs, “This round to you I bequeath!”
Grinning, the Baron tottered away, with berry seeds ‘tween his teeth.

“I’m not tho drunk,” said the Baron. “My bawanth ish shtill quite intack –
I’ll walk a shtraight line for you fellowth – I’ll bawanth on one foot, in factk”
The Baron was fond of the more martial arts, and to display he now felt in need,
So in his strawberry haze he showed off his skill, his grace and speed.

He stunned the crowd with his antics, and balanced with reat cando
Upon one foot, body unsteadily at forty-five degrees to the floor.
Young Ragnar returned to the kitchen to see how the battle progressed
Only to find still more berries, though the rum was now badly depressed.

“I say, ho-there, my liege lord, we seem to have killed off the rum.
You’ve battled the bottle to stand-still, but I guarantee there is still more to come!”
“Hurray!” cried the Baron ‘tween belches, “I feel I’m in need of a fix,
But first I must call my Lady, as I fear I may be in a mix.”

Bardok helped dial on the far-speaker, Arnora spoke in his stead,
Cringing so slightly lest she should hear Kaffa cry, “Off with his head!”
The night then progressed uproariously; the berries came, batch after batch;
The Baron began to get stranger now, his second wind he did catch.

“A-ha!” he cheered, “onto the vodka! This rum bottle here is quite dead;
There still remain two quarts of berries-“ BELCH! “Ooo, something’s gone to my head…”
With a gleefully Baron-type giggle he knocked o’er his glass with his palm;
As he stood, debating recovery, he saw some companions had gone.

“Cowards!” he burped to the missing. “I’ll fix that next batch by myself!
Was that five parts booze to one berry? Hell no, that mixture would deep-six an elf.”
The Baron went into a frenzy; his faculties went out for lunch;
Something had to distract him, so brave Bardok stepped into the crunch.

“We’ve tested endurance for drinking (he said) – now, test your endurance for strength!”
And with only that for a warning, they proceeded to wrestle at length.
The Baron’s perceptions were fuzzy, his brain the berries did tickle;
For a foe, he mistook poor Bardok, and bit hard upon his right nipple.

Trying hard not to scream at his liege lord, brave Bardok then called out for aid –
“Our Baron has lost to the Berries! His brain cells have off the path strayed!
I pray, good gentles, PLEASE HELP ME! He’s grasping and clutching at straws –
He’s screaming the national anthem with berry leaves stuck in his jaws!”

Then did the brave men rush forward to save the poor man from his foe –
Two, three, four men It took to pin down the Baron just so.
“Who lives by the fruit, shall die by the fruit”; from this faith our Liege did not lapse;
From the base of his glass he burbled and belched, cried once, “LAND HO!” and collapsed.

By his weaving and drunked companions to his death-bed the Baron was born.
“I know how he feels at this moment,” groaned Ragnar, “but think how he’ll feel in the morn!”
The moral, good gentles is simple: of Viking bartenders, BEWARE!
For strong drink is their specialty, and they’ve never been known to mix fair.

(sometime early summer, 1990?)