Friday, July 15, 2016

The Prince And The Pee




The Prince And The Pee

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a most handsome prince.

All across the kingdom in this far, far away land, the peasants would marvel every time they saw this handsome prince ride by on his off-white steed, a stallion of wondrous majesty with pink eyes and nostrils that flared in the afternoon sun.

Alas, this most handsome prince was not happy.

Now, perhaps our good readers may wonder if this dashing young member of the royalty was melancholy because he felt so alone. Yes, perhaps you are thinking that this young aristocratic courtier was in need of a suitable princess to love and marry.

Oh, dear reader, such was not the case.

No, this young royal was plagued by a much different curse.

You see, many moons before his birth, King Karl IV was being visited by the High Duke of Ethiopia, Sir Akimbo Maajimbo. At the time of his visit, the Duke took a shine to King Karl's wife, Queen Fellatia. Before the fortnight of the Duke's visit came to an end, Sir Akimbo bedded the never reluctant Fellatia, and she became pregnant from one of the hundred times Akimbo Maajimbo entered the sacred cave and left his nuggets of wanton desire therein.

Of course, King Karl knew nothing of the hundred saucy sojourns. So, when Queen Fellatia became pregnant, the King immediately celebrated the prospect of having an heir to his throne. All across the kingdom, the peasants were told to rejoice by way of building fire-pits in every county and roasting a hundred pigs. The peasants, not being an especially bright lot, did just that. In every county, they roasted a hundred pigs. In fact, a total of 1200 pigs were gutted and braised to perfection. Sadly, this celebration wiped out the entire pig population, and there was so much leftover pork in the kingdom that even the dogs eventually turned up their snouts to it.

At the time of the prince's birth, handmaids scurried back and forth across the courtyard, their faces ashen white with fear. News soon reached King Karl that Queen Fellatia had given birth to a baby boy. The King held up a chalice of mead and rejoiced.

Then the news that always follows the news reached him as well. The baby was somewhat dark in colour. The King rejoiced that his son was a swarthy lad in the tradition of his ancestors from Portugal. He hoisted his chalice and drank again.

Then the news that always follows the news that always follows the news reached the King. The boy was a little bit more than swarthy. In fact, the young prince's complexion was reminiscent of an African tribesman on a three month hunting expedition. The King was abashed beyond compare. "That damn Akimbo Maajimbo," his Highness groaned as the truth of the matter settled in his brain.

Never one to waste a good brew, King Karl downed his mead in a single gulp and hurried from his chambers to see the boy. Upon arriving at Queen Fellatia's bedside, he pronounced that the young prince would indeed be a member of the royal family, but that his member would never ever be able to urinate until the blackest crow in the forest turned white.

And so, for twenty-odd years, the dashing young prince had never been able to pee. His misery was unparalleled. His member grew and grew, inch by inch with every passing year, until it threatened to drag on the ground behind him. At the same time, with every passing year, the countryside was plagued by a terrible drought. No crops endured, no livestock survived. The kingdom was dying.

All was not dismal for the young prince. Soon enough, the young ladies of the court learned of the prince's affliction, and they sought him out for a romp in the South Tower. It seems, after all, that size does matter. The prince had size to burn.

Like his natural father, the prince enjoyed the pleasures of infusing his lengthy manhood in the receptive peepholes and eyelets of all the willing young maidens across the land. Eventually, however, he had grown so large and so long, that his manhood was more fit for a mare in the King's Royal Dragoon than for a young woman. And so, day by day, his prowess as a paramour was becoming more and more difficult and less and less enjoyable for all involved.

Then, one summer's day, an archer was walking through the forest, when he spotted a white crow high in a treetop. Knowing of the King's curse, the bowman took aim and shot the crow down from the tree. He collected his bounty and hurried to the prince.

"Your Highness," he purred in a soft voice, "I have in this bag something you may be interested in having."

"And what might that be?" questioned the prince.

"Oh, your royal liege," the hunter returned, "I have in this bag a white crow."

The prince's eyes popped from his head.

"If ye be lying to me, the moment is thy death," the prince growled in an oddly Shakespearean manner.

"My words be true, my prince," the bowman replied.

"Let me see," commanded the prince.

"My liege," began the archer, "are you sure you want to break your stepfather's curse?"

"Of course, you fool. I am prostrate with pain."

"But, my liege," the poor huntsman objected, "you do not know what reversing the curse might mean."

"My good fellow," the prince offered in a salacious voice, "it will mean that, at long last, I shall be able to pee."

And with that, the prince grabbed the bag from the trembling man, opened it, and by some miracle, the white crow flew from where it had just lay dead, soared out of the bag, through the palace, and came to rest on King Karl's throne.

The King turned to look at the anomalous freak of nature and collapsed from shock.

Queen Fellatia, quite enamoured with the bird, had her servants capture it and place it in a gilded cage. It is said that she named the feathered marvel after her father, James, Earl of Vader.

Meanwhile, the young prince groaned with pleasure as he began to pee. He peed and peed. For forty days and forty nights, his urine washed over the entire kingdom like a golden flood.

The peasants rejoiced. This was a miracle of unequaled wonder. They danced and sang swarthy songs in the tidal pools of the prince's urine. Surely, this was the end of the devastating drought. Surely the kingdom would flourish again. And, if the truth be known, the crops were revitalized almost instantaneously, and the livestock recovered and multiplied.

And so, an end.

But wait!

As the prince proudly peed and peed, his lengthy member shrank and shrank. When it reached a decent eight inches, he groaned with despair and attempted to shut down the waterworks. He could not do so, and when all his pee was discharged, he was left with little more than a peas-pod.

From that time forward, the prince had lost his mojo and never again enjoyed the company of a woman, all because of some white crow named Jim.


 









 








 
 


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