Is it polite to club a Forest Sprite?

Question

Not far from the Village lays a beautiful and Ancient Forest. Untouched, it is thought to be as old as Britain itself. Awash with Legends and Lore that has bewitched all and sundry with awe and fear.

I decided to don Hiking Shoes, a Club disguised as a Staff and a Knapsack full of Sandwiches, Penguin Bars, crisps and Pop, and venture into this Wonderland of Ancient Briton.

An hour went by, the air was still, the babble of the Brook that cut through the Lushness of the Forest and the heady smells served as a soothing mop to my Whiskered Brow as I sat on top a felled old Gnarled Trunk to watch a Kingfisher cast it's keen eye for an unsuspecting snack from the clear waters. I lit up a Pipe, and sung in a favorable Baritone "Shall We Gather At The River?" Nice little Hymn, quite apt too, seeing as I was bloody sitting next to one Begad.

When all of a sudden a rustling behind me could be heard, turning around I could see a large Bushel rustling as if a squirrel was foraging for nuts or building a little House. Hullo! Thinks I, when suddenly this strange voice popped out! "Helloooooo. " It went, "Ooooooh! I say, helloooooooo!"

Well, it gave me a start, let me just say. But quickly I remembered some of the Stories my Grandmother would tell me as a Youngster. Goblins! Could it be true thinks I, or Pixies? Maybe a Faerie?

I hastily pulled out a Penguin Biscuit and went about enticing the little Critter with it, when out he came!

Boing! He leapt out with the strangest Garb I've ever seen! Clad in a leather Vest, a Cap embellished with Metal Star shaped Studs, and a garish pair of Red Leather Boots! It's a Forest Minstrel I ruminated as the fellow pranced around me skipping Gaily and doing the most Comical little handstands. By Jove! I shouted Hurrah! And clapped as he sang a Folk song . "La la la! Tra-la-la-la-la-lee!" He went. I assumed it was in Elfish or something as he jabbered some. But, the hairs on my neck stood on end as I realized he had no Pants on!

He then rolled on his back and .. . .well, I couldn't handle this methinks, so I Clubbed him one, so he wouldn't follow me. Knocked him out as it were.

Well? This never happened in my day in Forests and stuff, is the whole land turning Sordid or what?

Answer 1

Really funny and well written ! Wish I could write like that.

Answer 2

It may have not been completely polite because you were in his living space, however, a swift club to the head would assure your safe departure, and other than a headache later, there would be no suffering--if he had awakened.

This was far more humane than giving him a right kick in the place where his pants ought to have been. This of course would have been immediately quite painful. It could have given him cause to bite you.

Thus, a good defensive act on your part and pleasant day ended pleasantly enough for you in the magic forrest.  

Answer 3

That was no Forest Sprite, or mere Itinerant Minstrel  VG,

I think you must now be counted among the lucky few, who have actually

encountered the Fabled "Wood Shaker" himself, Elvish Presley.

Tis many years since I first set eyes on him. I was a fresh young strip of a boy, fishing for Chub underneath the new railway bridge next to the old Mill,on a crisp Autumn morning.

I assembled my Rod, and flicked a lump of rancid stilton out towards the central piles of the bridge,where the biggest Chub were lying up on a gravel bar, and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, there he was,on the far bank,underneath the old Willow tree, proud as a Peacock, gyrating his hips, and "Shaking his Wood" for all he was worth!

"Thats a bit q***r," thought I, "That Coves got no strides on" and watched, slack jawed, with disbelief, as he started to howl some discordant, mumbling nonsense about being "All Shaken Up" or something, and then began to jump around like a Gypsy on Absynth.

I saw his lip start to curl, and his eyes roll back in his head,as he furiously pumped away on his turgid winky.crying out "Uhuuh Huhhu Baby" as he reached his vinegar stroke.

Needless to say,I couldn't just stand idly by, agog, and do nothing, while this total Stoat of a man shot his filthy wad in my Swim, so I reached for my Groundbait catapult, ( the big one with the large cup,) loaded it up with a particularily stiff mix of "Sensas  Method Mix" pulled back as far as I dared, and let fly.

Well you can imagine my satisfaction, when that 5oz ball of cereal based paste, clocked him square on the temple, dropping him like a sack of old shite.  And there he lay,out cold on the river bank, naked as a jay bird his shrivelled genitalia,now looking more like  a blind Cobblers  thumb, and thats where the Morning shift,arriving at the Mill for work,found him....

Well, found him, tarred him, and feathered him!

How I laughed as he eventually fled, like some freakishly deformed and outsized Chicken, followed by a dozen Workhouse Orphans, hooting with derision and laughter.

Aah, makes me yearn for those far off,heady days of youth, simpler days,Old Horse, simpler days....

Right, time for my lunchtime nap VG,

Chin chin, KK.

  

Answer 4

Yes, give em one from across the pond for us too.

Answer 5

U know... I really enjoyed that..  ;-/

Answer 6

You were right to club the little bugger, fairy clubbing is a pastime long forgotten, we clubbers now have to go to where the baby seals live or the local g*y bar. Mind you walking the forest paths can have its rewards, there is, I am told, displays of animals that can be observed, dogs I think, as it is called dogging. Oh by the way, that little bugger you clubbed is the one that had my Tom Tom from my car away, I remembered the red boots.

Answer 7

My god sir, it reminds me of the time Rotter and Smythe invited the group up to Rotter Woods for as he explained a “night at the dogs”, so armed with wads of cash and champers to boot hoping to cheer on ones favourite grey hound, we became suspicious that Rotter had the Purdey draped to his arm just like one of the Swedish twins? Shock was bestowed upon us as we entered the woodland area about dusk only to find the same fairy type fellows prancing around in the bushes crotch less akimbo? And clad head to foot in studded leather, the image of middle earth came to ones mind and the realisation that could we be attacked by these ORK type beasty fairy fellows!

Well one did no more than pop the blighters off with the old Purdey, Smythe and Rotter were taking bets on which one of the blighters ran the fastest. So you could say one had a good night at the “DOGS” tally ho

Answer 8

All that sugar, carbs, smoking and loud music has quite gone to your head young fellow me lad....

"skipping Gaily"...whatever next.......you're no gentleman.

Answer 9

Me thinks that though Rotter professes innocence that it was he in disguise from the potion administered to him by the local witch who goes by the name of Mrs. Dumphrey.  The same Mrs. Dumphrey to whom he sends his pipes for cleaning.  A bit more than tobacco was stuffed in the hatch this time, I'd say.  He probably forgot the whole affair, but I'd check for a bruise in the spot where you laid you club upon the beast.  That will tell if it was indeed him.  I think the pantless part was a clue not to be dismissed.  

Answer 10

A fine tale sir. Better safe than sorry I say, the Heath near me has seen many a rambler come away ashen faced in shock having seen Fairies and Pixies enticing them into their lairs with promises of other worldly delights! Keep the stick to hand and don't stray off the path. Happy wandering my good fellow.

Answer 11

By Jove old boy a lucky escape me thinks sounds like you were seconds away from a nasty Goblin. Whats happened to this green an pleasant land of ours when a gentleman can't go about his business in the woods singing hymn's with a knapsack full of treats and an eye for the wonderment of mother nature without being the target of some forest wizard, no doubt waving his depraved wand around trying to raise some ghastly lumbering beast. I say burn the forest down old boy and be done with it. Tip top.

Answer 12

Sure, it's all fun and ditties and prancing until the little creatures show us their colorful side. I have the same problem with my mutt puppy Macho. He's quite adorable after he's had a xixi and expecting gentle and profuse praise from me, but when I'm busy in the kitchen and not so keen for friendly romps, he clamps his razor jaws around my ankles and thrashes his head for the kill. You didn't happen to see the sprite's teeth, did you? Good thing you settled that affair before you had the pleasure.

Answer 13

My good man, it is not only polite to club a forest creature, but positively compulsory.

Had you not done so, the next thing you know, he would have whipped out his pan pipe and given you a ditty, right before your face.  The very idea.

The correct procedure when encountering a mythical beast is to club it to death (as you did), take it home and remove its innards.  Stuff the swine with straw and offal, then mount it on the wall as a trophy.

Answer 14

Oh my goodness dear man! You just beat up the Forest Fist Fighters Holiday Club representative oooo! Wait till the White Espadrilled and Bleached Hair Bondage Beach and Fetid Fetish Brigade find out they will surely give you a good pounding when you next go down on... ahem! *coughs* GO IN, them there Ye Ole Ancient Goblers Woods I tell you better watch your back when bent down picking up your stick.

Answer 15

I had such a laugh reading that!!!!

Answer 16

I didn't have to read more than a sentence of this to realise what sort of man you are. A man in need of some help.

Answer 17

in instances like this i prefer to be curious not furious