u/deniz4434

Doth there still breathe such peasant churls who have yet to thrash their own sires? Good sir, thou must be a rebel; thou art no man's thrall!

In my seventh year of schooling, I first bested him. 'Twas the second hour of the night, returning from a feast. As I unlatched the portal, he bellowed, "Where hast thou been, thou base knave?"

Quoth I, "What is't to thee, thou son of a strumpet?" I deigned not to meet his gaze and strode toward my chamber. Yet my sire is a veteran of the royal vanguard; I knew full well he would creep with stealth and strike me from the rear.

But mark thee, I had trained three winters with the rangers of the wood, and wear the sable sash of mastery, my lord! I tuned mine ears to the shadows. Just as his hand fell upon me, I spun with sudden fury and seized his wrist!

"Peace! Yield thy ground, yield!" I roared. "Wherefore dost thou creep upon my back, thou coward?"

All the while, I twisted his joint with grievous force. He writhed in agony and began to cry "My lord, mercy!" Yet I bore no pity for the whoreson; I wrenched the bone till it snapped asunder.

When his weeping commenced, I loosed my grip. I summoned no chirurgeon, but betook myself to my bed to slumber. Thus did I first bugger my sire's pride.

Shouldst thou seek my counsel: slumber not thereafter. For I woke upon the morrow in the infirmary; the scurvy bastard had run me through with a dagger in my sleep!

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Doth there still breathe such peasant churls who have yet to thrash their own sires?

Glory to our Kaiser

ahh… social fascism

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