UnBooks:The Seven Pillars of Wisdom

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The novel The Seven Pillars of Wisdom is also available in paperback.

edit Chapter One: The Religion of the Desert

1.1 Sand, sand, sand. There is so much and and not a lot else. Why did I come here? What the hell made me agree to this

mallarky? I should be back in Cairo shooting up opium with a young man named "Bottom". Unfortunately I'm here surrounded

by sand. Sand, sand, sand - God I'm bored of sand. Or should I say Allah? Yeah, I'll say Allah as it'll make me seem a tad

romantic and a tad mysterious to all the birds back home. And I'll change my name by deedpole - no longer will I be T.E.

Lawrence - I will be Lawrence of Arabia!


1.2 There are not many trees out here. Or flowers. Or geraniums. And another thing you notice is the absolute lack of pubs.

Not a single Red Lion for thousands of miles. Neither is Oxford University here, or Mrs. Ransom's knickers. They are on a

washing line as I write - fluttering in the wind with all their seductive wafting... I think I'm off for a lye down.


1.3 Met a chap named Mohammed. Quite a common name rounds these parts of the desert. Told him my name was Lawrence of

Arabia. He asked me where I was from - I said Berkshire. He told me that I wasn't from Arabia. In actuality the

conversation went like this:

'Whats your name, Guv'nor?' questioned Mohammed in his lilting sand like language.

'Lawrence of Arabia' I replied with all the humility and respect that I had for these towelheads.

'Where you from then?'

'Berkshire'

'So your not from round these parts then?' He said in awe. I offered to show him a picture of a tree, but he assumed I was being dirty.


1.4 Mohammed explained to me that his people were a tribe called "Cock-er-knees." Their religion is one of respect and

peace. All other tribes in the area were wiped out by the "Cock-er-knees" sometime ago - in their "peace war". I am in awe

of their religion. I think I shall convert. It is hard to be a practising Anglican when there is no tea around.

edit Chapter Two: Mohammed The Tea Maker

2.1 So I speaketh unto Mohammed: 'Tea? You don't know how to make tea?!' Suitably chastisened I taught the infidel (for

whom I have such respect and time for) the basics of making a good cup of tea. After only several beatings administered by

me, he had learned the cornerstone of British society. Several more beatings and he was calling me Lawrence of Arabia and

not T E of Berkshire.


2.2 If one looks out over the dessert for any length of time, one finds it necessary to blink. The Dessert is so mind

bogglingly blank and devoid of stuff and things that one could go a little bit peculiar. So far Mohammed has not drank his

own urine - but I've told him that it is the cornerstone of British Society so hopefully he will come round to my way of

thinking. As the old saying goes "always be a little bit foreign" as I have done successfully at my parents house, since,

in fact, the day I was born. This revelation has given me a greater understanding of not very much, though this will not

stop me spouting some mystical mumbo jumbo when I get back to Blighty.


2.3 Oh! Ooooooooh! Oh! I am unwell. I am in my tent and I am unwell. Did I say tent? I meant I am resting on my camel

riding saddle and I am unwell. Last night, Mohammed introduced me to "Vodka" - a special Arabian drink imported from a City

near Cairo called "Ukraine". Oh! I am unwell. And I think I wet the dessert. I remember the reverence that Mohammed had as he

passed me the first cup of "vodka" - the almost palpable feeling that it was a ceremony, a time honoured tradition like the

breaking of bread at Easter. Or is smashing of chickens at Lent? Anyway, something religious. As I lye here I remember little

bits of last night - accusing stones of being disrespectful and trees of lacking moral fibre. I'm sure the experience has

taught me something pertinant - but I'm too unwell to care. Mohammed! Bring me tea!


edit Chapter Three: Sol Invictus

3.1 Posh title eh? See - I'm very well educated and yet a man of action. I call people by their full names. I am T E Lawrence.

Well, at least I was until I changed my name by deedpole. Now I am Lawrence of Arabia! Mohammed is still just Mohammed (but

only just). But other people have their full names said by me even when I am just scrounging cigarrettes off them - mother was

always Sergeant Frederick Snade Lawrence.


3.2 Sol invictus means "unconquerable sun" but I can't remember in which language. It was probably Welsh or something. Today

Mohammed showed me how to eek out existence from the harsh dessert land. We went to a McDonald's. There I had traditional

dessert bedouin food: a Big Mac Meal (large) with coke. I was amazed at how humble the food was, but at the same time careful

not to be disrespectful by spitting into Mohammed's face the half chewed cardboard that the food tasted of.


3.3 More bloody sand!


3.4 I met Prince Flippy-Flop. His was an amazing caravan - so large as to begger belief. It had operational shower units,

fully functional toilets, an inbuilt kitchen, and a person who sat in the corner reading out holy scripture from some book

they all talked about. Prince Flippy-Flop has taken me into his confidence - he said 'you're a bloody fool Lawrence of

Berkshire' which is of course princley code for 'I have taken you into my confidence'. Only us clever people understand rich

people.


3.5 Flippy-Flop has guessed my purpose here but is amused that they have sent such a heroic adaptable figure such as

myself: "Why they send you, oh wetter of beds and dessert floor?" Oh how I laughed. He has gathered that I am to apraise the

British Government of the usefulness of the Bedouin in our fight against the dirty people from Europe. And also, the arch

enemy of the bedouin, The Lemon Kurds. These evil bastards come from the Northern Middle East, somewhere called Turkey (which

is a silly name for a country). I remember before the name change when it was still Kenneth.


edit Chapter Four: The Shits

4.1 "Ha ya! Hiya! Haaarah! Mustapha!!! Didjyada!" Ah, the eloquent rendering of religious scripture by some chap ontop a

minaret. Or is it just a call to pray? Whatever, it annoys the shit out of me for I cannot sleep for all this damn religion

going on. Prince Flippy-Flop told me to never again shoot the person on the minaret, as apparently such actions are seen as

bad manners. He also asked me why I was wearing sun glasses. Because it is sunny, I said casually whilst looking heroically

aloof and dispassionately British.


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