User:Hrodulf/Children of Hrodulf

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Completely written by and sporked from Some user

School-kids-1
Hrodulf is nothing if not prolific.

The Children of Hrodulf are a group of small children who live in Happyland. Like most children, they make a big mess. Predictably, these messes are never cleaned up, at least not by the children themselves. (Note: These children are not to be confused with a traditional Celtic musical act that performs throughout Europe to massive audiences of screaming middle-aged beer drinkers.)

In Geek Mythology, Hrodulf (aka "Hrodulf") was the God of Getting Involved in Things That Normally Wouldn't Concern Anyone in Particular. He was master of many things, and a slave only to the rhythm. That is, until he was captured and held in communicado by a large gang of idiots, then thrown into the abyss by the decree of the rival gods of the so-called "pantheon."

But Hrodulf did not rest. He recast himself in a new image, and from his coupon book he saved many dollars, and bought quite a large number of paper plates and bottles of toilet bowl cleaner, all bearing different names. But, as the poet William Shakespeare once wrote, "a rose by any other name would still smell like a gigantic toilet."

Alas, the people remained miserable. They remembered the days of old, when Hrodulf moved amongst them, unseen, trying to resolve their differences by the sheer force of his own will and sense of rationality, and speaking in front of large audiences for large fees, not caring about the fact that his efforts were almost wholly ineffectual, due mostly to his lack of gnarly powers.

Knowing that Hrodulf would continue to surround himself with hot, scantily-dressed young ladies while seeking the protection of the King God Doo-Doo, the people took matters into their own hands. They created many "golems," which to be strictly accurate are mythical Jewish clay men animated by rabbis skilled in the black arts of the Kaballah, and sent them to do battle with the forces of Hrodulf, who numbered exactly one — namely, Hrodulf himself.

Some stood to the side, begging for stale cat food and soiled diapers, and pointing toward the good that Hrodulf had done, but those that fought shook their heads, along with their asses, creating in the process an enormous hollow rattling sound that also smelled terrible.

"Hoist the golems, mateys," they said, in their insipidly moronic "Chauceresque" hybrid version of the English language, taken primarily from their chief pastime, Dungeons and Dragons. "Forsooth!" they cried. And so they did consult the Official Book, and there they found the answer, in small print at the bottom of page 93. And it was these scholars who realized that there were, in fact, no rules whatsoever, or at least none of any consequence, and that this had long held true, and continued to hold true even until this very day.

And so the battle raged on between the lone Hrodulf and the teeming hordes of idiocy. But the teeming hordes could not touch Hrodulf, because he had, from early days, possessed the immense wisdom to never tell anyone his home address or telephone number. And so Hrodulf continued to ask people to stop being such assholes, but was denied, and denied, and denied again. And ultimately the people were, with just a few exceptions, utterly uninterested in acting in their own interests. And yet, despite this ceaseless, endless parade of futility and despair, Hrodulf continued to struggle against the implacable forces of pettiness, lies, intolerance, and ignorance — all to no avail.

To this day, he continues to struggle.

And the battle rages on.

And on.

And still on.

And on a bit more.

Then took a left to have a quick spot of lunch at this delightful little delicatessen that you'd never believe could serve such a delicious plate of raw pork fat for only $4.95.

Then it took a nap by the side of the road, before finally realizing, "Good Lord! Is that the time? Back to it, then."


Actually, as much as I enjoy a little narration from time to time, I really must get back to constructing another pointed and stupidly insulting reference to an innocent Uncyclopedia user in main article space. They aren't built in a day, you know. It usually takes about 10 minutes, to be precise, though of course they can never be undone, because the admins seem to think they're edicts from God himself... And indeed, so long as Hrodulf never rests, neither can I. There is a moral in there somewhere. Or, perhaps not. In fact, I'm almost completely delusional.

Almost?

Look under the toilet. If you've lost something, it's probably your honesty, your integrity, and your ability to think for yourself.





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