Clearing Out the Bad Blood But In a Super Classy Way Open Thread

I just got into a fight with Drew and Gabe in emails. For once, they were, get this, on the same side.

I'm, get this, knocking off early, but I thought it might be fun to have a flamewar in archaic or Shakespearean language.

Banning rules are suspended on two conditions: One, your insults and flames have to be kind of silly and not really super-personal.

Two, you have to speak in archaic language.

Like:

"I'll hie the to thine demise, O Brigand!"

I don't know if this is a stupid idea or a good idea.

But I do know this: It's an idea.

You can flame me initially to get this party started, until you see other people you might want to make mock of, and having a sharp tongue a-quiver, joust with.

This link and this one and this one might get you started thinking of insults; this one contains generally archaic words, not necessarily insults, that can be used for the spine of sentences.

This will help you get your thees and thous and hasts and haths straight, Thou Wretches, thou thrice-curst blaggards.

Added [rdbrewer]:

The Prologue

Whan that Ayce's arid throate did parch
The draught of lager he hath perced to the hearte,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which Fosters engendered in his core.
Then his Plymouth Furye squeeked a sharp breeth
And inspired Ayce to holt fast the brakes
He mowed down croppes and longe roadsignes
And hath rammed half his cows though on the ruine
And smale fowelies who maken no more melodye.
Then he slepen al the nyght with an open ye
(so prickethed hem Ayce about his Plymouth Furye);
Thanne longen folk to goon to polyce,
For to seken to limit his bendyrs straunge;
To take hem away from his surly blondes.
And specially take him from every shires' ende
Of New Yorke to Cleveland where he will wende.
The hooly blisful martir had he disgusted,
That hem hath holpen to seke whan totally busted.
So he goeth the pub three sessions per day,
Then an alley in south Cleveland he lay.
Unredy to wenden on pilsner legs...
But maybe to Yorke with ful stout kegs!
At nyght he came to a youth hostelrye
With nyne and twenty young blonde ladies.
Of sondry folk, lovelie and talle,
In felaweshipe with Pygmies were they alle.
Men from Yorke they wolden't ryde,
Their organ chambres were much too wyde.
And wel they found out he cameth not from east,
And bedded him shortly, whan the sonne was to reste.
So Sadde they were with him now goon,
He thrue them a twenty and drove toward the dawn.

posted by Ace at 05:12 PM

| Access Comments