Legions of Doom II
The Riders of Doom set out from the West. We drove our horses to the limit, pacing on through Roscommon and Meath, only stopping to raise a couple of villages to the ground and infest Cavan with the plague. By dawn we could see the outskirts of Dublin from the top of the Wicklow Mountains (you know, near Johnny Fox’s). A pale sun was rising over Dublin bay, but still the chill of winter was filling the air. This fair city was the first major obstacle in our quest to world domination. If we could obliterate Dublin, the rest of the world would easily follow. Even during the nineteenth century, when I, Famine, wiped out most of the Irish, Dublin had always been quite resilient. War had a crack at them in 1916, but failed and eventually had to settle for the mundane Belfast in the north. This time we would not let Baile Atha Cliath stand between us and the Day of Reckoning.
-“Behold, the Final Judgement is upon thee,” Death oracled. “We are the Riders of the Apocalypse and we…”
-“Lets get a bite to eat first, Bro’, I’m starving,” I said.
-“You’re always hungry, Famine,” Death snapped.
-“Well, you’re just a pest,” I barked at him.
-“Euh, no, that would be me, guys.”
-“Shut up, Pestilence, or I’ll kill you,” the eldest replied.
-“Now, now, guys. Let’s calm down here. You know we don’t have powers over each other,” the youngest mediated.
-“Screw this,” I said. “I’m going to that pub over there. “The Morgue”. Has a nice ring to it. We can’t start the Final Reckoning on an empty stomach, right?”
-“He’s right, Death,” Pestilence supported me. “And there’s an Old Firm-game on. Celtic plays Rangers in the quarter-final of the Scottish cup. War will want to see that, Catholics playing Protestants. Should be a hoot.”
And in we went. The Morgue in Templeogue, famous for its gorgeous waitresses.
-“I wouldn’t mind going home with her, I think she’s Russian,” I said. “Excuse me miss, could we get some chicken wings over here?”
-“Shut up, the match is starting. Go Rangers,” Pestilence cried. “They’re sure to win with that new Belgian, Buffel.”
-“You think so?” Death mysteriously replied. “I foresee an unexplained cardiac arrest during half time.”
-“You always do that,” moaned Pestilence. “I put my hard earned money on someone and they end up dead. Remember that time I bet on Ayrton Senna?”
-“Yeah, or that time I voted for that guy, Kennedy.”
-“Lay of it, Famine, I did bring Dave Gahan back for you, didn’t I?
-“You’re the biggest scumbag of us all, Death.”
-“Thanks guys, now shut up and lets watch the game, am I right, Famine?”
-“ Mhhh…delici…these…..mhhhh…chick…..burp.”
-“You’re a pig!”
-“Hey, could I fill my stomach here before I return to Ethiopia?
All of a sudden a local Irishman came up to us. He was dressed up in green and white and wasn’t looking too happy.
-”You guys not from around here, are you? What’s with them black cloaks? You Celtic-fans? ”
-“Those wankers?”
Before we knew it a couple of dozen Irish were on top of us, beating us to pulp. For some strange reason, War found it all very amusing…
-“Nice stunt you pulled in there, little one, proving YOU do have powers over us.” I said, wiping the blood from my lips. “Now we’ll have to check CEEFAX to see how the game ended.”
Celtic won 2-1, Sutton and Hartson scored for the Bhoys…
The Riders of Doom set out from the West. We drove our horses to the limit, pacing on through Roscommon and Meath, only stopping to raise a couple of villages to the ground and infest Cavan with the plague. By dawn we could see the outskirts of Dublin from the top of the Wicklow Mountains (you know, near Johnny Fox’s). A pale sun was rising over Dublin bay, but still the chill of winter was filling the air. This fair city was the first major obstacle in our quest to world domination. If we could obliterate Dublin, the rest of the world would easily follow. Even during the nineteenth century, when I, Famine, wiped out most of the Irish, Dublin had always been quite resilient. War had a crack at them in 1916, but failed and eventually had to settle for the mundane Belfast in the north. This time we would not let Baile Atha Cliath stand between us and the Day of Reckoning.
-“Behold, the Final Judgement is upon thee,” Death oracled. “We are the Riders of the Apocalypse and we…”
-“Lets get a bite to eat first, Bro’, I’m starving,” I said.
-“You’re always hungry, Famine,” Death snapped.
-“Well, you’re just a pest,” I barked at him.
-“Euh, no, that would be me, guys.”
-“Shut up, Pestilence, or I’ll kill you,” the eldest replied.
-“Now, now, guys. Let’s calm down here. You know we don’t have powers over each other,” the youngest mediated.
-“Screw this,” I said. “I’m going to that pub over there. “The Morgue”. Has a nice ring to it. We can’t start the Final Reckoning on an empty stomach, right?”
-“He’s right, Death,” Pestilence supported me. “And there’s an Old Firm-game on. Celtic plays Rangers in the quarter-final of the Scottish cup. War will want to see that, Catholics playing Protestants. Should be a hoot.”
And in we went. The Morgue in Templeogue, famous for its gorgeous waitresses.
-“I wouldn’t mind going home with her, I think she’s Russian,” I said. “Excuse me miss, could we get some chicken wings over here?”
-“Shut up, the match is starting. Go Rangers,” Pestilence cried. “They’re sure to win with that new Belgian, Buffel.”
-“You think so?” Death mysteriously replied. “I foresee an unexplained cardiac arrest during half time.”
-“You always do that,” moaned Pestilence. “I put my hard earned money on someone and they end up dead. Remember that time I bet on Ayrton Senna?”
-“Yeah, or that time I voted for that guy, Kennedy.”
-“Lay of it, Famine, I did bring Dave Gahan back for you, didn’t I?
-“You’re the biggest scumbag of us all, Death.”
-“Thanks guys, now shut up and lets watch the game, am I right, Famine?”
-“ Mhhh…delici…these…..mhhhh…chick…..burp.”
-“You’re a pig!”
-“Hey, could I fill my stomach here before I return to Ethiopia?
All of a sudden a local Irishman came up to us. He was dressed up in green and white and wasn’t looking too happy.
-”You guys not from around here, are you? What’s with them black cloaks? You Celtic-fans? ”
-“Those wankers?”
Before we knew it a couple of dozen Irish were on top of us, beating us to pulp. For some strange reason, War found it all very amusing…
-“Nice stunt you pulled in there, little one, proving YOU do have powers over us.” I said, wiping the blood from my lips. “Now we’ll have to check CEEFAX to see how the game ended.”
Celtic won 2-1, Sutton and Hartson scored for the Bhoys…
