The Story of Housman's Athletes

I was in a band called "Housman's Athletes" for about 2 years. Toward the end of our ultimate demise I wrote this silly story as a kind of "faux bio." Only about 5 or 6 people have ever read it.

Here ya go...

The Story Of Housman's Athletes

The summer sun beats down without mercy. A hush sweeps through the arena. Only the low, gasping breaths of anticipation are heard from the crowd. Lord Housman boldly rests upon His Majesty's throne in his private balcony. He stands with angelic grace and approaches the railing. Gazing down at a hooded guard, he closes his eyes with a nod. The Lord then re-seats himself and strokes his beard with an eager, giddy satisfaction.

The guard acknowledges His Majesty's signal of commencement and opens the steel gate. From the dungeon emerge the five naked gladiators - Epsilon the Brave, Dijiclese the Brute, Christoph the Cunning Linguist, Kazmaticus the Mysterious, and Logan the Man-child. Chains connect these warriors as they confidently stroll to the center of the arena, dragging their legendary endowments in the sand. The crowd erupts in applause and whistles, while several fair maidens faint with excitement into a pool of their own orgasm. Together these men-of-men have lost not a single battle and today suggests nothing to the contrary.

With a wave of his hand, Housman signals another hooded guard. As the adjacent gate begins to rise, a low and ominous rumble is felt. Silence once again falls upon the audience. Wiping sweat from their brows, the chained band of nudists take their fighting positions. The rumble grows louder and everyone quickly realizes that Thomas the Elder's syphilitic rantings in the square that morning were true. From the abyssal darkness emerges the three-headed bestial guardian of Hell...Cerberus.

As blood pumps through the veins of the warriors' rippling, muscular bodies, they give each other a fearless nod and smirk. A deathly battle cry is exerted as these courageous souls race toward the dreaded beast. What transpires is glorious, shocking, inspiring, and yet altogether indescribable.

When the dust and animalistic death-rattles settle, the five naked gladiators stand victorious atop the mammoth, three-headed, disemboweled canine. The crowd once again leaps to their feet, save for the unconscious maidens, and congratulate with an almost deafening applause. Epsilon, Dijiclese, Christoph, Kazmaticus, and Logan the Man-child raise their gore-covered fists before taking a unified bow. In a thankful act of appreciation, they blow bloody kisses to the crowd. Lord Housman commands the five glistening bodies to line-up before him.

"Athletes! Of thine accomplishments, songs shall be writ! And if they not, then songs shall ye write!"

That night, His Majesty privately congratulates the victors with sweet meats, wine, and women. He acknowledges that they have surmounted many obstacles and accomplished great feats in their short duration together. He insists, however, that they have attained all that can be in a world such as theirs, surpassing even his own ruling power.

"Alas, ye can gain no more success...in this time. Eat, drink, and fornicate! For ye shall not see the morning. I have sent for the great magi, Ryanus of Greenwich, and he shall send ye into the beyond where thine talents and prowess shall make thee kings!"

The Athletes begin to indulge, and rightly so. A festive mess of music, dance, food, flesh, and wine ensues; such that would please Dionysus himself! The guests of honor perform traditional songs of their homeland while practicing a sensual ritual with the party patrons, introduced by Kazmaticus, involving bathing in goat's milk. Evening climaxes, coincidentally, in a massive orgy including noneother than Queen Housman herself; though in disguise. As the night wears on into an inebriated blur, they slowly fall into a complacent slumber. One by one, the soothing comfort of darkness takes hold of all five Athletes with smiles gracing their beautiful faces.

Eyes wide and gasping, they awake upon a stage with instruments and garments that are, to them, anachronistic. The defeaters of beasts large and small stare out into a sea of strange faces, dressed in similar garb, screaming and cheering. It seems as though kings they have become. Accepting the realization of Lord Housman's words, the majestic warriors of old give each other a familiar nod and smirk as they proceed to...how do you say...ROCK!