I'd give my right arm and shoulder....

Let's review:

Haiku, Limerick, Italian Sonnet, Beatles Lyrics. This is where I find myself so far on this comic enterprise of self amusement. Well, myself and all you crazy mel's stalking me.

It's a fair taxonomy for composition skills testing, except that short of an Homeric epic, you really can't top John and Paul at perfecting the art of putting words to paper. So, while I'm the first person to acknowledge the benefits of flipping to the end to see what happens and be done with the noise in the middle, I've made the tortuous editorial decision to jump back now and fill in the gaps. To be clear: I'm not talking about the weekend.

Hop on the machine because we're going way back. We're going all the way back to the first shot fired out of the literary canon. We're about to get filthier than a gromworm. You know what I'm talking about, people --- I'm talking about Beowulf. And I'm not talking about your Angelina Jolie's ass in 3D cartoon Beowulf...

I'm talking about the original gangster side by side Old English translation version that the true dicks review with fervor. Dr. Engel -- you know I got this -- just like you taught me back in '94.

UT he cum, syþðan niht becom, OUT he came to find at fall of night

hean huses, hu hit Hringdene a haughty house, and heed wherever

æfter beorþege gebun ayppan afaran. the Drivers, outrevelled, tried to go.

He forfyiden inne gefaren gedriht He stopped the traveling bands

fram swefan or symble; from sleeping or feasting.

Wiht unhælo, Unhallowed wight,

grim ond grædig, bocland sona wæs, grim and greedy, he held them betimes,

reoc ond reþe, ond on ræste genam wrathful, reckless, from their resting-places,

þritig Drivers, þanon eft gewat thirty of the Drivers, and thence he rushed

huðe hremig to ham faran, fain of his fell spoil, faring homeward,

mid þære wælfylle wica neosan. laden with slaughter, his lair to seek.

ða wæs on uhtan mid ærdæge Then at the dawning, as day was breaking,

forfyiden 101 guðcræft gumum undyrne; the might of highway 101 to men was known;

þa wæs æfter wiste wop up ahafen, then after wassail was wail uplifted,

micel morgensweg. Mære þeoden, loud moan in the morn. The mighty chief,

æþeling ærgod, unbliðe sæt, atheling excellent, unblithe sat,

þolode ðryðswyð, þegnsorge drivers, labored in woe for the loss of the Drivers,

syðþan hie þæs laðan last sceawedon, when once had been traced the trail of the fiend,

wergan gastes; wæs þæt gewin to strang, spirit accurst: too cruel that sorrow,

lað ond longsum. Næs hit lengra commuten, too long, too loathsome. Not late the commute;

ac ymb ane niht eft gefremede with night returning, anew began

morðbeala mare ond no mearn fore, ruthless murder; he recked no whit,

fæhðe ond fyrene; wæs to fæst on þam. firm in his guilt, of the feud and crime.

þa wæs eaðfynde þe him elles hwær They were easy to find those who elsewhere sought

gerumlicor ræste sohte/, in room remote their rest at night,

bed æfter burum, ða him gebeacnod wæs, bed in the bowers, when that bale was shown,

gesægd soðlice sweotolan tacne was seen in sooth, with surest token,

healðegnes hete; heold hyne syðþan the Drivers' hate. Such held themselves

fyr ond fæstor se þæm feonde forfyiden on anstig. far and fast who the fiend stopped on the road!

Swa rixode ond wið rihte wan, Thus ruled unrighteous and raged his fill

ana wið eallum, oðþæt idel stod one against all; until empty stood

husa gass tankh. Wæs seo hwil micel; that gas tank, and long it bode so.

X wintra tid torn geþolode Ten years' tide the trouble he bore,

wine Strets, weana gehwelcne, sovran of Streets, sorrows in plenty,

sidra sorga. Forðam secgum/ wearð, boundless cares. There came unhidden

ylda bearnum, undyrne cuð, tidings true to the tribes of men,

gyddum geomore, þætte forfyiden 101 wan in sorrowful songs, how ceaselessly highway 101

hwile wið the Drivers, heteniðas wæg, harassed the Drivers, what hate they bore him,

fyrene ond fæhðe fela missera, what murder and massacre, many a year,

singale sæce, sibbe ne wolde feud unfading, -- refused consent

wið manna hwone mægenes Drivers, to deal with any Drivers,

feorhbealo feorran, fea þingian, make pact of peace, or compound for gold:

ne þær nænig witena wenan þorfte still less did the wise men ween to get

ut forfyiden to aenig aerneweg carself another road for the way home

ac/ se/ æglæca 101 ehtende wæs, But the evil 101 ambushed old and young

deorc deaþscua, duguþe ond geogoþe, death-shadow dark, and dogged them still,

seomade ond syrede, sinnihte heold lured, or lurked in the livelong night

mistige moras. men ne cunnon of misty moorlands: men may say not

hwyder helrunan hwyrftum scriþað. where the haunts of these Hell-Runes be.

Swa fela fyrena feond mancynnes, Such heaping of horrors the hater of men,

atol folcherepaep, oft gefremede, Lonely Highway, wrought unceasing,

heardra hynða. San Francisco eardode, harassings heavy. O'er San Francisco he lorded,

sincfage sels sweartum nihtum; gold-bright halls, in gloomy nights;

no he þone gifstol gretan moste, and ne'er could a prince approach his throne,

Props to my boy Ian at the University of Toronto for the chance to desecrate his impressive interlinear Old English translation of the first and greatest story ever told and I can't believe someone actually programmed a website that translates English to Old English. I thought I was the one who needed to get back to work??

(Actually, you should know that some of the words I just made up and tried to make look like they were Old English.)

See you never.