Bulls on Parade-A Familiar History, Part the First

While convalescing from my simian related illness I realized that it may benefit my readers to know a little more about my life in order to understand how I came about my superior morals and intellect. Therefore in all humbleness I present the following synopsis of my life for the mental edification of the reader. (Also, certain acquaintances have made accusations about whether I have come about my title “Sir” honestly, which I hope here to refute.)

As legend will have it the first Robin Lancaster gained knighthood by slaying a dragon. In actuality the “dragon” was little more than an especially amorous bull that had been terrorizing and sodomizing the local horses. Back in those dark times it was believed that Lord God would punish any community that let such a heinous crime go unpunished, even if the transgressor was a beast. Robin Lancaster not only restrained the animal but also sat witness at his trial. Unfortunately the bull was released on a technicality. Days later Robin Lancaster and three of his sons were found gored and sodomized to death- the bull was never seen again. Luckily for his widow and surviving children, the king of the time, Edward II, being an aficionado of sodomy posthumously knighted him and gave his family a small estate. When sodomy went out of vogue after Edward II’s untimely yet ironic death, the Lancaster family made up the story about the dragon for reasons that should appear obvious.

A dozen of generations later I was born the youngest and only son of six children. My father, a moderately successful plague insurance salesman, had married my mother (the only daughter the Catholic Sir Robin Lancaster XII) to gain her name, title, and her presumed fortune. However he soon found that his marriage brought him little financial gain, and each consecutive child lessened it. When I was only a lad of three years my mother became with child yet again. My father could not bear the thought of further progeny, so through rumor and bribes he secretly arranged for his wife to be burned as a witch. The lowly commoners, little changed from the time of the first Robin Lancaster, eagerly accepted this arrangement and burnt her at the stake. Now, to this day, I cannot say for sure whether it was a matter of atmospheric chance or whether my mother actually possessed some arcane skill, but as the flames consumed her a gust of wind blew the flames into a nearby attic setting the nearby buildings aflame. My drunken and inbred neighbors proved no match to the conflagration and forest fire that followed, leaving most of the town and my father’s home in smoldering ruins.

With the loss of his wife, home, and possessions my father was forced to work even harder selling plaque insurance. However it was not long until most of his customers realized that such insurance did not exist. After numerous complaints and lawsuits my father went to prison for failure to pay his debts, where once again, he followed the Lancaster tradition by being sodomized to death. Being orphans I was sent to the family estate to be cared for by my grandfather while my sisters, based on their personalities and piety, were sent to convents or brothels accordingly.

Alas, the memories of my poor departed mother and sisters make my tale more wearisome than I imagined. I must begin the more cheerful chapter of my life with my grandfather later. Also, little Robin Goodfellow, my accommodating capuchin, has been patiently catching and feasting on rats for a good time now, and I must take him from for his nightly walk before he purges digested rat fur onto my chamber’s floor.

A fort night has passed twice since I last put quill to parchment. My gentle readers will forgive me however for the empty space my temporary absence has left in their souls after they learn the extraordinary events that have occupied me of late. At the beginning of this month a band of Gypsies arrived nearby. This band of Roma comes annually displaying their carnival and heathen amusements that they have gathered throughout their journey. Normally their carefree nature and joyous laughter cuts me to my bone’s marrow. This time was of course no exception. Adding to my discomfort was the great number of harlots and knaves that were drawn to the cavorting carnivalists creating a veritable Sodom outside my door. Looking from my window to the joyous crowds it was evident from their lack of pain and suffering that the Lord was much displeased and provoked. “Now more than ever,” thought I “is my instruction to my fellow man needed in order to cultivate the proper somber mood that a Christian existence demands”. After a careful study of several examples, an allegorical essay on the dangerous and temptations that the womanly figure pose soon occurred to me. However, when I went to take my fountain pen in hand I found it amiss. At first I figured that I simply misplaced it but after a quick search of my desk revealed nothing I knew that my neighbor the playwright must of stolen it. Why the Lord sees fit to punish me with such trials I know not. I quickly went across the hall to his chamber and demanded my property back. However at my accusation that vile dramaturge did but laugh and beat me upon the head much to the entertainment of the wenches that often accompany him. After a sound caning he deposited my bruised body out the window and onto the trash heap.

Hours later I awoke to see a small furry face peering down upon me. Had I not been a man of science I would have thought that this small furry demon had been sent to collect my soul to the afterlife. However, being a disciple of Aristotle, I quickly identified the face as belonging to the genus Cebus, a primate much favored by the Gyspies for its pipe organ abilities. (In nature, these beasts use their musical abilities to entertain larger apes who in turn offer food and protection from predators). Clutched in his simian paw was my fountain pen. “Aha!” I said “Methinks this creature has stolen my pen, only to have its small primordial conscience force it to return it to me”. I collected the animal in my arms sustaining only minor bites and scratches and returned to my chamber to further contemplate the situation. Upon reaching my door it was clear to me that God had sent me this little monkey to educate into a proper little anthropoid. Surely if such a thing could be performed on a beast a similar method could be easily applied to turn my fellow Englishmen into proper Gentlemen. While the little monkey amused itself with its organs of reproduction I quickly drew up lesson plans to educate the little simian in the vital sciences and arts of trigonometry, phrenology, and the harpsichord. Much pleased with my work I took my plans and the animal across the hall to show to the playwright. I hoped that the little animal’s example would impress upon him and his friends the severity of their sins and inspire them to change. Indeed they were much impressed by the beast, the females with the smallness of features and the playwright with the beast’s penchant at biting at me. In jest he named the beast’s Robin’s Goodfellow and all were much taken to it, I included. After amiably parting I returned to my chamber where I immediately fell deathly ill and delirious for four weeks due to an exotic plaque brought upon by my many monkey bites.