How George discovered internet dating

by David Hopcroft on Tuesday, April 27, 2010 at 11:49pm

Astride his trusting steed, the great war-horse England, the much celebrated knight pondered, thinking of the great victories at Dorylaeum and Jerusalem, wondering what life would now bring upon his return home. He had signed on as anon.crusader, persuaded by his good friend Sir Gawain (he who sought the holy grail, anon.Indiana), the rescuer of damsels, the answer to fair maiden’s dreams, the man who’d clasped a thousand bosoms, 6′ 6″ and athletic too. His polished lance, cut from sturdy oak in Sherwood, held aloft, adorned with the colours of a hundred ladies who had paid homage to his nights , tributes to his success. George, the knight bachelor, lifted his visor, the red plume on his helmet streaming out in the wind, the slain dragon an emblem on his jupon.

The small Saxon bootshine boy polished the shining armour nervously, aware that towering above him was the legend of match.com. It was April 23rd, he had planned to end his membership, things had seemed quiet recently, dragons were fewer and those that were left were largely visitors from Japan their cameras held between their claws, the Christians seemed more intent upon fighting amongst themselves, and the modem had been strangely silent.

He dialled upon his Saxonphone, there was a message ! Could this be the call he was waiting upon, a last adventure to end in happiness ? He gazed at the runes scratched out on the screen, and the words spelled out a message……

To: anon.crusader (st.george@swordnet.com)
From: anon.indistress

Knight in shining armour needed to rescue me and satisfy my dreams. Held captive by the dragon Harriet. No smokers. Brain to match basinet. I am slender and curvy, blue-eyed and blonde. Activity partner needed urgently.

George yanked sharply upon the reins, dug his spurs deep into England’s side (who muttered something about writing to an Animal Welfare group if he did that again). His shield, decorated with a baton sinister and a gift from the Burger King (it came with a Western Whopper), held close to his side, he pointed the destrier to the west.

He rode purposefully across the countryside, slaying beasts where’er he found them (lions, unicorns, double-headed eagles, and even topping the odd fleur-de-lys), and being chased furiously by wardens from the National Parks. He stopped but once, at Taco Bell, when hunger briefly overtook him.

All day he rode, intent upon his mission, across hill and dale, and through the great forests of redwood, until at last he came to the spot where destiny awaited.

The castle stood atop a small hill, its bleak grey walls and battlements a landmark upon the countryside. Hanging from the window near the summit of a tower was a sheet, upon which were scrawled the words “England, I have need of thee !”. A small white face peered from the window, the hair shining gold in the evening sunlight, the lips red and inviting. Desire, for that was her chosen name, waited anxiously and hopefully, knowing that one day the knight of her dreams would come.

Sitting on a rocking chair beneath the gatehouse, guarding the rusting portcullis and old drawbridge, sat the dragon Harriet (anon.scales).

An old Harley-Davidson, well-kept and polished carefully over the years by the long tail, stood nearby, still ready to roar into action at one strong kick.

Spying her knight in shining armour breaking from the woods Desire let out the immortal cry……. “My God Harry, here’s England ! And Saint George !”

Unsheathing his sword, St. George addressed the dragon thus, “What wicked deeds I do hear of thee. With this trusty sword I must slay thee and release the fair maiden from her tower.”

The dragon, Harriet, raised a weary eye. She had been ill in recent weeks, her temperature had fallen to below ignition point. She was breathing deeply, but the smoke barely left the blue nostrils. She sneezed, and England bucked beneath a hail of sparks.

“You wish to save a maiden fair ? But what of me, kind sir ? For since my husband ran off in search of the maid of Orleans (anon.jofarc) I have raised this wench alone. What has she done for me ? Suitors, I have seen many, though none have stayed beyond the night. How can “huggable” compare with petite or cute, or forty-plus-something with young and vibrant ?.

Each visitor has sat and talked, exchanged the memories, then climbed the stairs with her. I have been kicked from rock to well, as the villagers have mocked my form come each rogation day. “

St. George paused, and gazed upon the lonely form. Her big brown eyes were really quite appealing, and she did flutter her wings in a most unusual way.

He raised his sword, then returned it to its sheath, reaching slowly for his silver hip flask (engraved “a gift from match.com for filling in every survey form we have sent you”). He unscrewed the cap gently and carefully poured a potion of petrol (unleaded, for was she not really a green dragon ?).

He gazed at Harriet, then raised his eyes to the tower to look upon Desire, the maiden he had ridden hard and far to rescue.

Desire fluttered her eyes, pouted her lips, and leaned forward from the window, her form becoming ever more evident to George’s vision.

“Oh George ! You must rescue me ! Only you can answer my hopes and make my dreams come true. The others were but naught, I have only eyes for thee.”

George slowly raised his visor, had not Sir Lanceolot told him of similar words (?), his gaze drifted back again to Harriet. Harriet sipped slowly at her drink, the colour came back to her cheeks, her scales regained their glow, and the smoke from her nostrils slowly turned to the flickering flames, reminding George of quiet firesides and warmer evenings.

Dismounting the horse that had served through many battles, he walked slowly over to Harriet and placed his arms around her, lifting her gently to the Harley. He mounted this new metallic horse, kicked it into life, its roar more fierce than any dragon.

He looked at Desire.

“England may well hath need of you”, he cried, “but I have found my Lady !”

And together they rode off into the sunset, leaving Desire, with her horse, still waiting for her dream to come true.



——————————————————————————–
Copyright: David Hopcroft 1997