Well, this week you folks are in for something completely different, which may be a good thing or may convince you to email me and ask me what the hell is going on, while attaching an .exe file that will destroy my computer, sleep with my girlfriend and give me less than five debilitating diesases.  But whatever. 

This week I'll be showcasing a new feature called "The Tales of Jack Shannon, Viking Warrior".  Allow me to give you a little background on this bit before we get rolling here.  A couple of weeks ago I posted an update with all the cool and weird emails people have sent me over the past year and a half.  Well, few emails have been weirder than those of Jack Shannon, a viking reenactor in England.  For instance, check out this email that he sent to Hot Andrea, disputing the fact that her enormous tits make her unable to be killed by conventional weapons:

...To conclude whil Andrea would be instantly decismated by the sheer manliness of my sword and of me, i would then sadly, just before i would smash her kneecaps with my pommel, be distracted by her boobs giving Ben the chance to shoot me. But it would be a close fight. And i would die with honour.

After having Andrea tell me about the "crazy ass email your viking friend sent me", I decided that he should write for this website.  So I've taken a random selection of his emails and combined them into The Tales of Jack Shannon, Viking Warrior.  Behold!

this is a genuinely true anacdote about an ocasion when somone tried to cut me off on the duel caridge way (or highway as you yanks call it..)

It was late at night and i had just finished my weekly ass kicking session at the old folks home and i had just finished putting away my ass-kicking gear ( see big list of things to kick ass with).

Anyhoo, I drove away, manfully keeping to the speed limit when some punk-ass jive turkey starts nerding up the place and cuts me off!  I slams down the breaks which sends me hurtling though the windscreen!  As i sailed past i grabbed my broadsword from the passenger seat and using my teeth i glung on to the dudes roof rack!

The wind blew though my hair and i paused for a moment to think about how cool i am and how much i rule.

Then after a few hours (i am pretty damm cool) i smashed open the car roof with my pommel and puched the chick (its obvious becuse she was drving badly that she was a woman) in the head!  She screamed like a cissy of corse.  Becuse women are bad drvivers she didn't do the sensible thing and stop the car and fight me honorably to the death she did the feminine thing and screamed while sweveing the car wildly back and forth.

She then drove herself off a cliff.  I trided to get off but my mighty pectoral muscles slowed me down.  So we both ended up at the bottmom of the cliff and we both died.  She died becuse she was a cissy i however died becuse i was just too damm tough for this world.

The i like went to heven and God was like "I'm sorry Jack your just too damm tough to die yet, you still have much ass to kick on earth and femminists to punch!  Kick some ass for me J man!"

Then i was like "Thanks God!"

And then he was like "Please! Call me Yahweh! Cigar?"

"Please."

Then i loaded up my ass kicking gear and went off to kick some more ass. the end.

In order to fully kick ass yopu have several options with regurdes to equitment.

Methord:  Nothing at all
used by:  Bruce Lee, Mike tyson, The Big Show.

This involves only using your bare hands and feet to inflict pain and badassitude upon an unsuspecting world.  The adavantages are obvious, cheeper and sweetyier.  However some stupid people may not realise the your a badass without your equitment and may hastle and harass you.  However if you are a true badass this will only happen once... HIYA!!!!!

Methord:  single blade/ minimalist.
used by:  Lu Bu, Conan the barabarian, Ragnar, Shocker pope, Darth vader

This involes only carrying one supper cool sword or item, such as a pope staff. The advantage is that you are able to poser with it and look relly cool and it also provides people with the knowledge that your not somone to fuck with.  However this methord means that you will have to track down and find somthing relly cool, which is pretty damm hard work.

Methord:  Bond. James bond.
used by:  ninjas, Mr T, Manfred von Richthofen (the red Baron), BlackBeard

Even though this methord is named after a cissy pansy secret agent it has absolutely nothing to do ith its name sake.  This involves carrying around a huge amount of cool ass gear.  This means that you have the right tool for the right ass you need to kick but this also means that some people may laugh at you for needing loads of stuff.  They are stupid.

as an example here is a picture of what a real baddass should be equiped with. the following is a real and genuine photo of me:

• SWORD:  the REAL man's weapon of choice.  for a desction of the most kick ass blade in the world see bellow.

• INFARED GOGGLES:  Just becuse they look cool.  but urn them off if it gets dark.  Real men don't need vision.

• BODY HAIR:  For fooling enemies into thinking your a bear.  Also chicks dig body hair.  But they also dig the fact that men don't care if they dig them or not.  so be hairy but not too hairy.

• BOOTS:  The coolest form of ass kicking footwear.  And Red is my favorate colour.

• TIGHTS:  If youve got it, flaunt it.  I have it.  DO YOU?

• GUN:  For shoot fleeing foes who you can't be bothered to chase after.

Nazi's, feminist and vegitarians beware, Jack Shannon is coming to whomp some ass!

>:-0 GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

His elightened grace, Jack Shannon, Viking warrior.

Jack Shannon was born on the mean streets of England, England and traveled round the world kicking ass and generaly owning the whole damm world.

Jack's killing skills inproved so much that now he only responds tot he name "Whispered death."  Or Jack.  Whatever.

On the scale of Manliness Jack is somwhere in between Mr T in a grizzly bear costume and a power tool.  With the hairyness and sheers ass kickery of a bear and the sleek coolness of a spinning electric thingy.

Jack has broken great ground in varrious feilds including philousophy, media studies acting and viking reenactment.  He was the first half Jewish viking reenactor.

On another note Jack's officail title is Bodisatva (his enlightened grace) becuse has managed to discover the secret of budhist enlightenment after realising that enlightenment is an active process of thought rather that somthing that just automaticaly happens and that first of all we must consider the nature of nivana (nivana being paridise- not the shitty band.)

i)  the conventional way of release from unelightenment is to follow the 8 fold path right?

ii)  and earth would be perfect if everyone followed the 8 fold path right?

iii)  so suffering only exists as somthing to meditate on in order to get humanity to reject its natual selfish nature and behave itself.  Congratulations!  Youve just been enlightened!

iv) this means whatever happens you will go toi nivana when you die (unless those chump ass budhists are wrong) This will be hilarios as when all the assholes who have read this page die they can bitch slap all those pacifists and Llamas in Paridse and it will be quite hilarious.

As I speak to you now the memories come flooding back to me like, like some sort of flood.  It t'was London in the year of our lord 1864, queen Victoria was still on the throne, spiritualism was on the increase and the brothels were at an all time high.

Now as I lie on my deathbed writing these true confessions of a 'madman'... But I ask you who are you to judge what is sane.  For madman share a joy that only the insane and Terry Wogan know.

"The serpents paw will have its revenge, mark my words.  Blood will have blood and death will have DEATH."

My first tale is one from my earlier years of bitterness and woe.  Since I was a young man I have been fascinated by the mysteries of the occult and the possibility of life after death.  For example while the other toddlers were skipping gaily around the playground I sat in a corner pondering over my tombs of forbidden lore.  "MY BIG BOOK OF NECROMANCY" was my favourite.  But as I grew old in years I began to take a very sophisticated look at the fairer sex and books crammed with arcane knowledge gave way to XXX mags.

As a young and dashing gynaecologist I had herd of a school, a school with an evil history and an even EVILER curse.

BARRY ROTTER
And the filosifer's... philofficer's... Ah, screw it Thinker's scone

Chapter one:  the first chapter

As professter Dumbledork stood in the bitterly cold November wind, his bare knees and Marks and Spencer double reinforced xxxl ladies gusset, he clutched at himself trying to brace out the cold, he tried to warm himself with the thought of a nice butter-beer and a night of stolen passion with Hag-face in the shirking shack.

Then he noticed a cat perched on a wall fixing him with a peculiar stair though to circular rings around its eyes.

"Come out professter McGARnagaggle, I know it's you".

The cat slowly blinked and fixed him with the kind of stare that only cats can do, you know, the on that says "make my day ape-scum" !

Professter McGARnagaggle stepped coolly out of the shadow and saw;  confessedly not to he entire surprise Dumbledork in some sort of compromising position with a cat, it looked like, well I'll just leave it up to your imagination you dirty, filthy creature you!

ahem.

Ah, distinctly I remember, I was perambulating along Mayfair road having a gander at the whorehouses, brothels, S+T merchants, brothels, sex shops and tea rooms when I happened to gaze per chance at a emporium sign proclaiming "Ye olde crueiosite shope" and a smaller sign proclaiming "Yese, we are opene".  From the outside it looked as if a taxidermist had a fight with a scrap iron wholesaler and buggered a passing seagull in the process.

Since it was a few minutes to the next strip tease I decided to have a look inside, I don't know why I did it.  But maybe, just maybe there was a touch of magic in the air that blisteringly cold august morning.  Or the more probable answer that there was a rather kinky poster of Terry Wogen inside, whichever it was I stepped inside.

I was greeted by an old man of indeterminable age dressed in a chicken suit bedecked with dozens of suspicious brown stains and wielding a small whip and a chair.

My first reaction was "oh it's just a crazy old man with a fetish for poultry, don't make eye contact, just back slowly away towards the nearest exit".  These and many other thoughts such as "I wonder what those stains are" where running though my head.

"Good morn' young master".

Said the old man while licking my elbow.  I was about to make a hasty retreat when I realised I couldn't find the exit, I panicked and drew my sword,

"Back away if you value your life" I pronounced threateningly, as I swarthy obtained a fencing stance.

"En garde" spat the old man who now didn't speak in the elderly ramblings tones that one reserves for simpletons and tourists as he quickly whipped a cutlass of the wall and drew it.

"En what"?  I quipped as I was disarmed and thrown against the wall my last image was of the grinning face of the old man as he drew a feather duster from the recess of the chicken suit and muttered "oh we are goin' to have some fun, aren't we"

When I awoke I was naked and on some sort of slab in the, I tried to move but found my limbs bound.

The old man sat grinning in the corner.

"Awake now are we dearie," he said with an air of menace that I really did not like, not one bit.

"What do you want you decrepit old kleptomaniac!"

"That's someone who can't stop stealing things." Said the old coot while casually picking his nails with a flick knife.

"I knew that!"

"No you didn't!"

"Did so!"

"Did not!"

"Did so!"

"Did not!"

"Did so!"

"Did not!"

"Did so, and anyway this is getting stupid. Why did you bring me here pray tell?"

At this point I realised that he was wearing a leather bondage cat suit and holding a flail, I panicked,

"Name your price, and I'll double it, just let me go" !

"Oh I don't wants anything boyo, but YOU must take something from me" !

"What do you"

And then a thought came into my mind, like a snowball on the back of the neck.

"Oh my God" .

I struggled more than ever like a forty year old man with mad cow disease trying to dance.

But then just as I could feel his feted breath beating down upon my youthful visage, and his eczema ravaged hand molesting my kneecap.

He pulled out a thing, it looked a bit like hairy salami.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

But then a new thought accrued:

"Where is he going to put it?"

"Alors mon dieu" .

Them he placed it into my right hand and firmly pressed my fingers around it.

"Woo, is that a relief!"

It was then that I noticed a small smile on his craggy face,

"This my impertinent little cohort is the serpents paw, an unholy artefact, that can grant the user wishes to fulfil their hearts desires forged but also no this, made with the blood of daemons and cooled in the pool of a thousand tortured souls who are forever destined to plage mankind with hideous suffering and pain.  But maybe most deadly of all is the bound essence of 'Dak-shi' that eats away at the bearers soul eventually leavening him drained like an empty husk devoid of emotion doomed forever to roam the shadow world forced to survive on the flesh of the dead to prolong their unholy subsistence, MWHAHAHAHAHAHAH!"

"But I'm free to go, right?"

"Well yeah, but you'll be forever dammed to an eternity of" ..

"Woo-hoo"

He undid my bounds and I backed out carefully watching the whip.

I dipped into a "specialised" shop and bought something to wear on the way home.

Later as I strode down Oxford Street wearing a suit of armour and a diving helmet I spied a peasant outside my abode with a sign:

"Please Give generosclee"

After kick the idle slob up the bum and throwing him in the gutter where he belonged I took out my key and turned it in the lock.

"You'll be sorry mark my words, the serpents paw will have its revenge, mark my words.  Blood will have blood and death will have DEATH."

But by then I was upstairs practising my archery on passing commoners and a well aimed shot between the eyes made sure the rats would eat well.

As I was busy hunting my housekeeper, a degenerative gamely old fruit of 85 brought me up my most delectable snack, a pastrami and donkey meat sandwich and a fondant fantasy- my favourite jazz mag.  Then I looked at the clock, it was twelve of clock.  TIME FOR CHANNEL FIVE!

After some indecent footage I went to bed.  It was then that I remembered the serpent's paw, and the ranting of that snagle toothed peasant;

"The serpent's paw will have its revenge, mark my words.  Blood will have blood and death will have DEATH."

"Stuff and nonsense" I muttered as I threw the object on the floor.

But maybe there was some truth in what the old man said.

I picked it up and just in case wished for £3000.

Nothing.

No bags of money suddenly falling from the ceiling, no sudden weight in my pocket, NOTHING!

I flung the thing down in frustration and went to bed.

In the morning I came down to breakfast to a rack of toast and a letter waiting for me on the table.

Dear Sir we regret to inform you but your sister is dead. She was frolicking in the park and was savaged by a polar bear.  In her will she left you the sum of £3000.

May I be the first to offer my humble condolences?

Toodaloo- BIG DAVE THE SOLICITOR

Oh sweet Jesus!  What have I done!  I've condemned my own flesh and blood to a watery grave!  (Well now that I think about it wasn't so much watery as polarbeary)

I thought of the cursed paw, THE PAW! THAT'S IT!  Sure I killed the only person I care about beside myself, but heck no one gets it right on the first go!

I rushed up stairs to my chamber, my mind giddy with the possibility.

Money, immortality, fame RICHS BEYOND MY WILDEST DREAMS!

But best of all, BIRDS!

But my mind was blank.

"I always think best on a full stomach," I pondered.

"I wish for a Happy meal and a chocolate Mcflurry" .

Then my housekeeper came up.

"Hello master."  She said.

"Have you got a Happy meal and a chocolate Mcflurry on you" ?

"What!"

"Oh well, guess it was just a coinkedink, well it is rather silly isn't it, I mean how can a paw grant wishes, the old geyser was just pulling my leg, Ha Ha H.. "

Just then there was a hideous crash as a ninja burst though the window with a curved sword strung across his back, he leaped forward and in one swift movement disembowelled my housekeeper.

But then just like that, He was gone.

But then he nipped back inside and gave me a Happy meal and a chocolate Mcflurry.

As I munched the cardboard chips and tried to guess what the limp green thing in my burger was.

Then I realised I had power.

The power over the will of men, he power over nature, and even over death itself.

I could give life, and instantly take it away.

Suddenly I remembered the humiliation of losing a duel with that elderly mortal.

Soon he would know the true meaning of pain.

I strode confidently though the street the paw clasped tight in my pocket, the brisk wind blew chillingly to my face.

I flung open the door and glared around, the fool dared to hide from me

With my now pulsating hand I threw open one of the door, and behind it was a donkey wearing a straw hat with a look of absolute terror on it's face.

"Oh my God" .

I flung the door shut;  I had no time for distractions.  I found the fool cowering behind a French dresser.

"Before I kill you and send your stinking soul back to the pit I must first know one thing" .

"Yyyyess" quavered the pathetic old coot

"How much for the poster of Terry Wogen, he's got a lovely bum" .