It was a day like any other. Associate Professor Margeopolis La Le-Juice had a toasty cup of iced coffee in hand and was venturing through the nature preserve before her first class of the day when she heard something crinkle underfoot. She looked down, and picked up what she thought to be the first fallen fronds of Fall. But, fate had something else in store for her today. In her youthfully arthritic hands (a condition she had proudly acquired at her age from ruining thousands of professorially-aspiring graduate students hopes and dreams, one hastily scrawled red comment at time), she beheld a document worn by time, and covered in countless stains of a mysterious origin.
She laughed, thinking it to be a student’s ancient essay, who might have left it to rot in the preserve after being on the receiving end of yet another epic, slam-dunk victory by the ivory tower against defenseless undergraduate writers. But, to her surprise and subsequent confusion, Professor Marge recognized some of its chaotic ligature to be 11th century Anglo-Norimic Cuneiform, a form of writing so obscure that she had written twelve books on it, and still, no living person could slightly fathom its significance to the “limitlessly fascinating world of early medieval textural studies.” Furthermore, the writing was also extremely horny. How could this be?
Margeopolis’s phenomenal discovery has made shockwaves in her academic field. Upon further examination, bravely undertaken by a joint research team assembled from the Center of Medieval and Early Modern Studies, premodern English specialists, carbon dating experts, and a “smart fella who knows all about this kind of thing” that Binghamton alumni Rick Harrison graciously donated to the University in pursuit of answers, the document was determined to be “seriously freakin’ old.” Researchers also identified the “funny lookin’ guys wearin’ metal suits” to be medieval in origin.
But, the question remained: “When exactly was the manuscript made, and how did it end up in the Binghamton University Nature Preserve?” To answer this, the University’s brightest and best translators scoured the text for linguistic clues. Upon rigorous examination of the 600,000 word manuscript, translators found a “syntactical and temporal mess.”¹ In more common parlance, they had no fucking idea what they were dealing with. The translation team found some parts of the text that aligned with Early Middle English, others in near-unintelligible Anglo-Saxon, and a solitary sentence on an almost entirely blank page that was written in Egyptian. From that point forward, the research team gave up and voted on an arbitrary date and location to trace the document back to in order to avoid further unnecessary effort on their parts. “1143, Dordogne sounded good to everyone, we all just wanted an excuse to drink champagne and be done with it” said Professor Le-Juice on the matter. “Except that guy from Pawn Stars. He was a real stubborn dick.”
The title of the text roughly translates to “The Fuckening” or “The Boinging of Guinevere, As Well As Many Others,” but many scholars have begun to refer to it as simply “Arthur” for some stupid fucking reason that you probably wouldn’t understand. To expound a bit more on one of the above titles, the verb “to boing” originates from the Early Middle Ages, and it refers to the antiquated practice of extremely rough and unbroken sexual intercourse that could last anywhere from an hour, a day, to even an entire week, with the intended end result being at least some form of conception. It is essentially the medieval form of “gooning” (minus the conception).
In terms of its content, the manuscript mostly contains what is believed to be “medieval porn.” This is partly why the text is so significant, as it contains cut excerpts from iconic Arthurian legends such as “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight” and “Le Morte D’Arthur,” that were most likely too raunchy for general audiences of the Early Middle Ages, who typically understood sex to be an intricate process involving non-erotic dancing by joyous forest nymphs and a lack of skin to skin contact.² Much like those original texts, the identity of its author has unfortunately been lost to time. Most likely, historians say, it was a solitary peasant who lived the entirety of his life in a one-room thatched hut (crafted with the finest locally sourced mud and manure) with his single mother. He would have most likely perpetually slaved away on this particular work of literature instead of going outside, ignoring pained cries that might have sounded something like “Will you just plow the fields for once in your life, Ethelbert, you useless sack of shit?”
Apart from sub-par writing, researchers have also complained about the substance of said erotica. “Don’t even get me started on the ‘Bannænerman of East Wickershire’” said Joe Flavio, a recent addition to the history department, to inquiring BUTT reporters. “Moldy flour really did a number on these fuckin’ people’s heads.” Carla Carlisle, who taught a long-defunct coding language to students before beginning her valuable work in the history department, had this to say: “This is definitely some weird, kinky stuff that we’re dealing with. And that’s according to modern standards. Yes, I mean including every godforsaken thing that’s accessible to every man, woman, and child via the online world.”
Through shady backroom dealings with certain members of the history department (we shall not disclose their names out of consideration for their safety), we’ve managed to obtain access to part of the translated manuscript. The following scene contains a very intimate interaction between Sir Lancelot and Guinevere, and our more pretentious readers are advised to avert their eyes if they wish for their view of these particular characters to remain pure and unspoiled:
…And Sir Launcelot sayeth:
“Oh yea, I shall boing you rather hard, babe.”
Guinevere was feeling hot and steameth, and wanting for Launcelot’s Flesh-Sticke, but this was not.
For beforth Launcelot’s Launce beginnest to penetrateth his Queene, the man suddenly grew sad and became limped. “What would Arthur sayeth about this?” sayest the bedraggled knight whilst nearly inside of her, his Launce lame and like a dead hare in stature. “I have braketh my chivalrick honour.”
Guinevere respondeth to this thusly:
“Launcelot, babe, you are already insideth me. My bêthilde³ is wet and aching. Become wont to it or I shall braketh more than thy honour.”
And Launcelot, under such duress, surrendered his lips to the lady’s bêthilde, for it was the finest he had ever tasted.
“Yark!” sayeth he. “Thine bêthilde tasteth finer than the Waters of Youth!”
“Be silent and sup, bitch, or I shall confess to mine husband.”
At this poor Launcelot grew pale, for he knew that it was not he who supped at the bêthilde, but the bêthilde who supped at he.
Another key passage we got our grubby hands on has largely divided the history department into factions. It reads as follows, and for context, it takes place in the middle of a battlefield during an intense (and most likely fictional) skirmish between Anglo-Saxon and Norman troops:
An’ the two men tousled ‘til both men had become spent. An’ then the two men began to caress one another as friends an’ began laughing greatly. An’ then the stockier put his hand round the other’s neck. An’ then the men began to peck each other with tenderness. Then they fuck’t.
Many of the younger, untenured members of the department claim that it provides strong evidence for normalized homosexuality during the Hundred Years War, which men resorted to as a way of dealing with the various traumas of such a terrible conflict. On the other hand, all of its senior members have reached a total consensus that the passage only provides evidence for the two men being “just friends.” According to Geronimald Mchooperschmidt III, who has served as the department’s chair for the last 47 years: “I only had time to look at the passage for less than a minute, with me being so busy these days and all. But yeah, no use bothering to read between the lines. It’s not like they pay me to do that, wink wink, nudge nudge~!”
If you haven’t been totally exhausted yet by this article, there’s even more to this whole mystery than what would be expected at first glance. Following the sexy exploits of the well-known Arthurian crew is a bizarre addendum to the text, which is believed to have been added after the work’s completion. Similar to the writings of the Renaissance-era figure Nostradamus, it prophesies numerous great events that would (and maybe will still!) come to pass. These were recorded by a monk who most likely lived during the Early-Mid-to-Late-Stage Early Middle Ages, referred to in the text as “Dwynne ‘the Stone’ Jonnsfather.” Written entirely in Latin, which is verifiably the spookiest language in human history, some of these passages are highly of note to those who are studying the text. The BUTT never fails to deliver, so here are a few of them:
There shall come a time when a proud man, of youthful vigor, will walk the paths of a monumental city, to be christened Hærlem, in honor of the luscious Hær of its illustrious founder. All will gaze with lust upon this man, for he will be well-endowed, the cakes of him causing the ground to tremble with his stride and the divine laws of the apple-like disc of Earth to be temporarily increased in swiftness. Then to the awe of those present, a choir of heavenly angels will recant the following words:
Novum forgiatos posui in plaustro triticeo
Laboro donec calceamenta sanguinem
Omnes enim comites meis vias nostri pagi reliquerent
Centum denarium celo intra ocreas meas
Recordor iter ad forum cum fratribus
Nunc enim ullis precibus respondere non potest, ipse enim in sancta Dei domo orat
Surrexi de somno, procurans nummum in aurora
Pauper eram, nunc dives sum, stulti isti salsi sunt⁴
And there will arise a terrible Lord, knoweth to many as Geoffery, Lord of Eppstain, whosowhich willst command the Isle of Eppstain, wherewith he shall perpetrate numerous acts of foul boingilings upon the child-sex. Word of his foul deeds will spread with haste across the apple-like disc of the Earth, and then the Isle shall come under siege, and Lord Eppstain will summon the highest scholars of wizard-law in the land to his defense. The fell Lord will be defeated and be bethought by all to be self-vanquished in captivity. But then he shall arise from the Tomb of Eppstain in the IJ Morris at Star of David Cemetery of the Palm Beaches in Palm Beach Gardens, Florida, and have harnessed a great army of the damned, alongside a dormant race of cunning lizard-men to carry out his vile bidding. And there will be 300 Nephilim also at some point. The peoples of earth must cast aside their differences to defeat this great threat, or all shall be lost in the river of come, that will come.
Beware the coming of CWC, for this fiend is the antichrist.
When the history department will finally release the manuscript to the public remains to be seen. Until then, eager readers can content themselves with these fine works of fiction.
¹They also found an inexplicable number of bananas in it, for whatever reason.
²A relatively little known fact about sex in the Middle Ages was that participants preferred wearing protection when engaging in sexual contact. Usually, that meant the two sex-ees would be clad in full battle armor. This prevented the lovers from actually having to smell each other, and had the added bonus of providing actual “protection” (i.e. from syphilis, gonorrhea, chancroid, Gargamel’s disease, the Waters of Dublin, Saint Andrew’s bollocks, ticklebritch, blue waffle disease, Poopdicke, goblin fever, God’s wrath, Ligma, and The Devil’s Shaft).
³A bêthilde is one of the multitude of Old English words that are used to describe a woman's sexual organs.
⁴Preserved in the original Latin for the sake of the hymn’s religious sacredness.
