If you feel the need to catch up, just click on the tag at the bottom of this post titled Willie Young and prepare to have your mind melted.
This week’s tale comes down to us from Ireland in the early 9th century, where it would seem that The Great Willie Young had retired to the tranquility of a monastery following his blood soaked exploits in China. There are some who question the date and the voracity of these accounts, seeing as how The Great Willie Young was also supposed to be in China around this same time, but those people are small minded fools who don’t understand that the concepts of space and time are meaningless to a being of pure light like The Great Willie Young.
No one knows quite when The Great Willie Young arrived in Ireland, but monastery records seem to indicate that he had already been living there for quite some time before the events of today’s tale unfolded. In fact, it would seem that he was there for decades, never aging, while the other monks grew old and feeble. Apparently, the monks believed this to be a miracle of God, but not before there were some internal squabbles over witchcraft.
This account (translated and cleaned up to make sense within the confines of the modern vernacular) from a monk named Father Bernard explains further:
“Father Sheamus began to assail the good name of Father Willie, condemning him as a witch and threatening to burn him at the stake, but Father Sheamus was without support, as Father Willie was much beloved by the majority of the flock. There was a great tumult and Father Sheamus attempted to set Father Willie on fire. But he was attacked by a great host of friars before he could get to Father Willie, and they set upon him with a variety of axe handles and open handed slaps. In the fracas, Father Sheamus was choked to death with a set of rosary beads. The perpetrator was never found, and the majority were content to conclude that he had been slain by the hand of God himself, who in His infinite wisdom had grown angry with Father Sheamus for questioning the nature of His living miracle. Father Bertrand, the head of our order, explained that Father Sheamus was now in hell for his assault and that we should pray for his soul, damned though it may be. Father Willie, for his part, was quiet, as usual, and all he would say was that he didn’t understand what the commotion was about and that he just had good skin.”
It would seem that The Great Willie Young was oddly subdued during his time at the Irish monastery, but there are some indications that this was due to an overwhelming desire on his part to “cleanse his soul” as he reportedly told a fellow monk. Again, Father Bernard elaborates:
“I once asked Father Willie how he came to join us. He just smiled, and in his kind, quiet voice, he told me that he was brought to us by God. I asked him from whence he came, and he just looked off into the distance and said ‘Everywhere . . . and nowhere.’ I pondered the wisdom of these words and stayed with him in prayer for the better part of the day. At times he would speak and I would listen. He told me of his need to atone for the many sins of his past. He said he had the blood of the wicked upon him and told me a strange and bewildering story of wrestling with a Panther God that I took to be metaphorical. He also made several references to an Oriental wife who had passed on and to slaying a Turkish Sultan while in the company of a Spaniard named Don Juan de Austria. It was all extremely confusing. He then smiled, and said that blood was not the only human liquid he had found himself covered in. I recoiled in horror and prayed for his soul, terrified at the thought of him being tortured with human excrement. He told me to stop, and said that he was just joking. I asked him what a joke was, but he returned to his prayers. A few hours later, he admitted to me that he had lain with a woman. I asked him if it was just the one and he laughed and told me that I was a quick learner and that I had made a good joke. I just stared in bewilderment and then wondered if it was possible that he had lain with two women. I asked him to tell me their names, but Father Willie just sighed and told me that I would die of old age before he finished with the list. I shuddered at the thought of such wanton carnality and asked him what a man who had experienced the pleasures of the flesh in such extremes was doing in our midst. He told me that it was the only place where he would not be tempted, although he remarked upon my own womanly bosom. He then explained again the concept of a joke while I prayed for his soul. He finished by telling me that his ‘Uncle Richard’ was tired. I confessed I didn’t understand, and so he said ‘You know, my dick?’ I did not know.”
Obviously, The Great Willie Young had taken up residence in the monastery in order to get some much needed rest. Although he was an immortal, he was still subject to the general weariness that plagues us all, and even a great being such as himself needed time to reflect upon his many deeds and, uh, conquests.
But, a man such as The Great Willie Young is a man of great destiny indeed, and such a man is not allowed by the fates to rest for too long. And so it was with The Great Willie Young. It would seem that on an early Spring morning, while the shores were clouded in mist, a young friar began to scream in pain. When he turned from the walls of the monastery, where he had been sitting, looking out over the great ocean and reflecting upon the wonders of God, the other monks noticed that he had been struck by an arrow in the chest. He staggered forward and then fell from the walls. It was only a moment later that a great clamor arose as a great ship appeared out of the fog. It was a Viking ship and they had come to raid the monastery, to pillage and plunder. The monks, defenseless, began at once to pray for salvation. And it was in this moment that The Great Willie Young’s rest came to an end.
Once again, Father Bernard:
“There was an awful tumult. Grown men screamed and wept at the sight of those terrible heathens. A young brother by the name of Friar Stephen tried to rally the rest of us aged men to the defense of the monastery, but he was struck by an arrow, which pierced his eye, and he fell dead. I watched in horror as his corpse was dragged away and defiled by the first wave of those heathens, terrible men, giants with unkempt hair and wild eyes, who flew out of their boat as if they had been given wings by the devil himself. They broke down our walls and began to ravage everything in sight. I hid behind a barrel and prayed for a quick and merciful death. All seemed lost, when suddenly, Father Willie burst out of the chapel with a giant axe in his hands. He dove into the path of the rampaging heathens and began to slay them one after another.”
And so the battle commenced. By all accounts, it was a terrible and bloody battle, in which the Vikings, led by their captain, Torvald the Red, so named for his flowing fire red hair, found themselves waging war with The Great Willie Young and a motley band of pathetic monks, most of whom soiled themselves and fell to prayer in the face of their enemies. An account taken from a Viking saga:
“The Christians fell to their knees and begged for mercy but there was none to be had. We had ridden the open seas for months and we were hungry, tired and in need of war. The captain invoked the great name of Thor and began to crush all those before him with his mighty war hammer. We were disappointed that there were no women and so some of the men began to take sexual liberties with the frightened Christian monks. They were like stupid lambs ripe for slaughter and we reigned in blood. Torvald the Red had stripped one monk naked and had proceeded to march him around the monastery at the tip of his sword to much laughter from the men. I, myself, stole some jewels from an unguarded room and relieved myself upon the altar of their god.”
It was an awful scene, but the Vikings were soon in for a terrible surprise. More from the Viking saga:
“It seemed as if we could do whatever we wanted, that we were more gods than men, but as I was defiling a fat monk with apple fresh cheeks, I heard a great cry, a terrible frightened cry. I ignored it, assuming it to be the pathetic bleating of the Christians, but soon the cry was accompanied by words and I recoiled in horror and fear myself when I heard them: “Willie the Black is here!”
It would seem that Willie the Black was a legendary figure from the edges of Norse history, a figure who was half mythical and half real, existing in stories from before time itself. The Norse rarely spoke of him, and when they did, it was clear that they believed him to be some sort of figure of the underworld, roughly akin to our own devil. It was said among them that he was the only man to ever war with Thor and win. They claimed that Willie the Black grabbed Thor by the beard and dragged him all around Valhalla, viciously sonning him in front of the Norse community of gods and fallen spirits. They claimed that Thor even wept and begged Willie the Black for forgiveness but Willie the Black just laughed, stripped Thor naked and spanked him, humiliating him.
Willie the Black pops up only occasionally in the Norse anthologies, but his name carried with it great dread and was seemingly known and understood by all Vikings. It was customary to curse his name if it needed to be said, and it was believed that in the end of days, Willie the Black would return for one final terrible battle with Thor, which would determine the fate of humanity once and for all. We do not know the origin of these tales or how Willie the Black came to be so feared, but needless to say, his presence on the field of battle was enough to send the Vikings into a frenzied panic.
More from the Viking saga:
“I felt a stream of urine run down my leg and I forgot all concept of conquest and ran for the safety of the ship. I had heard tales that Willie the Black was capable of swimming through the waters like a great sea snake, but my only hope was that he would be content to destroy my compatriots and would let me sail away in shame and misery.”
The slaughter was immense. Both Vikings and Christian monks fell on that dreadful day, but in the end, the battle turned in favor of The Great Willie Young. Once again, Father Bernard:
“Father Willie emerged with his great axe and screamed ‘Come get some, motherfuckers!’ It was an odd choice of words and I did not understand them, but the Vikings fled in horror, screeching amongst one another about Willie the Black. I took this to mean Father Willie, and I watched from behind my barrel of shame while Father Willie descended upon them. He tore out their beards and defecated on their fallen bodies. It was awful and awe inspiring at the same time. Truly, this was a man of God, a man of great power, an angel of heaven and glorious vengeance.”
The battle culminated in a terrible showdown between Willie the Black and Torvald the Red. The showdown was short and violent, as Willie became enraged when he saw Torvald’s flowing red hair. If you’ll recall from the initial account of Willie Young, gathered following the NFL Draft, it is believed that The Great Willie Young has a deep hatred for all things red following the death of his father, the Cheetah God, at the hands of British redcoats on safari in Africa. The Great Willie Young howled with great rage and swung the mighty battle axe in his hands, bringing it down upon the head of Torvald the Red, splitting it open like a ripe melon. He then chopped the man’s hair off and claimed it as a trophy.
Again, Father Bernard:
“Father Willie emerged from the battle covered in blood with a mane of red hair in one hand. I looked up at him in stunned awe while the rest of the heathens attempted to flee. Father Willie caught them all one by one and calmly dispatched them with his mighty battle axe. Some of them begged for mercy, but Father Willie had none to give. Several of them were slapped to death by Father Willie’s mighty hand. I later asked him how this was possible and he told me ‘Bernard, baby, they know better than to mess with Big Willie’s pimp hand.” As usual, his words were exotic and mysterious and I took them to be the Word of God.”
It would seem that one Viking was allowed to escape. His final account, taken from the saga:
“I hid myself in the bowels of the ship as it sailed aimless towards the sea. I peeked out just before the ship was retaken by the fog and I saw the spirit of Willie the Black. It had risen to the height of 100 feet and it breathed fire and I saw my captain’s pelt in his hand and I wept tears of both fear and anguish. I know I will die before I meet another man, and so I tell this tale so that all may know the horrors of Willie the Black, scourge of the Vikings.”
The account of this lone Viking was found on a drifting ship off the coast of France. No body was ever found and it was whispered amongst the French that his body must have been taken and devoured by the mysterious Willie the Black mentioned in the journal. The legend later grew to the point that William the Conqueror, upon sailing from Normandy for Britain, claimed that he was in the company of Willie the Black, which was said to inspire fear in the hearts of the people of the British Isles, with the exception of the Irish who were said to have merely smiled, for they believed Willie the Black to be a patron saint of theirs, much like St. Patrick or the dude who invented Guinness. But that is all a tale for another time and we must return to today’s story.
After the battle, it would seem that The Great Willie Young was ready to once again move on. He said his goodbyes to the grateful monks, who had come to revere him as something more human than human. Several of them insisted that he was an angel and one or two of them even claimed that he was God Himself. The Great Willie Young just laughed at them but he didn’t deny anything.
One last time, Father Bernard:
“I kissed Father Willie’s feet and asked him if there was anything I could give him. He laughed and asked me if I had a daughter. I just stared in confusion at him before he just shook his head and said ‘Damn, Bernard, you dumb as fuck.’ I told him that this wasn’t true and that I could speak. He explained that this is not what he meant when he used the word ‘dumb’ and then just shook his head and said ‘Never mind, you just proved my point, my man.’ I was overjoyed that I had proven his point and I smiled. He just laughed and told me to ‘Stay cool.’ I replied that I was quite comfortable and he just laughed and told me I reminded him of a fellow named Lennie Small. I assumed this was a great compliment and so I smiled, and with all the confidence that brought, I was able to summon the courage to ask Father Willie how he had been able to defeat those terrible heathens. He said ‘I just hate Vikings. Always have. Show me a Viking, and I’ll wreck that purple motherfucker. Fuck a Brett Favre. I plan on whipping some Viking ass for years to come.’ I just stared at Father Willie in wide eyed awe and then he vanished in a cloud of sweet swelling smoke and I fell to the earth and thanked God for sending us such an angel.”
Today, a statue of The Great Willie Young can be found on the spot where the old monastery once stood, and in various Scandinavian villages, the name of Willie the Black is still spoken with fear and dread, and some say that on dark, moonless nights, Willie the Black will appear and he will slaughter any found wandering outside their homes because Willie the Black does not rest, and he will haunt the Vikings until the end of time.
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