Froozlepants
04-11-2005, 14:21
Lord Artenson Fortesque Wratholm stood at his podium before The Temple of The Great Froozlepant. His own pair of Froozlepants, as granted to him for his station flaring out proudly, blowing in the wind, their mighty chimes, bells, and glitterythings chiming and casting spots of light captured from the early day sun. Their orange, purple, green, turquoise, and not quite aquamarine colors gleaming brightly.
"Blessed be The Froozlepant, granted to us by The Great Pant Maker Of The Etherial Kingdom of Denim and Cordoroy' a massive respone of "EEEEEX-WHYYYYY-ZEEEEEE!" roaring up from the gathered crowds. 'Let it be known that the Quoblors of the south eastern edges of The Holy Empire of Froozlepants are heretics! Wishing to speak in forms of Cheebers and duffs... For their words are an antithesis to those taught to us by Jeff, God of Biscuits, He Who Feeds The Great Pant Maker, and speaker of words that Mortals Understand. And in turn an affront to Frank, God Of Sentence Structure, He Who Forms The Words Spoken By Jeff Into The Holy Sentences. Already a force of the Fourty First FroozleGuard, a force of five thousand Pantalooners, four thousand Breechers, and two thousand of the esteemed Froozlepanter brigades, with support with a company Cordoroy Gunship VTOL craft, and a full regiment of Slacks Class Assault Tanks heads forth now into the forests of Open Barndoors and across the vast river of Trouser Snake to deal with these pests and their demands of a multilingual Froozlepant Empire. Wishing to taint our purity with the hopes of giving rise to their lord, Dilbert, Pagan God of Polyester. May the Froozlepants carry our people, and drive the infidels from our lands, crushing their men, women, and children beneath their heel" he nodded and smiled as the populous replied in kind.
"Eeeeeeex-Whyyyyyy-Zeeeeeeee"
Pant-General Jorgesson Derricote adjusted the Froozleberet seated atop his brow, resting comfortably in his Overalls Class Mobile HQ. Already they could see the villages of the Quoblors in the distance, their wood and mud houses easy prey.
"Steady as she goes Left-Trouser... and may glory find us this day, in the name of The Great Pant Maker, and Jeff God Of Biscuits themselves."
"Blessed be The Froozlepant, granted to us by The Great Pant Maker Of The Etherial Kingdom of Denim and Cordoroy' a massive respone of "EEEEEX-WHYYYYY-ZEEEEEE!" roaring up from the gathered crowds. 'Let it be known that the Quoblors of the south eastern edges of The Holy Empire of Froozlepants are heretics! Wishing to speak in forms of Cheebers and duffs... For their words are an antithesis to those taught to us by Jeff, God of Biscuits, He Who Feeds The Great Pant Maker, and speaker of words that Mortals Understand. And in turn an affront to Frank, God Of Sentence Structure, He Who Forms The Words Spoken By Jeff Into The Holy Sentences. Already a force of the Fourty First FroozleGuard, a force of five thousand Pantalooners, four thousand Breechers, and two thousand of the esteemed Froozlepanter brigades, with support with a company Cordoroy Gunship VTOL craft, and a full regiment of Slacks Class Assault Tanks heads forth now into the forests of Open Barndoors and across the vast river of Trouser Snake to deal with these pests and their demands of a multilingual Froozlepant Empire. Wishing to taint our purity with the hopes of giving rise to their lord, Dilbert, Pagan God of Polyester. May the Froozlepants carry our people, and drive the infidels from our lands, crushing their men, women, and children beneath their heel" he nodded and smiled as the populous replied in kind.
"Eeeeeeex-Whyyyyyy-Zeeeeeeee"
Pant-General Jorgesson Derricote adjusted the Froozleberet seated atop his brow, resting comfortably in his Overalls Class Mobile HQ. Already they could see the villages of the Quoblors in the distance, their wood and mud houses easy prey.
"Steady as she goes Left-Trouser... and may glory find us this day, in the name of The Great Pant Maker, and Jeff God Of Biscuits themselves."