Sunday, March 22, 2009

QQ 11 - 18

Chapter 11.

Goatherds share meat with Don and Panza.
There's pastoral poetry - many a stanza.

Chapters 12 - 14.

Lady likes to dress like shepherdess.
Spurns swain. He dies. His flock's now shepherdless.
More pastoral poems -- endless verse;
Snooze quotient's going from bad to worse.
Friends bury him. At shepherd's grave,
Once more - dear God! - Don starts to rave.

Chapter 15.

Next Rocinante wanders, frisky.
Gets amorous with some mares, a risky
Move. Backfires when owners in alarm
Attack our boys and do them harm.
By end of scene (knightlife's a bitch)
Once more our boys are in the ditch.

Chapter 16.

Our battered duo finds an inn.
Don gets confused; gets taken in.
Thinks "castle" when he should think "inn".
Hilarious fun, with knaves and varlet
And -- pace, Maiden Aunt -- a harlot.

Plain people of Ireland: Hey, we've already seen this bit! Boo! Hiss! Rhubarb! Rhubarb! (etc)

MOTP: Aha! So you're paying attention, are ye? Well don't blame me that it's déjà lu all over again. That'd be Mick's doing.

Plain people of Ireland: ¡¡¡But this is BO-O-RING!!!

MOTP: Yes, isn't it though? Think how I must feel. Now please be quiet, so that we can keep this "story", such as it is, moving along.

Chapter 17.

Kicked out of inn. The Don won't pay.
(Civil behavior's not his way)
Some louts have fun with Sancho P.
Playing toss-the-squire with obvious glee.
Don watches motionless, like an anchor
(again behaving like a wanker)
Doesn't even lift a finger
What a cringing, minging, whinger!

EDITORIAL ASIDE (regarding the Don's "character", or lack thereof)

It's clear our Don's a scrawny psychopath,
Who, if you met him on a bikepath,
Would steal your bike and kick your crotch
All while his dopey sidekick watched.

Chapter 18.

When next we catch up with our peeps,
They have a run-in with some sheeps.
It don't go well, Quixote scholars
By chapter's end, Don's down three molars.

Plain people of Ireland (doubtfully): Is "sheeps" a real word?

MOTP: It is now.

Plain people of Ireland: And what about that "scholars-molars" rhyme?

MOTP: Silence, wretches! What about it?

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