[DUEL] ybbon66 vs. robinzx - VOTE NOW

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

Image courtesy of Radboud

A duel of some wit and mediocre writing ability between

ybbon66

and

robinzx

Who shall be declared the victor? A buffalo or a symbol I still don't understand, you decide...
Note the above may or may not denote the order of the duelists' works.




Some viewers may find this video offensive, and in no way am I responsible for other content you may end up viewing due to clicking on this video/link.

The Inspiration

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Entry 1

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Old Ginger.

Old Ginger, the one eared Tom, half a tail and scar through his left eyebrow, raises his nose to check the air, an air of menace about him as he starts his night's skulduggery. From his vantage point on the shed roof he surveys his territory, two gardens down at number 35, the terrier stands in the middle of the lawn and scents Old Ginger. He set up a ferocious barking, running in circles and stopping to bark. The door slams open and the owner yells at the dog, “shut up you stupid bloody mutt, get in”, the dog charges and mainly dodges the kick aimed at his retreating backside. The man takes a look around and sees the outline of Old Ginger on the roof, “oh, it's you, you mangy old flea-bag, well piss off and don't crap in my flower beds”. He stomps in and shuts the door bad-temperedly.

Old Ginger watches disinterestedly, it's all his territory whatever the man thinks or his yappy dog, he knows he can outrun them all, and if cornered he has a ferocious set of claws that have marked many a snout over the years. He may have lost a life or two in the process and gained a scar or two, the crook in his tail courtesy of a bull terrier that surprised him. Still, just one of the usual risks he ran every day and the terrier was all bark no bite. The humans easy to escape from if you just considered them all untrustworthy which he does.

The teenager across the road fires up his motorbike, all noise and poise, off to strike a pose or two to impress the girls and his mates. He screeches away, weaving dangerously down the road. Ginger watches him leave – he'll be back later tonight, revving his engine, laughing loudly and slamming the door. There's a gentle clipping sound as old Mr Jones at number 22 snips at a few stray branches on his hedge, surreptitiously watching to see what is going on in the neighbourhood. A car pulls up to number 28 and a well-dressed man gets out, goes to the door and knocks. It is opened just enough for him to slip inside, Mrs Pickford's lover to entertain her – Mr Pickford is away on nights again.

Old Ginger yawns, stands and arches his back then he reaches forward with both front feet and has a good long stretch. He sits and blinks. Turning, he looks at the shrubbery, the faintest rustling as a mouse makes a move, now he knows where to look for a bit of sport and a snack later. With a lazy athleticism his looks belie, he stalks down to the roofs edge and easily jumps onto the wall, slowly picking his way along with tail held in the air. He stops at the end where the alley at the back of the house begins and sits to take it in.

A young black and white tom cat stops and looks back, sees Old Ginger and breaks into a run, squeezing through a gap in a fence further down. Nothing to worry about, maybe one day it will try to challenge his dominance but not today. There is no sign of the big tabby, his current bête noir, he may need to take that down a peg or two soon as it is getting a bit too brash of late but first he has some checking up on the female cats. Maybe the snooty woman at number 34 has left her pedigree cat out by mistake again. Old Ginger is pretty sure his rough charms will win her cat over – first a few fleas to pass on then some proper moggy kittens by way of a thank you for the bucket of water the owner threw over him last week – that would wipe that snooty look right off her face.

He puts two feet down the wall and jumps down into the alley as a zephyr blows a few dry leaves past his face, another day he may have a kittenish moment and chase them, but not tonight. At the end of the alley and across the grass as he makes his way towards the other side of the street, first stopping in the road to have a clean of his fur, not that he needs it but he may just annoy some unwary driver, waiting until the last moment to dart from their wheels. Under Mr Jones's hedge and across his garden, before he jumps the low fence at the end pursued my old Mr Jones calling him for a saucer of milk. Maybe later. Then across the corn field and into the barn at the end, Old Ginger has unfinished business with a gang of rats tonight, it may cost him a few more scars and bites but this is what he loves best, a damn good battle with rats lying dead at his feet and then maybe a stop by number 34 to see if he can get some sympathy. He grins evilly in anticipation of a good night's work.

Entry 2

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

I sit.

Motionless.

Cars rushed past on the road outside, sometimes in pairs, sometimes several at a time. It is that time of year for these…people. They rush to and fro with an unnerving urgency – as if the things they did mattered somehow. These…peasants, they see only the hairs on their noses and little further. They dare not dream, or think what is not presented. The children are in the television room upstairs – no doubt taking in the drivel that escapes the cursed box of sins.

At best I was an idle companion. At worst I was nothing at all. Oh how times have changed.

Me, I was like them once. No, I was more – I was a warrior.

John was my name, and Nottingham had been my home. I served under our good King once in Palestine. I remember it well. We battled at each other's back on the walls of Acre. I had fought well, killing one man after another until my arms were sore and my vision clouded by the blood of others. We had won a great victory that day, killing thousands and enslaving a city more populous than I’d ever seen. His majesty himself had commented on my swordsmanship, and I was granted use of a lion upon my heraldry – the gold lion of Richard himself.

Arsuf.

Of course, how could I ever forget.

I had ridden amidst the royal retinue – an honour I’ll never forget. Wearing the red of Saint George, we charged at the lines of that dog Salahaddin. A hundred knights fell upon the Saracens with singular ferocity. Again and again we charged, and we scattered them across the desert sand. Not a man escaped my blade, and death loomed wherever I turned, cutting away at the infidel army like a farmer does his crops. Before the day’s end a stale odour hung thick in the air, and no part of me was spared the infidels’ blood.

And then it happened.

I remember it well.

The arrow came from behind, and it landed squarely in my back. I remember the dull thud it made as the tip entered. The crackle of crumbling bones haunts me to this day, as does the taste of my own blood flooding my lungs. I struggled on in the face of two Saracen – or perhaps three – but it was to no avail. I had drowned in my own blood long before my head was severed by the infidel dogs. I was no more.

I slept a long sleep – for centuries? Millennia? I know not, but I remember the anger I felt at assuming the shape of a feline. What had I done to deserve such a fate, I recall protesting. Had my lifetime of servitude to my King, and my Order, earned me nothing but one in such a decrepit form? I was called a predator still, but in this age where mice are nowhere to be seen and meals come in metal tins that was but hollow imbecility.

Presently though, as the scenes of gore and death played out in my mind I found myself gazing once more into the street before me. Traffic was thinner now, and only the occasional pedestrian passed. The scenes of delicate peace seemed strangely appealing somehow. Suddenly I realised that compared to the perpetual struggle of yesteryear perhaps this life of peace and plenty wasn’t so bad after all…

“Here Tigger Tigger..!”

Ooh…I smell milk…

[Ybbon]

I must rep you for that video when I can, brilliant. Took me 5 minutes to type this I was laughing too much

[Robin de Bodemloze]

Indeed - not exactly what I was expecting. Awesome video

Good luck ybbon

[Rex Anglorvm]

A difficult choice, but voted.

Good tales lads.

[Boustrophedon]

Voted...and laughed at the video

[Radzeer]

I was here too.

[Diocle]

Voted.

Also I owned a black and white, big cat, cruel in battle and brave, scarred like an old warrior but also a noble heart, he was a night killer and a great lover, his eyes were golden like those of his mother, and I will never forget him! Vale atque vale dear friend.

Fantastic video +rep!

[Robin de Bodemloze]

It was a draw. What do we do now

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

Holy mother of.....

We start again...

[Robin de Bodemloze]

The haiku-fearing bovine must be defeated

Ohh...this way nobody gets to find out who wrote what...cunning

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

Or you two write a piece and then send it to me again and then we start again....

[Ybbon]

Well I think we should take the fairest way which is Robin agrees mine was best and I win

[Robin de Bodemloze]

Well I think we should take the fairest way which is Robin agrees mine was best and I win

Need I remind you of the haiku I wrote about...steak?

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

Please see here for the tie-breaker.

[Robin de Bodemloze]

Hmm thread closed...

Indeed. Go see.