Thanks to inbreeding and hereditary rather than merit-based inheritance of titles and offices, there have been a number of batshit insane or literally mentally retarded monarchs.
One that comes to mind is Charles VI of France, who thought that he was made of glass and refused to let anyone touch him because he worried he would break.
Thanks to inbreeding and hereditary rather than merit-based inheritance of titles and offices, there have been a number of batshit insane or literally mentally exceptional monarchs.
I nominate Charles II. of Spain for the lead role in the historical sadcow show. He was so extremely damaged by inbreeding that he wasn't able to eat, engage in sex (plus, he had only one testicle) or groom himself without help. His younger half-brother mentioned several times how often he was about to vomit thanks to Charles' non-existing hygiene. Charles never really learnt to read or write and had some rather... disturbing hobbies - he demanded a few exhumations of his dead relatives so that he could take a look at their corpses.
You mean Emperor Norton the 1st, Emperor of the Americas and Protector of Mexico? I wouldn't really call him a lolcow, the poor guy went insane after a rice deal bankrupted him and honestly, the dude didn't seem to have the massive ego problem almost all lolcows have. If anything, he was the crazy but loveable old grandpa that the entire city of San Francisco played along with.
William Topaz McGonagall was a shit 19th century poet, most famous for "the Tay bridge disaster".
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
’Twas about seven o’clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem’d to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem’d to say-
“I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.”
When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers’ hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
“I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay.”
But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers’ hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov’d most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.
So the train mov’d slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o’er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill’d all the peoples hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav’d to tell the tale
How the disaster happen’d on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.
He claimed that this poem was so powerful that it
"caused the Emperor of Brazil to leave his home far away incognito and view the bridge as he passed along en route to Inverness."
He also wrote an autobiography of his most important experiences. They are all just stories of him walking around, cadging food and lodgings, shilling his poems, and basically being an oblivious, self-important nuisance. One day he showed up at Balmoral castle trying to get an audience with the queen, claiming that she was a fan of his. Her doorman asked him if he could get a sample of his poetry before letting him in. He said:
“No, sir,”...“nothing so low in my line of business. I am NOT A STROLLING MOUNTEBANK that would do the like in the open air for a few coppers. Take me into one of the rooms in the Lodge, and pay me for it, and I will give you a recital, and upon no consideration will I consent to do it in the open air.”
Just at that time there was a young lady concealed behind the Lodge door hearkening all the time unknown to me. The man said, “Will you not oblige the young lady here?” And when I saw the lady I said, “No, sir. Nor if Her Majesty would request me to do it in the open air, I wouldn’t yield to her request.”
This did not deter him from poetry, and for some reason he thought he would try his luck in New York. On the boat ride across the atlantic, the crew held a concert for the passengers and McGonagall was:
Selected as one of the performers for the evening, and was told to dress in Highland costume, and that I would receive a collection for the recitations I gave them...So I leapt to my feet and commenced, and before I was right begun I received a storm of applause, but that was all I received for it...My voice was drowned with applause, and when I had finished I bade them all good-night, and retired immediately to my berth in the steerage, and undressed myself quickly, and went to bed, resolving in my mind not to dress again if I was requested on the home-coming voyage. .
Apparently he wasn't too happy that the collection money was actually going to the ship's Lifeboat Fund, rather than in his threadbare, cheese-stained pockets.
He was also clearly autistic, based on this unnecessarily specific quote.
Well, my friends, the vessel made the voyage to New York in twelve days– of course night included as well.
When he finally arrived, he had nowhere to stay, so he randomly showed up on an old acquaintances doorstep, and was eventually slung out for refusing to recite his poetry to his host's neighbors, because they had a party on the sabbath. This led to an argument with "a Jew", and he was told to fuck off back home.
He didn't sell a single poem during his time in New York, blaming a grand conspiracy to keep British artists down. Eventually he gave up on the New York and had to write to a friend in Scotland, begging for enough money to travel back home.
He wrote a bitchy poem about his time in New York, comparing it unfavourably to Dundee, and talking smack about the godless citizens.
Oh, mighty city of New York, you are wonderful to behold–
Your buildings are magnificent– the truth be it told–
They were the only thing that seemed to arrest my eye,
Because many of them are thirteen storeys high;
And as for Central Park, it is lovely to be seen–
Especially in the summer season when its shrubberies are green
And the Burns Statue is there to be seen,
Surrounded by trees on the beautiful sward so green;
Also Shakespeare and the immortal Sir Walter Scott,
Which by Scotchmen and Englishmen will never be forgot.
There are people on the Sabbath day in thousands resort–
All lov’d, in conversation, and eager for sport;
And some of them viewing the wild beasts there,
While the joyous shouts of children does rend the air–
And also beautiful black swans, I do declare.
And there’s beautiful boats to be seen there,
And joyous shouts of children does rend the air,
While the boats sail along with them o’er Lohengrin Lake,
And fare is 5 cents for children, and adults ten is all they take.
And there’s also summer-house shades, and merry-go-rounds
And with the merry laughter of the children the Park resounds,
During the live-long Sabbath day
Enjoying themselves at the merry-go-round play.
Then there’s the elevated railroads about five storeys high,
Which the inhabitants can hear night and day passing by;
Of, such a mass of people there daily do throng–
No less than five 100,000 daily pass along;
And all along the city you can get for five cents–
And, believe me, among the passengers there’s few discontent.
And the top of the houses are mostly all flat,
And in the warm weather the people gather to chat;
Besides, on the housetops they dry their clothes;
And, also, many people all night on the housetops repose.
And numerous ships end steamboats are there to be seen,
Sailing along the East River water, which is very green–
Which is certainly a most beautiful sight
To see them sailing o’er the smooth water day and night.
And as for Brooklyn Bridge, it’s a very great height,
And fills the stranger’s heart with wonder at first sight;
And with all its loftiness I venture to say
It cannot surpass the new railway bridge of the Silvery Tay.
And there’s also ten thousand rumsellers there–
Oh, wonderful to think of, I do declare!
To accommodate the people of New York therein,
And to encourage them to commit all sorts of sin
And on the Sabbath day ye will see many a man
Going for beer with a big tin can,
And seems proud to be seen carrying home the beer
To treat his neighbours and his family dear.
Then at night numbers of the people dance and sing,
Making the walls of their houses to ring
With their songs and dancing on Sabbath night,
Which I witnessed with disgust, and fled from the sight.
And with regard to New York and the sights I did see–
Believe me, I never saw such sights in Dundee;
And the morning I sailed from the city of New York
My heart it felt as light as a cork.
The journey home hit some rough seas, which happened to calmed down again just as the engine broke. In true Lolcow fashion, he turned this coincidence into some kind of grandiose reflection of himself.
I remarked to some of the passengers, “Isn’t it wonderful to think that the sea calmed down all at once as soon as the piston broke?” And some said it was and others said it wasn’t, and I said in my opinion it was God that calmed the sea– that it was a Providential interference, for, if the sea hadn’t calmed down, the vessel would have been useless amongst the big waves owing to the engine giving way, and would have sunk with us all to the bottom of the briny deep, and not one of us would have been saved. Well, my friends, after that I was looked upon as a prophet and a God-fearing man, and very much respected by the passengers and the chief steward.
There was another concert on board during the trip back, and McGonagall comments on how shit the other acts were, but how he received a thunderous standing ovation for his shit poems.
He was also somewhat paranoid, and on at least one occasion reacted violently towards complete strangers, based on very little provocation .
...As I drew near to Fowlis Schoolroom I heard the pattering of feet behind me and the sound of men’s voices. So I was instantly seized with an indefinable fear, and I grasped my stick firmly in my right hand, and stood stock still, resolved to wait until the party behind would come up, and stood right in front of me, and neither of us spoke, when the centre man of the three whispered something to the two men that was with him, and then he threw out both arms, with the intention, no doubt, as I thought, of pulling my hat down over my eyes; but no sooner were his arms thrown out than my good oaken cudgel came across his body with full force.
Of course, dear friends, all good lolcows have trolls, and McGonagall was no different. A ween once wrote him a letter pretending to be the famous irish dramatist Dion Boucicault. The letter invited him to London, offered him a lucrative job as a performance poet. This turned out to be all bullshit, but poor William didn't find this out until after he had arrived in London.
I was received very kindly, and shown upstairs to a little room. I think it was the smoking room, and I knocked at the door, and it was answered by one of the gentlemen. Of course I knew him, and he introduced me to the gentleman who was impersonating the character of Dion Boucicault, and he asked me how I was, and I told him I was very well, hoping to find him the same. Then he told me he had heard so much about my histrionic abilities that he would engage me and give me a salary of £20 weekly, food included, and the other gentlemen present said it was little enough for a man of my abilities; but all the while I know he was an impostor. Then he requested me to recite my famous poem, “Bruce at Bannockburn,” and of course I did so, and when finished he declared if I would recite that before a Scottish audience in London it would pull down the house. Then he told one of the gentlemen to fetch in some refreshment for Mr McGonagall, for he was more then delighted with my Bannockburn recital. Then a gentleman waiter came in with a little refreshment on a tea tray, simply
A penny sandwich and a tumbler of beer,
Thinking it would my spirits cheer.
And I remember I looked at it with a scornful eye before I took it, and I laid it down on a little round table beside me and screwed my courage to the sticking place, and stared the impostor Boucicault in the face, and he felt rather uneasy, like he guessed I knew he wasn’t the original Boucicault, so he arose from his seat and made a quick retreat, and before leaving he bade me good-bye, telling me he would see me again. Then I kept silent, and I stared the rest of my pretended friends out of countenance until they couldn’t endure the penetrating glance of my poetic eye, so they arose and left me alone in my glory. Then I partook of the grand penny luncheon I had received for my recital of “Bannockburn,” and with indignation my heart did burn.
Somehow McGonagall interpreted this as a victory, because he was an idiot lolcow through and through.
McGonagall showed the forged letter to a guy who managed a nearby theatre, asking if the man (who happened to know Boucicault personally) thought it was a forgery. The manager confirmed that it was, but he also wrote to Boucicault who allegedly felt so sorry for McGonagall that he sent him some money (this could very well be bullshit though).
McGonagall didn't have much luck finding gigs in London (especially gigs where they didn't pelt him with eggs, fruit and vegetables) so he went back home after a few weeks.
When he returned to Scotland, he received another letter claiming to be from King Theebaw of the Andaman Islands. Much like Queen Victoria, King Theebaw was apparently such a big fan of McGonagall's work that he bestowed a Knighthood on him, which is where he got the name "Topaz" from.
Dear and Most Highly Honoured Sir,–Having the great honour to belong to the same holy fraternity of poets as yourself, I have been requested by our fellow-country-men at present serving our Queen and country in Her Majesty’s great Indian Empire to send you the following address, and at the same time to inform you that you were lately appointed a Grand Knight of the Holy Order of the White Elephant, by his Royal Highness upon representation being made to him by your fellow-countrymen out here
King Theebaw, who is just now holding his Court in the Andeman Islands, expressed himself as being only too pleased to confer the highest honour possible upon merit, wheresoever found, if that merit were judged worthy by his Grand Topaz General. As the latter gentleman has long been impressed by the injustice with which you have been treated by Lord Rosebery in his position as chief adviser of Her Majesty, and since your great modesty upon several occasions has been noticed by His Royal Highness the King of Burmah, it gives him great pleasure to assure Theebaw, the King, that none more worthy of this high honour has ever lived in the East, whereat His Royal Highness called his Court together, and with much eclat and esteem caused it to be proclaimed throughout his present palace and kingdom that you were to be known henceforth as Topaz McGonagall, G.K.H.O.W.E.B.
Should you ever visit the Andaman Islands it will be his great pleasure to be presented to you, and to do all honour to you, according to the very ancient custom with which members of our mutual illustrious Order have always been treated by his ancestors.
That you will consent to accept the high honour now offered to you is the wish nearest the hearts of your countrymen in the East; that you may be long spared to enrich British literature by your grand and thrilling works is their most sincere prayer.
His Majesty also expressed it as his opinion, and the opinion of his grandfathers as far back as the flood, that such talented works as those of their holy fraternity of poets were, had always been, and for ever would be, above all earthly praise, their value being inestimable. Be further stated that he failed to conceive how Rosebery could have been so blind as not to have offered to such a man as yourself the paltry and mean stipend attached to the position of Poet Laureate of Great Britain and Ireland. It is indescribable to him that any man of ordinary rummel gumption could possibly offer remuneration to such a gift of the Gods as yours.
Should you see fit to do the ancient Kingdom of Burmah the honour of accepting the Ribbon of its highest Order, and will kindly pay its capital a visit at your earliest convenience, it is the King’s order that you be received with all the ceremony due to the greatest ornament now living of the Holy Order of the White Elephant. You are to be immediately installed in the holy chair of the Knights of the above Order upon arrival, from which it is the custom of the holy fraternity to address the whole Eastern world.
King Theebaw will not injure your sensitive feelings by offering you any filthy lucre as payment for what you may compose in his honour after receiving the insignia of the Holy Order. He also states it will be his duty to see that your name is duly reverenced throughout the Kingdom.
I have the honour to be, most noble and illustrious sir, your most humble brother in the fraternity of poets.
(Per) C.MACDONALD, K.O.W.E.B,
Poet Laureate of Burmah.
By order of His Royal Highness the King.
Topaz General.
Topaz Minister.
Secretary of State.
Holder of Seals.
Registrar-General.
Staff-Bearer.
Secretary of Letters Patent.
Keeper of the White Elephant.
Obviously, this was just another troll fucking with him, but McGonagall was far too autistic to realise this.
The parallels between McGonagall and Chris are astounding. If there had been monthly tugboats when he was alive, he would definitely have been on one. But there wasn't, so he died in abject poverty.
William Topaz McGonagall was a shit 19th century poet, most famous for "the Tay bridge disaster".
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
’Twas about seven o’clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem’d to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem’d to say-
“I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.”
When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers’ hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
“I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay.”
But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers’ hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov’d most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.
So the train mov’d slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o’er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill’d all the peoples hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav’d to tell the tale
How the disaster happen’d on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.
He claimed that this poem was so powerful that it
He also wrote an autobiography of his most important experiences. They are all just stories of him walking around, cadging food and lodgings, shilling his poems, and basically being an oblivious, self-important nuisance. One day he showed up at Balmoral castle trying to get an audience with the queen, claiming that she was a fan of his. Her doorman asked him if he could get a sample of his poetry before letting him in. He said:
He was naturally ejected from the premises and banned from coming back, being told:
This did not deter him from poetry, and for some reason he thought he would try his luck in New York. On the boat ride across the atlantic, the crew held a concert for the passengers and McGonagall was:
Apparently he wasn't too happy that the collection money was actually going to the ship's Lifeboat Fund, rather than in his threadbare, cheese-stained pockets.
He was also clearly autistic, based on this unnecessarily specific quote.
When he finally arrived, he had nowhere to stay, so he randomly showed up on an old acquaintances doorstep, and was eventually slung out for refusing to recite his poetry to his host's neighbors, because they had a party on the sabbath. This led to an argument with "a Jew", and he was told to fuck off back home.
He didn't sell a single poem during his time in New York, blaming a grand conspiracy to keep British artists down. Eventually he gave up on the New York and had to write to a friend in Scotland, begging for enough money to travel back home.
He wrote a bitchy poem about his time in New York, comparing it unfavourably to Dundee, and talking smack about the godless citizens.
Oh, mighty city of New York, you are wonderful to behold–
Your buildings are magnificent– the truth be it told–
They were the only thing that seemed to arrest my eye,
Because many of them are thirteen storeys high;
And as for Central Park, it is lovely to be seen–
Especially in the summer season when its shrubberies are green
And the Burns Statue is there to be seen,
Surrounded by trees on the beautiful sward so green;
Also Shakespeare and the immortal Sir Walter Scott,
Which by Scotchmen and Englishmen will never be forgot.
There are people on the Sabbath day in thousands resort–
All lov’d, in conversation, and eager for sport;
And some of them viewing the wild beasts there,
While the joyous shouts of children does rend the air–
And also beautiful black swans, I do declare.
And there’s beautiful boats to be seen there,
And joyous shouts of children does rend the air,
While the boats sail along with them o’er Lohengrin Lake,
And fare is 5 cents for children, and adults ten is all they take.
And there’s also summer-house shades, and merry-go-rounds
And with the merry laughter of the children the Park resounds,
During the live-long Sabbath day
Enjoying themselves at the merry-go-round play.
Then there’s the elevated railroads about five storeys high,
Which the inhabitants can hear night and day passing by;
Of, such a mass of people there daily do throng–
No less than five 100,000 daily pass along;
And all along the city you can get for five cents–
And, believe me, among the passengers there’s few discontent.
And the top of the houses are mostly all flat,
And in the warm weather the people gather to chat;
Besides, on the housetops they dry their clothes;
And, also, many people all night on the housetops repose.
And numerous ships end steamboats are there to be seen,
Sailing along the East River water, which is very green–
Which is certainly a most beautiful sight
To see them sailing o’er the smooth water day and night.
And as for Brooklyn Bridge, it’s a very great height,
And fills the stranger’s heart with wonder at first sight;
And with all its loftiness I venture to say
It cannot surpass the new railway bridge of the Silvery Tay.
And there’s also ten thousand rumsellers there–
Oh, wonderful to think of, I do declare!
To accommodate the people of New York therein,
And to encourage them to commit all sorts of sin
And on the Sabbath day ye will see many a man
Going for beer with a big tin can,
And seems proud to be seen carrying home the beer
To treat his neighbours and his family dear.
Then at night numbers of the people dance and sing,
Making the walls of their houses to ring
With their songs and dancing on Sabbath night,
Which I witnessed with disgust, and fled from the sight.
And with regard to New York and the sights I did see–
Believe me, I never saw such sights in Dundee;
And the morning I sailed from the city of New York
My heart it felt as light as a cork.
The journey home hit some rough seas, which happened to calmed down again just as the engine broke. In true Lolcow fashion, he turned this coincidence into some kind of grandiose reflection of himself.
There was another concert on board during the trip back, and McGonagall comments on how shit the other acts were, but how he received a thunderous standing ovation for his shit poems.
He was also somewhat paranoid, and on at least one occasion reacted violently towards complete strangers, based on very little provocation .
Of course, dear friends, all good lolcows have trolls, and McGonagall was no different. a fool once wrote him a letter pretending to be the famous irish dramatist Dion Boucicault. The letter invited him to London, offered him a lucrative job as a performance poet. This turned out to be all bullshit, but poor William didn't find this out until after he had arrived in London.
Somehow McGonagall interpreted this as a victory, because he was an idiot lolcow through and through.
McGonagall showed the forged letter to a guy who managed a nearby theatre, asking if the man (who happened to know Boucicault personally) thought it was a forgery. The manager confirmed that it was, but he also wrote to Boucicault who allegedly felt so sorry for McGonagall that he sent him some money (this could very well be bullshit though).
McGonagall didn't have much luck finding gigs in London (especially gigs where they didn't pelt him with eggs, fruit and vegetables) so he went back home after a few weeks.
When he returned to Scotland, he received another letter claiming to be from King Theebaw of the Andaman Islands. Much like Queen Victoria, King Theebaw was apparently such a big fan of McGonagall's work that he bestowed a Knighthood on him, which is where he got the name "Topaz" from.
Dear and Most Highly Honoured Sir,–Having the great honour to belong to the same holy fraternity of poets as yourself, I have been requested by our fellow-country-men at present serving our Queen and country in Her Majesty’s great Indian Empire to send you the following address, and at the same time to inform you that you were lately appointed a Grand Knight of the Holy Order of the White Elephant, by his Royal Highness upon representation being made to him by your fellow-countrymen out here
King Theebaw, who is just now holding his Court in the Andeman Islands, expressed himself as being only too pleased to confer the highest honour possible upon merit, wheresoever found, if that merit were judged worthy by his Grand Topaz General. As the latter gentleman has long been impressed by the injustice with which you have been treated by Lord Rosebery in his position as chief adviser of Her Majesty, and since your great modesty upon several occasions has been noticed by His Royal Highness the King of Burmah, it gives him great pleasure to assure Theebaw, the King, that none more worthy of this high honour has ever lived in the East, whereat His Royal Highness called his Court together, and with much eclat and esteem caused it to be proclaimed throughout his present palace and kingdom that you were to be known henceforth as Topaz McGonagall, G.K.H.O.W.E.B.
Should you ever visit the Andaman Islands it will be his great pleasure to be presented to you, and to do all honour to you, according to the very ancient custom with which members of our mutual illustrious Order have always been treated by his ancestors.
That you will consent to accept the high honour now offered to you is the wish nearest the hearts of your countrymen in the East; that you may be long spared to enrich British literature by your grand and thrilling works is their most sincere prayer.
His Majesty also expressed it as his opinion, and the opinion of his grandfathers as far back as the flood, that such talented works as those of their holy fraternity of poets were, had always been, and for ever would be, above all earthly praise, their value being inestimable. Be further stated that he failed to conceive how Rosebery could have been so blind as not to have offered to such a man as yourself the paltry and mean stipend attached to the position of Poet Laureate of Great Britain and Ireland. It is indescribable to him that any man of ordinary rummel gumption could possibly offer remuneration to such a gift of the Gods as yours.
Should you see fit to do the ancient Kingdom of Burmah the honour of accepting the Ribbon of its highest Order, and will kindly pay its capital a visit at your earliest convenience, it is the King’s order that you be received with all the ceremony due to the greatest ornament now living of the Holy Order of the White Elephant. You are to be immediately installed in the holy chair of the Knights of the above Order upon arrival, from which it is the custom of the holy fraternity to address the whole Eastern world.
King Theebaw will not injure your sensitive feelings by offering you any filthy lucre as payment for what you may compose in his honour after receiving the insignia of the Holy Order. He also states it will be his duty to see that your name is duly reverenced throughout the Kingdom.
I have the honour to be, most noble and illustrious sir, your most humble brother in the fraternity of poets.
(Per) C.MACDONALD, K.O.W.E.B,
Poet Laureate of Burmah.
By order of His Royal Highness the King.
Topaz General.
Topaz Minister.
Secretary of State.
Holder of Seals.
Registrar-General.
Staff-Bearer.
Secretary of Letters Patent.
Keeper of the White Elephant.
Obviously, this was just another troll fucking with him, but McGonagall was far too autistic to realise this.
The parallels between McGonagall and Chris are astounding. If there had been monthly tugboats when he was alive, he would definitely have been on one. But there wasn't, so he died in abject poverty.
Speaking of bunnyholes. There is the story of Mary Toft who stuffed rabbit parts up inside her vagina because she's an old school attention whore.
An even bigger cow would be the surgeon Nathaniel St André. He was surgeon to George 1, but he lost all credibility when he believed that a woman could give birth to a rabbit.
Diogenes was one hell of a lolcow in his day. Public masturbation, shit in the theater, went out of his way to troll Plato, told Alexander the Great to get the fuck out of his sunlight, and did everything he could to make living in Corinth an absolute troll fest.
Diogenes was one hell of a lolcow in his day. Public masturbation, shit in the theater, went out of his way to troll Plato, told Alexander the Great to get the fuck out of his sunlight, and did everything he could to make living in Corinth an absolute troll fest.
Can I put (William) Shakespeare down? I don't know why we even have to read him in middle and high school and also, I think many people failed English class because of Shakespeare (English was basically all around Shakespeare when I was in High School).
