Classic Legend (from the archives)

Just a quickie this time. Back in the day, The Legend was quite the Cassanova, at least if Cassanova could be described as a munter-punter. Indeed, The Legend was once just as likely to pull of a weekend as not. Changed days indeed, barring a purple patch (ooerr…) just over a year ago when, aided by a pirate voice and goatee beard, he managed to get several (ahem…) ladies on the go at once. Never mind that one was a necrophiliac (what does that say about The Legend‘s technique, I wonder?), the boy done good.

Anyway, back, ooohhh… at least a decade or so (nearer fifteen years, to be honest), The Legend was up to his favourite trick of seducing good Christian student girls, away from home for the first time, with strong drink. Outside the Harrow Inn (hence the joke “I’m addicted to Harrow-Inn”), things on this dingy night seemed to be going well until a slapping noise came from a nearby alley that could be heard for miles around. In a flash, the entire group of young ladies turned on their collective heel and made their way up the road towards the next bar. What, everyone wondered, had happened?

The Legend, a huge red hand-shaped mark on his face, trudged out of the alley. Clearly crestfallen, I enquired what had gone wrong. The Legend sighed, explaining he had no idea what happened, as he had faithfully followed his tried and trusted maxim of;

“Separating her from her friends and taking her somewhere dark.”

Truly, a mystery for the ages. I don’t think The Legend ever fully recovered from the setback. The poor fellow.

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