The song of Sven the Goat Defiler

This was my 30 minute word race. It’s special. Takes place in the world for my second book. Enjoy? Kind of. I was told there was a lot of laughing. I also didn’t edit, sorry. Too tired. I accept my imperfections.

This is the song of Sven, the Goat Defiler, as told by Jorgen, the Teller. Also known as Jorgen, the Obnoxiously Loud Bastard, as he was both loud and his father died the third blizzard after Jorgen’s birth. That is to say, approximately five days after the child’s birth. Jorgen told the story at the 187th moot of Hamshpel.

Long ago there was a man named Sven. He lived in this very village of Hamshpel as a butcher. Sven was an ugly man, one so ugly that it would be difficult to describe, but we are drunk, and I am willing to try.

Sven’s nose looked as if it were shoved in a bee hive, a large and bulbous thing that was beat red. His face had pox marks all about, as if someone had stabbed him many times with a small sword. His eyes were squinty as his cheeks bulged up and his brow was overly large, a great flat space where one could write an epic. His hair was always greasy, no matter how much he claimed to bathe, and as he reached his twentieth birthday, the hair started to fall out in patches due to his own father’s early baldness.

His chest was thin, while his gut was large. He ate too much food, while not working enough. Half the animals that went into his market left through his bowels. His hands were like potatoes with five tiny carrots sticking out, that it was awkward for him to shake hands or carry tools of any real weight.

In short, there were none so ugly as Sven.

The women took note of his fat body and his hideous face, and he was unable to find a wife. When he was twenty five, the loneliness reached a startling point, and he wept and wept while at work, though no one was in his store. While he wept he looked at the goat he was to butcher, a female goat which had just given birth to kids, and he thought, “This is a woman, and if I’m to want for a woman’s body, perhaps this is where I will find it.” So he stood behind the goat and took her, then butchered her and sold the meat to the locals.

He continued this practice, as still no woman would see him, and as he continued, none questioned his meat. They only noted he seemed happier and more friendly, and his shop became busy, even when people didn’t need to purchase.

However, below there were changes, and he felt strange and itchy at odd hours. But he continued on until one day a merchant came in and said how delighted he was that Sven was so willing to reach out to the community, that he was now a happy man and the merchant had a wife for him, which gave Sven great joy.

The woman, Ulgrid, was a woman who defied description, but again, I’ll do my best to do her justice. She was a gorgeous woman in a snow storm, which is to say a blizzard, where one can see no farther than five feet and she was ten feet away. Her face was a pumpkin, unusually smooth and round, with several rolls due to her girth. Her hair looked like straw in which a philly had relieved herself. Her body was as thick around as an ox, and her legs were as large tree trunks with the sap running down it and freezing in large, hanging sacks. Her arms looked like wracks with dangling hides. Sven didn’t care, as it was still a step up from goats.

A wedding was had, the ancestors were called upon to bless it, and the two went away for their first night of passion. Ulgrid dropped her clothing, and the earth supposedly shook when she did so. She threw Sven over her shoulder, then tossed him on the bed, licking her lips as if she were eyeing a stuck pig. However, when she removed his pants and saw the corruption of his body, her face turned red in horror and fury.

“You have not been faithful to me! These are the diseases of animals!” And so, in righteous rage, guided by ancestors of old, she thrust her fist into his chest and ripped out his heart, squeezing it until it stopped pulsing and he laid there dead.

The lesson here, lads, is no matter how long you’ve been without a woman, goats just aren’t worth it.

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6 responses to “The song of Sven the Goat Defiler

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