King Flaxen's Annual Yuletide Address: Anus Horribilis

Before treatment 

992AD is not a year on which I shall look back with unpolluted pleasure. As many of my loyal subjects have known, for a sometime I have been beset by a profusion of a protrusion from my nether posterior. This affliction has smited my countenance mightily and has contributed to my fickle and arbitrary bouts of extreme violence or beneficence, according to the waning and waxing of my lobster pots.

My physic recommended I apply leeches internally. I followed his advice and applied 50 leeches liberally to the lesion with the help of a soup ladle and goose grease. After an hour I was supposed to expel all the leeches, together with the soup ladle, and place their engorged bodies into the midden pit from whence they originally hailed. Imagine my horror when I only managed to retrieve 10 leeches. The ladle was nowhere to be found even after extensive searching. Five ferrets and twelve dwarves lost their lives as a consequence. Not all bodies were reclaimed. Subsequently, and unsurprisingly, your beloved King remains in a sustained state of permanent bliss.....

Merry Yuletide to all my Thegns, Carls and Bondsmen. May 993AD be a year of fruitful bounty. May your loins swell with righteous tumescence and all offspring resemble their sire, especially as paternity assignment, through DNA testing, must await a 1,000 years. Be good to your kin and women who share your bed. As for the rest, deal as you see fit and exercise your will and whim to pillage, burn and slay according to your want.

 

Aftermath.....