Beowulf Meets Godsylla
Meanehwæl, baccat meaddehæle, monstær lurccen;
Fulle few too many drincce, hie luccen for fyht.
Ðen Hreorfneorhtðhwr, son of Hrwærowþheororthwl,
Æsccen æwful jeork to steop outsyd.
Þhud! Bashe! Crasch! Beoom! Ðe bigge gye
Eallum his bon brak, byt his nose offe;
Wicced Godsylla wæld on his asse.
Monstær moppe fleor wyþ eallum men in hælle.
Beowulf in bacceroome fonecall bamaccen wæs;
Hearen sond of ruccus sæd, “Hwæt ðe helle?”
Graben sheold strang ond swich-blæd scharp
Stond feorth to fyht ðe grimlic foe.
“Me,” Godsylla sæd, “mac ðe minsemete.”
Heoro cwyc geten heold wiþ fæmed half-nelson
Ond flyng him lic frisbe bac to fen
Beowulf belly up to meaddehæle bar,
Sæd, “Ne foe beaten mie færsom cung-fu.”
Eorderen cocca-cohla yce-coeld, ðe reol þyng.
A Parody by Tom Weller
from Cvltvre Made Stvpid
