the ideal media diet for a child is books and music from at least fifty years ago so they are always out of touch with the references and allusions of their peer group
Every Dracula screenwriter, novelist, comic book writer, playwright is like, "Is anyone going to make this ten times more orientalist and twenty times more misogynistic" and don't wait for an answer
Genuinely. At this point I'm skeptical as to whether there's ever been an actual good adaptation, just because no one can seem to leave well enough alone
I want to say the way that every movie I've seen depicts lucy westenra is not only obviously sexist but incredibly defamatory towards victims of sexual assault but we're not ready for that conversation
You know when there's like, a straight show and everyone's like "it's full of queer subtext between the main straight dudes, and this character is obviously autistic and they really meant to say trans rights"? And then there's a queer show and all of a sudden it's "no but they weren't sensitive about this character's trauma and the queer sex scenes are too short and they're all problematic as fuck, i can't even watch"? And then our shit doesn't get renewed, and we hated on it the whole way for not embodying the perfection we'd never dream of demanding from the straight show?
girl with ptsd voice: hey, so something really bad is gonna happen, right? you guys are picking up on that too, yeah? The other shoe is about to drop, I just know it.
Thereâs a quality that certain books/movies/TV shows have that leads me to say, âYeah, I can see people making fanfiction of that.â Itâs something to do, I think, with how tight the story is, how much feels open-ended or like it could be elaborated on.
Something like Breaking Bad, for example, has low squiggability (thatâs what Iâm calling this quality). Itâs tightly written, the characters are consistent, thereâs little left to interpolate or extrapolate. Obviously, people DO write fanfic of Breaking Bad, but it still has a low squiggability score. Whereas something like Supernatural has a high squiggability score. Fantasy and science fiction often have high squiggability scores. This suggests squiggability could also be related to worldbuilding and potential for people to borrow a premise or setting.
And sometimes youâll read or watch something and youâll say, âAh, low squiggability,â and then youâll open tumblr and find out that everyone else seem to think its squiggability was very high indeed.
I don't know why this is the first read through where I viscerally felt that Jonathan knows he's being fed on. Like he knows knows that the fresh blood on the count's mouth is his own, that the leech is gorged from feasting on him. And yet he still went through the monster's pockets, still bashed him with the shovel, still wrote it all down methodically. I just can't.
reading a historical romance novel and reflecting on the way these stories often present woke nobility for the contemporary reader. a big thing is servants. you canât not have servants in those times but many modern readers think âbut I would never have servants. it would be so weird to have servantsâ and in order to make the protagonists of the story more relatable they are actually friends with the servants. but flip your perspective and think of it from the side of the servants. wouldnât it be so awful if your boss was always trying to be friends with you. a really common thing youâll see is the woke baronet having tea in the kitchen with the servants bc heâs not like other baronets. but what if your boss wanted to hang out and talk during your lunch break every day. not so charming when you think about it that way
Can you tell us more about how this version depicts Kate Reed instead? I did not like her in Anno Dracula either (she had potential alas)
I am going to encourage you to seek out Dracula Unredacted (it's about 20 dollars on Drivethrurpg here, but also it's a pdf, you can find it in other places if you get my drift) but here's the cliffnotes on Kate's part in it if you're interested:
Essentially, Kate Reed is introduced as a school friend of Mina and Lucy's, and a lot of the more incidental parts of their story are tied to her - she's the one who slips Mina the tip about Lucy seeing Arthur, for instance, and she's also revealed to be the one who wrote most if not all of the newspaper articles from the book. She's one of four characters who are kinda tertiary figures to the main crew, all of them based on Stoker's original notes, and all of them with their own little subplots - Kate's arc, in particular, is about investigating Dracula's cover in England, getting pulled into a satanic cult he's founded and almost getting eaten by a newly vampirised Lucy as a result.
This event, combined with Lucy's death, kinda send Kate off the deep end, and as the book goes on she becomes increasingly manic - like, to the point that noted pillar of mental health John Seward starts getting concerned for her. This only gets worse after Dracula visits Mina, and culminates in her attempting to poison Mina, and getting committed to Seward's asylum.
Why exactly she does it is left to interpretation for the most part, largely because the Dossier expects the players to use their own interpretation. The book itself presents two interpretations that the characters discuss - either it's an act of mercy on Kate's part, attempting to save Mina from becoming a monster like Lucy, which is what Kate claims, or it's as the rest of the group believe, that Kate was compelled by Dracula when she encountered him, and he made her try to kill Mina to speed up Mina's transformation*. It's a really interesting concept, and way better than anything anyone else has done with Kate (yes, I'm looking at you, Newman buddy.)
*Which, fun little thing about this - one of the annotations in the book suggests the idea that one of the initial steps on the transformation into a vampire is turning the victim's blood into a universal recipient, hence explaining the staggering coincidence of Lucy being able to survive four transfusions from four different men.
Less "what if one of the protagonists whose thoughts and feelings we extensively know open and clear because THEY LITERALLY LIVEBLOGGED THEM were evil" "Lucy likes sex and that kills her dead", more outladish yet still possible scenarios like "what if Mr Hawkins tried to sacrifice his foster son for profit by allying with an ancient evil" And without making him a madman. Or make Queen Victoria ally with him for expansion instead of being a hapless imperial victim, screw you Newman.
See this is where the Dracula Dossier scenario for the Night's Black Agents TTRPG gains points, because it's starting premise is 'What if Mr. Hawkins was working for British Secret Intelligence and the initial journey to Castle Dracula was an attempt by the SIS to recruit Dracula that went tits up because Dracula didn't want to play ball?'
It also has an in-built way of severely reducing the chances of people misinterpreting Dracula by having a key part of the gameplay be the players fully reading a copy of Dracula, albeit with some things added in to give you plot hooks for the TTRPG side.
I love how one of the classics of Romanian literature is a short story about Jesus encountering a rude peasant and turning his entire corn crop into a dildo crop, with voice-activated dildos that provide joy to anyone who wants them to - or not, in the case of a priest.
This story was published in 1878 by a man who used to be a priest.
It's half-finished in a folder, waiting for me to get back to it. I got stage fright while translating it (it's a thing! Sometimes I think "I'm a pro translator, that means this has to be great" and then I panic because what if it's not, or what if I'm trying too hard - and somehow I feel like that more often in casual spaces than I do in an actual work environment) and then I got busy.
If you want to post a translation of your own, I fully encourage you to go ahead! It's not like having *two* translations is a bad thing, and if you want to talk shop about it, I'm game.
Ok, thank you @azzandra, for getting me to get off my arse and actually finish the translation I started back in June.
I'm sure it can be improved*.
(* What would usually happen at this stage in a professional setting is that I'd send this off to a reviewer who'd check my work and offer improvement suggestions.)
So! Some context for the translation.
Ion CreangÄ was Moldavian and quite proudly so. He was born in 1839 and grew up in the village of HumuleÈti, in present-day Romania. That's a bit to the East of Northern Transylvania. âCreangÄâ is a pseudonym, meaning âboughâ, but it sounds cool. He didn't have a "real" last name. Last names were not yet a thing for the lower classes back then.
CreangÄ's life is pretty complicated and worth its own essay, but the point is that, despite very shoddy public education in villages back then, he attended seminary, got married early became priest and schoolteacher, got divorced, got defrocked, and eventually settled in a hut with a woman who loved him and about a million cats.
CreangÄ had wit, charm, and a regional accent that's very fun, but also hard to read, especially for 21st century mainstream audiences. I haven't tried to reproduce it because I would butcher any English accent I attempted to substitute his with. A part of me says Scottish would be a good touch - with its random Gaelic words that you have to look up in a dictionary.
Religion-wise, Easter Orthodox Christianity is a different beast from Catholicism, and it's a very different beast from Protestantism (and whatever else is to the West of the protestants).
This goes doubly so for popular religion, which is barely held in check by dogma and has a rich tradition of myths and stories about the saints and whatnot. CreangÄ's audience would have probably been more surprised to hear "Baby Jesus loves you" than to hear a story about Jesus and St. Peter traveling the world.
Although, make no mistake. CreangÄ was defrocked for a reason. And that reason wasn't that he respected the Church and its traditions too much.
Well, they say that there was a peasant who lived in a village. And one day the peasant went out into the village to sow some corn. And as he was sowing, it happened that Christ and Saint Peter passed by. Now, what was Christ supposed to do? Shut up and mind his business?
"What are you sowing over there, my good man?" he asked.
"Cocks, that's what Iâm sowing!" the peasant replied rudely.
"Well, if you say you're sowing cocks, then may God bless you with cocks," Christ replied, blessing the field with both hands, and then went his merry way with Saint Peter, who could barely hold back his shock upon hearing those words come out of Christ's mouth, because he'd never heard the Savior be so vulgar in his life.
After he was done sowing, the peasant went home. And when it was time for hoeing, he went out and hoed the corn as one does, and then went back home. But when harvest came, then what do you know? Instead of corn cobs, every stalk had three or four spindle-like cocks, one more flushed than the other, all of them sturdy and erect!...
"Oh, hell, there's all my summer's work down the drain," the peasant said, scratching his head and slamming his hat against the ground. "I've never seen the like in all my years... fuck the devil's bowels! â Well, well! Now what? â Fuck the evil spell and the cursed mouth of the man who blessed my field."
And as he stood there in shock, a tough granny happened to pass by.
"Lovely weather we're having, my good man," she said.
"And a knee to the groin of a certain man, auntie," the peasant replied, sick with grief...
"Oh, dear, but why are you so grumpy, my good man," the granny replied, sadly. "Aren't you ashamed to talk this way in front of an old woman like me?"
"Well, how am I supposed to talk, auntie, when Godâs made a mockery of all my hard work. I barely have enough to eat, what am I going to do with cocks? Look at this field and then tell me if you wouldn't swear, too..."
When the woman looked at the field, she grabbed her head with both hands in shock... cocks upon cocks, erect and hard, every which way she looked.
"Oh, dear me, nephew! Now that's a pickle."
"If it were just the one, that'd be fine, auntie! But there's hundreds, alas, to plug up your ass!... Fuck and damnation, I don't know what to do. I want to hang myself."
"Never mind, nephew," said the granny, looking at them sorrowfully... "How do you know this isn't good fortune that God sent your way?"
"I wouldn't wish this fortune on my enemies, auntie, who's ever heard of such a thing - eating cock instead of corn! Tell me what to do, because I haven't got a clue."
So the granny stood thinking for a while, then said, "Newphew, I'd teach you what to do to get rid of 'em as quick as anything and get ten times, no, a hundred times more than you would for corn, but what will you give me in return?"
"What do you mean, auntie? Teach me, and I'll give you anything you'd like, and an armful of cocks on top of that..."
Well, when the old woman heard him speak of giving her cocks, her heart skipped a beat... she couldn't get her eyes off them, when she saw them so hard and upstanding.
"Listen here, nephew: load them up in your wagon and go to the market and sell them the way you would pepper. But oh, what damned luck, now I have to set shame aside and teach you how theyâre used, so you can tell your customers."
"Good, auntie, tell me, please!"
"Well, when they have a longing for cock, they should whistle for it the way they whistle for their sheep... and then, they go on as long as the arse can hold... and when they've had enough, they should say: Whoa! Whoa! You restless cow. And then it'll soften instantly and you can get rid of it."
And, as proof, the granny grabbed a knob, the biggest she could find on a stalk, and started using it as you do...
The peasant froze when he saw it...
"But where'd you learn this from, auntie?" he asked, surprised.
"Ho, ho! Nephew, where the devil himself can only find kindling, I used to cut firewood... Don't ask questions, say gramercy that I opened your eyes and told you what to do..."
That's all the peasant needed. He gave the granny everything he'd promised, then went home, covered his wagon in rugs and prepared it properly, yoked the oxen, went back to the field, loaded up a wagonful of cocks - and off to the market he went, with all of them ready to sell.
As soon as he got to the market, he started crying out as loudly as he could:
"Cocks, cocks! With cocks so big and strong, a lady'll do no wrong!"
A widowed lady, hearing such words coming from the peasant's mouth, sent a servant girl to call him over for a dressing down...
The servant girl called the peasant over. And as he came, the lady berated him, saying:
"What's this filth you're spouting right next to my veranda, peasant? The devil's own mother eat you alive! I'll have them put you against the ladder and then beat you until your oxen have to drag you home... Do you hear me?"
"Well, my kind lady," said the peasant, scratching his head. "Please forgive me, but what can a man do? God gave us cocks, so we brought 'em to the market to see if we could get something for 'em, because we've got our taxes and needs, too..."
"Have you gone mad, peasant? Why are you spouting such filth in front of me?"
"No, God forbid, your ladyship, I'm as sane as anyone else, and it's Godâs honest truth! Let me bring you one, and you'll see for yourself... A pox on whoever made them grow, because theyâve brought nothing but strife to me. If they'd been of the female persuasion, I'd've kept 'em for myself, but the way these things stand..."
And so he went to the wagon and chose a cock on the cob from among the largest ones and then brought it straight into the lady's house.
"There we go, ma'am, dâyou still think this is a joke? See whatâs become of my summer's work? And now you threaten to have me beat, as if God hasn't beaten me enough! And fuck whateverâs sacred to whomever fucked me over, because now people think I'm mad..."
The lady saw now that the peasant was right, so she pretended to look away, but her eyes kept sliding back to the honest cock every now and then.
"Dear me, darned be, peasant, aren't you a scoundrel!... So how do people use this sort of thing when theyâve got a hankering to? Not that I would, because I've got no use for these things. But I'm shocked to see such a devilâs own tool!..."
"Well, how to use one indeed! Please forgive me, my dear lady, but see, when some woman wants one all she has to do is whistle a few times, the way we whistle sheep over when we want to milk them, and then all you need to do is hang on and let it do its job â for as long as you can handle it, because I'd be embarrassed to hear it ever stops of its own accord. And when you're pleased with it and want it to stop, all you need to do is shout: Whoa! Whoa! You restless cow! And immediately you see it pull back neatly, like a snake in fresh water... And then, whenever you feel like it... you do it again. And if you're not happy with it, then you'd be well within your rights to curse my name."
"My word, you rude trickster, arenât you the devilâs own," said the lady, who seemed to be getting used to vulgar words. "Why don't you leave the room, and come back when I call you, because I've got a bit of business to take care of..."
The peasant shut up and went out. The lady gave it a try, whistling at the knob, and the cock went whoosh! into the lady's cunt... And it went, and it went, relentlessly. And the lady! You know what they say: no granny is afraid of a thick cock.
The poor woman sat there like a lamb at the sheep's teet until it gets tired of suckling, because the lady was one of the toughest:
Tight of cunt and hard of hip
Makes a cock get hard and dip
Quickly, quickly, slip, slip, slip
And finally, when she got her fill of it, the lady said quietly: "Whoa! Whoa! You restless cow!" And the cock immediately sagged and sploot! fell down... The lady immediately picked it up as she would a holy relic and kissed it on its very tip... Then she called the peasant back in and said, going about it in a roundabout way:
"And how did you come to own such foul things, peasant?"
"How indeed, ma'am? Well, this spring, as I was sowing corn in the field, the devil himself - because it can't have been anyone else - brought two people along. And one of them asked: what am I sowing? I've never held my tongue in my life, and I didn't hold it now. I got angry, and the devil himself made me say that Iâm sowing cocks, pardon ma'am. And then he, with a cursed mouth, or whatever it was, blessed my field with both hands as he went by and said: so may God give you cocks. And as you can see, I got cocks, ma'am! So that's how I ended up a cock salesman, though I don't think God knows of it. So fuck me and fuck it all, I'll sell them all both big and small, forgive me ma'am for saying so."
"And you're not afraid to call them as you see them, Iâve noticed!"
"Well, ma'am, if that's what they're called, how the fuck else are we to call them?"
"Listen, what if those two were Christ and Saint Peter? Because they're the only ones I've heard of who engage in such miracles..."
"Ma'am, how can I know who they were? Be they God or the devil, fuck them and their ilk, because thatâs the nicest thing Iâve got to say about both of âem, forgive me ma'am, but they got me good..."
"Well, if thatâs how it went, my good man, then I think it was Christ himself. So that's why I'll buy one from you, to remember the year when your field yielded the things of which you say... because to me, this is a sign of great riches."
"You mean cocks, ma'am."
"Indeed, and I see youâve got a taste for selling them, because they've been on your tongue all day."
"Well, if my mouthâs been running all my life, what can I do now? Forgive me, ma'am! But even if you're right, then I don't understand God in the slightest. What the devil is he doing? Doesn't he have anything better to do than grow cocks on people's fields! God forgive me, but Godâs got to be mad for cocks, if he likes them so much! But who knows? I'll do as you say, ma'am. Maybe God wanted to shit money in my purse, because it's been empty for so long - I haven't got a coin to my name. So what say you, ma'am? Do you want one or not? I've been too long here already, and I should go back to the market."
"Tell me how much you want for this filth," said the lady, pretending to be somewhat sickened by it... "As they say: God giveth, but I for one don't need it."
"How much could I want, my honest lady! Let's not haggle, give me five hundred coins and we'll call it a day."
"Sorry, what? Five hundred coins? You're joking, peasant!"
"Well, I understand, maâam, but Iâve sweated my balls off âtil I picked all the damned cocks and brought them here as you see them, didnât I?⊠And if I wonât get my moneyâs worth from a lady like you, then how am I supposed to get by with what little peasant women have to spare? âCause theyâd want a bundle of cocks for a coin, and then theyâd ask me to add a few cocks for free to the bundle⊠Thatâs how it goes with peasants, God forgive me, and fuck it all! Sorry for the language, maâam!âŠ"
"But my good man, wonât three hundred coins be enough?"
"No, not one coin less, maâam."
"Four hundred, then."
"No can do, maâam."
"Not even four hundred and fifty?"
"Not even for four hundred and ninety-nine and change. Donât haggle for fifty coins, maâam. Do me a good one for a first sale, and youâll get such a cock youâll never get sick of, and youâll want to point other ladies my way, tooâŠ"
"Well, then, grab your five hundred coins," said the lady. "But donât you dare tell anyone you sold me such filth, because Iâll make sure you pay through the nose for your indiscretion. Do you hear me?"
"Oh⊠well! Is it any skin of my nose, maâam? Iâve got other things to do than run my mouth about ladies."
So, finally, the lady gave him five hundred coins, grabbed her cock â and the peasant went his merry way to sell the other cocks however he could. But as for having the cocks in the first place, thatâs something he stopped complaining about. As they say: you can sell a good horse without leaving the stable.
But why beat around the bush. The moment the peasant left, the modest, penitent lady ordered a silver box gilded with gold, decked the holy cock in cotton scented with perfume, and locked it in the box like a precious treasure, always carrying the key with her so that when the whim struck her, she got right down to worldly business until she was sated â thus, she no longer needed to long for it or go far and wide in search of it, as she had until then. The poor woman had struck gold in her older ageâŠ
Now, it so happened that one day the priest on the ladyâs estate came and begged and pleaded with her in the name of all the Gods to be godmother to a child. The lady gave in to stay in his good graces, so she summoned her horses and her carriage and went back with the priest to the village. And after the child was baptized, she stayed for lunch. So, at the table, as the lady drank a glass or two of wine â as it goes: please, have a drink, what harm can it do? â well, the lady got a bit drunk and immediately wanted a cock⊠Well, well! What could she do? She tried to go home, but the priest and his wife wouldnât let her.
"Stay with us for tonight, maâam," they said, "itâs not like youâve got children at home, crying for want of their mother."
Well, alright, but the lady was desperate for some cockâŠ
"Listen, father," she said after a while, "if you wonât let me go, then have this key, and do me a favor. Go to my home, open the chest next to my bed, take out the silver box you find in there and bring it back here, because I need something in it. Itâs one of those knickknacks we women use, you know how it goesâŠ"
The priest, thinking she had gifts for the his wife, immediately took a horse and left riding.
As soon he got to the ladyâs home, he went through the chest, grabbed the box and galloped towards home.
Now, it was around noon in the middle of summer and the priestâs heart hammered in his chest, exhausted by the heat. About halfway home, he stopped by the edge of a forest and rested under a drooping tree too cool off a little. And as he sat there, fanning himself, the devilâs own thought crossed his mind that he should open the box and see whatâs in it. He turned it around, spun it up and down, and who can say how but it so happened that he got it to open. And what should he see? A gigantic devilry wrapped up in perfumed cotton⊠So, the priest, startled, let out a long whistle. And as he whistled in his shock, in the priestâs arse went the cock!⊠Then the priest started yelling and screaming, "God, deliver me from evil! Donât let your servant be mocked by the devil! For I have served you forever, and Iâve never served another!" But all of it was in vain. And finally, as the priest saw that there was no escape, he took the belt off his underwear, tied one end to the tree, the other end to the cock, and then he started pulling and straining the way oxen do when theyâre yoked and the work is hard, but he couldnât get away⊠So the priest prayed, and he yelled, and he strained, but it was hard to find even a little relief from such a gigantic cockâŠ
And finally, when he was half-dead from exhaustion, God sent a bit of fortune his way, as a stampeding cow came his way and nearly ran him over. So then the priest, terrified, started yelling in despair: "Whoa! Whoa! You restless cow, may wolves eat you alive!" And the cow changed course, and the cock came out of the priestâs arse!⊠And when the priest saw himself free, whoosh! he ran into the forest like a madman, leaving behind horse, and box, and cock, and belt, and priestess, and lady and all of that, and kept going and going. And heâs been gone ever since.
Aah, I'm pleased to have provided the impetus for this!
This is a fun read in English when familiar with the original text as well. One of the things I was most curious about was how to approach the distinctive regional flavor of the language. I felt like a lot of the humor actually derived from the little flourishes of language and phrasing, and that's not the kind of thing that always has a one to one translation. I'm not surprised you also mention that's the hardest part to reproduce, because that aspect sure stumped me!
I translated the story just as an exercise to entertain myself, and so my chosen approach was to call more to the informal storytelling tone and use casual, more modern language. I don't think mine is the most thorough translation, because I traded some of the more long-winded sentences for shorter, more pithy ones.
Anyway, here was my attempt, I'm adding it under the cut just as a fun comparison.
So, once there was a peasant. And this peasant went out to his fields to sow some corn. As he was sowing his corn, just then, Jesus Christ and Saint Peter happened to be passing by. But could Jesus keep His mouth shut?
"What are you sowing there, good man?" He asked.
"Dicks, obviously," the peasant answered petulantly.
"If that is so, then may your field grow bountifully with dicks, then," Jesus said, raising both His hands to bless the field, and after that He and Saint Peter went on their way. But Saint Peter couldn't help feeling puzzled, because he had never heard his Lord use such coarse language before.
The peasant, having finished his sowing, returned home. When the fields needed tending, he went and tended them accordingly. But when the time came to harvest the fields, he could not believe his eyes. Because it was full of dicks. Instead of ears of corn, each stalk that grew from the ground held a bundle of three or four handsome dicks, each one flushed, proud and bravely standing to attention.
"Ptooey!" the peasant spat, "all this hard work all summer, and this is what it amounts to?!" He scratched his head, then threw his hat to the ground. "Never in my life, dammit! I bet it was that asshole with his blessing, he did this! What am I supposed to do now?"
As the peasant was sitting there, bemused, an old woman happened to pass by.
"Good day, young man," the old woman said.
"Auntie, I'd cram my knee up that guy's ass if I could," the peasant muttered, angered beyond reason.
"Well, someone's in a nasty mood today," the old woman remarked gloomily. "This is how you talk to an old woman?"
"How else would I talk, auntie, when God made a complete mockery of all my hard work? With how poor I am, do I look like I can afford to grow dicks instead of corn? Look at this whole field and judge for yourself!"
The old woman looked, and she was struck dumb by the sight. Dicks and dicks everywhere, growing hand over fist, as far as the eye can see.
"Goodness, nephew. This is a new one."
"If only there was just one, auntie, then at least I could deal with it! But where am I supposed to put all these dicks, up my ass? There's thousands of them! I could hang myself right now."
"Now hold on there, young man," the old woman said, giving the dicks a long, hungry look. "How do you know this isn't actually a stroke of luck?"
"I wouldn't wish this kind of luck even to my enemies! Where have you ever heard of this, eating dick instead of corn. If you're got a plan, auntie, let me hear it, because I can't think of a single thing to do about it."
The old woman gave it some thought, then said:
"Well, nephew, I could teach you how to turn these dicks into a lot of money. But what's in it for me?"
"What are you saying, auntie? Teach me, and I'll give you everything you want and a whole stack of dicks on the side."
When the old woman was offered the dicks, her heart gave a twinge. Because her mouth was watering over the proud, stiff dicks swaying in the wind.
"Here's what you can do, nephew. Load up all the dicks in your oxcart, and go to the market to sell them. But before you do, I unfortunately have to put aside all shame and also teach you what to tell the people who'll be buying the dicks."
"I'm listening, auntie, please tell me!"
"Alright: when they have a hankering for the dick, all they have to do is whistle long and hard, just like shepherds whistle to herd sheep into the pen. And then, they just have to hold on for dear life. Once they get tired of it, what they have to do then is yell 'whoa, whoa, haven't you had enough!', and instantly it'll grow soft again and they can set it aside."
And then, just to demonstrate, the old woman plucked a nice, heavy dick off one of the stalks, and put it to use just like she described.
The peasant froze at this sight.
"Auntie, where did you learn all this?" the peasant wondered.
"Ah, nephew, in my youth, I used to chop wood where the devil later came to gather kindling. Ask no more about it, just be grateful I was here to open your eyes."
That was all the peasant needed to know. Just as he agreed with the old woman, he went home, yoked his oxen to his cart, returned to the field, and filled it up with all the dicks it could carry. And then he was off to the market.
"Dicks! Get your dicks here! Young ladies get your kicks with some big hard dicks!"
A widowed landowner, hearing such words from the peasant's mouth right outside her house, sent along one of her servants to call him over and explain himself. The servant fetched the peasant, and instantly the old widow started scolding him.
"What kind of filth are you yelling outside my window? I'll have you strung up and beaten so hard they'll have to carry you home on a stretcher!"
"But, you see, good mistress," the peasant began explaining, scratching his head, "I'm very sorry, what can I do? God really did give me all these dicks to sell, so I'm trying my luck here in the marketplace."
"Are you insane, man? You really have the gall to speak this kind of filth right to my face?"
"May God strike me down if I'm lying, good mistress! I really do have dicks to sell! Here, if you don't believe me," the peasant said, while thinking 'fuck the jackass who made all these dicks! Now I'm getting into shit over the damn things!'.
And just like that, the peasant went to his cart, and picked a big fat dick, returning to the widow's house with it.
"Here, ma'am, did you think I was joking? Do you see what my whole summer's work went into? And I get threatened with a beating on top of all that, as if I don't have enough trouble!" And thinking at the same time, 'fuck that guy forty times over, now people think I'm crazy on top of everything.'
The old widow, seeing that the peasant was indeed not lying, pretended to look away in shock, but she was still glancing out of the corner of her eye at it, and by it, I mean the hard-working dick.
"What a scoundrel you are!" the widow said to the peasant. "...so how exactly would one use this thing? I mean, not that I would, of course, but let's presume if someone actually wanted to put this thing to use."
"Well, ma'am, if you'll forgive my boldness, you just whistle at it a few times, the way we whistle to herd the sheep into a pen, and then just... hold on as it goes to town, for as long as you can. Anyway, when you're all dicked down and you want it to stop, yell at it, 'whoa, whoa, haven't you had enough?' and then you'll see how it sits back down, mild as milk. And every time you're wet for it, just do the same. And you can curse me out if it won't please you, that's a guarantee."
"You damn foul-mouthed ruffian, you've got some real nerve to keep talking like that," the widow muttered, even as she was getting used to the coarse language. "Hey, step out of the room for a bit. I'll call you back, I just need to check something."
The peasant didn't say anything and meekly stepped out. And the widow, just to give it a try, started whistling her head off, and then the diligent dick stuck itself directly up the widow's cunt. As the saying goes, an old hen doesn't fear a great big cock.
She milked that dick like a lamb sucking at its mother's teat. She was a tough old broad, tight and not easy to please, so she rode it hard.
Anyway, once the widow was nice and satisfied, she softly called out: whoa, whoa, haven't you had enough? and then the dick went soft in an instant and flopped down onto the floor. The widow picked it up reverently then, and gave it a kiss right on the head.
She called the peasant back in, and haughtily spoke to him again:
"So where did you even get these things?"
"Well, see, ma'am, it happened like this: back in spring, I was just minding my business, sowing corn, when what the devil do I see but two people passing by. And one of them asks, what are you sowing? And me, with my big stupid mouth, I say, dicks, obviously! Pardon my language. And then this guy, with his own cursed mouth, starts raising his hands and blessing my field, going 'may dicks grow, then!'. And as you see, all these godforsaken dicks did grow, forgive my saying so."
"Yeah, you sure do like saying that word a lot."
"Well, ma'am, no offense, but what else am I supposed to call them? They're dicks!"
"Are you completely sure those two passing people weren't Jesus Christ and Saint Peter? I don't know anyone else who could make miracles like this happen."
"Well, how should I know? God or Satan, fuck them both, I was better off keeping my mouth shut that time. Pardon my language again, but it is what it is."
"Well, I still think that was Jesus Christ. And just because of that, I'm going to buy one from you, just to commemorate the bountiful harvest we had this year. I'll take it as a sign a wealth."
"You mean the dicks, ma'am?"
"Yes, them, you can eat one since you like that word in your mouth so much."
"This is just how we common people talk, what can we do about it? Forgive our uncouthness. But if what you say is true, ma'am, then I have to wonder what God was thinking. What the hell, after all? Didn't He have enough work already without having to go around filling people's fields with dicks? Sure must like dicks a lot. But you know what, ma'am? I'll take it as a sign of wealth too. If God wanted to shit money into my purse, I don't mind it. It's been empty too long, anyway. So, what'll it be, ma'am? Are you buying one or not? I still have business in the market."
"Well, what are you asking for this damned thing," the widow asked, pretending to be disgusted by it. "As the saying goes, I'll take any blessing God is giving out, even if I don't need it."
"I'm not asking for much, mistress. Just to get it over with, give me five hundred lei and we'll each be on our way."
"What? Five hundred? You sure have some nerve!"
"Listen, madam, I was out there for months, sweating my balls off out in the fields, and I brought these dicks all the way here to the market. If you rich ladies aren't going to pay top price for one of these dicks, who am I even going to sell them to, the village women? They'll bargain me down to the bottom penny, and still not be satisfied unless I give them a whole stack of dicks for it. That's just how it is in this bitch of a world, pardon my saying so."
"Good man, are you sure three hundred lei isn't enough?"
"Not one bit less than five hundred, ma'am."
"Four hundred."
"No way."
"Four fifty?"
"Not even for four hundred ninety-nine and thirty-nine bits. Ma'am, stop being cheap over some measly fifty lei, when you've got this fantastic dick here that you can brag to all the other rich ladies about."
"Alright, fine, five hundred," the widow agreed. "But if you breathe one word about me buying this thing, you're finished. Got it?"
"Good grief, ma'am, do you think this is the kind of thing I want to spread around?"
Finally, the old widow gave him five hundred lei and got her dick--and the peasant hightailed it out of there, because he had a cart full of dicks to sell. The only thing he wasn't lacking was dicks.
But anyway, the moment the peasant left, the old widow, pleased with her new purchase, took out a beautiful gilded silver box. She wrapped the precious dick in cotton, dabbed it with scented oils, and settled it into the box like a priceless relic. She carried the key to the box with her at all times, and when she felt the urge, she would get it out of the box and satisfy all her needs. Never did she think she would have her needs tended so well in her old age.
Well, one day, the priest from one of the villages on the widow's land came over, begging for her to come stand in as godmother at a young child's christening. The old widow, not wanting to refuse the priest, had her carriage readied and went down to the village with him. After the christening, she stayed over at the priest's house for lunch as well. As she sat there eating, she drank a glass or two of wine, as people often do when the hosts insist and keep pouring.
But as the wine went straight to the widow's head, she got the urge for dick again. When she tried to go home, however, the priest and his wife saw that she was drunk, and insisted she couldn't just leave.
"Stay with us tonight," they said, "it's not as if you have children crying for you at home."
But, well, the old widow was still burning with hunger for dick.
"Father," she said to the priest after some time, "since you're not letting me go, please take this key instead, and go to my house. Open the trunk next to the bed where I sleep and take out a silver box, and bring it to me. There's some stuff in it that I need, just some womanly things."
The priest, assuming the things in the box would be gifts for his wife, saddled his horse and went right away.
It was the middle of summer and noon, so as the priest was on his way back, the heat was unbearable. Halfway home, he stopped in the shade of a forest, sitting down under a tree so he could cool down for a bit.
And as he was sitting there, curiosity got the best of him, and he couldn't help but take a peek into the box. He twisted the key in the lock, opened it, and as he looked inside, what did he see? A giant dick, wrapped in cotton and smelling of scented oils.
The priest was so taken aback, that he couldn't help but whistle in surprise. And just as he did, bam! The dick popped up and went right up the priest's ass.
The priest began howling then, "God, please save me! Don't let your faithful suffer the devil's mockery! Haven't I served nobody but you?"
But it was all in vain. Seeing that God wasn't going to save him, the priest removed the string from his long johns, tied one end to the dick and the other to the tree, and started tugging away, trying to pull loose from the dick like an ox straining to pull the plow. But it was all useless. The priest prayed, and begged, and screamed, but there he was, in a word, fucked.
Just as he was sure he would breathe his last with the dick still up his ass, a cow ran near him, probably agitated by a bug bite, and it was bucking so wildly that it nearly crushed him.
Terrified by the cow, the priest yelled out at it, "Whoa, whoa, haven't you had enough, you damn beast? Wolves eat you!"
The cow reared back a little in response, but at these words the dick finally stopped and slipped out of the priest's ass. Seeing himself free, the priest bolted out of there, straight into the woods, leaving behind horse, box, dick, wife, widow, and all. And for all we know, he's still running to this day.
my pipe dream is to live long enough to see a dracula adaptation movie that a) is a good movie, b) significantly adapts the events of the novel dracula (1897), and c) but not any of the really racist parts and also doesn't add in any additional racism of its own. I've got a handful of movies that get 2/3, but let's be real, most drac adapts are 0/3. I think it's possible I think we can do it I think it just might take forty more years.
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