The First Rapper That Ever Lived
*This story takes place in 1884 during the Second Industrial Revolution in small town America. A scene opens with a man reading a story to two small children*
“Alright now, Walter, Ethel, quiet down. One story before bed and that’s it,” Theodore says to the children.
“Grandfather, tell us about when you were a young lad like me” Walter begs.
“Well okay boy, what do you fancy?”
“Tell us about how you met grandmother!” Ethel shouts from next to Walter.
“About how I met your Grandmother! Well alright…
The year was 1862, mutton was cheap and collarless waistcoats were in style. I was at the plump age of 17, without a chagrin in the world. Stickball was my passion, I spent my days chasing hoops down the street with a stick and throwing marbles at old man Whittaker. I had a plethora of lady callers if you know what I’m implying. But the only thing I truly cherished were my ballads…”
“Grandfather what’s a ballad?” Walter innocently asks.
“Why, it’s like a poem but superior… Anyway, where was I? Ahhh yes, my ballads. They weren’t just your rudimentary ballads. Me and the lads would gather behind the haberdashery after apprenticeship and have ballad combats. My good friend Jonathan and I would fill our ballads with blasphemy, William would play the flute to accompany us. It was almost like — like a hip song…
*Theodore drifts off into his memories of ballad combats behind the haberdashery with the boys*
*Jonathan reads his ballad while William plays the flute to accompany him*
“I may eat mutton but I’m no mutton shunter, my candence is so mighty it will put you in a blunder. I am still a young lad but I am no flapdoodle, I have a plenty of squaw abiding to canoodle…”
“Um.. Grandfather?” Ethel impatiently pokes.
“Oh, yes. My apologies young ones. Anyway, I was one of the most prominent ballad combatters in the village. A few boys from apprenticeship had tried combat with me but my slander was so robust, they couldn’t bear it. I was the finest, a first- rate ballad combater. Word got around the village, and reached the next town over. I was acclaimed by many. Jonathan and I had started a rather popular hobby, lads from across the way started practicing.
One day I got word of a boy named Harry. From across the river, in Georgetown. He declared he was the most excellent. Jonathan and I formerly ignored it as being buffoonery, until one late summers eve…”
*Theodore drifts off into a daydream once again about the time Harry from across the river declared he was the most excellent*
“Harry’s ballads are defecation! This is absurd!” Jonathan cries to Theodore in outrage.
“I concur! My ballads are thrice as superior! I could defeat him with two arms and a foot hogtied behind my back while fighting a griffon with nunchucks!” young Theodore responds feistily.
“You perceive what needs to be done Theodore, don’t you?” Jonathan grabs Theodore by the shoulders firmly. “We need to go to Georgetown, you need to defeat Harry.”
“Indubitably” Theodore says deterimingly.
“Grandfather… Grandfather! You’re doing it again!” Walter slaps Theodore across the face.
“Oh! Oh yes… My apologies children! Where was I? Oh of course, well Jonathan and I were going to show that SOB from Georgetown what we were made of. But first we needed a boat.”
“A boat?” says Ethel.
“Yes! A boat! We were going to cross the river. To raise the funds, Jonathan and I pulled a fast one on old man Whittaker and convinced him to pay us for shearing his sheep. It’s quite humorous because the jagaloon didn’t even have sheep! Ohhh thinking about all of the fast ones Jonathan and I pulled brings a tear to me eye” Theodore wipes a tear while he’s caught in his memories.
“Anyway, before long Jonathan and I had enough currency; so we went down to the docks and bargained our meaty little hearts out until we bought ourselves a fine maiden named the Vulgar Lady. Boy was she a beaut… Her bow was colossal, and her beam.. Wow” Theodore takes a moment of silence to commend the Vulgar Lady.
“She rowed strong and promptly delivered us to the Georgetown port. We were greeted by flocks of ladies and aspiring balladists. Everybody knew who I was and heard I was coming… Harry met us at the town line. He was a stocky lad, shorter than I. He wore a tweed cap over his oddly shaped head. Seriously it was shaped like a pear… And next to him. Next to him was the fairest maiden I’ve ever laid my humble eyes upon. Her name was Petunia, she was most desired among all the lads. But she had an eye for the finer things in life, and only associated with those who could provide for her…
As Jonathan and I approached, Harry spat on my knickers… and the combat began.”
*Theodore has a flashback of the combat between Harry and himself*
Harry goes first, “You may be tall but you’re a shabaroon, hence why I spat on your pantaloons”
Theodore fires back “I had heard from many you’re a tatterdemalion, your ballads don’t merit a single ornamental medallion”
*Theodore snaps back into the present to finish his story*
“Long story short, I defeated him with my quick wit and he was the laughing stock of the town… A few of his companions even went so far as to beat him up for his humiliating loss to me… Petunia broke up with Harry on the spot and came home with me that evening to be married, ahh Petunia… she just couldn’t resist my ballads.”
“So, Petunia is Grandmother?” Ethel asked innocently.
“No no no!” Theodore laughed out. “Petunia was my first wife, she died a terrible and tragic death to smallpox a few years later. Your grandmother was the nurse that came to care for her in her final days… Well, alright children. Time for bed!”
The End.
