mr_michel said:
ah! the good old wisdom of the spork throwing lady
Ah, Grasshopper, there is much I could teach you.
For instance, there is no army on the Earth, be they Western, Eastern, alien, or Worther's Original carrying grandparents from the past that can stand up to just one brave master of the spork.
He says we do not know the truth of the Mongols. Well then, let me share. All was going well for them with the conquest and the rock concerts and the shagging of the pretty white women with the big boobs, when they came across a wizened old chap sitting outside a pub drinking a pint of bitter.
'Ha ha Old Man,' mocked Ghengis 'I shall spill your pint and make wild love to your big breasted number one wench.'
And as he spoke these words he reached across and tweaked the aforementioned wench on the nip. Well, the old chap was none other than Howard Doppleganger, famous spork master and killer of giants. He was having none of this tweaking of nipples and spilling of pints so, quicker than a flash (or even The Flash, or even Billy Whizz he was so fast) he reached across with his favourite rusty spork and disembowelled old Ghengis with nary more of a flick of the wrist. Of course this quite incensed the old Mongols and they set to stamping their little feet and gnashing their teeth and whatnot. But before even Mighty Bob McCrumpet, second in command of the Mongol army, had even reached into his scabbard and pulled out Percival, his magic sword of ultimate vengence, Howard had killed him. And not only him, but the whole of the Mongol horde.
True story.