Ripping Yarns

Do Virgins taste better? Do Virgins taste better?

By our reporter who can't play the virginals, Denim Sue

Widespread alarm in Welsh Village

The Inquisitive fish dragon descended upon the small Welsh village of Llanddofurffaddas yesterday, threatening to burn the villagers out of their homes, steal their crops and incinerate their sheep. A meeting was hastily convened on the outskirts of the hamlet, for fear that stray sparks might well lead to a premature conflagration.

Walking towards the dragon, Jones the Law, Chairman of the Parish Council, said to Jones the Learning, the Parish Clerk, who had reluctantly agreed to accompany him to the meeting, "Couldn't we gather a force to defend the village from this fiery monster?"
"Gather it from where?" asked the clerk.
"Our young people, isn't it?" suggested the chairman. "Why can't they defend us?"
"Too busy with their sheep, boyo, they need a lot of looking after."
"No they don't."
"Well, they spend a lot of time up on the hills," replied the clerk.
"What on earth are they doing then?"
"Don't ask."

After a lengthy discussion, during the course of which the dragon suggested a variety of alternatives, the two burghers finally came to an agreement with the monster. It would not steal their crops and livestock or burn the village to the ground in return for being allowed to drop in twice a year and invite a virgin to lunch.

Reaction to the agreement was varied when Jones the Learning broke the news to the assembled villagers in the local pub — 'The Wizened Sheep Fancier'. "We really had no choice," he blustered defensively. "As none of you spineless buggers would help us, we had to agree to the dragon's demands, isn't it?"
Jones the Bread rather smugly stated that he wasn't worried about the agreement as he only had sons, until Jones the Death pointed out that sons can be virgins too. Whereupon the baker choked on his pint of 'Olde Scruffy Yokel' and beat a hasty retreat.

The Wizened Sheep FancierThis led Jones the Coal to remark derisively: "He's been reading too many fairy stories." Jones the Learning, who was something of a philosopher, reflected that nobody could do anything about it anyway. He then began to speculate on the dragon's insistence on virgins. "Do they taste better?" he mused, "saltier, sweeter, more juicy, perhaps? And does he savour them slowly or swallow them whole?"
"I'd swallow their 'oles," interjected Jones the Video, smacking his lips.
"Shut up!" shouted Jones the Law, soundly cuffing the shopkeeper. "You wouldn't know how, boyo."

As I was now on my third pint of 'Sheep Fancier's Woolly Willie Warmer', I rather lost track of who was who, especially after Jones the Organ sat on my lap. Fortunately I was wearing stout, woollen bloomers at the time and hardly felt a thing. The conversation continued around me while I fended off the attentions of the nimble-fingered keyboard player.

"There's no way we can get rid of him," complained Jones the Death. "His thick scales make him virtually invulnerable. Best give the beastie the virgins, isn't it?"
"What we need is some brave knight to come along and slay him for us," reflected Jones the Fruit and Veg.
"The dragon would melt his armour," objected Jones the Coal.
"Seven Samurai might have a better chance," suggested another Jones — Jones the Post, I think — or it may have been Jones the Garage, my memory had become a bit hazy by this point.
"Oh and where are you going to get seven samurai in Wales?" snorted Jones the Death.
"Poke his eyes out," suggested Jones the Post.
"Try it and you'll be sorry."
"No, not yours, the dragon's," explained Jones the Post, or possibly Garage.
"What with?"
"A pointed stick of course."
"It would have to be a pretty long stick."
"He'd burn it," objected Jones the Video.
"Not if were made of metal."
"Then it wouldn't be a stick, isn't it?"
"It'd still melt. Dragon's breath can melt anything."

"If he ate enough virgins he may become too fat to fly, that would make it a bit easier, wouldn't it?" proffered Jones the...Jones the — well another Jones anyway.
"Oh and how many virgins are you prepared to let him barbecue to do that?"
"What if there weren't any virgins in the village?" suggested Jones the Organ brightly.
"Wouldn't that be breaking our agreement?" asked another Jones.
"No, we never said we'd supply a virgin, the dragon said he'd invite one to lunch with him every six months," explained Jones the Law with a wink.
"You mean send them all away? We couldn't afford it."
"We don't have to send them all away, just ensure they're no longer virgins, smirked the Jones who was attempting to remove my bloomers.
"How do you do that?" asked a very naive Jones; the School, I think.
"Don't be bloody silly," exclaimed my would-be lover.
"Just you leave it to me, boyo," said Jones the Meat.

Welsh DragonLeaving the bounds of the alcohol purveying establishment, swaying only slightly, I came across three charming young ladies from the village. One of the trio, whom I shall refer to as Cerys Jones, although her real name may be Raglan Jones, gabbled something garrulously in Welsh, which was roughly translated into passable English by her sister, whom I shall refer to as Morfydd Jones, although her real name may very well be Megan Jones. "I'm dead scared of dragons," said Cerys with a shudder. "You would be too if you were still a virgin round here. Being eaten out by Jones the Organ is one thing, providing lunch for a bloody great, fire-breathing dragon is quite another, isn't it?"

"We're not naive, you know," added Megan, whose real name may be Morfydd — or possibly Cerys. "We've all heard the dirty songs and seen those filems with explicit scenes in them, isn't it? I've even played shepherd and milkmaid with some of the boys. Oh, and I know all about those women with their vibratin' pink toy jackrabbits, thank you very much."

At this point Cerys and Morfydd's other sister, whom I shall refer to as Megan Jones, although she is almost certainly called Cerys Jones, took over the translation.
"Quite honestly it doesn't matter to me whether or not I am tastier, I just don't want to be flambéed to death by a bloody dragon to leave a greasy spot or two behind. If I'm to be eaten I'd rather be eaten by some young lusty shepherd. It seems to me that being deflowered is rather better than being eaten alive by a dragon."

Cerys, Morfydd and Megan (who of course are really Megan, Morfydd and Cerys) are all the daughters of Jones the Something-or-other.

More of Denim Sue's groundbreaking journalism can be found here

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