"The Historian"

"Listen, my allies, and do not fear

I'll tell you why we're gathered here.

One if by pen, and two if by comp.,

We'll start out upon our history romp;

We'll write all the books, we'll write them up pat,

The REsulting text shall be very fat,

And no one will've read a text quite like this,

The result'll be straight-out historical bliss!"

This was the speech he gave to his men,

(It seems less plausible now then it must've seemed then)

So they wrote up the texts, all lengthy and white,

It took them six years, from morning to night

But at last, O at last, it was finally done,

And then, he proclaimed, it was time to have fun.

"There'll be so much joy in the schollarly quarter,

A million smart scholars won't help but order

A million smart copies of our history books!

They'll flip through the pages with admiring looks,

And then they won't help but fall over flat

With envy that we could write a large book like that!

We've got something special, let me tell you here, bud!

While we've got the whole truth, they'll lay in the mud! Aye,

Here, my good neighbors, let me tell you with speed,

Our book's got all the history that anyone'll ever need!

We're the world's last historians, and we'll see to this pat

We'll kill THOSE historians, we shall lay them out flat!

We shall see to this quickly, we shall see to't with haste,

Until all THEIR writings have been utterly erased!

Do not pause on the verge, don't pause on the jaw,

We'll get 'em with backhoe, and with angry chainsaw,

We'll get 'em with machine gun and chicken that's raw,

We'll make 'em so bad that they'll shortily wish,

That we would cease hitting them with three month old fish.

But we'll never relent, O we'll never give in,

Until our noblest work is entirely fin!

We'll make the world ready for our book with gunshot,

We'll make the world ready whether they like it or not."

Then the team did move out, with haste they deployed,

Until in their tasks they were all deep employed.

But something was wrong, they had not reckoned on,

The fact that time would still be moseying on

Their 'last book of hist'ry' could never be done!

For lo! Their dear History is hardly begun!

They could kill other historians, or tear up their works,

In short, they could act like a bunch of big jerks.

But still, but O still, their work wouldn't be done,

History wouldn't end, it was hardly begun!

Their book would forever languish incomplete,

A complete work of history is NEVER complete!

And so, all those fools, who started writing that day,

Would have to keep working on their hist'ry essay;

It'll always remain, it'll never be done

But this poem's short course is already run.

And so, 'til the day when in sense THEY partake

Be aware of what Crusades you do undertake.