Subject: THE NETHERWEAR OF ACHILLEUS

Date: 29 Nov 1998 00:00:00 GMT

From: nospamum@radix.net (Mumthra)

Organization: MotPU: Where Binary Moodswings are ALWAYS on the Menu

Newsgroups: alt.foot.fat-free

[from my dad]

"THE NETHERWEAR OF ACHILLEUS"

From Oxyrhinchus Papyrus Fragment IC XXX

Translated by Nigel C. A. Trouser-Stain, A.B.D.,O.B.G.

[Book XVII, 325]

[illegible] . . . came into the mind of Achilleus, the swift-footed,

that his well-knit boxer shorts remained back at the Skamandrian rest

room where he had engaged man-slaying Hector Priamedes in fearsome

buggery. Then mightily did great Achilleus moan, both from pain at

the loss of his cunningly wrought briefs and from the lingering pain

from the violence of the encounter with mighty Priamedes. And his

lady mother, Thetis of the silver feet, heard him make moan as she sat

in the depths of the deep-bosomed ocean with her father, ancient man

of the sea; and swift as the sea swallow which skims the frothy foam

of Poseidon earth-shaker's waves, she rushed to the side of her

stricken son. There by deep-soiled Illium, among the hollow ships of

the Myrmidons did the lovely goddess clasp the head of her dear son,

and with winged words of lamentation she asked him, "why do you weep,

and what sorrow has come into your heart, and why do you walk about

so carefully, with pained, mincing step?"

Then with a heavy groan Achilleus Peliades spoke to his lady

mother, "Would that you had bode among the deathless daughters of the

sea, and Peleus of the limited understanding had never made you his

bride, for Hector pile-driver has riven from me my well-knit boxer

shorts in the Skamandrian rest room where he engaged me in fearsome

buggery. Now I fear that as I ride my swift chariot against the proud

Trojans I will be mocked by the well-greaved Danaians for flashing my

one-eyed trouser snake beneath my corselet."

Then the silver footed Thetis answered saying, "Truly, my son,

there is no blame in wishing to avoid the mockery of the stout

Achaeans before populous Illium. In the morning I will return at the

coming up of the sun bearing underwear from the kingly Hephaistos.

Nor did the lovely-haired daughter of Nereus pause as she sped to high

Olympos, to the well-fitted house of Hepaistos, the crooked of leg.

Nor was his lovely wife, Charis slow to greet her, as the silver feet

of the Nereid made an enormous noise on the bronze floor of the god's

house. The clever god of smithery then addressed her, saying, Dear

Thetis, daughter of Nereus, this is an unaccustomed honor. Speak what

is in your heart, and I will accomplish it if I can."

Thetis of the long tresses answered with tears occasionally

splashing against her silver feet, with the sound of rain ringing on

the bright bronze of a warrior's helmet as he marches to the loathly

labor of man-murdering battle: "My dear Hephasitos, who has troubles

like mine? My son, born against my will by that pathetic mortal,

needle-dicked Peleus Aiacides, has gone with the battle-hardy Achaeans

to proud Illium. There warrior-slaying Hector Priamides contended

with him in fearsome buggery, and in retiring from the fray, as a lion

retreats from a well-defended farmstead, he left his boxer shorts of

cunning weave and artful design. Now I clasp your knees in

supplication for my doomed son that he may not be mocked by the

well-greaved Achaeans for the flashing of his one-eyed trouser snake

beneath his bright corselet as he rides his swift chariot into the

whirlwind of battle against the proud Trojans."

The widely-famed lame god made answer to her: "lovely Thetis,

daughter of Nereus, sister or Glauce, Tholeia, Cymodoce, Nesaia and

round-eyed Halie, niece of Phorcys, granddaughter of Pontus, cousin of

Iris . . ." Lovely Thetis shifted her silver feet with ill-concealed

impatience. "Sorry, muttered the divine smith, where was I? Oh yes;

please don't clasp my knees in supplication with my wife, gracious

Charis, watching from the well-fitted doorway; it looks very much like

something else."

Thetis of the lovely hair made answer, saying: "That certainly

could be part of the bargain, too. The Erinyes know, I have no pride

about that sort of thing since my days with Peleus of the odorous

ballocks."

Straightway the lame craftsman answered her: "Not here;

later, behind the titan-built megaron of mighty Chronion when the

other gods gather in council over the contending Achaeans and children

of Priam. Meanwhile, I will fashion fine under-shorts for Achilleus

of the swift feet, ones that will amaze the eyes of men who behold

them.

Nor did the famed smith of the gods delay in working his

twenty bellows to melt the hard brass and precious gold. First, he

fashioned the waistband, adorning it with beautiful designs. Upon it

he wrought the earth and the heavens, and the stars that encircle the

heavens, the Pleiades, the Hyades, the Wain (which men also call the

"monthly pad with new, flexible absorbent wings").

Upon it he wrought a scene showing the tribulations of

Chrysippus Pelopides, who suffered a nasty infection after his

abduction by Laius. Upon it he wrought the story of the rape of

Deianira, daughter of Oeneus by the centaur Nessus, grandson of Ixion;

how with enormous difficulty he tried to hold the struggling woman in

his human arms, inconveniently far from his equine reproductive

member, all the while trying to stay afloat in the fast running river

Evenus. The Fates were gracious to let him come to the shore at all,

and with Deianira still virgo intacta. His bitterness in planning the

devious murder of Herkles is understandable, as he paid the price of

grim death without having enjoyed his intended crime.

All these scenes and more the skillful son of Zeus Chronion

wrought upon the marvelous briefs of the son of Peleus of modest

achievement. Handing them to Thetis, the lovely Nereid, Hephaistos,

sky-born master of the forge added, "if you ever need some work done

on those silver feet, just come by the shop. See you later at the

council," he added in a lower voice.

When Thetis the mother of the swift-footed Achilleus had taken

up the ingenious work of the lame king of smiths, she shot like a

falcon from snowy Olympos, bearing the gold and brazen underpants of

her son, encamped before Illium of the wide ways.

And so, that is how Phthian Achilleus, normally so

swift-footed, came to be so badly chaffed in the crotch area that he

was unable to avoid the arrow of Paris.

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This was probably from Mumthra.