(British Isles, Earth. July 21st, 1096 A.D.)
The hot sun beat down on a traveler wending his way along the dusty highway. It was summertime in England, and that meant all the fat friars who had holed up for winter inside warm abbey walls were crawling all over the countryside on various picnic-style pilgrimages eating the common-folk out of house and home. There was one particular friar fatter than most perched on the back of a borrowed donkey munching on meat and cheese donated by an unhappily generous farmer.
“God bless him!” mumbled the cleric. “What a man won’t do to save his soul.”
Suddenly the bushes parted and an angry looking Scotsman leaped out bearing a cudgel. He was sturdier than an oak tree, with arms and hands so strong they could have tied the friar’s mule in a pretzel from tail to ear.
“What do you want?” squealed the frightened man, holding his cross out in front of himself.
“Whatever you got,” said the Scotsman. He grabbed the mule by the reigns and pulled it over to the side of the road. The stubborn beast shot up its hind legs sending its clumsy occupant hurtling towards the ground. Then the Scotsman knocked him out and took everything he had.
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