A broad known as Helen


I know you just love Greek mythology. Who doesn’t? Where else would you get ta see nymphs, big-chested and braless, walking around wearing ethereal white chiffon fluttering in the wind, baobabs swinging and bobbing around, this way and that.

Why do you think the earth wobbles while it spins? Because of the moon’s gravitay? Nah! It was a bunch of nymphs in an ancient Greek aerobics class that got the earth to wobble. The wobbles started then and haven’t stopped since, I swear on the Pierette’s pears. Pierette is the counter girl in our cafeteria at work. Her center of gravity is way ahead of her.

The nymphs in ancient Greece all pranced around in thonged sandals with tiny wings. Look closely and you’d find more wings, shoulder blade-mounted wings, waist wings, butt mounted wings.

Another thing. If you were born in ancient Greece, chances were high your mother would be a nymph. Relax. Before you rear your head up in righteous indignation and place a call to Chota Shakeel to off me for insulting your mother, I’ll have you know that, back in those days, being a nymph was status symbol.

Nymphs took Gods as husbands who promptly began showering them with rubies, diamonds, brawny nubian slaves and magical powers every time they wanted sex. And the Gods wanted sex all the time.

Furthermore, if a nymph really was your momma, chances are also high that you were born with pulmonary edema. What the f—k do you think would have happened to you if, the moment you were born, your mum grabbed you by the ankle and dunked you in the river Styx?

Now about those Greek stallions. They were pieces of work, oh yeah. Those days, all stallions had human torsos till the waist. They were still very much stallions down there, if you know what I mean. If you took a stroll in downtown Sparta, you might have found quite a few strutting around, with wings on ‘em.

Every goddamn thing those days had wings. A Greek lady on honeymoon didn’t bat an eyelid if she found her groom’s testicles had wings. They would flutter furiously when they made love and the lady would be screamin,” Ahhh! Ego sum adventum… Oooh! Ego sum adventum.. Eeeeh! Ego sum adventum.. Phew! Ego iustus venit!” (Look up Google translate if you don’t happen ta know Latin. I can’t say it. I’m too straight-laced).

The men were sun-tanned, brawny and bare chested, with thigh-length ‘chitons’ which were like pleated skirts with drape supports, fastened at the left shoulder with a brooch or a pin. Underwear hadn’t been invented those days, so the men had to sit cross-legged and think of their favorite Greek tragedy if they saw a nymph stroll by, otherwise the chitons would become tented chitons.

Having given you this enlightening backdrop, the period setting, the mood and the essence, having gotten you under the very skin of the ancient Greeks, it’s now time to begin with the main protagonist, Ἑλένη. OK, OK, I’ll switch from Latin to English and call her Helen from now onward, relax.

The first thing you’ve got ta remember is that Helen, though she was known as Helen of Troy, was actually Helen of Sparta. She was Spartan, not Trojan. The distinction, if applied to you, could get you killed if you didn’t know the difference back in the old days.

Helen got abducted and taken to Troy by an effeminate ars-h-le called Paris. I hate the m—-r f—er. He started an eleven-year war, all because of a p….what’s the other word for cat, now. Once again, I can’t say it. I’m too straight-laced.

Let’s start with Helen’s immediate family. Helen’s father, Zeus, was a piece of work. Zeus was the Chief among the Gods. The Greeks liked ta call him Zeus and the Romans called him Jupiter, same perp.

While referring to Zeus, I won’t use capitals in the third person (as we all do with Gods) because, between you and me, I think he was one crappy jerk with a wanton, libidinous richard and therefore definitely doesn’t deserve capitals.

In his real appearance, Zeus was just another ugly old bearded lech. To be able ta fornicate, he found no choice but ta change his appearance into anything else he wanted it ta be. Zeus fell for the Spartan Queen Leda (Helen’s mommy and wife of Sparta’s King Tyndareus).

Queen Leda wouldn’t let Zeus touch even her toenails in his real identity, God or not, even if he had a barge pole. So here’s what he did. He dropped by in the guise of a swan and did her. And here’s what he did to her.


(The above sculpture is displayed at the palace of the Maharaja of Gwalior in India. I guess ganders those days thought out of the box. If I was a gander a tit wouldn’t excite me, a goose’s fanny would.)

Now, every story has an a—h-le and a wimp. We already know who the a—h-le was. It was Paris, if you’ve bin paying any attention. Now about the wimp. A wimp is normally male, as it easily rhymes with limp.

The wimp in this piece was Helen’s stepfather, King Tyndareus of Sparta. Who else but a wimp would stand by while his old lady (Leda) got shtupped by a f—in’ bird? Helen also had step-brothers, the divine twins, Castor and Pollux, supposedly conceived from the same egg, and a step-sister, Clytmenstrua. Why, oh why, do the names in my pieces have to sound so gynaecological?

Helen’s own husband, the Spartan King Menelaus, could race his dad-in-law for the title of wimp of the month. Had it not been for his bro, the powerful Greek commander Agamemnon, there would be no Trojan War, Helen would be getting laid by Paris morning, noon and night and Homer would be getting laid by one of his hunky nubian slaves for the rest of his life.

Hey, you want to get to know the Greeks then you have ta read stuff with sex on every page, okay?

Actually Homer got it all wrong. Believing that life was all about p–sy, he made the Trojan War in his The Iliad look like as if it was provoked by Paris eloping with Helen. That is far from the truth. Archaeologists have located the ruins of Troy in Hisarlik in present-day Turkey, at the mouth of the Strait of Dardenelles, which along with the Strait of Bosporus, forms the only channel of water that connects the Black Sea to the Mediterranean. Militarily I doubt if there is another spot in the world that is of greater strategic value (the Panama Canal and the Suez didn’t exist in the 12th century BC, when Iliad happened). The Spartans must have realized Troy’s strategic importance and wanted to annex it, plain and simple.

The Spartans might even have persuaded Helen to seduce the testosterone-drenched Paris and deliberately triggered the conflict. Heck, Agamemnon must have told Helen, “Sweetie, all richards are one and the same, whether it is Mannie’s or Paris’s. They rise and then they shrivel. So what’s the big deal?” Helen wouldn’t have needed a lot of convincing. You wouldn’t either, if your hubby happened ta be sevennie years old and your palace was crawling with young hunks in chitons and no underwear.

This way, the Trojan War dragged on for ten years until the great Spartan hero, Achilles, was slain by Paris. With Achilles’s death, the Spartans lost the will to continue the siege outside the walls of Troy. With his fighters heart broken and homesick, Agamemnon ordered a retreat.

This was the point when Odysseus, another great Greek hero, stepped in. He proposed a subterfuge – probably the most famous ruse de guerre in history.  Odysseus had the Greeks build a huge hollow wooden horse with which the Spartans ultimately breached Troy’s walls and destroyed Troy.

Destroy Troy… did you know that the English word ‘destroy’ originated from Troy? Neither did I. And why would I? I just made that up. Anyway, that wooden horse has been known through history as the ‘Trojan Horse’, though actually it should have been called the Spartan Horse since the Spartans built it.

What schmucks the Trojans must have been, to believe that all of a sudden, after ten years of horrific bloodletting, the Spartans were giving them a present that looked like it had no functional value. If I was King Priam, I would have taken one look at the mammoth thingamabob and screamed,”What the f–k is this, some sort of a friggin’ joke?”

For his stupendous stupidity, the Trojan king paid with his life, when the Spartan hero, Neoptolemus, grabbed him, slit his throat and fed him to the vultures. Yeah, what with all the constant bloodfest going on, vultures must have been really plump and well-fed those days.

In Iliad, Homer didn’t describe in detail the actual destruction of Troy in the end, making Iliad seem like it was an unfinished manuscript. Maybe he was horny, writing about how Achilles almost had an orgasm vanquishing Queen Penthesilea and her band of ravishingly gorgeous fighting Amazons, whom the Trojans had contracted as mercenaries. Homer leaves that bit for the sequel to Iliad – The Odyssey, which begins with the destruction of Troy.

I forgot to tell you about the three other offsprings of King Tyndareus and Queen Leda and I would love ta, but I can’t think of anything funny about them to share with you right now. If you feel cheated and unfulfilled, I can’t help it. If you can’t get any sleep after reading this, have some sex. Try it doggy style – the Spartans loved it. Works for me every time.

Besides, I have a short attention span and I do need ta call it a post for now.


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