Written in Anglo-Saxon, or Old English, sometime between the 8th and 11th centuries, Beowulf is an epic poem that reflects the early medieval warrior culture of Europe. Basically, it's a poem about warriors who battle monsters... and each other, of course.
Morality and Ethics
Tradition and Customs
Well, come on then, pull up that Ye Olde Ikea chair and have a seat.
Everything was hunky-dory here in the court.
I was beloved by my king, Hrothgar <<roth-garr>> who showered me with tons of bling -- swords,
armor, rings, you name it.
I was a real up-and-comer. Chicks dug me. Okay, so I haven't done anything to get rid
of Grendel, that horrifying creature who's been terrorizing Hrothgar's hall...
...but it is totally on my to-do list, I swear. Anyway, a couple of days ago, this Beowulf
goober shows up out of the blue.
He's one of a race of people called the Geats. Dumb name, if you ask me.
"Oh, honey, the "Geats" are coming over tonight." Stupid.
I've heard a rumor he's addicted to online shopping, too. More like eBay-owulf.
Anyway, he's immediately "in" with Hrothgar.
I guess Beowulf's dad and Hrothgar were friends or something. Used to tool around the links
together, who knows.
Nepotism will never die, right? Oh, but get this -- Beowulf is now promising
Hrothgar he's going to get rid of Grendel himself.
How cocky can you be? Hrothgar's buying it though. Someone's got
himself a new pet. But look -- I know this Beo-turd isn't as
mighty as he seems.
Take that swimming match with his friend Breca <<Bray-ka (roll the r)>> back in Geatland.
Everybody's talking about how Beowulf whooped him by swimming across the sea in full armor...
...but I have it on good authority that he actually LOST.
Not to mention that he ran up a ridiculous armor-cleaning bill.
And his boasts about how he's going to bring down Grendel?
Pfft. Whatevs. Put your money where your big, fat mouth is, Beo-dork.
Oh, and by the way... he claims he's going to take down Grendel... with his bare hands.
Seems to me this guy is a few screws short of a hardware store.
The ladies may be flocking to him now, but just wait.
In a few days, everything will be back to normal.
Beowulf will be lying in pieces on the hall floor, and I'll be Hrothgar's favorite again.
I'm not worried. Do I look worried? I'm not. Seriously.