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A map of all pf the tribes from Endgame

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This is a rap song based off of the Merchant tale

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Merchant

Uncle Geoffrey
Will you tell us a bed-time story?
Please, huh? Please?
All right, all right, all right
Settle down. You guys all tucked in?
Yeah!
Alright, check it out - y'all ready?
Yeah!
Alright, check it
Here we go...

This is the story of a rich old man, January
He's still a bachelor at sixty, but now he plans to marry
And he's looking for a beautiful young wife
Which is an option for rich old geezers, sometimes
Now, January was one of those "secularists"
Which means he had no control over his sexual urges
He couldn't say which was better, gettin' laid or gettin' paid
He just knew when he was gettin' one, the other would get away
But then he changed, whether from religious sensibility
Or whether he just got thick-headed from senility
I can't say, but suddenly he wanted it
January became a dedicated monogamist
Instead of a misogynist, treating women like objects
It's funny how our attitudes change with our prospects
Yeah, marriage is a beautiful thing
Especially for those who are too old to swing
That's when it's nice to just stay home with your wife
Instead of chasing waterfalls, 'cause it's cold outside
Take my advice, all you bachelor men
If you want love and happiness and companionship
You need a wife, a woman who will never be impatient
No more rejection and constant humiliation

Or anyway, that's what January would say
When he decided he was ready for his wedding day
So he asked his friends to help him find somebody
And said, "Guys, just try to make sure she's under twenty
I want sex appeal, not a tough old cow
I want some tender veal, instead of know-how
I want a woman I can mould right now with my own hands
Not a pre-fab thirty-year-old, I want some warm wax!"
Well, soon a young girl caught his fancy
And he said he had to have her if he wanted to be happy
And I'll skip the details of how they got engaged
Except just to say: rich men get the females
The girl that he chose was named May
A pretty eighteen-year-old with a baby face
And when the wedding day came, the pairing was gorgeous
They looked like Calista Flockhart and Harrison Ford
If Calista was more like Miley Cyrus' age
Yeah, everyone agreed that the bride was a babe
And January just watched her with lust in his eyes
And all he really wanted was to bust in her thighs
But first he had to get through the vows and feast
And the speeches, while suppressing his eagerness
But then the last guest in the villa went home
He took his bride to bed - she lay as still as a stone
As he caressed her, and said, "Sorry I have to hurt you
But the church says sex within marriage is a virtue
And now that we're husband and wife
I can make tonight last as long as I like!"
And in spite of his age, January stayed solid
And several long hours of unpleasantness followed
And in the morning, instead of passing out
He just sat up in bed singing and laughing out loud
And she just watched him, like, "Ew, he's crazy old!
The wrinkles on his neck look like the skin of a baby mole!"
And so on, and January singin' his verses
With his wife lyin' next to him, thinkin' he's worthless
So we'll just leave May in bed with her disappointment
And I'll talk about the fly in the ointment

January had a young assistant named Damian
He was at the wedding, 'cause he was one of his favorites
But Damian couldn't even enjoy the day
Because Damian had eyes only for May
But he knew he couldn't tell her 'cause his boss was jealous
And January had sway, like the Rock-a-fellas
So he thought to himself that the sure way to get her
Would be to write the girl a note, oh yes, a love letter
When he finished the note, like a sneaky sneak
Damian hid it somewhere she would find it secretly
And he signed his name to it; he was takin' his chances
'Cause a young man's likelihood of mating advances
By takin' risks - that's how human nature is
'Cause the girls love a guy if he's dangerous
And when May found the note, she read it and smiled
'Cause he was kinda sweet, plus it was written with style
And it said: "PS - I'm dead if you tell your husband!"
So she ripped it into fifty little pieces and flushed it

Well after that things changed
Damian and May played the winking game
But they couldn't follow through 'cause there was a jealous guy
In the mix - January kept a watchful eye
On his chick, but the months passed by
January was old; he was slowly going blind
Which was increasing Damian's chance of penetration
Thank goodness for advanced macular degeneration
'Cause if January was jealous before
Well, his blindness amplified it just a little bit more
He was so afraid to find his wife in a tryst
That he kept one hand at all times on her wrist
With no exceptions, not even for toilet breaks
While she peed, he would hover beside her like a coiled snake
Guarding its eggs, but his problem wasn't solved
Because her lack of freedom just increased her resolve
And pretty soon, opportunity knocked
'Cause January liked to take afternoon walks
In his garden, holding May by the elbow
He didn't trust her for a second on her own, hell no!
The garden was surrounded by a wall with a locked gate
He wanted privacy to exercise his prostate
With May when he pleased in a grove of trees
And a chain around his neck held the only key
But January slept like a corpse after strolls
So May copied the key in a warm wax mould
While he was passed out, and then she passed it out the window
To Damian, along with a note containing info
On what he should do, and how long he should take
And when he should enter the garden gate, and where he should wait
And he obeyed, Damian did what he was told
A guy's gotta roll with it when a woman's in control
Of his fate, right?

Well the very next day
January awoke with the sun on his face
He couldn't see it but he knew it was a beautiful day
So he said: "Let's take a walk in the garden, May!"
She said, "Okay," and dutifully walked beside him
And when they passed through the gate, he locked it behind them
And said, "Now there's no one here but you and me, woman!"
Except, Damian was there; she could see him, but he couldn't
He was sitting up in a tree, according to plan
And as she walked with her husband she was holding his hand
And saying, "Babe, I don't get it; why don't you trust me more?
The way you treat me, you must think I'm nothing but a whore!
You're always holding my arm; it's like you expect me
To go fuck somebody different every second if you let me
But we made a solemn vow to be faithful to each other
Through the good and the bad, and to always stay together
But for real, if you're with me every second it's no party"
And January said: "Aw, May baby, I'm so sorry
I wish I didn't have to watch you every second
Like a chicken hawk - it's just these jealous thoughts!
Ever since I lost my ability to see
All I think about is other men humiliating me
So I have to keep my property under lock and key
And that includes you, my love, obviously
See, I wanna set you free, but I'm afraid of human nature
By keeping you with me I'm saving you from temptation"
And May said, "Okay, I guess that's fair
Ooh, look up in that tree, such delicious pears!
Oh please let me climb up and get some for us to eat
You can guard the base of the tree if you don't trust me"
And he was kinda hungry, so he held the tree's base
And said, "Okay, but don't tell me you never get free space"
And for the precious folk, forgive my bluntness
But Damian just lifted up her skirts and thrust in

May and Damian, sitting in a tree
F - U - C - K - I - N - G
Like a couple of animals, with her jealous husband
Obliviously guarding the trunk of it down below
Now it's time for a sublime suspension
Of disbelief, 'cause here comes divine intervention
The ancient Roman gods, Pluto and Persephone
Happened to be watching from above, and they commenced a heated
Argument about who was in the right
The jealous old husband or the adulterous wife
She said, "Pluto, why you gotta be so hard on us?
Why you swear all women are so scandalous?
I mean, just look at how he treats her; she's practically on a leash
This guy deserves to get cheated on, honestly"
And for his reply, Pluto quoted the poet O-vid
And said: "Bitches ain't shit but hoes and tricks!
No wonder he's jealous, just look at this little slut
She'd climb in a tree just like a monkey to get some nuts!
In fact, fuck that; I'll give him his sight back
And she'll get caught in the act; yeah, we'll see how she likes that!
And I'll give all men the gift of suspicion
Like a weapon to keep an eye on these scandalous woman!"
And Persephone said, "Fine, if you give him his sight back
And make men suspicious, I'll give women a gift to fight back!
If your gift to men is to make them jealous twits
Then my gift to women is the gift of deceptiveness
Sweet words, deflection and flattery
Whatever they need to keep their men from reality"

Now isn't it strange that the gifts the gods gave
Kinda sound like the product of an evolutionary arms race?
So that if anyone was randomly born with an advantage
In the battle of the sexes, then they'd leave more descendants
On average... Ah forget it, call it a divine gift
And we'll go back to the story of January's blindness
Which evaporated miraculously
And he looked at his hands like, "God damn! I can see!
I can see... My wife, and she's in a tree?!?
With a man... And they're fucking in the canopy!?!"
And May instantly climbed down
While Damian crouched behind some branches to hide himself
And she said: "Oh, thank god it worked!
When I first heard about it, I thought it was the oddest cure!"
And he said, "Cure?!? But you were bent over a branch
With a man..." And she said, "No, that was an interpretive dance!"
"There was a man, but he's gone now, see?
Look, there's no man in the tree; it's just you and me
And you can see! So you shouldn't be angry
I just gave you your vision back, baby; you should thank me
It's a new form of alternative therapy
You do an interpretive dance with a man up in a pear tree
And it acts as a homeopathic cure for blindness
It's based on the latest in quantum science!"
And he said, "But I saw your dress pulled up to your chest"
And there was all this thrusting and exposed flesh!"
And she said: "Look, you know how you can't trust your sight
First thing in the morning until you adjust to the light, right?
Well, darling, you have been utterly blind
For months; you probably just have rusty eyes
And besides, didn't you just say that
You have visions in your head of being humiliated?
So how do you know that it wasn't one of those?
I mean, there's nothing we see that the mind doesn't control
So there is no shame if you hallucinate
But you have your vision back! Aw baby, that's super great!"
And January didn't really wanna fight
With his wife, and he was pretty happy for his sight
So he said: "Okay, baby, maybe I was wrong"
And he really believed it too; he wasn't just playing along
And they headed home together, hand in hand
The model relationship between a woman and man

That's right fellas!
This is a horror story!
They were the model relationship
Between a woman and a man!
Nooooo!

Good night

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Merchant by Baba Brinkman, released 15 April 2012 Merchant Uncle Geoffrey Will you tell us a bed-time story? Please, huh? Please? All right, all right, all right Settle down. You guys all tucked in? Yeah! Alright, check it out - y'all ready? Yeah! Alright, check it Here we go...

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The author of the Canterbury tales

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Although best known for his book The Canterbury Tales, English poet Geoffrey Chaucer wrote many poems in his lifetime. Learn more on Biography.com.

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The Merchant from Canterbury tales

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"With Courage you will dare to take risks, have the strength to be compassionate, and the wisdom to be humble. Courage is the foundation of integrity" - Mark Twain

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Beowulf and the Battle with Grendel's Mother Photograph

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This is a good article that broadens what a hero may actually be.

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I saw a patient of mine recently whose appearance in my office always makes me smile. He's challenging-not because he's a difficult person (quite the opposite), but because he has so many serious medical problems about which I can do so little. Why, then, does seeing him so consistently lighten my mood? Because it reminds me that for all the terrible things that go on-the abuse, the discrimination, the injustice, the downright nastiness-good still exists in the world. Because, you see, he's a hero.

What makes him a hero isn't the consistent good cheer with which he faces the discomfort his illnesses cause him on a daily basis. What makes him a hero is that fifteen years ago, before he got sick, he donated one of his kidneys to his brother who had AIDS. He told me about it the first day we met when he came to see me, reporting it the same way he did that he lived alone and worked at a large retail chain-in a tone that attached to it no particular significance. Whatever ego boost he may or may not have ever felt from doing it had long since faded. I paused in my history taking, looked up at him from the notes I was making with eyebrows raised as I, at least, thought this remarkable. But in response, he only smiled self-consciously and nodded once to confirm it.

Around the same time, a professional football player (whose name I can't recall now) was being promoted by the media as a hero, and I remember thinking how strange it was that the entire nation was celebrating him when only a handful of people knew about my patient.
A HERO DEFINED
Not to take away from that football player's accomplishments in any way-I'm a great admirer of excellence in any form-but I found nothing about him even remotely heroic. I wondered if he was ever introduced to my patient if he wouldn't find the label a bit embarrassing himself.

What actually makes a hero? I'd argue it's the willingness to make a personal sacrifice for the benefit of others. If you don't find yourself having to resist a voice inside your head urging you to save yourself instead of whatever action you're contemplating, my heart, at least, will refuse to recognize your actions-however legitimately compassionate or courageous they may be-as heroic. Serving others while simultaneously serving oneself can be noble, certainly, but a special kind of nobility attaches itself to those who serve others at a cost to themselves. That's the nobility that tugs at my heart. That's the the kind of behavior I find heroic.
WHO QUALIFIES?
This definition implies the number of genuine heroes we have is at once smaller and larger than we all think. Smaller, because many of those people held up by the media as heroes, while undoubtedly wonderful in many ways, don't qualify as heroes. Certainly not famous sports figures-even those who quietly provide free game tickets to underprivileged children as Michael Jordan did or volunteer their time and money to charity as numerous pro football players do.

In fact, what sparked my thinking about this topic was a Facebook posting by a friend of mine who wrote, "...on a plane talking to an interesting passenger before take off about his job...will be an interesting flight sitting next to American hero Captain Sullivan..." I found myself reflecting that while Sully does indeed for me represent the epitome excellence, commitment, humility, and grace under pressure, the actions he took in the particular circumstance that made him famous weren't, in my view, heroic. Strictly speaking, he risked losing nothing personal in what he did on that day he and his crew (let's not forget his crew) saved the lives of all the passengers of Flight 1549. He may have been thinking more about his passengers' safety than his own-a characteristic of heroes to be sure-and, in fact, I strongly suspect that had circumstances been different and he'd needed to put himself in personal jeopardy to save those passengers, he would have had done so without hesitation. But those circumstances didn't exist the day he glided that plane safely into the Hudson. He had to make many choices but none that put him in more jeopardy than anyone else. While it seems to me likely that he does, in fact, possess the character of a hero, on that particular day no opportunity presented itself for him to display it. Leadership, courage, decisiveness, and technical expertise-yes. But heroism-no.

And I think he'd agree. Few people consider themselves heroes when doing something they have no choice about doing. This includes, I've discovered, most patients who find themselves facing potentially terminal diseases like cancer. Most such patients, in fact, bristle at the notion that "fighting" their disease makes them heroic. They certainly don't feel like heroes, they tell me. How they feel is tired, discouraged, and sick. They do what they need to do to survive. What's heroic, they want to know, about that? There's no other person whom they hope to save by fighting, no personal sacrifice they're making that another may live. They "fight" to save themselves-a worthy and noble goal certainly, one that requires enormous courage in the face of the painful treatments they must often endure-but not a goal, most of them seem to feel, that in any way deserves to be called heroic. Most of them even refuse to see the keeping of a stiff upper lip in the face of their fear as heroic, even when it's done-as it so often is-in an attempt to ease the burden their loved ones feel in watching them go though their illness.

So how, then, using this definition, are there more heroes around than we think? To find the answer, look at your neighbors and friends. You'll often find, if you bother to ask, that they're making sacrifices for others-sometimes enormous ones-all around you. Single mothers who deny themselves vacations, clothes, and even food to send their children to college. Couples who come to their doctors with forms to be filled out to qualify them to become foster parents. Children who put their careers on hold or even abandon them altogether to care for their sick parents, or to keep them out of nursing homes.

And my patient, who donated a kidney to save his brother. A brother who unfortunately died anyway (this was back when most AIDS patients died no matter what we did-a fact my patient knew himself when he gave him his kidney).

"That's how it goes sometimes," was all he said to me when I asked him about his brother's death during that first visit we had all those years ago.

He'd come to see me, by the way, because his one remaining kidney had started to fail. I subsequently diagnosed him with sarcoidosis and was able to save it, only to flounder at sparing him from further complications of the disease later, complications that have since forced him to go on disability and significantly compromised the quality of his life.

I'm sure he feels bitter about it on some days and rails against his fate on others. He never complains to me about it, though.

He's one of my heroes. Who are some of yours?
If you enjoyed this post, please feel free to explore Dr. Lickerman's home page, Happiness in this World.

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I saw a patient of mine recently whose appearance in my office always makes me smile. He's challenging-not because he's a difficult person (quite the opposite), but because he has so many serious medical problems about which I can do so little. Why, then, does seeing him so consistently lighten my mood?