Little Bro wants to make a joke that ends with “The early bard gets the wyrm”. He can’t think of a decent set-up, so he’s dumped the task on me. I can’t think of one either, so I’m turning to you. Any ideas?
Why did Shakespeare always try to get his works published before anyone else???
The early bard gets the wyrm!!!
Okay, but what does that have to do with dragons?
Did ya hear Puff the Magic Dragon got busted for drugs?
Yeah, they caught him holding. No way he’s gonna wyrm himself out of that one.
Dragons??!!
Bard = Shakespeare
It’s just a play on words!!!
The OP isn’t very tall.
In fact, he’s too low for high plays.
Wyrms=dragons. Hence the funny spelling.
Wyrm can also be a play on the word “worm”.
Ya know, Jesus rode a dragon.
That’s how he gave his Syrmon on the Mount.
I guess, but my brother is looking a a fantasy-themed joke. I don’t know if you read much fantay or not, but generic sword&sorcery has a lot of bards and dragons hanging around in it.
Here’s my best effort:
"Because all knights sent to slay a particularly nasty dragon were roasted, rent asunder or ripped to pieces, the king decided to try to apply the principle that “music soothes the savage beast” to this crisis. Three minstrels were found willing to make an attempt at slaying the beast, and were sent along with the best equipment possible, the best training possible and an encyclopedic knowledge of the sweetest songs know to man.
Several weeks passed. Word reached the castle that the dragon was dead, but no details were available. Finally, burnt and battered one ,and only one, of the three minstrels returned, bringing indisputable proof, the head of the dragon.
When asked about his two companions, he sadly reported that they had died, despite having found the dragon’s vulnerable spot, and despite having tried to lull the dragon with the sweetest of music. The dragon would seem to nod off, its great eyes shining and drooping in the afternoon sun. But when the brave musicians struck at the vulnerable spot, the dragon snapped to attention and roasted them where they stood.
Seeing this, the third minstrel lost his nerve that day and retired to his camp. All night he tossed and turned in his bedroll both out of fear and at revulsion at his own cowardice. Just before the cock’s crow, he could take no more and made his way back to the dragon’s lair. The dragon, still groggy, couldn’t resist even the simplest song. The minstrel’s music was too much, and the dragon was too slow to stop him from stabbing straight to its reptilian heart.
Shaking with exhaustion, the young hero realized where his friends had erred. You see, the song to be played and the skill it was played with wasn’t important. All that mattered was that it’s the early bard who gets the wyrm."
I don’t read much fantasy. I just associated the word “bard” with William Shakespeare, which I thought could be a play on the word “bird”.
In the context of the bad pun theme…
If Shakespeare would be the first to publish his works, he’d be “the early bard”.
The other part “gets the wrym” I thought could be a play on “gets the worm”,
as in the old saying, “the early bird gets the worm”, in the sense that the one who starts earliest (the early bird), gets the worm (reaps the reward).
Sorry for the mix-up!
(I guess that’s what happens when you get old!)
Right. It’s a pun on “early bird gets the worm”. Just with bards and dragons instead.
(If I am not making totall sense here, it’s because it’s 10:50 and may brain’s 3/4 shut down for the night).
Is your brother married, your sis in law a good sport and will she be at the event?
If so perhaps he could go for something like this…
Many of you here may know my wife - the beautiful lady sitting over there. We have been married for some time, and have some very gorgeous children. What I have always loved most about my wife is her willingness to stand up for herself, and that she is always ready to put me in my place when I catch “teh stoopid”.
What many of you don’t know though is how I proposed to her…
It was at dawn, I recited poetry at her until she relented and agreed to be my wife.
Which just goes to show I guess that the early bard gets the wrym.
Little did I know at the time that instead of being a bard, I would need a bard. But then, you take what’s coming to you I guess.
To turn it around a little, and perhaps be a little more specific -
My mother in law is a great woman. She has always led a very active and fulfilling life - she worked hard and raised a beautiful daughter - my lovely wife.
Recently she retired, but she still likes to get up at the crack of down and indulge her newest hobby. She is part of a group that makes costumes for re-enactments for King Arthurs era.
Which just goes to show -
the early wyrm makes the bard.
(if you are going for the online gaming meaning of wrym, this fits - the only question is will the audience understand “bard” - one meaning is a horse’s armoured breast plate, a more generic meaning is armour)
I’m sure all of you know that training to be a bard involves gaining a thorough knowledge of musical theory and traditions, and a real feel for poetry. True masters, like the composer of Beowulf, have their works live for the ages. But what’s not widely known is that a fully-trained bard is also a highly skilled butcher and wrestler!
See, back in the day, bards weren’t considered all that socially useful - sitting around, noodling on lyres, drinking and singing - so most towns and cities felt they needed to do something constructive. Of course, that usually meant getting the shit jobs, like prepping dragons recently slain by knights for stuffing and display. The thing about a dragon’s internal organs, though, is that they’re both incredibly sticky and incredibly acidic - which was a vital element in helping them breathe fire, of course - but the poor hapless fellow actually trying to remove them risked having a large chunk of his flesh burned away with one wrong flick of the knife. One vital discovery made the job less risky - a generous application of cod-liver extract to any exposed flesh. The additional layer protected against the acid, and the lubrication meant that sticky livers slid right off. Some folks went all the way and covered themselves completely before even getting dressed for the job.
Less risky didn’t mean less unpleasant. It was a nasty job and naturally few bards wanted to do it. Which is where the wrestling comes in. The town would pick two bards for the job and place them on a plank laying across a big tub of cod-liver concoction. The one who got knocked off into the tub was thus properly covered and prepped for work. Clever bards started learning the necessary techniques to fend off an opponent’s attacks and knock him off the plank. If you won, you got the day off and could go sit around, noodle on your lyre, drink and sing because everyone knows the oily bard guts the wyrm.
OK, I know it’s not exactly what you wanted, but the envelope had to be pushed a little to get the fantasy element right.
The king had a dragon problem. Thirty fine knights had been torn to shreds, and no more volunteers were forthcoming. The king called his councilors together to discuss the problem. After discussions for days, an old retainer pointed out that the legends told of a dragon that had been lulled by a skilled musician, enabling it to be killed. Immediately, the king called for brave bards to come forth to pit their musical skill against the dragon. Given that many of those bards were already singing songs about the thirty brave knights rent limb from limb, not many were willing, but there were three brave musicians prepared to try their musical skills against the dragon.
Before the bards set out, the king threw a banquet, and the bards entertained the guests with their instruments and voices. The first was a young man, barely old enough to shave, with the voice of an angel, accompanied by simple strumming of the lute. Surely this would charm the dragon. The second was older, and had more skill on the harp, shimmering falls of notes and harmonies, with a simple plain chant telling the tales of old. Maybe this soothe the violent wyrm. The third was dressed in outlandish clothes and with a tattooed face, and scraped the strings of an odd lute-like instrument with a horsehair bow while wailing like a amorous tomcat. The kings guests stuffed their cloaks in their ears, and silently agreed that the dragon could have this one.
The party set out into the cold dawn, seeking the dragons lair. In a still valley with rock walls, the dragon lay stretched out, surrounded by the bones and armour of his previous victims.
The first bard stood on a small rock outcrop, and lift his voice in the most beautiful song that the watchers had ever heard. Their hearts were filled with peace, a sense of love and wonderment came over them. Even the dragon seem moved, lifting its head, breathing in for a deep sigh of contentment…
and a jet of incandescent flame erupted from the dragons mighty throat, charring the bard into ashes, stopping the voice mid-note, and leaving silence and a gritty dust on the wind.
The remaining musicians were silent for a long time, waiting for the dragon to become still. Then the second moved behind a rock, and played a soft run on the harp. The music merged with the soft movement of the air, so soft as to be almost part of nature itself. Another run, and the dragons tail twitched softly as the music drifted softly through the air. And again, and as the harp sang softly the dragon began to sway and dance to the music, turning, twisting, lifting his tail high with the rise of the music…
Then he smashed down with the great spiked end, shattering the rock covering the harpist and pounding him to a bloody pulp.
The remaining musician took a long time to gather his courage, and it was late into the cool, still evening before he took out his instrument. Taking the bow, he essayed a quick note that rasped into the stillness, and echoed off the rocks. He moved quickly to another place, and played again. He moved again, stopping to play at intervals, until he found a place where the echos of his odd lute filled the valley bowl. Then he played a note, and wailed with his unearthly voice, up and down, in opposition to and in conjunction with the sliding squeal of his instrument and the echoes off the rocks. The dragon, to, joined the wail, with a roar that started low and lifted high, until instrument, voice, roar and echo combined in a fixed unworldly note that got louder and filled the valley till the rocks shook, and the dragon fixed his eye on the bard and the watchers knew that the musicians time was nigh…
and the dragon exploded into shreds, and all was silent as the music died away. The musician took his reward, and was never seen in those parts again, but the legend was whispered amongst the children, and instrument makers broke many a lute trying to recreate the unearthly sound of a horsehair bow on strings, but it was all in vain, because only the eerie bard gets the wyrm.
Si
Is it bad form to revise your own joke?
I think the final paragraph reads better as
And here I was starting to think about fishing or cutting bait…