Debbie The Viking, by Senator Grooveburgh

Debbie was a handsome viking. Above all else, she prized the king's crown jewels of her mouth, her million perfect teeth. Oh yes, her hair would quaff a thousand pints, but none could compare to any and every gem that were the oral bangles of her rows of lustrous tongue neighbors. It was rumored that she carried a miniature dentist's mirror, the kind with a dozen hinges and swivels, so that she could keep her mouth as fresh as the blood that dripped from her lochbar axe mere moments after a violent plundering of spices, fabrics, or what have you and whatnot, residing in whatever ship was unfortunate enough to drift her way. I think that rumor was true, but I reject the accusations of her failing eyesight. Begone, fabricator of yarns. I like to think that when they placed her spent corpse on the raft and then set her adrift, that it was her teeth that deflected the flaming arrows. Legend has it that the traditional single flaming arrow to set the departed ablaze failed to fly true, and bounced away, denying Debbie a proper flaming demise of soulcage. Further, it is said to have taken nearly 3 quiverfull to finally get her sparked. It's those teeth. If eyes are the windows of the soul, then by Jove Himself, the teeth are not only the soul's white picket fence, but also the spare armor scavenged from scrap heaps and welded willynilly on the sides of ill-protected humvees. Goodnight, sweet Debbie.