Archives for category: dragons

One bright and sunny day around 625 AD, a large strange dragon appeared on the Seine River of France and, as one would expect of a large dragon, immediately engaged in draconic ass-kickery.  At first, it seemed primarily intent on amusing itself by capsizing boats and drowning/gulping down the occupants of said boats. However, once it had tipped every boat it came across, hapless onlookers were amazed as they watched it dip its snout into the river and began to suck up water at such a rate that its body ballooned to several times its original size until it looked like a massive scaled tick.  It then pointed its strange maw towards the nearest town (and the hapless onlookers) and let loose with a violent blast of water that rivaled the power of many a natural disaster.  Houses were flattened, nearby hapless onlookers were splattered, other people were washed away and crops were deluged. Thus began the Gargouille’s reign of terror.

After sometime, Romain, the archbishop of Rouen, had been approached to deal with the monster.  He said he had a plan but he needed an assistant. He had requested to be given a convict who was sentenced to death; he was given Petey.

Petey was a heftily built, apple-headed ginger, with a seemingly perpetual smile and vacant eyes. From the moment he laid eyes on this fellow, Romain knew he was clearly dealing with some species of idiot. When Romain questioned Petey as to his transgressions, they only response he could get was “I dunno.”  Romain had little doubt Petey was answering truthfully. Soon, the resolution of one mystery would lead to the manifestation of another;

The two almost immediately set out on foot, attempting to locate the dragon by following its path of destruction along the Seine River.  In this time, Romain rapidly came to understand why Petey was given the sentence of death but could not understand why the sentence had not been carried out much sooner; Petey was annoying, damned annoying, and flatulent too.  He had no concept of personal space and was entirely unable to keep his hands to himself.  It also didn’t help that he was a mouth breather that smelled like bologna and soured milk. Anything that came out of his mouth was, at best, mind-numbingly pointless or boastful and, at worst, crass or infuriating. Within a span of 20 minutes Romain was treated to a string of gems, such as: “Hey, look at those two dogs!”;” Just between you and me, I don’t trust them dark fellows.”; “That chick has big booobs.”; “I could sure go for some boiled taters ’bout now.”; “I like booobs.”; “My other shirt ‘s a sweet otter-skin tunic.”; “I’m the smartest person I know.”; “I like boiled taters.”; “I think value of a female is based solely on ‘er booobs.”; “Petey ‘s got the skillz.”; “Man, you’d totally look like an ugly chick if you ‘ad booobs.” Petey was indeed testing the patience of a saint.

Soon, they caught sight of the dragon paddling on the surface of the river. The two crouched behind a sandbar and continued to observe the hideous creature. Petey whispered, “It looks like a giant duck.”

“No more nonsense out of you!” hissed Romain.  This was probably the most innocuous statement Petey had made in the past hour, but something inside of Romain was about to give. The dragon then waddled to the opposite shore, quacked, and started dabbling in the mud.  Petey opened his mouth to say something, but Romain silenced him with a glare and a violent gesture unbecoming of a man who was to be a saint.

Romain, in a shushed tone, then proceeded to detail his plan in which Petey was to act as bait so that Romain could approach the beast and subdue it using his crucifix.  Petey interrupted, “Why not just use your fingers to make a cross?”

“What?”

“You know, like this,” replied Petey through a gap-toothed grin, forming a cross with his fingers. This was quite innocent but that something inside Romain that was about to give finally gave and it gave big time.

Romain stood up, yanking Petey up by his potato-sack/tunic. “Are you serious?” hissed Romain narrowing his eyes, and then raising his voice, “No wonder you are where you are you!  No, you must be mocking me! That is one of the stupidest things I have ever heard! Are you freak’n serious?!”

“….”

“Geez, what is wrong with you?! I’m not sure if you said that out of audacity or your sheer lack of mental capacity! This is serious work here!! I can’t have you dropping the damned ball on this!!”

“….”

“I mean REALLY, what the F*** is wrong with you?! How DARE YOU try to tell ME how to do MY F***ING JOB?!!  YOU STUPID FAT F***!”  I AM ROMAIN! RO-F***ING-MAIN, ARCH-F***ING-BISHOP OF ROUEN!! AND DON’T YOU F***ING FORGET IT!!!

“…….”

Petey’s bottom lip started to tremble. Romain’s tirade had managed to do more than hurt Petey’s feelings and make him shut-up (a miracle in and of itself); it seized the dragon’s attention. It fired a blast of water in their direction that struck with the force of a cannon. It didn’t hit them directly, but the nearby impact sent them both flying.

After finding the strength to pick himself up, Romain, with dread, became aware of three things almost simultaneously: 1. The dragon was on their side of the river bank and was waddling towards them at a furious pace; 2. Petey, not looking unlike a ginger beached whale, lay motionless between him and the dragon; and 3. the crucifix he’d been carrying was shattered. Romain thought for sure the dragon would pause to gobble down a meaty morsel like Petey before coming for him. He thought wrong; the dragon waddled right past Petey’s unmoving form and went straight for Romain (Even dragons can be turned off by the smell of bologna and old milk).

Romain pulled his robes up over his knees and broke into a sprint. He momentarily managed to gain some distance between himself and the creature, but began to tire.  The dragon would overtake him soon. It then occurred to Romain, panicked though he was, that anything with an ass that wide probably isn’t too good at turning at any rate of speed, so he suddenly did just that. The dragon attempted to follow suit and ended up rolling over a few times. Romain managed to put several yards between himself and the dragon by the time it got back up, shook itself off and, with a quack, resumed the pursuit. Within moments, it was gaining on Romain again. Again Romain made a sudden turn. This time the dragon only slowed down when it turned. However, this still gave Romain a bit more precious distance. As the dragon again drew closer to Romain, again he turned. And again. And again And again. And again. The dragon pursued Romain in an ever tightening ring, until Romain was simply running in a circle around the dragon while it turned in placed; a frantic, screaming white planet orbiting a lunging rubbery green sun.

After a couple of minutes of this, Romain’s physical reserves were almost spent. He wouldn’t last another 30 seconds. But he wouldn’t have to; Petey had regained consciousness and was valiantly barreling towards them.  Petey picked up and lobbed the biggest rock he could toss with one hand at the creature’s head. Unfortunately, due to the stone’s weight, it was much too heavy to throw with any degree of accuracy over a significant distance. It arced through the air and, on its way down, hit Romain directly in the groin. The archbishop doubled over clutching himself, vomited, then fell on his face. By the time Romain rolled onto his back the dragon was towering over him. The dragon raised a webbed foot. Romain threw his arms in front of his face and tried to scream but, still suffering from the blow to his family jewels, only managed a hoarse wheeze.  The foot came down on Romain. Lucky for him, his lower body was just pinned under the webbing. The dragon looked down at the pinned saint and cocked its head; Romain’s skull was about to be dabbled to a bloody pulp.  Petey ran up to them both and threw up a finger cross.  The dragon waddled back a couple of steps and stood motionless stunned in a divine daze.

Romain, wheezing, painfully looked up at Petey. Petey gave a proud crooked toothed grin and flashed Romain a thumbs up. Unfortunately, this also unformed the cross, breaking the dragon’s daze. The dragon immediately fired an ultra-concentrated jet of water in Petey’s direction.  The stream struck Petey’s outstretched arm, atomizing the lower half of his forearm in a bloody spray.  Petey tried to throw-up another finger-cross but that doesn’t quite work with only one hand. Romain, with a painful groan, pulled himself to his feet and made a finger-cross of his own, returning the dragon to a dazed state.

After instructing Petey to tie a tourniquet around the bloody stump that used to be his right forearm, Romain had him tie a rope around the dragon’s neck.  In its dazed state, they were able to lead the dragon into a nearby town and tied it down in front of a church. The townspeople poured out of their homes with axes and pitchforks and totally went Tarasque on the stunned dragon’s ass.  However, even their strongest blows were totally ineffective against its rubbery hide. Petey observed, “The axes are bouncing off it like water off a duck’s ba”*SMACK*”OW!”

Romain, still not in the mood for any more of Petey’s crap, had slapped his blubbery head.  As Romain turned away, this time Petey retaliated, throwing a right haymaker at Romain’s head. However, since he no longer had a right forearm to connect with, Petey ended up spinning around once and falling forward, bumping into Romain, who then stumbled forward, knocking a lantern from a villager’s hand, shattering it on the dragon.  The dragon’s (apparently highly flammable) rubbery hide ignited like a third-world disco, filling the sky with black smoke. By the time the dragon’s carcass finished burning, all that remained was the head and neck. Romain insisted that the dragon’s head be placed on the church to demonstrate the power of God (and to show what happens to stupid bastards that force him to exercise). In the end Romain got another miracle attributed to himself and Petey was set free; he could not have possibly been more pleased with his awesome new hook-hand.

Susanoo, the Summer-storm god, always had a rivalry with his sister, Amaterasu, the goddess of the sun. Furthermore, he was always the black sheep of the pantheon of Japanese gods because he would often do things that they considered offensive/disruptive. Things such as: eating more than one French-fry at a time (Oh my!), walking and eating at the same time (So rude!), studying in a public library (Doesn’t he know libraries should only be used for reading?!), wearing a short-sleeve shirt when the weather is below 70 degrees (Oh, that crazy barbarian!), and, carrying soap into the bath tub (*GASP!*).

After offending his sister one too many times, he was ordered to leave heaven. At this time he went to say goodbye to Amaterasu and apologize. She decided that if he really was sorry, he could stick around. To demonstrate this, she asked him to submit to a contest in which they each would birth things of divine creation from an object belonging to the other. Amaterasu went first and, from Susanoo’s sword birthed three goddesses, a jumbo-size bag of gummy bears and a slinky.  Susanoo went next and, infusing Amaterasu’s necklace with his divine power, generated five gods, a ninja-turtle, and a case of Play-doh. It was decided among the pantheon that the items birthed from an object belonged to the owner of that object and that Susanoo was the winner of the contest since the item belonging to him generated three (hot) females. Susanoo was pleased for this reason and Amaterasu was thrilled with the Play-doh and both were happy for a while. In time, however, Susanoo grew increasingly discontent because slinkies suck but Play-doh rules.  When Amaterasu’s favorite maid-servant polished off the last few gummy-bears, Susanoo snapped. He punched a hole clean through the gummy-bear rustling hussy and then flayed a pony and threw the bloody remains at Amaterasu’s divine loom. Needless to say, he was given a holy time-out and ejected from paradise.

A little later, Susanoo found himself wandering around Izumo province. Here he came across a home where he saw an elderly couple who were bawling in the front yard. When Susanoo queried them as to why they were crying, they explained that they originally had eight daughters, but beginning almost eight years ago the Yamata no Orochi, an insanely gigantic and powerful dragon, began coming to their home annually to consume one of their daughters as a tribute. Now the time was approaching for the Orochi to take their last daughter. Susanoo was puzzled.

“You’ve got a whole frigg’n year between each visit. Why not run away?”

Sobbing, the old man shook his head. “The Orochi.. it took the girls’ shoes.”

“What in the hell is wrong wi… Hey! there’s a pair right over there.”

“No. no. That’s no good. Those are my old shoes. If I let my daughter wear those, she might feel bad.”

Susanoo was about to question them about the matter further, but the throbbing vein in his forehead told him that if this kept up, he was going to be flaying another pony. Then, looking into the distance beyond Susanoo, the old man blurted out, “Oh no! The Orochi! It knows of your trying to tempt us into defiance! Now it comes to destroy us all!”

Susanoo looked over his shoulder. “OH! MY! GAWD! That’s gotta be fattest damned dragon I’ve ever seen!!” About a kilomter away the Orochi could be seen. It had eight heads and eight tails on a bloated, quivering body that covered eight hills. Its eight heads were glaring in their direction and it began scooching towards them with murderous intent. Or at least it seemed to; it was making so little progress at that distance it really impossible to tell. The old man and woman began wailing louder.

“I mean really-  why don’t you folks just walk away? Just walk away.”

“No. The Orochi has said if we flee, it will chase us to the ends of the earth.”

Now Susanoo was so pissed-off that he had to kill something, and that fat maiden-eating bastard was the most deserving party in the vicinity. Susanoo instructed the old couple to prepare a giant vat of sake and build an eight partitioned yatai. Initially the old couple protested that there was no time, but a few choice words and a violent motion of the fist was enough to set them to work.

For three days and nights they kept working and the Orochi kept scooching. Finally, the old couple finished Susanoo’s project and the Orochi was still at least a  few hours away.  Somewhat pleased, Susanoo told them to bring their daughter out of the house.  He knew the sooner he got the girl away from these geniuses the better off she would be.   He would’ve told her to flee away from the dragon, but if she was anything like her parents that might be a bit much to leave to her so,  for her safety during the battle, Susanoo used his divine powers to transform her into a comb which he placed in his ‘fro (He was seriously tempted to transform her into a sweet otter-skin tunic to wear into this battle, but it might be a stretch for even his divine powers to create something of such epicness; and if successful he might not want to turn her back).

Finally, the Orochi dragged its bloated self to their location, ready to engage in typical draconic ass-kickery.  Slow though it was, it existed to kick-ass and chew bubblegum, but it never even knew what bubblegum is.  Susanoo walked straight over to the Orochi and invited it for a drink.  The Orochi narrowed its 16 blazing eyes at Susanoo. It truly wanted nothing more than to butcher him, but not even a draconic demi-god wants to go through the hassle of living in Japan with the stigma that is the reputation of being one who turns down a “nomikai” (drink meeting). The Orochi irritatedly scooched its way over to the yatai and began drinking.  It didn’t even like sake but it couldn’t refuse Susanoo’s hospitality as it gulped down round after round of the stuff.  Finally, the Orochi ralphed all over the place and passed out.

Susanoo, after cleaning up, drew his sword and hacked the Orochi to death. When he slit open the Orochi’s belly he found the equivalent of about fifty bucks in loose change. In one the tails he found a divine sword, the Kusanagi-No-Tsurugi. Upon presenting Amaterasu with this, and a $50 gift certificate for Bed Bath & Beyond that he bought using the loose change, she forgave Susanoo once again and he was restored to his former place in the heavens.

The dwarf king Hreidmar had three sons; Fafnir, who was an accomplished warrior; Regin a supremely skilled metal smith; and Otr, who could turn himself into an otter. One day while Otr was frolicking by a river in his otter form,  he was spotted by the mischief god Loki  and some of his buddies.

“Hey y’all look at this!” shouted Loki as he chucked a stone at the “otter.” His aim was dead-on, killing Otr on the spot. Loki then decided to commemorate his own awesomeness by skinning the otter and fashioning it into an epic otter-skin tunic. A little later, Loki got to thinking if anyone could appreciate the epicness of an otter-skin tunic, it’d be the dwarf king. So Loki and his crew paid a visit to the Hreidmar’s home.  The king and his remaining sons immediately recognized the pelt and were overcome with grief and rage (though they did have to admit it was indeed a sweet tunic), so they bum-rushed Loki and his friends, taking them captive.  Next the enraged dwarves tried to exact reparation by refusing to release Loki’s friends until he fulfilled their demand to return the skin of their deceased family member(and it had to be stuffed with gold too).  Loki quickly acquiesced, went out and quickly returned with the otter-skin now filled with gold and a magic ring that could produce more gold.

Of course the gold and the ring carried multiple curses that would bring death (Loki was already pissed-off at the dwarves for bum-rushing him and taking his friends hostage, but separating the mischief god from his fine otter-skin tunic was the worst mistake anyone could make). The curse of the gold brought out the greed in the dwarves’ hearts and they started fighting over the gold like bums going after a bologne  sandwich. Being the best fighter, Fafnir came out on top, killing his father and sending his brother, Regin, packing. Fafnir subsquently carried the gold to a cave in a nearby forest, and as a result of one of the treasure’s curses, slowly transformed into an enormous dragon, far too large to enjoy the awesomeness of the otter-skin tunic.
Over the following years Regin’s anger towards his brother never subsided nor did his lust for the gold (and the otter-skin tunic). During this time Regin acquired a foster son, Sigurd (AKA Sigfried).  Since Sigurd’s natural father was known to have been a proficient ass-kicker (he’d once killed a she-wolf by biting its freak’n tongue off!), Regin deduced it may prove productive to send a now adult Sigurd to take out Fafnir. Regin proceeded to tempt Sigurd with tales of the horde of gold protected by a vile dragon. Regin then told Sigurd this gold could be his and he’d provide him with a sword for the task if only Sigurd would agree to give him the dragon’s heart in return. Sigurd recalcitrantly refused at first,  but at the mention of a sweet otter-skin tunic, he put up no further resistance.

Regin, being a few IQ points higher than Sigurd, advised him to dig a pit at a trail near the dragon’s lair and to stab the dragon as it walks past. As Sigurd was digging the pit he was approached by a weird old man who advised him to dig trenches to catch the dragon’s blood and to bathe in it. Not being the sharpest tool in the shed Sigurd followed the old man’s instructions exactly.  Heeding the advice of a random weird old man this time would prove fortuitous since this old man was actually Odin in disguise.

Sigurd hung out in the pit until Fafnir returned from doing whatever it is gold hording dragons do when they aren’t protecting their horde (probably eating people and relieving themselves). As Fafnir walked past, Sigurd ambushed him and sucker-stabbed him in the left shoulder. The subsequent battle with the severely wounded beast did not last long.  Fafnir knew Sigurd had come for the gold (and the otter-skin tunic), and warned him that the cursed gold would only bring death. Sigurd, in a moment of unusually deep thought, replied that most men spend their lives trying to gain a fortune anyway so he didn’t have any problems with that.  Death came as a release for Fafnir,  since he’d really been dead on the inside ever since growing to large to take advantage of the sheer awesome of the otter-skin tunic.  Per Odin’s earlier instructions, Sigurd then took a dip in the the dragon’s blood and was imdued with invulnerability except for a spot on his left shoulder where a leaf was stuck (he was not in the habit of bathing thoroughly). Regin then appeared and told Sigurd to cook the dragon’s heart and serve it to him.

Sigurd then built a fire to roast the dragon’s heart. As he was cooking the heart, Sigurd poked it with his finger and tasted it. This small taste of the dragon’s heart flooded his mind with unimaginable wisdom and knowledge.  Lucky for Sigurd this new knowledge included bird language. At this time a bird perched nearby told Sigurd he’d heard Regin talking to himself about how he’s planning to do in Sigurd so he could have the dragon’s heart, the gold, and the sweet otter-skin tunic all to himself.  So going on the word of a random woodland critter he’d met a few seconds before,  Sigurd resolved to kill the man who’d raised him. As Regin  approached to take the roasted dragon’s heart, Sigurd informed him he knew of his foul plan and raised his sword.
“How did you know?” a shocked Regin blurted out.
“A little bird told me,” Sigurd replied coldly just before lopping off the dwarf’s head.  Sigurd then ate  more of the dragon’s heart before deciding to save the remainder of it as a gift to offer his future wife. After all, how could any lady turn down a guy offering a partially eaten-dragon heart AND sporting an otter-skin tunic?  Sigurd then  entered the cave to claim the cursed treasure and, above all, the awesomeness that is the otter-skin tunic.

“Basilisk Awareness” stickers  are now available through my shop on cafepress. Alert your friends, loved ones and the general public as to how to properly protect themselves from the dangers of basilisks.

 

http://www.cafepress.com/naturalselections.597539914

The basilisk is said to be the king of serpents, not for its stature, but for its crown as well as its ability to dole out death with a glance and its breath that is so toxic/caustic that can burn up all vegetation in the immediate area and can even destroy stone. The blood of the basilisk is bad news too; any poor bastard who is (un)lucky enough to be able to get close enough to stab it will be done in by its toxic blood running up the weapon and killing the holder (basilisk blood is the active ingredient in Chuck Norris’s deodorant).  The basilisk is said to be the result of a rooster incubating an egg from a snake. As one would expect of one being from such a mixed-up background, the basilisk has serious issues; when it runs out of people to kill, it kills animals; when it runs out of animals to kill, it kills plants and herbs; and, according to some, when a basilisk runs out of stuff to kill, it spends every waking hour nursing a crippling addiction to “Farmville.”
In spite of its ability and willingness to so readily bring death, due to its diminutive size, the basilisk does not have a great deal of physical strength. Additionally, there are two creatures that are able to kill a basilisk; weasels and chickens (of course). It is said that the odor of a weasel’s urine can kill a basilisk. So one solution to a basilisk infestation is to toss a live weasel into a basilisk’s burrow. The terrified weasel will piss all over itself, killing the basilisk in the process (though the weasel usually does not survive being in such a close proximity to the basilisk).  Chickens are the one creature on God’s green earth that basilisks actually fear, and rightly so. For chickens are immune to the gaze and toxins of the basilisk.  Additonally, though it is a chicken that may bring life to the basilisk, a chicken is the one critter that is best suited to take it away; the crow of a rooster is absolutely deadly to a basilisk at close range and a large bird may inflict a fatal flogging.

Remember, November is basilisk awareness month.

The Leviathan is a monstrous creature with a mix of crocodilian and cetacean characteristics that is mentioned several times in the Hebrew Bible. It basically states that the Leviathan is literally the biggest bad-ass on God’s green earth. The Leviathan’s existence is essentially a statement of the power of God. I think that statement would be “Look upon my works ye mighty and piss yourselves.”

According to some later Jewish literature the Leviathan is a widower; After God made the first two such monstrous sea-dragons he decided that letting these critters procreate wouldn’t be such a hot idea, so he killed the female. Yep, that’s right; the Leviathan isn’t just the biggest, meanest ass-kicker on earth; it’s the biggest, meanest ass-kicker on earth and it’s horny (and probably bitter too). Actually, the Tarasque is said to be the result of an apparently desperate pairing between the Leviathan and the Onachus, a creature said to incinerate almost anything it touches (I did say desperate).

Like the Jormungander, the Leviathan is prophesized to meet its final fate at the end of the world. In thise case, at the end times it will be slain by God and used to provide the believers with meat for the most epic buffet in history. Anyone who’s ever seen seen Southern Baptists hitting a Chinese buffet after Sunday services will understand the necessity for such copious amounts of foodstuff.

The Sirrush (or Musshush) is a creature that appears in bas-relief on the Ishtar Gate of Babylon. It seems the Sirrush was worshipped in as a living-god in the temple of Bel.  The Sirrush suffered a similar fate to that Mikey kid from the Life cereal commercials when Daniel, apparently pissed-off from the lions’ den incident, fed it the Bible-time equivalent of pop-rocks and soda and it burst like a teacup poodle in a 1000 watt microwave (For cripesake, don’t test that last part).

Maude was a little girl who often played in the woods of Mordiford in the English county of Herefordshire.  One day while in the woods, she found a weird little reptilian creature that was roughly the size and color of a cucumber. Given the little freak’s hue and stature, she dubbed him “Pickles.”  Judging from her parents’ over-reaction to the little grass snake she brought home a few weeks before, she decided it was better to keep Pickles a secret.  She placed Pickles in an empty cider-barrel in a forest clearing and brought him milk everyday. Mr.Pickles grew rapidly and within a matter of days was able to exit the cider barrel of his own volition and within a matter of months was several times larger than his playmate.

Maude and Pickles frolicked everyday and were the best of friends.  When it was time for Maude to go home Pickles would patiently wait in the clearing for Maude to return, except when he was hungry.  During those times he would go out look for food.  Pickle’s taste for milk led him seek out to cows.  However, it ain’t pretty when a giant reptilian carnivore with serrated teeth attempts to suckle a cow.  As a result Pickles discovered the joys of carnivory.  Of course, the local farmers weren’t exactly happy about this development. A few farmers made the mistake of trying to deal with their new dragon problem and Pickles found that people is good eat’n too.  Now, Pickles would engage in typical dragonic activity, terrorizing the countryside.

Eventually, the towns people decided to seek out somebody who was competent with a weapon.  They went to Garstone, a disgraced knight who they had imprisoned for activities that I’m not comfortable describing here.  Anyway, they told Garstone that he would be pardoned if he would agree to take down Pickles.

Garstone eventually tracked Pickles to his clearing and they engaged in an hourslong fierce battle, with each taking chunks out of the other. Finally, calling upon the Almighty and the last reserves of his strength, Garstone managed to inflict a fatal wound to the neck of Pickles.  At this point Maude showed up and began pelting a very confused and exhausted Garstone with rocks. Maude ran over to her dying pet and comforted it as it died, while a shocked Garstone could only gawk. After Pickles went to dragon-heaven, the enraged tot attacked the exhausted dragonslayer with a savagery that was surpassed that of her fierce playmate. Luckily for Garstone, Maude’s blows were wholly ineffective.  Garstone limped back to town, with Maude following flogging him with a tree branch while spouting every curse she could come up with using her limited vocabulary. Eventually Maude tuckered out and a weakened Garstone made it back in to the town to a hero’s welcome. Maude vowed revenge but between her short attention-span and her discovery of a puppy, Pickles II, all was soon forgotten.

As the prophesized slayer of Thor, the Jormungander is definitely a top contender for the biggest ass-kicker among dragons. The Jormungander, along with two other freakish monster siblings, was the result of the unfortunate pairing of the god Loki and the giantess Angrbooa. Odin approached situation in the same manner a rural grandma would deal with unwanted kittens and put the three in a sack and tossed them in a river (actually it was the ocean).  In this environment the Jormungander grew until it was long enough to encircle the earth.  The Jormungander is said to be completely wrapped around the planet gripping its own tail.  When it finally lets go, it will be the beginning of Ragnarok.  At Ragnarok, the Jormungander will spew enough poison to contaminate the earth’s entire atmosphere. Thor will confront and slay the Jormungander but then will die from the beast’s venom.

Today we have another French dragon: the Tarasque.  The Tarasque is often portrayed as an extremely powerful dragon with a turtle shell and a lion- or cat-like head.  It was said to have terrorized the countryside(eating people) until it was confronted by St. Martha.  St. Martha witnessed to the Tarasque and apparently it converted to Christianity.  She then led it to a nearby town to show the people that there was no longer anything to fear.  The townspeople came pouring out of their houses to meet them.  However, to the Tarasque’s disappointment, they weren’t coming to welcome their new reptilian brother in Christ with hugs and handshakes; they came with torches and pitchforks and began to go Rodney King on the now-hapless critter. They wailed on the Tarasque for a while and then it rolled over and died.  Given the seemingly invulnerable nature of the Tarasque, it said that did not succumb to the physical assault on it but rather it may have died from guilt or from the shear amount of hatred that was directed at it.