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"So then, mysteriously, just after the Crusades, the small, but well-trained men of this brotherhood of knights that called themselves the 'French' just disappeared, some say taking the Holy Grail with them, back into their shadows of secrecy, where, to this day, we believe they still operate, controlling the major world events, watching us all. Watching us very carefully. Potentially in a mountain hideaway, though others believe they may be in the forest."
He stopped his ominous pacing and sat back against his desk, facing the students, some with eager faces, some looking fashionably bored, others looking genuinely bored. He thought about beginning his ominous pacing again, as stopping didn't seem to have had any effect, and was concerned they might not have gotten the ominousness of his pacing. However, maybe they had gotten the proper degree of ominousousity, and were now too frightened by the pending whatever it was to do anything other than look bored or eager. There was also the chance that they were all incredibly daft. He was notoriously poor at this transition between pacing and sitting down against his desk in teacher's college.
One slightly less bored looking face had raised it's accompanying hand. The hand seemed to be contemplating boredom, but there it was, raised slightly above the rest of the class, a rather ambitious place for a hand to be. It had been there for quite some time. One of the eager faces in the class had also drooled slightly onto his desk, where his elbow was resting, which slipped off the edge of the desk, and his face, which had been supported largely in part by the hand connected to the elbow that now found itself not on the desk any longer, dropped in altitude at an alarming rate, waking up halfway between the desk and it's previous position.
"Ehm, right, yes?" He hated this bit.
"There weren't any women in this brotherhood of knights?"
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"Because it's a well-known fact that brotherhoods of knights can't have women in them."
"Why not?"
"Because. Look, history's a wonderful, complex, and mysterious thing. We can't really ever know all there is to know, we can only sit and accept it, all right?"
The inquisitive one, as he was quickly labelling this one, was silent at that.
"Right, so, soon afterward, quite possibly under secret and deviously clever direction of this legendary brotherhood of the French, a small group of peasants joined together to seek out this Holy Grail, as they believed it had extra chocolately powers. These brave souls were called Cadbury's. And they included, even," as he threw a look at the girl whom had raised her hand earlier who was now scraping something off her neighbour's desk, "among them, two women." It didn't hurt to throw them a little victory, once in a while. "They never once, though, encountered that mysterious tribe again, and there are doubts we'll ever see them again, until one of them wins the Lotto and slips up when he shows up to collect the winnings."
disclaimer:
This was an excerpt from the previously unknown-to-you-novel, An Unrelated Storey: another novel, by the author of Time: a novel. If you're one of those people who, upon someone asking you if you knew about something, always says yes, no matter the case, or what it is you're admitting to knowing something about, you probably would want to dispute the adjective heretofore applied to the novel from which this excerpt comes.
While you might think it would make more sense within the context of the novel, you'd probably be wrong, as it really doesn't make much sense there, either.
Don't eat chicken on Thursdays, look both ways before crossing the road, and don't forget to say Hello if you see us.
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Yer Weekly Horoscopes. mmm, Guinness.