Crassius’ Crude Collections

Crassius Curio’s Jokes and Riddles for Naughty Boys

Q. Why do Bosmer always laugh when they run?
A. Because the grass tickles their balls.

Q. Why are young Breton males so high in demand in the Imperial army?
A. Someone has to be on the bottom.

Q. What did one naked Nord say to the other?
A. “Do you feel a draft?”

Q. How does a naked Nord climb a tree?
A. He pole-vaults it.

Q. How does a naked Nord tell the weather?
A. By the direction his nipples are pointing.

Q. How does a naked Nord enter combat?
A. He brandishes his spear.

Q. How many naked Nords does it take to light a fire?
A. Two: so they have two sticks to rub together.

Q. How do you tell the difference between a male Dwemer and a female Dwemer?
A. Look under their beards.

Q. How do you tell the difference between a male Altmer and a female Altmer?
A. Look up their skirts while they’re levitating.

Q. How do you tell the difference between a male Khajiit and a female Khajiit?
A. Just give them some Skooma, and wait until they do cartwheels.

Q. How do you tell the difference between a male Orc and a female Orc?
A. Why would you want to?

Q. How do you tell the difference between a male Argonian and a female Argonian?
A. You can’t.

A male Breton brought a woman back to his home, took off his clothes, and said, “I’d like you to meet my little friend.”
She took one look, gathered up her clothes, then said, “Call me when it grows up.”

A handsome Dunmer once died in his prime. A lady necromancer heard the news and decided to pay a visit to his tomb. She had lusted over this man for many years, but knew he could never love her in life. She finally had her chance to have him. With her trusty slave in tow, she crept up to his body and began to saw away at his member.
“Mistress,” said her slave, “why ruin perfectly good flesh?”
“FOOL,” she yelled as she struck the slave across the face. “What purpose would it serve to re-animate the whole body?”

A man from Cyrodil was visiting High Rock and decided to stop at the inn in a local village. He sat down beside a sombre looking Breton and asked, “What seems to be the trouble, old man?”
“Buy me a drink, young man,” the Breton said, “and I’ll tell you my story.”
So the young man bought the old Breton a drink, and he then poured out his woes:
“I trecked through uncharted wilderness and many dangers to find the place to build this fine town, but do they call me ‘Malcom the explorer’? No.”
“And I built the beginnings and majority of this town. Eight out of ten homes were built by my hands,’ he indicated towards the town, ‘but do they call me ‘Malcom the builder’? No.”
“And I farmed five thousand acres of land with no aid from anybody, with cattle, sheep, and a great deal of produce, but do they call me ‘Malcom the farmer’? No.”
“But you help one lousy goat over a fence…”

Crassius Curio’s Collection of Crude Limericks

There once was an old man from Khuul,
Who had gonads the size of a bull.
And each night he’d wager
Though he’s an old ager,
He’d not stop ’till the ladies were full.

There once was a Nord named Mad Hadle,
Who was quite a king in the saddle.
Met a lass not so fair,
With a face like a mare;
Said, “I wouldnae ride her into battle.”

There once was an Argonian named Skeexing,
Who thought he was really quite pleasing.
He pressed the ladies in vain,
For they shouted in pain
‘Cause his member was bloody damned freezing.

There once was a lusty Khajiit,
Who was cursed with very large feet.
They got stuck in the middle
When he tried to diddle,
So he used them instead of his meat.

There once was a Breton named Ender,
Who decided to go on a bender.
He walked into a tavern,
And felt up a slattern
Who proved to be of the wrong gender.

There once was a Dunmer from Gnisis
Who decided to cheat on his missus.
He caught a disease
From some drunken Orc sleaze
And now, it burns when he pisses.

There once was a young Dunmer bride,
Who’s legs often opened too wide.
She yelled to her man,
“Push as hard as you can!”
And she pulled his whole body inside.

There once was a Bosmer named Rhyse,
Who’s member went down past his knees.
When he got hard,
He rose up a yard
And could finally reach up to the trees.

There once was a Bosmer named Brambles,
Who loved to make wagers and gambles;
One night took a dare
To lie down with a bear,
And now his poor rod lay in shambles.

Ol’ Uncle Crassius’ Collection of Bedtime Stories

A Dubious Tale

The annals of the followers of Mephala are reputed to contain records of many an unusual accounting. The offices of the Dark Brotherhood are uncovered but seldom, and then only after strong official pressure forces some action against them. This fragment was uncovered after one of the more notorious chapters was razed near the beginning of the 3E.

While part of a social hunting expedition, a noble found himself paired with a very quiet Dark Elf. The Dark Elf turned out to be extremely proficient with the longbow, making one impossible shot after another. The noble asked how the elf was able to make all of those successful shots, to which the elf replied, “Good eyesight and lots of practice.”

The noble doubted this and suspected that the Dark Elf was making use of some magical assistance (which would be very unsportsmanlike). The noble demanded to examine the elf’s bow. The elf reluctantly allowed the noble to examine the bow, which turned out to be a very ordinary longbow. The noble next demanded to examine the arrows, which also turned out to be quite ordinary.

Believing that something was amiss, the noble questioned the elf on the source of his expertise until, in an effort to get the noble to leave him alone, the Dark Elf confessed to being a professional assassin.

The noble was astounded by this pronouncement and asked how much the elf made in his profession.

“500 golds per shot,” replied the elf.

“Surely you mean 500 golds per target,” insisted the noble. “It comes out the same,” replied the elf, “I never miss.”

“Just how good is your eyesight?” asked the noble.

“See that manor house on the hill over there,” asked the elf.

“Yes, that’s my house,” said the noble.

“Well, there’s a carriage in front of the house,” said the elf.

“Yes, I can just make it out, but cannot see any details. Whose carriage is it?” asked the noble.

“The carriage has Lord Roxbury’s crest on the door,” said the elf, “so I assume it’s his.”

“Lord Roxbury is my best friend. What else can you see?”

“Well,” said the elf, “I can see a man and a woman in a room on the second floor.”

“What does the man look like?” asked the noble.

The elf described the man.

“That’s Lord Roxbury,” said the noble. “What does the woman look like?”

“That’s my wife,” said the noble. “What is she wearing?”

“Nothing,” said the elf.

“What is she doing,” asked the noble.

“Kissing Lord Roxbury and taking his clothes off,” replied the elf.

“Betrayed by my wife and best friend!” exclaimed the noble. “Sir, if your services are available, I will pay you 1000 gold to kill that treacherous couple.”

“My services are, indeed, available,” said the elf, as he strung his bow and nocked an arrow.

“I want you to emasculate Lord Roxbury and put an arrow through my wife’s head!” shouted the noble.

The elf took careful aim and then froze.

“What’s the matter?” shouted the noble. “Can’t you make the shots?”

“Oh, I can make the shots,” said the elf.

“Then why do you wait?” asked the noble.

“You have been a gracious host. If we wait, I can save you 500 gold pieces.”

The Tale of the Broken Beer Keg
by Deandre

Ages ago, farther back than men care to remember, there lived a poor farmer in Ykalon named Giles. Giles was a happy farmer, though he was poor. Many was the tongue that claimed he was happy because he was poor. A more likely reason was because he was too drunk to realize how poor he was. I can attest, gentle reader, that a drunk audience is an appreciative audience, though at times they can be a bit too…appreciative. Be as the tomato may, Giles loved to drink. So much so that he devoted much of his free time in said pursuit. Now I’m not saying that there is anything wrong with said occupation, but life requires balance and it is not to be found at the bottom of a mug unless said mug is soon to be refilled. Being a poor farmer, Giles didn’t care about balance, only that his crops grew and the beer flowed. He spent most of his coin and time at the local pub, The Emperor’s Arms, though he spent more time than coin, which soon led to a rather large tab. The innkeeper, one Edwyster Barrington, knew about drinking to avoid one’s lot in life, what with his inn barely staying afloat as it were, that he let Giles drink his fill knowing that having a customer drinking at his bar could attract others. Who would drink at an empty bar? Not I, for empty seats mean empty pockets.

One day while Giles was pursuing his favorite pastime, guards stormed the inn looking for the cause of a recent killing. Witnesses described someone who looked very similar to Giles and when the guards spotted him, they immediately grabbed him and none too gently asked him where he was during the crime. By this time, Giles had already partaken of his usual pastime of forgetfulness, and could not fully answer the guards’ questions. In fact, it would be a miracle if he even understood what they asked. Growing frustrated, the guards grabbed Giles by his wrists and told him that they were dragging his drunken self off to jail. Giles would hear none of it, for why would anyone want to go to jail? They don’t serve ale there. The guards accused Giles of criminal conspiracy and roughly drug him off. They stopped and glared at the innkeeper as he cleared his throat. Edwyster looked on the verge of saying something, but in a fit of cowardice, decided that having the drunken Giles away from his bar might actually improve his business. So he stayed quiet and instead of speaking, looked down and started to clean the bar top instead.

The guards drug poor Giles to the entrance of the inn and started arguing as to whether or not Giles even deserved a trial. What would the magistrate care if one such as he was killed while resisting arrest? He was as nobody who had no-one and nothing to claim. Who would miss him or even care? While they were arguing, Giles slipped from their slacken grasp and stole a keg of ale dropped off that morning, waiting along with its brethren to be stored in the cellar until tapped, and stole off into the street. The guards started and yelled after him to stop. He, of course, pretended not to notice them and ran through the traffic, looking for a safe place where he and his new best friend could become better acquainted.

In their heavy armor, the guards couldn’t even fathom catching Giles, burdened as he was, so they started shooting bolts at him. One landed with a solid thunk in the top of the keg and ale started to flow freely. Horrified, Giles slowed down and drank from his friend, lest he leave any of that sweet, sweet liquid to live a short, lonely life on the ground before it was soaked away, never to be seen again. The act of balancing a keg above one’s head is precarious at best and Giles was no natural acrobat when completely sober. Soon enough, he tripped and the keg broke upon his head. Awash with the remains of the ale, Giles tried to suck up what he could before it disappeared. Overcome with exhaustion, he collapsed in the middle of the road, not even registering that the guards had found him and gathered him up to jail.

Giles awoke with a start on a cold floor, his precious keg nowhere in sight. In a panic, he searched high and low, but ne’er did he find his trusted friend. His searching brought forth a new problem: his stomach, overexposed to ale and forced into action above and beyond the call of duty, took that moment to empty itself. Giles held his head in his hands as his stomach forcefully explained to him the indignities he had forced upon it. After it was satisfied and settled down again, Giles whiped his mouth and sat down, not caring about the warm feeling quickly inching up his posterior. He fell asleep, his face wet with tears and his throat hoarse from sobbing.

The next morning the guards came for him and explained that his suffering was soon to be at an end: he was to be hanged that morning. It seems that Edwyster had spoken to the magistrate, and while the innkeeper helped clear Giles from the crime of murder, he accused Giles of the theft of his keg, which also carried a hanging offense. So Giles, empty of stomach, was deprived of life, ale, and happiness. He was also deprived of poverty, but that was not so much of a loss as a gain, though the price might have been a bit more than Giles would have wanted to pay had he not been forcefully sobered.

So, gentle reader, if there is a moral to this tale, it may be thus: take care of your barkeep, for not only does he keep the ale flowing, he may one day save your life.

The Mundane Old Man
by Folswryn the Cryptic

There once was a warrior who went through the Great Forest. This warrior had fought many a battle and was quite fatigued, his weapon near its breaking point. He traveled East, reached the road, and followed it Southward. Off an unimpressive bend in the road lay a dull little cottage. The warrior approached the dull little cottage with its plain wooden door, mediocre wooden frame, and banal thatched roof. The warrior rapped upon the door with the hilt of his blade, producing a very ordinary sound. Answering the sound was a mundane old man with flat, grey hair and a pedestrian stare that seemed to look into some unseen void of mediocrity.

The warrior spoke, “Greetings, sir, might I stay the night so that I may rest my weary bones?”

The bland old man spoke, not so fast that he seemed eager, but not so slow that it seemed dramatic, “Yes.”

And so the warrior was let to enter the dull little cottage. He proceeded up the trite stairs, through the vapid hall, and into the lifeless guest room, and laid upon the drab bed. He rolled onto his left side and fell asleep.

There happened the next day to be another warrior traveling through the Great Forest. This warrior had gone days without food or water. He traveled East, reached the road, and followed it Southward. Off an unimpressive bend in the road lay a dull little cottage. The warrior approached the dull little cottage with its plain wooden door, mediocre wooden frame, and banal thatched roof. The warrior rapped upon the door with the hilt of his blade, producing a very ordinary sound. Answering the sound was a mundane old man with flat, grey hair and a pedestrian stare that seemed to look into some unseen void of mediocrity.

The warrior spoke, “Hail, sire, might you have a bite which to eat and a bed which to rest?”

The bland old man spoke, not so fast that he seemed eager, but not so slow that it seemed dramatic, “Yes.”

And so the warrior was made a meal of bland rat meat and uninteresting potatoes. Thereafter, he proceeded up the trite stairs, through the vapid hall, and into the lifeless guest room, and laid upon the drab bed. He rolled onto his left side and fell asleep.

On the third day a traveling warrior had lost his companions to raiders. This warrior was quite downtrodden and wandered in desperation. He traveled East, reached the road, and followed it Southward. Off an unimpressive bend in the road lay a dull little cottage. The warrior approached the dull little cottage with its plain wooden door, mediocre wooden frame, and banal thatched roof. The warrior rapped upon the door with the hilt of his blade, producing a very ordinary sound. Answering the sound was a mundane old man with flat, grey hair and a pedestrian stare that seemed to look into some unseen void of mediocrity.

The warrior spoke, “Sir, maybe I stay the night so that I might pray to the Nine and seek their council?”

The bland old man spoke, not so fast that he seemed eager, but not so slow that it seemed dramatic, “Yes.”

And so the warrior made his was into the dull little cottage. he proceeded up the trite stairs, through the vapid hall, and into the lifeless guest room, and knelt upon the plain floor. He prayed to the Nine. Afterward, he clambered into the drab bed. He rolled onto his right side and fell asleep.

*

What one should take out of this tale is that two out of three individuals are right-handed