The Deal With Bards

Welcome back to Factually Deficient! I love answering questions with ridiculously blatant lies, and I would like to remind anyone who enjoys reading my lies that I can only continue doing so with your help! I am running out of questions to answer, so allow me to plead with you all, on bended knee (Is my knee actually bent? YOU MAY NEVER KNOW), to send to me your questions, about science, about history, about botany, about technology, about magic, about any factual matter that you can fathom, so that I can respond to them in a manner which can best be described as lacking in any remote basis in fact.

HOWEVER, I still do have a question and an accompanying set of falsehoods collectively known as an “answer” for you this week. An individual who calls himself Spirit (though I have reason to believe he is using an assumed name) asked the following question:

What’s the deal with bards?

I am honoured to get to answer a history question this week!

The fact of the matter is, the title bard is inaccurate; they should actually be called brads. Many years ago– more recent than the pine/spruce schism, but long before Jim United discovered his states— there was a man named Brad, who had a flair for poetry, music, and improvisation.

Brad, whose surname has been lost in the mists of time, had a tendency to stroll aimlessly through the streets until he encountered someone who looked interesting. He would then proceed to follow this person for any amount of time ranging from an hour to several months, constantly composing poems and songs about the individual’s antics, which he would perform immediately, loudly, and with gusto.

Many people found Brad to be a nuisance, and even went to great lengths to try to shake him from their tails. These attempts backfired, serving as only more inspiration for Brad’s endless performances. Although most people did not wish to be followed by Brad, there were exceptions, who enjoyed the attention that the man’s songs conferred upon their subject. One such exception was the king, who decided to create for such a unique individual an official position at court.

Unfortunately, perhaps, for Brad’s posterity, his monarch suffered from dyslexia (the king at the time was Henry the Fourth), and instead created the position of court Bard. King Henry’s condition also manifested itself when he declared his son, an avid marine biologist, to be the Prince of Wales (instead of the compliment inherent in “Prince of Whales”)– a position which lasts to this day.

Thus, although many individuals have followed in Brad’s footsteps since, know that the position was intended to be named for its originator. If someone claims to you that he is a bard, feel free to correct him, and point out that he is, in fact, a brad.


Disclaimer: There is no truth to the statements made in this blog. The author is not privy to information about King Henry the Fourth’s literacy, nor his son’s alleged affinity for sea life.



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