The once all-powerful West, the ruler of the world and inventor of science and technology, has elected to commit suicide by the simple process of not having babies. The fecund Muslims, invited into Europe by the native Europeans, will soon outnumber the native Europeans, and when the Muslims are the majority they will do what Muslims always do, enslave the inferior people and convert them to Islam at the point of the sword. The chivalry of Europe, who once rode roughshod over all who opposed them, is now reduced to feeble knights riding wooden horses. The gods of Valhalla have left, and the great glittering hall is now dark and empty. How Valhalla came to be a dark and empty hall, with only the snoring of Odin to break the silence, has never been told. Until now, in epic form, worthy of the sagas.

Fair Sigurd, knight of course
Sat on his wooden horse
And rode around in circles noon to noon
“My Liege!” he hoarsely cried
Each cycle of the ride
In time to a calliopetic tune
Distracting Odin so
He bade the knight to go
And solve the raging crisis to the south
The Falnir, monster like
Was heedless whom to strike
And lisping Odin bade him check each houth
Fair Sigurd then despaired
He said, My Liege I’m scared
The Falnir is quite dangerous forsooth
Much honor I would earn
But ‘tis young Freyr’s turn
To earn the skald’s sweet song and that’s the truth
Fierce Odin scowled and said
Too many soon be dead
Mount up, good man, upon your wooden steed
Today I count on you
Tomorrow I’ll send Tew
On Thorsday I’ll send Thor if there be need
Outside as it grew dark
The singing of the lark
Grew still and silence settled o’er the land
The Falnir, monster he
Took ease up in his tree
While down below brave Freyr took his stand
Meanwhile Valhalla slept
Valkyries silent crept
Into the rooms of knights who softly snored
Swords drawn and sharpened each
For every knight in reach
They rode their horses hard, dead knights aboard
For only but the brave
May enter god’s bright cave
And riding wooden horses will not do
Returned the knights to Earth
Reborn to vulgar birth
Valhalla emptied of the whole damn crew
And as old Odin slept
The wooden horses leapt
The music winding down with every turn
The gods have gone away
We miss them every day
They won’t be back no matter how we yearn