Sing in me Muse, and through me tell the story of those two radical bros who straight up tore a new one in those Trojan dickheads, and how the might of their friendship inspired bros all over the world to be even half as cool as them. I tell, of course, the story of those two legendary heroes: Brodysseus and Swagamemnon, peerless warriors and tightest buds, who razed Troy to the ground to rescue the fair Hellafine, despite the fact that she was pretty down with being in Troy (she was happily married to her himbo Paris after all), and the fact that she very willingly left Manaleus, and… well you get the idea.
Manaleus hopped on his ship, The Deflowerer to talk to Brodysseus and Swagamemnon, who were busy owning in the gladiatorial ring despite the fact that WHO CARES if that was a Roman thing, it’s COOL. They had just tag-teamed their eighth superhydra when Manaleus found them.
“Dudes,” he said, “Some a-hole just made off with my wife.”
“Harsh,” said Brodysseus, whose pecs gleamed so brightly that birds fell from the sky, blinded by their majesty.
“Yeah,” said Swagamemnon, whose pecs were too hairy to gleam at all, just… seriously just, so hairy. “How can we help?”
Manaleus paused in contemplation, pretending to be thinking of a plan, though in fact he was admiring the two men’s amazing chests. I mean, you could literally see every single muscle with perfect clarity. Like two Adonis’s. Abdonis’s. “Uh… well I figured… y’know, we could…”
“DUDE,” said Brodysseus. “We should TOTALLY invade Troy!”
Manaleus tilted his head. “I never said she went to Troy, how did you know that?”
“Oh, she’s in Troy? Sorry dude, I was just thinking, I’ve really been jonesing to invade Troy. But she’s there? TWO BIRDS.” He and Swagamemnon chest bumped, sweat flinging in every direction. Manaleus wiped off the sweat that flung onto his face and sniffed the hand, looking around furtively to make sure no one saw him. It wasn’t weird. I mean, it wasn’t that weird, shut up.
“Yes! Wonderful idea. Gather your armies, gentlemen, we’re going to Troy!” They all group hugged. It was tight.
* * *
The preparation took years. Manaleus assembled a massive fleet, unprecedented in scale: a full thousand ships, fitted and ready for war. He even recruited the great hero Akilles, who thought he could dodge the draft by wearing a dress and no one would notice. But he forgot to shave, so on the ship he went. When they were finally ready to set sail, Manaleus called the priests or whatever Greeks had (shaman? I have no idea) to pray for their voyage. All the soldiers bowed and prayed. All except for Brodysseus.
“Bro,” said Swagamemnon, “aren’t you going to pray to Poseidon?”
“Man, screw that guy. Right in his stupid salty face. I hate Poseidon, I’m not praying to him.”
“Oh that’s cool,” thought Poseidon, chilling in the deep, “that’s fine, whatever. Good luck making it back home.”
“If you say so, man,” Swagamemnon said. “You don’t want to tempt fate is all I’m saying.”
“Man, screw the fates. Right in the horrifying eldritch abominations they call faces.”
“Oh okay,” said Atropos, chilling in the black and deafening void, “let me just sharpen my scissors.”
* * *
The fleet set sail and made its way across the wide and boring sea. We’re skipping that part, it’s seriously boring. Like, literally nothing happens. A few guys get seasick and Manaleus spends a lot of time in his bunk thinking about Hellafine, and that’s absolutely it.
* * *
So then they land at Troy and the Trojans were all like “oh wow, that’s a lot of people trying to kill us.” Paris wasn’t having any of that nonsense. He mobilized the Trojan army, sending riders and couriers to their allies, requesting backup.
“Paris,” Hellafine said, “I don’t want all these fine young men dying for me. Maybe I should just go back.”
“You’re free to do what you want,” Paris said. “But are you sure?” He dropped his pants.
“Oh wow, not really.”
They made out. Way hot.
* * *
Zeus was chilling on his throne watching the first stages of the war. “Sick, guys, check this out, this is going to be awesome. Like, tons of crappy movies are going to be made about this in the future.”
Poseidon stormed in the throne room. “I want Brodysseus dead! Let me go down there and shove my kraken down his throat!”
“Dude, no. First off, think about how you said that. Second, tone it down, all right? Let’s watch them massacre each other first.”
“Can I torture him after?”
“Hm? Yeah whatever, someone get me some popcorn, this is seriously cool.”
* * *
It wasn’t cool. It was horrifying. Blood soaked the ground so thoroughly that nothing grew on that land for centuries. The hills became like grindhouse slip-n-slides. So much blood evaporated from the ground it actually rained blood. Hades had to outsource hell to make room for all the newly dead souls.
Hector bravely got his toned, muscular butt whooped by Akilles, who then spent the rest of the war complaining about how great and invincible he was. Paris and Hellafine were too busy having crazy sex to notice.
Brodysseus and Swagamemnon were in the breach every day just tearing it up. Swagamemnon earned the name The Red Devil because of all the blood that got stuck to his excessive body hair. They smashed heads, split shields, snapped swords and spears in half with their bare hands, ripped people’s limbs off and used them as bludgeons, and way more grody stuff that I had to cut to keep this PG-13.
After years of fighting, Manaleus was sick of it all. He gathered his best warriors and generals on The Deflowerer to discuss how to end the war.
Brodysseus slammed a huge keg on the table, smashing it completely.
Manaleus jumped back. “Where did you even find th—”
“Drink up, bros!” Brodysseus punched a hole in the top and shoved his head inside. Two full minutes later he reemerged, beer soaking his hair and beard.
Swagamemnon jumped up. “Me next!”
“Dude, your face,” Manaleus said, “how are you still covered in blood?”
Swagamemnon laughed, then stuck his head in the keg.
Manaleus sighed. “And now that’s completely undrinkable, great. Okay, we need a plan to end the war.”
Brodysseus clapped his hands. “Great idea! We build… freakin’, this huge horse, okay? Trojans like horses, right? And we get inside and then… then we put it in their city and then kill everyone!”
Swagamemnon pulled his head out of the keg. “Bro, I love you man, but you’re super drunk, and that’s super dumb.”
Brodysseus grabbed Swagamemnon’s shoulders. “Dude. You and me. One last ride.”
“Into the enemy’s lair.”
“Destroy them ALL, dude.”
“YES!”
“HADES YES!”
“BRO!”
“DUDE!”
They chest bumped and man hugged. Manaleus expected Brodysseus’s chest to be covered in blood from Swagamemnon’s blood-soaked chest hair, but it was so dry it didn’t rub off. It never did. For the rest of his life, Swagamemnon was completely red. Some say it was the punishment from the gods for all the lives he cut short in the prime of their youth, as a constant reminder to him and to everyone else of the atrocities he committed. But nah, he just killed like, an obscene amount of people.
* * *
The next day, Brodysseus and Swagamemnon walked to the front lines alone, no army behind them. The Trojans laughed. Brodysseus picked up two massive swords, grabbed them both in his left hand, picked up two more massive swords and held them in his right. Swagamemnon flexed and cracked his knuckles. He didn’t need a weapon; he was the weapon. They charged. The army charged. Some of them tripped and fell because they were laughing so hard.
When the army got about fifty feet away, Brodysseus spread his arms and shouted to the heavens. “ZEEEEEEUUUUSSS! GRANT ME YOUR POWEEEEER!”
Zeus yawned. “Whatever dude, I’m getting bored. There’s this mortal girl I’m into? Think I’ll turn into a swan and just see where the night takes us.” He stretched out his hand. Black clouds gathered above him. Lightning crackled in their folds and shot down. Zeus absorbed the power, holding the lightning in a giant ball between his hands. He directed the blast down to Earth. The massive bolt of lightning split the sky, shattering the air into a thousand blasts of thunder, and struck Brodysseus straight in his beautiful, muscular, shining chest.
“Yes!” Poseidon yelled.
Brodysseus screamed. The lightning reflected from his glistening manly pecs, and split into a hundred bolts, striking every soldier in front of him with the fury of the gods and the power of friendship. Ten by ten, the charging army fell quivering to the bloody ground, smoke rising from craters blasted into their faces.
The lightning spread to Brodysseus’s four improbably large swords. He swung them wildly, shearing through the army like a lightning sword through people. The lightning wore off, and the two bros looked on at the wreckage that laid before them. Thousands of dead soldiers were all that stood (or laid, I guess) between them and Troy.
“No!” Poseidon yelled.
“Oh my Zeus,” said Swagamemnon, in awe. “Freakin rad, dude!” They chest bumped. Rad indeed.
They ran into the city, Brodysseus cleaving people in three, Swagamemnon crushing heads and arms and sternums and vertebrae and patellae, etc. They fought nonstop through the city, completely defeated all of their enemies on the way through, then smashed down the door to the throne room.
“Hellafine!” Swagamemnon bellowed, his manly voice echoing through the massive hall. “We’ve come to rescue you, and bring you back to Manaleus!” When they reached the throne, they found Paris and Hellafine sprawled out naked and dead, killed by exhaustion from all the wild sex they were having nonstop for the last several years.
“Dude, that sucks,” Brodysseus said. “I mean, great way to go, but man.”
“Speaking of man, Manaleus is going to be piiiissed.”
“Oh well. Dude, this was awesome, we’ll have to do this again sometime.”
“Of course, man! Bros for life!”
They chest bumped again.
* * *
Manaleus took the news better than they expected. Turns out he sort of forgot why they were even fighting in the first place. Driven to grief from all the lost life, he devoted the rest of his life to being a priest, or shaman, or whatever, I can’t stress how little I care.
Akilles spent the rest of his life as a chump, always whining about how hard it was being the best at everything. The gods eventually got sick of him and sent some scorpions to sting his heel. His last words were “This isn’t fair, what did I ever do wrong?”
Swagamemnon returned to his home, living it up and keeping it real. Years later, when he died of ultrasyphillus, Ares made him a demigod.
And as for Brodysseus? Before he returned home, Poseidon stopped him, intent on making him suffer for his hubris. Brodysseus straight up sucker punched him straight in the taint and went home, living happily ever after.
Brodysseus and Swagamemnon remained the best of friends for the rest of their lives.
Bros for life, man. Bros for life.
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