Case History 5: First Child Born in the New World!

It’s a Squalling New Brat!

It’s 1011 AD, and 160 settlers have decided to establish a permanent settlement in the New World…Vineland, as some would call it. So they sailed night and day, and finally arrived. Unfortunately, all was not green pastures and rotten grapes.

The 160 lost souls stared around at the bleak landscape. Ice. Ice everywhere, and not a drink to put it in.


Where did that stork find that baby?


This was not what Eric the Murde…uh, the Red called it. And it wasn’t even the way old Lief Erickson had described it. It was nothing but cold land, covered over with ice, frozen rivers, and no one even thought to bring a pair of skis!

Well, that’s okay, because at first landfall, a tidy little snot of land called Straumflord, Snorro was born. Delicate, darling, little Snorro. The first child in the New World.

Now, this bring to mind all sorts of titles: Snorro; Return of Snorro, Revenge of the Son of Snorro, Snorro’s Uncle Vengeance. I mean, really, wouldn’t those make some great movie titles? And, since nobody even knew that the name Snorro was that of the first child born in the New World before they read it here, why not use it for a bunch of cheap exploitation flicks, eh?

Well, doubtless this thought crossed Snorro’s mother’s mind, for she immediately started grousing. ‘There isn’t any place for cows to eat, the grapes haven’t even grown…let alone rotted, this place is dismal, I want to go home!’ So, Snorro born, he took one look around and was yanked, mercilessly, from the land that born and almost bred him…and then spring arrived and it was beautiful!

Next stop was Tidal Lake, where the Vikings started trading with the natives, a bunch of Indians who hadn’t been designated Indians yet, so the Vikings simply called them Skraelings, or ‘Screechers.’ Things were going swell here, until a bull got loose and a Viking killed an Indian. You can hear him now, ‘Uh, sorry fellows, but he sort of looked like a bull, same color, you can’t blame me, it was an honest mistake.’

And there our story would have ended, a bunch of drunken Vikings slaughtered by a bunch Screechers, except for the intercession of Freydis, the illegitimate daughter of Eric the Red, who proved that grapes don’t fall too far from the vine. Chased by the Indians, outrun by the menfolk, she suddenly turned, pulled open her dress to expose her breast, screamed, and beat that mammary gland with the flat side of her sword! The Indians, suddenly confronted by a Real Woman (or perhaps just a budding feminist, we won’t argue one way or another on that point) turned and fled.

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