Dear diary!

Born in Uruk

3rd day of the month Nissan, 2720 B.C.

There I was, contemplatin’ my two thirds divinity and general greatness, plannin’ world domination, and goin' *goo goo goo*, when slinkin’ towards my little gilded cot came two regicidally minded cobras, out to do somethin’ terminal to my future majesty. I have a good idea who sent 'em, so watch out, you! Once I can toddle I’ll come after you and stab your knee cap. Very well, the moment the poisonous reptiles poked their heads into my cradle of empire, I just gripped those long necks and throttled 'em. Heroic standard procedure, so I needn't waste words about it. Man of few words anyway.

Btw, all heroes when babies are reported to have killed one or more serpents, to everyones surprise, only I don't know why anyone should be surprised, like I said, all heroes do it.

But you feel free to make a song about it with about 1000 verses.

4th day of the month Nissan, 2720 B.C.

Looky goo, there's another serpent, of a type new to me, but my semidivinity tells me that these really need keen watching. Cobras are harmless by comparison, not too mention far less exciting. Also I have to grow up some more before I get my piddy paws around these ones necks, not to press too hard, mind. These serpents have a sweet kinda poison, I know that already, did I mention I'm a bright kid, two thirds omniscent, so the really important things I already know.

*Eeek, curse, bawl*

She’s slopped some cold water into my cot on the pretext of bathing me. Do you know what you've done, woman? You just gave me an inhibition in the whatnot, or was it an exhibition, anyway, a complex of some sort, that's what you did. And when there's a king with a complex, better run for cover everyone.

29rd day of the month Shevat, 2717 B.C.

I'm growing up fast. All heroes do. I'm a really good size now, just perfect to casually wander in under women's skirts.

That washer lady Mu elelat's been at moms perfume again.

She’s hollerin‘ on about her ankles, and how she’s a decent woman... ankles! Long ankles she has then, is all I can say.

Anyway, I'm growing up. Bad thing is that soon I won't be able to stand up under a woman's skirt without bein' obvious. Good thing is, there will be greater things than serpents and washer women to spar with. Dragons and...well, the dragon equivalent for washer women, seven heads and if I’m lucky...Here she comes again. Enjoyed our last run in, from the ankles to the finish. She's in for another surprise.

Look, no hands!

25th day of the month Elul, 2708 B.C.

Drat it! Mom's on to me. I'm to learn to be a king she says. Day after day now a lot of greybeards come and talk at me, grey men, grey talk, grey every day. I should invent the emancipation of women, that's what I should do, so I could have lady teachers. AND it would be the one thing guaranteed to piss off the maximum possible number of people, so I'm really tempted, if just to see the greybeards go down with a heart attack, gasping out the words tradition and sacrilege with their dyin’ sherry breath.

Like old Utnapishtim here, witterin’ on about history, time and eternity. Too yawn-making for words.

And there is little Muzzie, peeping in and making faces at me, feeling safe because old Utna got me pinned. Oh that slippery tunic, keeps slippin down one shoulder, then the other. Gentleman that I am, I must go to her aid at once!

Hey oldster, sure you hanker after the time when women had use for you, you have my sympathy, but can you drone on about it to somebody else? I suggest the other greybeards. What's past is past. I am young and have all the time in the world, and as for eternity, I'm two thirds divine, and gettin’ hold of the last third should take care of your eternity.

There he's gone off at last with his damn, bloody, boring tablets, grumbling that one day I would walk to the end of the world to talk to him. Oh I'll walk to the end of the world all right and back again, just for the hell of it, but not to talk to old Utna about the time when he was young and women... He can go rot at the end of the world. And that ethics teacher can keep him company.

*DASH after Muzza*

1st day of the month Tishri, 2708 B.C.

Heureka! Turns out growing up is not that bad, no, not that bad after all. Ok, I'm loosing that singularly convenient just-fitting-snugly-under-a-skirt size.

But!

WILL you LOOK what I found higher up?

Oh, there is that old man calling order again. C'mon Utna, you've had your day! Now the day is mine!

Mine, mine, all mine!

6th day of the month Iyar, 2705 B.C.

Whaddayamean, Sword of Providence hangin' by a hair? You don't think you've suspended it there, old man? Never point a blade at anybody, not even verbally, if you're not ready to use it without the least consideration for others. Or able, old man. I hope I'm not obscure in any way.

You'd think the old geezer had learned by now to be careful with sharp implements, or how did he get so old?

That reminds me, I must get me a longer sword, to proceed from serpents and washerwomen to dragons and virgin princesses. Mind you, personally I prefer wenches who know exactly what they are doin’, but the virgin princess seems to be another of these heroic conventions, and the virginity thingy is easily remedied anyway.

But I've turned over two tablets at once. Again. After all, there IS an order to things, as I could easily figure out myself without Utna harping on it. First deal with dragon, then deal with virgin princess.

Better have that sword three sizes larger, just like the trousers mom got me, because I'm growing fast.

King of Uruk

3rd day of the month Tishri, 2700 B.C.

Complaints, complaints! First my teachers, calling themselves advisors now, but still trying to jerk me around by authority of their water soup. Keep calling me names like ignoramus, brute, lout, bully, illiterate. Relying rather thoughtlessly on the safety they think their grey hair affords them. So to show them their error in at least one thing I threw them from the balcony into the pool in mid harangue.

It's not that I don't care for education, just that I can't abide self important educators! Locked the door on the dripping know-it-alls and sat me down and worked through all those dusty tablets, each and every bloody one of 'em. Callin' me ignoramus and illiterate! I’ll show you!

And would you believe it, I did find something useful in the oldest and most chipped and stained piece of clay. About the king's duty and prerogative of the First Night. Personally I prefer the benefits of experience, but if duty calls, well, it calls. Actually, such a law makes perfect sense to me. I mean, look at a potbellied merchant takin’ a nubile girl for fourth wife just because he can afford it. But what about her, is that supposed to be all? All she’ll ever know of men?

Well, well, according to the greybeards one must abide by tradition, mustn't one? So I did. Should have heard 'em howl!

Same with the city walls.

"You are a bad king, they scoffed."

"You're not governing us!" they complained.

"Letting all run to seed, look at those crumbling walls!" they griped.

So I had them rebuilt, those walls, record time!

All I got for my efforts was being berated by the unions for breach of this and trespass against that. Could they all make up their petty minds if they want city walls or if they want to be murdered in their beds by nomad raiders?

By way of saying thanks for sound city walls and healthy offspring, the good citizens of Uruk call me a tyrant and exploiter.

In the streets of my city!

In my own throne hall!

In Ishtar's Bull, my own local! Wanted to bar me, can you beat that! Bar my majesty!

I hung the union representatives from my brand new city walls upside down which had the pleasing effect of reversing their tune.

Now I'll go to the Bull, have a stiff drink, have a look at their new furniture, and if I'm lucky little Muzzie is there too.

Date illigible

Laws, what laws?

Do I look like a damn daffydowndilly?

Do I look like somebody who throws paragraphs at people? What's wrong with a knife? More considerate too. At least my oponent knows exactly when he's hit, and doesn't have to consult the small print to realize that he's dead.

My sword is my law, and my law holds whereever I happen to be standing. You can give way or fight, choose your weapons, bring your friends.

3rd day of the month Sivan, 2699 B.C.

Parents! Today Mum came for the express purpose of going over and over everything again, because the priests had been complaining. As if you can expect objectivity on the subject of my personality from people who I dunked in the pool.

Now about what she refers to as my 'playing all day'. It's part of my job description, as that scuffy tablet on the subject of Jus Primae Noctis (yes the same tablet the priests forgot to cross reference and include in my studies, although to judge by the look of it, they seem to have studied it a lot themselves in the quiet hours of the night) documented with rare clarity for so old a publication that it is my duty as a king to tackle that *er* tedious *er* task. That's historical! One time I'm to honour tradition, the next time not. Who gets to decide which in each particular instance?

Ok, I will say for mom, that she alone did not gripe about my brand new and improved city walls. No, no. She didn't even look at my feat of military architecture. Went on and on about handcream. And I suppose I should be grateful for that, even though I wasn't quite able to follow the sudden turn her discourse took.

Still 3rd day of the month Sivan, 2699 B.C.

Going to the Bull dressed in nothing but my loincloth.
The landlord doesn't mention dress code or the fact that I'm supposed to be banned.

Maybe because the last time he was tactless to my majesty, he accidentally broke his nose and owin’ to the same accident had to buy all his bar furniture new. Takes the stuffing out of a man, pay for new furniture, the chariot, the mortgage, holiday for the family at the Gulf....if you want to be safe of revolutions and upheavals, just make sure people have matching curtains, kids at highschool, insurance policies, and a loan on everything they own.

Played musical chairs with Muzzie.

14th day of the month Av, 2699 B.C.

If you think I like beating up on little ones, you're mistaken. All to the contrary, it bores me out of my skull.

How I wish for a barkeep of enough stature to throw me out the door of the tavern, when I behave drunk and disorderly, or at least one who gives it a jolly good try.

How I wish for a husband of sufficient guts to haul me offa his wife bodily, instead of running to the priests yammering and complaining! That can't be what survival of the fittest means, can it now?

Not my fault that every man in Uruk is littler than I. Not theirs either. But why don't they gang up? You'd think that would be the obvious course to take when confronted with somebody as big and bloodyminded as me. Take the workers bullied by me into day after day of toil on the defense works of the city. They're tired, it's too hot, their women are all alone, with nobody looking after them but me, they desperately need a rest. So the moment they see me, they do the mass scene, muttering, complaining, some revoluzzers standing well towards the back shout nonsense about tyranny, freedom, peoples rule. I never know who the agitators are, and I don't care. I just plant my feet on the ground, a little apart, cross muscular arms over broad chest, look at the milling crowd steadily with a tiny smile on my lips to encourage them to just come on.

But do they?

Nooo! They back off, little tails well tucked between bandy legs, and shuffle back to work like the spineless curs they are. Same scenario every time, but never ceases to amaze me, considering that they're ten times the number of my body guards, and well equipped with shovels and picks, useful lengths of pipes, and lots of nice handy stones lying around for free. Makes me despair of mankind.

I assure you, I'd be the last king on earth to cry affront to my majesty if somebody mustered the courage to jump me.

Either they kill me or I kill them.

It's that simple.

I enjoy a good fight.

But do I get one?