Smarthurian
“The maker of a ‘smart’ male chastity device has recommended using a screwdriver
to break it open after warnings it can be locked remotely by hackers.”
—The Guardian
The Queen was feasting lustily
Among her trusty train:
Bold Enid, gallant Vivien,
And chivalrous Elaine.
Amongst them sat their gentle knights,
So fresh and debonnaire:
Meek Gareth, bashful Bedivere,
And Lancelot the fair.
The Queen, she quaffed a cup of wine
And slapped her brawny knee:
“Now which of all ye Knights may wear
Yon Belt of Chastitee?”
Then up rose dauntless Vivien,
And cried before them all:
“I stand for modest Bedivere,
The purest in the hall!”
Next stalwart Enid laughed aloud
And threw her wimple down:
“None else but Gareth, virtue’s flower,
Can merit virtue’s crown!”
Last spake Elaine the Champion:
“Sweet Lancelot, forgive:
For chastest Arthur takes the prize,
So long as I do live.”
“Bring forth the Belt!” quoth Guinevere:
“And, sirs, no murmuring:
For see! I venture Arthur thus,
My true and spotless king.”
Thereat the belt was passed ’midst all
The blushing damoiseaux,
And round that dainty royal waist
It made a charming show.
But lo! false Mordred, loose of looks,
And impudent of tongue,
Upon the Belt cast spells of might,
And locked it where it hung.
“Foul warlock, hence!” quoth Vivien;
“Yea,” Enid cried, “avaunt!”
But stout Elaine called: “Toolbox, ho!
’Tis this, brave dames, we want.
“Should ever hacker vile defame
The virtue of a knight,
A flathead or a Phillips tool
Must set the matter right.”
Eftsoons, while Arthur wept for shame,
And sore discomfort too,
Lynette the Seneschal unsheathed
The driver of the screw:
She laid it down before the Queen,
Upon a cloth of vair,
And none could tell, so bright it shone,
If it were flat or square.
Then Enid proud and Vivien
Before the daïs fell:
“I ask this boon,” they cried, as one:
“To break base Mordred’s spell!”
“Ah no, ah no,” quoth Guinevere,
“Elaine alone I bid
With this device to free her King!”
And (ask not how), she did.
Then cheerly sounded Camelot,
And healths were drunk, I ween,
What time fair Arthur knelt, restored,
Before his doughty Queen;
And from this day, the boldest dames
Upon their girdles bear
A massy anti-lock device,
With one, perchance, to spare.