The Odyssey was written sometime around the 8th century BC and was passed down by oral tradition for many years before being put to paper. This epic poem of over 12,000 lines was the sequel to The Iliad which recounts the events of the Trojan War. The Odyssey follows the various misadventures of Odysseus as he journeys home to Ithaca after the war.

The inspiration for this series came from my Language Arts class last year in which my classmates and I read an abridged version of The Odyssey, often making fun of Odysseus for being both an idiot and an absolute scumbag, hence the first episode title.  I hope you enjoy this little series as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you!

*Disclaimer: This particular take on The Odyssey is a satire. It takes liberties with the original text, which I highly recommend.*

“Sailing from Troy; or Odysseus is a Proud Scumbag”

by Kinsey Kunkel

Preface: Odysseus is “asked” to tell the tale of his travels to Alcinous, king of Phaecia, and begins with his failed venture in piracy on the island of Ismarus.

Swords and Tongues


A politician and a warrior stood at a crossroads, a dozen paths laid out before them, each as convoluted as the next.

“I despise warriors,” began the politician. “A warrior will meet any problem he comes across with violence; raising first a sword before an olive branch. Though, I envy their simple existence. They act as though any problem can be solved by merely cutting it out. They claim this is the honorable way, but there is no honor in war; a lie told by those who wish it so. Nor is there mercy, as a warrior will end a life before it is set to end.”

 The politician’s companion sat in silence for a moment, pondering the former’s statement.

 “I despise politicians,” the warrior said at last.  “Whose silver tongues drip with honey as they twist the words of others to fit their needs. Politicians preach of peace through a paper trail of agreements and bargains; forgetting so easily that peace is an abstract concept. There is no honor in politics, where rather than confront a man face to face you would stab him in the back with a smile and a handshake, taking words sharp as knives to another’s reputation, destroying a life which must still continue on.”

The politician and the warrior gazed at the maze of twisting paths that now surrounded them.

“I suppose,” mused the politician. “That no way is ever entirely right.”

The warrior nodded, “Nor is it ever entirely wrong.”

The Man Who Collects Scars

by Kinsey Kunkel

img_20180708_181723I once met a man who collected Scars;

As simply as young boys collect baseball cards.

He had a face unlike any that I’d ever seen.

And His warm, kind eyes held a twinkling gleam.

He said to me, “Child,” in a voice like hot tea;

Soothing and gentle and special to me.

I said to Him, “Sir, I know not who you are,

But I can’t help but ask why you collect Scars.”

He smiled so warmly, and opened His box

And I saw what was no mere collection of rocks

He told me, “These Scars once belonged to my friends

But I took them away when my time here did end.”

“This one that you see is the Scar of Loss

And used to rule many a good man’s thoughts.

And this one here is the Scar of Fear

Owned by those to whom danger is near.”

“There are still more, too many to name.

Like Anger and Hate and Sorrow and Pain.

These Scars are no things My friends should possess

So one by one, each of them I collect.”

I smiled at Him then, at the Collector of Scars,

And noticed, at His waist, the strangest of jars.

It was a Jar full of Darkness, I could not deny;

A foul creature with the blackest hide.

I could not quite tell, if ‘twas shadow or smoke;

The man followed my gaze and then He spoke,

“I see you have found the crowning jewel

The one that the other Scars seek for its rule.”

“This Scar is called Sin, and I am its Keeper.

I bear the burden for those who are weaker.

And some day when this realm is flooded with Light

This Scar will fade ‘til it’s no longer in sight.”

“For light conquers dark, it has always been so;

And dealing in absolutes won’t change, don’t you know?

And above all else, what Darkness fears most,

Is the never ending Light of the world’s gracious Host.”

“Yet until the day Sin must relinquish its grip,

This Jar of Darkness will remain on my hip.

So run along home and never you fret;

When you find a Scar, I will come to collect.”

And so ends the tale of the Collector of Scars

Who has willingly burdened Himself with ours.

So I leave you to ponder, and never forget

The one who must carry the Scars we beget.