Grade 10 Civics
The Troll Story
A long time ago in a faraway land just past Smiths Falls, there lived a small tribe
called the Trolls. They were a mean and vicious people, malodorous, murderous,
rapacious and generally disliked by all the tribes around them. They weren’t really
very nice, either.
For a while, the Trolls were ruled by Throthgob, a troll-king who tried to keep them
under control, but he was not successful. His rebellious subjects organized a plot
against him and murdered him along with his family. When the leader of a country is
overthrown, we call this a “revolution.” The trolls were revolting. (They had a revolution also.)
At this point the Trolls decided that they did not need anybody at all to be their leader and to make rules for
them. Each troll would do exactly as he pleased. There would be no government, no laws, no police, no taxes
and no healthcare. It would be great. As one of them said, “Why should I give a single thought to trolls I don’t
care about? I will look after my own needs only, and so long as I have enough glorgberries for myself, it won’t
matter to me at all if anyone else is miserable.’
Springtime came. Each troll said “I shall plant only enough glorgberry bushes to supply me, my she-troll and
our own trollings. Any more than that would be a waste of my time.”
The glorgberry fields in Trolland were not all good. Some were dry and mountainous, while others were low-
lying and watered by several rivers. That year, there was a terrible drought so that the glorgberry bushes in the
highlands dried up, while the fields in the lowlands produced an excellent harvest. But the people in the
highlands starved because the lowlanders kept every last glorgberry for themselves.
The following year, however, was very rainy. The higher lands were now very productive while the crops in
the valley were flooded. This time the valley trolls were dying of famine, but their neighbours farther up the
mountain refused to share a single glorgberry.
Not only were they selfish about food, the Trolls also had some fairly unpleasant customs. If a Troll were sick
for more than three days, his family would tie him up in a burlap sack and put him out on the mountain to die.
“We don’t need the burden of a sick person,” they would say to themselves. “Besides, they’re depressing to
When a Troll became old, he or she would be pushed over a cliff or bashed over the head with a rock and then
drowned in the river because such persons were no longer thought to be of any use. If a Troll’s house caught
fire, none of the neighbours would so much as urinate upon it to quench the flames; neither would they give
time, money or anything else to get the poor unfortunate Troll started again.
On one occasion, a troll-bridge had to be built across the river Glarn which flowed through the south country.
Surprisingly, one of the Trolls managed to gather a gang of trolls together on his glorgberry farm to decide how
this troll-bridge was to be built. But when the meeting started, everyone began to shout his own opinion and
beat any nearby trolls over the head with his club. The trolls would not listen to anyone else’s viewpoint.
Fights broke out and the decision about the troll-bridge was finally made by the strongest Troll who could also
shout the loudest and had an armed group of followers. The trouble was, the troll-bridge never got built
Other problems appeared. Brimbral, one of the leading Trolls, had an extremely beautiful she-troll daughter
named Griseldith; his neighbour Thrungar fell deeply in love with her musky stench, sloping brow and mossy
Grade 10 Civics
armpits and carried her off. Brimbral and Thrungar had a huge scrap, fighting a duel with cows at three paces,
and after they had run out of cows to smite each other with, they decided to take their problem to Glimbron, a
troll who was supposed to be a bit less mean than most other Trolls, and perhaps slightly less stupid as well.
But Glimbron told them to get off his property. “What does any of this matter to me? I have my own
glorgberry fields to cultivate and I’m not going to waste my valuable time settling your petty problems. Get
out!” And with that remark he grabbed one of his cows and chased the other two out his door.
Thrungar the kidnapper, who was the stronger and younger troll of the two, swore that he would die rather
than send Griseldith back. Brimbral gave up in despair and started back home. On his way he met a beautiful
young troll-widow coming back from the fountain. She was absolutely delightful, with legs like gnarled, hairy
driftwood, troll-mullet flapping in the breeze and a body shaped like a garbage bag full of cottage cheese, so he
carried her off, intending to make her his slave. He was very pleased to find out that she was Glimbron’s sister.
A troll named Drondran had a huge brass-trimmed chariot pulled by a black stallion. Every Throgsday when
his work in the glorgberry fields was done, he would polish up the chariot in the morning and then race it up
and down the road in front of his farm, hooting trollish battle cries to the heavens and farting. Two of his
neighbours coveted this chariot. “Mmmm! Nice chariot,“ they said. They got together and Drondran for it. For
a couple of weeks they shared it, but one of this nasty pair killed his partner one day and drove it himself. This
situation, however, did not last long. Two other Trolls came and attacked him. He was too weak to defend
himself and lost his life as well. Finally one of the trolls drove the chariot off a cliff, and that was the end of
A Troll named Bwangit, very close to being naked, saw some troll-shorts for sale at the Hrungday Troll’s
Market. He asked the price. Tlandril the merchant said to himself, “I really should sell these shorts for twenty
burglees, but because he needs them so badly, I’ll demand four times that amount.”
Bwangit had to pay the price that Tlandril asked. At least he had some new shorts now.
“This has been a great deal,” said Tlandril gleefully, “and now I’ll go buy a big bag of glorgberries.”
“What’s that you say?” cried out Bwangit, resplendent in his new shorts. “You need some glorgberries? I just
happen to have some for sale. The price is a little steep though, since there’s a shortage everywhere. But I’ll
tell you what. Give me back my money plus five burglees, and I’ll give you this economy sized mini-sack of
glorgberries. I won’t sell it any cheaper even if you die of hunger. Take it or leave it.’
Tlandril, not knowing what price was fair for glorgberries, paid the money.
The moral of this story is that, without a working system of government, you may not be able to get your
hands on a nice pair of troll-shorts enough glorgberries when you really need to.