An island city is born

A long time ago, the Kingdom of Portugal sacrificed seven islands to the Queendom of Stiffuppahlipp at the altar of holy matrimony. When Princess Catherine got married, the seven islands were her dowry. Or trousseau, depending on whom you’re writing this story for. The Stiffuppahlippsters, in great industrious spirit, took it upon themselves to join the seven muddy isles with the help of dirt and some fevikwik.

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Now enough of the fairy tales, here's the sweaty truth.

Not that far long ago, in an age of gods, goddesses and rampant cosmic orgies, a competition was held. It was a competition designed solely to decide the suitor to the great Princess Deianira, of a fairness yet un-beheld. Such fairness had she, that suitors from all four corners of Flat Earth had come to audition for the role of Husband and Chief Orgy Artist. After a long set of tasks and examinations of Conscience and Manly Mettle, two finalists faced each other in the final round: mud slinging.

Achelous, the famous Prince of Rivers won the right to start the contest. He opened proceedings by poking fun at Hercules' recent humiliation at the hands of Zeus, his father and Grand Taskmaster. Hercules responded by calling Achelous a shaggy, grey-haired old fart who was so old, he couldn't even bend down to pick up a hint. This did not go down well with Achelous, who responded by calling Hercules an impotent son of a mortal. Hercules, a man of Herculean Patience, would not take this insult lying down. He was a man-god, for crying out loud. How dare this prince of things that flow insult him like this? No, he would not take this lying down. He stood up, with a large Clump of Mayhem in his right fist.

Achelous had it, you could tell. Here was Hercules, fresh off the shoot of his latest movie, Hercules’ Twelve Tasks, having achieved what no other man could have achieved: a twelve-pack set of abs. And he gets his case taken by the offspring of incestuous nymphomatic love. No, this would not go down well with the man-mountain. He breathed a sense of immediate purpose into the Clump of Mayhem, and it found itself being flung across the vast expanse that separated both god-warriors, the Bay of Omorfia. Before Achelous could grasp the meaning of the term mudslinging, it hit him in the face.

Then on, from Colio to Mayhem, and from Mayhem to Little Colio, the battle raged. From the Muds of Mazagone to the Isle of Bom Baia, the mudslinging continued. From Parella to Worlee, the gods warred. When they weren't shooting mud missiles into the bay between them, they were building up little mud fortresses and digging trenches. And the two of them fought on, with Hercules getting an edge, only to lose it to again to Achelous. Then Achelous would take the lead, only to lose it again to Hercules. They were evenly matched until lunch, when both decided to wave the white flag of peace. They resumed after a quick round of Bombay Duck and Coconut Curry, with Hercules rapidly gaining ground over his opponent. By the end of day's play, fate had decided that Hercules and Princess Deianira would be brought together in holy matrimony, and so would Bombay's far-flung islands, with mud, sweat, and a lot of tears, mostly shed by Princess Deianira.

And that, my dear friends, is the real story of how the island city was born.

And the rest, as they say, is history.