Crusaders

Morris and I have no idea what this is all about. We've got nothing against the Turks. They've got their deal, we've got ours. But then this Pope guy, Pope Urban II, silly name if you ask me, he decides Catholics need to send 60000 of us to the East Nowhere to retake territory somebody calls The Holy Land. Hey, any land created by God is holy, right?
This whole Jerusalem thing confuses me. Who built it, owns it, right? Why don't they have a different neighborhood for each clan? It worked in London. It works everywhere, except Italy. Damn Italians hate everybody who's not Italian.
I'll tell you something else. Morris and me, we're nothing in this thing, completely expendable like all these guys around us. Why? Because we never got no stinking horses. Look over there. Knights in armor. Impressive, huh? Think they'd give us the time of day. The damn animals get treated better. Gruel every day and night. My stomach's killing me. Look at Morris. He looks sicker than me. How are we supposed to pull this thing off when we're too sick to stand? Frankly, I don't feel much like killing people, if you want to know the truth. I was a tailor back home and Morris a blacksmith. They told us if we went along on this here Crusade we'd get full health benefits. We signed up, figuring we'd be back home in a week or two. Six weeks later we're not even halfway there. We have the worst navigation system on earth. Arkie is supposed to know the fastest route, but why are we stuck in Portugal? Supposedly, he's somebody's brother in law, that's how he got the job. Christ, this armor is heavy. My shorts are soaked in sweat. Suppose we take control of the entire Byzantine Empire. What the hell are we going to do with it? Weekend flea markets? We need to have a say on who gets to be Pope, that's what I think. Stop whining, Morris. I gotta pee too.