Аноны, давненько когда-то завидел пост и перевел с Русского на Ангельский, помогите найти оригинал. С меня вот:

It is a story about four brothers, not by blood, but by bonds that they’ve sworn to share. It is a story about the holy paladins, but, most importantly, it is a story of their corruption and imminent downfall, as was told, by pope’s annalist, Aymnotus Horsfagus.

Behold! Behold, what can happen to brothers, indulged in horsefucking! The first brother fell in love, may God forgive me for saying this, with a horse. And when one day, he caught her red-hoofed with a stallion, he fell a victim of his own combusted ass. The flames have swallowed his impious body too fast, and all that was left of him is his burnt helmet. And his soul, indubitably, was sent right into the depths of hell.

The mind of the second brother was like opened gates, with its guards wallowed in debauchery.
This brother thought that our world should be looked upon with opened heart, without prejudices. So he indulged into masturbation with a name of some lecherous horse on his lips. And what, did his funny helmet save him when the enemies came? No, here, look, one of them is holding his head with a gibe.

The third brother was a renowned guardian of morals and chastised sinners with his flaring warhammer right and left, while he has strength. And in the morning, after a cup of holy water for breakfast, he chastised them with double devotion. But one day, somehow, a scabrous picture of a bawdy horse got sticked to his helmet. In the evening, cleaning the brains of another horsefucker off his helm, the paladin decided to keep that picture, not seeing anything blameworthy on it. Unfortunately, he didn’t notice that the horse was in STOCKINGS. And so, his fall into the depths of vice has begun. So there he is, drunk, covered in mud like a pig, plods down the street, and honorable passersby are spitting on his sinciput. Where’s his warhammer? Rusts, neglected, and the knight himself, although still alive, but his soul is already suffers its well-deserved punishment in the nether.

The less we’ll speak about the fourth brother, the better. He was jocular, of playful nature, everything he did, he did with ease, and for that he was liked by many brothers. There was no sin in him, and he wasn’t hiding any pictures of shamelessly naked horses under his pillow. But time after time, in his jokes, he crossed the line, and for a detached view, exactly the same witticisms might have come out of filthy mouth of some horsefucker. At one moment, he compared an honorable matron with a horse, imagining in colors a coition with her, at another, he was telling the stories, in which somewhere, allegedly, respectful brothers were gathering in the quiet of the monastery libraries, to indulge in horsefucking vices. And there, one morning, he realized with horror, that he can’t take off his helmet to wash up. Grinning iron mask became his face for ages – that is how Satan rewarded his loyal servant.

The END.