The Ninth Century B.C. was by anyone's estimation a hundred-year span to watch. In Phocaea, a young firebrand named Homer managed to overcome the handicap of whether or not he existed to pen both The Iliad and The Odyssey, two instant classics that screamed for the future casting of Brad Pitt. The people of the Netherlands, meanwhile, were discovering how useful iron could be if they heated it, proudly entering the Iron Age a mere five hundreds years after Asia, which by this time was building spaceships capable of intergalactic space travel. Even Dido paused long enough in her recording sessions to found the maritime trading city of Carthage—ostensibly to forward the cause of women’s rights, but in reality because she was sick of paying so much for good seafood.

The Ninth Century, B.C., then: By all accounts a bustling and ambitious time. So it should come as no surprise to anyone that the people of Judah were taking advantage of this properity, as always, by getting the absolute shit invaded out of them while starving to death.

Full props for Judah's good times can be given to its ruler, King Jehoram—a man noteworthy for, if for nothing else, not having a single nice thing said about him in all of recorded history. Jehoram inherited the Kingdom of Judah from Jehoshaphat (of jumpin' fame), who reigned for twenty-five years, ushered in an unprecedented era of prosperity and died, beloved and treasured, of ripe old age. Eager to live up to his father's legacy, Jehoram started his reign on a high note by going on a killing spree.

His first order of business was giving his family and friends the gift that keeps on giving—multiple stab-wounds—by executing his six brothers and large numbers of high-ranking officials, in case one of them started eyeballing the throne and thinking it'd look nice with a new ass-groove in it. Around this time, Jehoram also chose to "reject the Lord and practice evil," according to various Biblical sources. With such a strong foundation of mass murder, idolaty and commitment to evil in place, you'd be correct in assuming that Jehoram had a smooth, crisis-free ride as King of Judah.

Word soon got around that Jehoram was cartoonishly evil—or, as he was described at the time, "Lex Luthor-esque." Multiple rebellions among Judah's vassal cities erupted. The city of Moab was the first to declare their independence—explaining that, in the interests of all parties, it'd maybe be for the best if the Kingdom of Judah went and fucked itself sideways.

Jehoram was pissed. In his first act as King he secured the aid of nearby vassal city Edom and set out across the desert, aiming to put a Jeroham-sized bootprint in Moab's sass-talking haunches. Showcasing the crack military skills that put him in all the glossy textbooks, Jeroham's army ran out of water enroute to Moab, without ever having glimpsed the opposing army. (Looking to save face with the troops, Jehoram blamed God for his abysmal planning—a move Old Testament fans will instantly recognize, given the Lord's track record with weathering slander, as a staggeringly unwise one.)

Thanks to some quick thinking on Edom's part, the rebellion was stamped out and slavery restored. Jeroham, completely dehydrated and beet-red with humiliation, celebrated the victory by plugging up Moab's wells and burning their fields to ashes before returning tiumphantly home. (Dear History: If you remember Jehoram for one thing besides his prowess as a military tactician, please note his graciousness in victory.)

History fails to record a pouty, sunburned Jehoram taking a water-parched bowel movement in Moab's town square; however, if we had a time machine, I'm thinking we'd probably have gotten a front row seat for that.

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