Quieting them, the king carried on, “My brave knights, with the Duke on the run, we may now finally turn our efforts towards finding the most sacred relic in the entire world.” Sir Render leapt to his feet, excitingly responding, “The Beowulf comic book!” Unaware, a thin, deathly-looking, pale young man, dressed in black tights and puffy shirt, has slithered in the room, lurking in the back. He steps out from the shadows.
“I believe he means the Holy Grail,” uttered the pale man. A gasp reverberated from the dining group, curious, with mouths agape.
“And who might you be?” Artie questioned. “If you’re the plumber you were supposed to be here at noon. The queen’s bucket is in dire need of plunging and a good scrubbing.” “I assure you I’m not a plumber. My blood is of nobility,” declared the sickly man with a dry, cocky tone. “You look like you could use some blood,” Pelican spoke up, causing the knight to roar with laughter. “And pray tell, lad, of which nobility line do you descend from?” inquired the king. “Why yours, sire,” he stated with a smirk. The king looks amused as everyone roars with laughter. “You have a morbid sense of humor, my dear boy. What’s your name?” inquired the king. “Morbid. Son of Morgan Da Lay,” he replied. The king’s face turned to stone as he heard some eerie suspense music play. He angrily glares over at the band playing music in the corner of the room. They slowly stop playing, one instrument at a time tapering off. “Who is this Da Lay?” the queen asked. King Artie slumps in his chair as his mind races back to the past. “As a teenage boy, I spent a summer as a lifeguard at the palace of Prince Albert. I never saw much of him — he was always in the can. Anyway, I was simple pool boy in search of manhood…”
The king recounted his childhood story and how the Lady Morgan Da Lay had seduced him one sweltering day. How he was deflowered in the haystacks of the royal barn. And, how awkward he felt losing his virginity to an older woman in the presence of a team of laughing horses.
After he finished his story, Chandelier stormed out of the room and the knights sat in disbelief. It had become obvious that there would be no “Duck, Duck, Goose” game.
The illegitimate son was welcomed into Camelrot, although not well liked by most. For several months business went on as usual as Artie spent much of his time trying to bond with his pansy bastard and avoid fighting with his wife about the sexcapade he had had earlier in his life.
One night, while Sir Dancelot was in his chambers muddling through a series of stretching exercises a woman with a shawl over her head slipped into his room. The brave night grabbed a pillow and held it in front of his chest and shrieked, “Don’t you touch me, or I’ll scream.” The woman pulled down her head covering, and he could see that it was the queen.
“My lady,” he gasped. “You shouldn’t be here.” She quickly starts undressing. “Oh, shut up. There’s no time for chitchat,” she responded while quickly undressing. “Take me and make it rough. But do it quickly. If the king should awake and find me gone he may grow suspicious. We must hurry if we wish to get in a spanking session.” “We mustn’t,” the knight exhaled. “There is already much talk and scuttle butt and scuttle talk butt within the Camelrot walls. There are whispers of your infidelity.” “Lies! Filthy lies!” Chandelier postulated as she leapt onto the bed. “ Now drop them tight draws, hot stuff.” Dancelot turns away from her and folds his arms. “I think you should leave, my queen. My mind has been in torment since our first embrace. I cannot go on deceiving the king and tarnishing the honorable code of the knights of the triangular table. Oh, if you only felt the pain that pierces me, like daggers to my…” He stops in mid-sentence as he turns to find the lady seductively lying on the bed in a skimpy sexy teddy. Surprised, his head quickly shakes back-and-forth, causing his cheeks to flap as his eyes bug out as he mumbles, “Sacred bleu. Woof!” He rips off his shirt, revealing an oily glistening chest, then dives in bed with her. Three minutes later, Chandelier is lying in bed with a glazed look on her face, puffing on a fat cigar. “That was amazing. Where did you learn that last move?” the relieved knight said as he nibbled on a carrot. “I call that the “cream puff squeeze.” She casually stated. “It was taught to me by the dessert chef of Windsor. My God, did he have a pastry bag.” Suddenly, the door is kicked open. Morbid and a group of knights rush in with drawn swords. He holds his sword to Dancelot’s neck who timidly pulls the covers up to his chin as he mutters “Mommy” in a high-pitched voice.
The following morning, a somber, distraught King Artie sits on his throne next to Pelican. Chandelier and Dancelot stand before him, accused of treason and adultery. A teary-eyed Dancelot sniffled then spoke up, “Your majesty, it’s not what it appears. We, us, were just playing a game. You jump on the bed and one person says a letter then the other says the name of an animal. For instance, if I said “R” you would say…” “Rat. Lying cheating rat,” Pelican bellowed from the corner. “Pellie, please,” the king solemnly stifled. “Dance you were found naked in the bed with the queen.” “Yes, well, as we were carelessly jumping about, like innocent school children, our attire became loose and in all the clean and pure frolic our clothes must have dropped off. It could happen to anyone… really,” the nervous knight explained, causing the people in the court to erupt in disbelief. “Is this true, my queen?” Artie asked. “Yes, yes, it was all quite innocent,” she stated through her hung-over headache. “I want to believe you but…” he jumped to feet and pointed at her, “Liar! Liar! Pants on fire!” “Sire, if I may intercede,” Morbid stepped forward. “You are known throughout England as a fair and just king. Your laws were written for righting the wrongs. To be applied to everyone… including the chivalrous knights of the… triangular table. If justice is not served chaos will certainly ensue and Camelrot will be tainted with the smell of… favoritism. The law is the law. And, sadly, adultery carries a sentence of death.” Everyone yells “Here! Here!” Troubled, King Artie puts his head down in his hand as he contemplates the dilemma. “What kind of death?” Pelican snaps his finger calling out “The book” and midget monk runs in with a large book. Flameer, standing next to Chandelier, whispered “Must be a short story.” The monk sets the book on the midget’s head and opens it. He begins reading with his speech impediment that caused him to slur all his S’s. “Let’s see. Stealing a saddle is a stoning. Smoking in a restaurant is a slow scalding. Smashing a royal sacred skunk is a stern stomping. Slandering a soldier renders a six ass slappings. Whispering secrets is seven scratches to the scrotum…” Flameer flinches, covering his mouth in fright as an irritated King Artie interrupts, “Oh get to infidelity crimes?” “Yes… certainly, sire… sir,” the monk slurred as he began turning pages. “Sex, sex sex… here it is,” then reading “Whomsoever conspires to sleep in the arms of another man’s wife shall be sentence to swing from the gallows. The cheating spouse shall join him in the solemn swinging.” “Do either of you have anything to say in your defense?” the king exasperated. “Does anyone have any aspirin root?” Chandelier murmured. “I’m gay! I like the boys!” Dancelot cried out. “And I’m a dragon slayer,” Flameer quipped as he powdered his nose. Panicky, Dancelot started groveling, “I was raped! It was all her idea! I was asleep when that, that wicked harlot attacked me.” “Something was awake,” the queen remarked causing Flameer to giggle.. The brave French knight dropped to his knees, pleading, “Please, don’t kill me! I’ll take the slapping… or a spanking… yes, a light spanking for my treachery. Whatta ya say, my king… ole chum?” King Artie and Pelican confer in a whisper, hoping to find an out for the sniveling knight. The royal leader stood up, “The law is the law is the law.” The ringing words caused Dancelot to break down and cry.
Later that night, while Dancelot and Chandelier were locked in a prison cell, the king brooded while in slumped in a chair with a glass of brandy. Sledge did her best to lift his spirits by doing some bird calls. His mind was too foggy to even venture a guess between a Finch or a Sandpiper. She eventually stopped chirping and found herself massaging her neck.
“I wish there was a choice. But, the law is the law is the law. If I could save their lives, I would,” the king sighed. “But, my loyal knights would certainly overthrow me and Morbid would take the throne. My hands are tied.” “I’ve spent the last three days in the royal library,” Sledge commented. “Very good, Sledge,” Artie encouraged. “Children today don’t realize how important reading is. If only we could get them to stop running around and exercising. Sickening.” “I came across this book,” she mentioned, handing him a book. The king began reading, ‘Rules and Regulations of a Shiny Knight.’ Ah yes, this book was written over two hundred years ago by the righteous council of King Pinn. I got it from Merlot for a winter solstice present. He used to rest his drink on it.” Sledge, looking for a passage, leans over and begins turning the pages. King Artie smells her hair. His eyes cross because of the flowery fragrance. “Gee, your hair smells terrific.” She blushed, “Thank you, I just washed it last month. Look, look here. This says here, in Chapter Seven, titled ‘When Knight Falls,’ ‘Any knight accused of any naughty crime may have their sentenced eradicated if he successfully completes a given quest handed down by the king.’ The king leapt up, “My God. It’s a brilliant idea.” He hugged her. “You’re a genius, Sledge,” he said, finding himself looking deep in her eyes. “ A beautiful, soft, rounded, kissable genius.” The two can’t help but embrace in a juicy, passionate kiss. She quickly pulls away, “No.” He pulls her close, “Yes.” He kisses her than he pulls away, “No.” “Yes” she whispers, grabbing and kisses him.
After a brief ravish, Sledge stops, “Oh my God, what about Chandelier?” “Oh please, Sledge,” responds the king. “I find your identical twin sister ugly and repulsive.” She gives a look of confusion, shrugs, then goes back to kissing the king as they fall on the bed.
Rather than kill the two people he had come to love deeply in his life he used the loophole in the knight’s handbook to spare their lives by sending them on a quest to find the Holy Grail. The king wished the pair luck, specifying that they only had forty-eight hours to find the scared cup.
“So, it is said and so it is done. Are there any questions?” “Will our going away party be open bar?” Chandelier inquired.
The two of them rode out of Camelrot and made it as far as the next town over. They found themselves in a pub, trying to decide their best course of action in searching for the grail.
“Where should we start?” Dancelot asked.
“How should I know? You’re the knight,” she snapped. “I’m hungry. I want some fish-n-chips.”
“We don’t have much time. Why didn’t you eat before we left?” he said, rolling his eyes.
“I wasn’t hungry then,” she fired back.
“Yeah, I’m sure those bloody Mary’s filled you up,” he instigated.
“Oh, that’s right, your mister high and mighty,” she huffed. “I’ll tell ya what, the next time I have an adulterous affair, it’ll be with a knight who can go… all night. Make the whole damn thing worth it.”
“Yeah, well, your raunchy booze breath wanted me to just get the thing over with as soon as possible.”
The pair spent the afternoon bickering and trading insults. They tolerated each other by throwing down pints of beer. By the end of the day they were too drunk and tried to do anything. But, they were now apologizing to each other and decided to get a room at the inn. The intoxicated couple soon became frisky and amorous with each other but, Dancelot, because of too much alcohol, couldn’t perform. He did his best to coax his member back to life with small talk and shameless begging. The queen grew weary and frustrated, falling asleep on his chest. Sometime in the night, she vomited on him and he moved to the floor.
The next morning the two awoke with splitting headaches. Right away the blame game started, and the pair began fighting again. Dancelot had arose in a mind fog and accidentally put on Chandelier’s undergarments. The brave knight stood there sniveling, “Well how was I supposed to know?” But, she didn’t trust him. Down deep, he knew fully well what he did, and it was no accident.
With only hours left to find the grail, they knew it wouldn’t be long before the king would send out the triangular knights to hunt them down. There was no where they could run and be safe. The adulterers decided that it would be best to return to Camelrot and put themselves at the mercy of the king. As they were preparing to check out of the inn, Chandelier came up with a brilliant idea. She would reveal it to Dancelot on the ride home but, before leaving town, she insisted they stop by the pub to get mug of the hair of the dog that bit her, so she could cope with the journey back and Dancelot’s god-awful French singing.
King Artie sat on his throne, his eyes beaming as he examined the wooden cup in his hands. He couldn’t help but feel skeptical. “Where did you find it?”
“In Glastonbury,” Chandelier tossed out.
“In a church,” Dancelot added.
“Actually, in a catacomb, under the church,” she mentioned, making a cocktail.
“It looks so… humdrum,” the king commented.
“Yes, well, our Lord was a simple, ordinary carpenter so one would assume he would use a boring, common vessel,” Dance stammered.
“Yes, I guess that stands to reason,” Artie thoughtfully surmised as he inspected the cup in closer detail. “What is this? Here. On the bottom of the cup appears to be the letters JA.”
In Dancelot’s mind he could see the big sign outside the bar they had stopped in. It had read “The Jackass Pub.”
Dancelot leaned over and quickly looked at it. “Hmmmmm, that is interesting.”
“Oh, it’s probably a few dings or scratches. It is old,” the queen chimed in. “Are we done here?”
“I know what that is,” Pellie spoke up. He raced from across the room to examine the cup. Upon further inspection, he looked up a Dancelot. “You son-of-a-bitch. You little son-of-a-bitch.”
Dancelot began to tremble in his curled booty shoes. “I can explain everything. It’s not what it seems. Now let’s try be adults here.” He held up his hands to calm the room, took a deep breath then pointed to the queen as he screamed, “It was her fault! It was all her idea! Please, don’t kill me! I beg of you!”
Pellie approached him. He held out his arms to choke the knight as Dancelot cowered. Suddenly, the old man wrapped his arms around the scared chap and hugged him as he lifted him off the ground and twirled around. “You son-of-a-bitch! You did it!”
“What in God’s name are you talking about, Pellie?” the king asked.
“Legend has it that the Holy Grail was brought over to this country by none other than Joseph of Arimathea,” Pelican put forth.
“The one responsible for the burying of the Christ,” King Artie augmented. “Thus, the inscribed initials JA.”
“Precisely. It must be the long-sought Grail,” Pellie beamed.
He picked Dancelot up again, spinning him around as the knight gave an uneasy hysterical laugh of relief.
“I decree that the death sentences for Queen Chandelier and Sir Dancelot be abolished for according to the law once a quest, deemed by the ruler, has been achieved the prior sentence becomes null and void,” the king pontificated.
“Booyah!” Dancelot exclaimed.
“It is a grave mistake,” a voice called out from the back of the room. Everyone gasped as they turned around to find Morbid casually leaning against a pillar. “You see, my dear king, by allowing treachery and treason to go unpunished you open the door to an unlawful, chaotic Camelrot and a house divided cannot certainly stand. I simply won’t have that in my kingdom.”
“My dear boy, perhaps you were in the garden to long today and over did your pale skin with fresh and have become, shall we say, a bit delusional.” Everyone breaks out laughing until the king continues, “Need I remind you, my deathly chap, that this is still my kingdom. A kingdom that abides by my rules.”
Morbid arrogantly paces around. “Can we be sure that is indeed the true Holy Grail. Perhaps it is just a cheap beer mug from Tiny Timmy’s Tavern?” “Hogwash!” Pellie cried. “Tiny Timmy closed his tavern years ago over religious reasons of serving alcohol. It’s now a dry, respectable brothel.”
The Holy Grail sits alone in the center of the room on a stand. Circled around is Morbid, Dancelot, Chandelier, Pelican, Sledge and a hideous, wrinkled old maid servant, Millie. King Artie, holding a wine bottle, approaches the relic. “This cup was touched by no other than God himself. When lifted towards the heavens it was promised to bring new life and that whosoever dranketh from thy Grail would be rejuvenated back to their youthful days.” He slowly pours some wine into the cup. Chandelier makes a move towards the wine but Dancelot holds her back. “I think we’ve toyed around enough here. No one knows where the Grail is, if such a thing exists,” Morbid insisted. Enough with the games. These two must die.” “Millie, could I borrow for a brief, shining moment?” the king pleasantly asked. The old woman flashed a toothless smile accompanied by an awkward curtsy. The king holds up the Grail in front of her, giving an agonizing double-take as he looked at her repulsive face. “For me, sir?” Millie inquired “Yes. Please, partake and quickly,” he said avoiding eye contact. She bashfully giggles then guzzles the wine down, capping it off with a soft, hoarse rolling burp. “Very good hooch it is, your majesty.” “Just as I thought,” Morbid roared. “A cauldron of scolding oil on this woman’s head might help a little but, this is all a royal scam. Insanity has stricken the king and he is unworthy to rule. I motion that he be removed from the throne and… and…” Morbid looks at the aghast faces of the onlookers peering behind him. He slowly turns around to see the old maid magically metamorphosing into a young, gorgeous woman with long, flowing hair. Every guy’s mouth in the room drops open. “Hubbada,” Dancelot mumbles, elbowing the queen out of the way to get a better look. “Well save me a snoot,” Chandelier exclaimed. Morbid grabs the Grail, examining it. “My God, it’s real.” “Yes,” King Artie stated. “And with holy goblet I can unite all the kingdoms in the world under the righteous and godly laws of Camelrot. Where every human being is treated fairly with kindness and compassion.” Morbid grabs the king’s sword, holding it to his neck. “Or, even better. All the kingdoms of the world are ruled by me and the people are treated like the pigs that they are. The Grail please.” “Scoundrel!” Pellican’s shaky voice reverberated. Chandelier moves over to Morbid and rubs his arm. “I’ve always liked you.” “My foolish child,” snickered the king. “You think you can just waltz out of here with the Grail?” “He knows nothing about waltzing,” Dancelot chimed in. “Oh, give me some credit,” Morbid laughed. “You think I would just take the Grail and leave? Oh no, my idiot friends, the Grail stays here… with me… in my kingdom.” “Camelrot is King Artie’s kingdom! It’s all of ours,” Sledge reminded.
“We are family!”
“Well put, Sister Sledge,” Artie nodded. “If you haven’t notice, my little bastard child, you’re well out-numbered. There will be no kingdom for you. You’re a very selfish and bad boy with poor manners. Now, if you put down the sword, I’ll give you a light punishment. Some community service; cleaning up mushy horse doo-doo and scrubbing the stained piss pales.” “My days of scrubbing urine buckets are over. It’s taken me three years to get the tinkle smell off my nails,” Morbid sneered through his gritted teeth. “This kingdom is mine and I’m going to take what’s rightfully mine.” “Ha! You and what army?” Pelican jeered, inciting everyone around him to laugh at the pale cocky fool. “Funny you should ask,” the boy heir grinned. “Why, the Duke of Wayne’s army.” Suddenly, the doors burst opened as a group of knights piled in, wearing their black suits of armor, led by the Duke. “Well hello, pilgrims. I’m not gonna hurt ya. I’m not gonna hurt ya… like hell I’m not.” “I sincerely hope you all don’t mind dying?” Morbid mocked with his devious smirk. Dancelot stepped forward with his chest out, “We would love it.” Morbid shrugs, “Well then… you’re first.” Dancelot shrieks and runs behind Pelican to hide. Morbid snatches the sword Exposure off the table and goes to run it through the trembling, unarmed knight. The sword, as if electrically charged, sparks, then flies out of his hand onto the ground. It magically slides across the floor right over to King Artie who swiftly picks it up.
“Yoink. The sword can only be used for good, my little fella,” King Artie said in a sing-song tone. “Well played,” Morbid nodded. “I see I have no choice but to have the Duke kill you.” “It’ll be my pleasure, missy,” replied the Duke. “Would you please stop calling me that? It’s Morbid” he sighed. Pelican tosses Dancelot a sword. Catching it, he stands frozen, unsure of what to do. “Oh my God, his Lindy-hopping legs are off. His rhythm. He’s lost it,” Chandelier cried then leaned over to Pellie, “Is this fight open bar?” The Duke takes a stab at Dancelot but he stylishly leaps onto the triangular table. The angry Duke wildly swings his sword, trying to cut the graceful knight down. Sir Homey runs over and lays down a rap beat from his mouth. Dancelot starts to feel the beat, becoming more agile. “By Jove I think he’s got it!” Pellie beams, then runs over to the window where he begins clucking like chicken to the street below. It was signal he once set up as a call for help to summon the knights that no one ever believed would ever be used. Dancelot continues to dance, with remarkable dexterity, as he tussles with the Duke. Remarkably, it leads into a tap dancing display as he dodges the flailing weapon. In awe, Pelican and Sledge applaud the performance. Dancelot smiles and bows. Suddenly, the knights of the triangular table burst into the room. “We heard the distress clucks,” Sir Loin cried. The knights charged the black knights and a battle ensued. Morbid made his move towards the unarmed king. He faced off to his father. “I hope you won’t mind a sword through your heart?” “Not at all, brat. As long as you won’t mind a foot to your balls,” King Artie responded with a kick to the groin. “You’re dead meat, daddy” Morbid squealed in a high-pitched voiced, giving the king time to grab a sword. In no time, the pair were swashbuckling. Dancelot found himself cornered by a group of black knights. Out of options, he tried a little soft shoe number to distract them and throwing out a few wavy Jazz hands. It was futile. The Duke parted his soldiers as he made his way up to the nervous knight then held a sword to his scrawny, cologne-scented neck. Trembling, Sir Dancelot held up his hand and murmured “Time out?” “More like… time’s up, my frightened French poodle,” the Duke grinned as he attempted to jam his sword into Dancelot. The quick-thinking agile knight dropped into a split, finding his face eye-level and directly in front of the Duke’s groin. Seizing the moment and the sack, he reached out and grabbed a handful of testicles. “I’m having a ball. How ‘bout you?” Dancelot quipped. “You cheating pilgrim,” the Duke wailed in a high-pitched voice then swung his sword at his enemy’s head causing Dancelot to duck and scamper away.
On the other side of the room, Sledge grabbed cantaloupes from the buffet tables and fired them at the black knights, hitting several of them in the head and knocking them out. Morbid and the king continued fighting. “I didn’t think “your kind” could fight,” the king baited. “My kind. Are you implying I’m a… socialist?” the clumsy bastard retorted. He then pointed to the ceiling, “Look, there’s… something.” Foolishly, King Artie looked up and Morbid knocked the sword out of his hand, throwing out a cocky “Ha ha” as some sort of cherry on top. “I will die before I relinquish my throne,” the defenseless king hissed. “You must be psychic cause you read my mind,” the ruthless boy sneered as he reared back and swung his sword at the king’s head. The weapon cut through the air but wound up hitting nothing because, magically, Artie had vanished and now sat plump beaver on the ground with the king’s clothes on. “What the hell,” he wondered as he winds up again to kill the beaver. Suddenly, the beaver changed into a chimpanzee, wearing the king’s clothes. They are face-to-face like pro wrestlers. The monkey bops him on the head then flashes his teeth. “You’re trying my patience, monkey man,” Morbid festered. The chimp screeched as it jumped up-and-down. The villain, at wits end, raised his sword to finish off the hairy king who was now covering his head with his arms. Before Morbid could chop downwards, he is blindsided in the head by a melon, dropping him like a drawbridge. Sledge shoots the chimp a thumbs-up. The Duke had cornered Dancelot, knocking his weapon out of his hand and was now pushing the tip of the sword into Dancelot’s neck. “How would you like to die, mister?” “Is “old age” a choice?” the French knight responds in a Woody Allen manner. “I’m not gonna kill ya. I’m not gonna kill ya. Like hell I’m not,” the Duke chimed, preparing to strike him. Pellie, realizing the dire situation, raced across the room like a crazed bull and jumped on the Duke’s back, locking his arms around his neck. Unsure of what to do next, he bit the Duke’s shoulder, leaving a mark and a rotted tooth in his skin. The stabbing pain sent the Duke into a frenzy. He reared up and screamed then began to buck about like an unbroken stallion. The old man hung on for dear life, rubbing his rough, unshaven, whiskered cheek into the enemy’s neck. The Duke pushed back, slamming the feeble pest against the wall, and still, Pellie held on. Feeling claustrophobic, the Duke struggled harder to free himself, knocking poor Pellie into doors, chairs and stone pillars. And yet, the king’s counselor refused to let go. The Duke could hear Pellie snorting in his ear like a wild forest boar as the wrinkled old man’s bad breath poured over his back, seeping into his nose and cynging his nostrils. Desperate, the Duke flipped the old guy on the buffet table, sending bangers and fish and chips flying. Everyone in the room was amazed to see Pellie’s meat hooks still clinging around that neck as the Duke was now pounding the old guy into a vat of pudding.
The Duke had had enough. He collapsed with exhaustion as Pellie fell on top of him. The gritty old man stared into his enemy’s eyes as he heavily panted through his toothless mouth. The halitosis stench blasted on the Duke’s face like a coal cloud and, as a final act, he vomited on Pellie’s shirt then passed out.
That day, the knights of the triangular table fought bravely, beating back the Dukes army of thugs.
On the far side of the room, Sledge had grabbed some cantaloupes from the buffet table and began firing them at the black knights, hitting several of them in the head and knocking them out. Morbid and the king continued their swashbuckling exchange as their swords clashed. “I didn’t think “your kind” could fight,” King Artie exclaimed. “My kind. Are you implying I’m a… socialist?” Morbid answered then pointed up to the ceiling. “Look, there’s… something.” Foolishly, King Artie looked up and Morbid knocked the sword out of his hand, throwing out a cocky “Ha ha” as some sort of cherry on top. “I will die before I relinquish my throne,” the defenseless king hissed. “You must be psychic cause you read my mind,” the ruthless boy sneered as he reared back and swung his sword at the king’s head. The weapon cut through the air but wound up hitting nothing because, magically, Artie had vanished and now sat plump beaver on the ground with the king’s clothes on. “What the hell,” he wondered as he winds up again to kill the beaver. Suddenly, the beaver changed into a chimpanzee, wearing the king’s clothes. They are face-to-face like pro wrestlers. The monkey bops him on the head then flashes his teeth. “You’re trying my patience, monkey man,” Morbid festered. The chimp screeched as it jumped up-and-down. The villain, at wits end, raised his sword to finish off the hairy king who was now covering his head with his arms. Before Morbid could chop downwards, he is blindsided in the head by a melon, dropping him like a drawbridge. Sledge shoots the chimp a thumbs-up. The Duke corners Dancelot, knocking his weapon out of his hand. He pushes the tip of the sword into Dancelot’s neck. “How would you like to die, mister?” “Is “old age” a choice?” the French knight responds in a Woody Allen manner. “I’m not gonna kill ya. I’m not gonna kill ya. Like hell I’m not,” the Duke chimed, preparing to strike him. Pellie, realizing the dire situation, raced across the room like a crazed bull and jumped on the Duke’s back, locking his arms around his neck. Unsure of what to do next, he bit the Duke’s shoulder, leaving a mark and a rotted tooth in his skin. The stabbing pain sent the Duke into a frenzy. He reared up, screamed, then began to buck about like an unbroken stallion.
The old man hung on for dear life, digging his rough, unshavened, whiskered cheek into the enemy’s neck while slobbering down his back and making odd moaning noises. The Duke pushed back, slamming the feeble pest against the wall, and still, the tenacious Pellie held on while his legs flailed and whipped in the air. Feeling claustrophobic, the Duke struggled harder to free himself, knocking poor Pellie into doors, chairs and stone pillars. And yet, the king’s counseler refused to let go. The Duke could hear Pellie snorting in his ear like a wild forrest boar. The elderly man’s bad breath poured over his back, seeping into his nose as the foul odor singed his nostrils, sending tars in his eyes. Desperate , the Duke flipped the old guy on the buffet table, sending bangers and fish and chips flying. Everyone in the room was amazed to see Pellie’s meat hooks still clinging around his opponents neck like a bulldog locked in on a slab of raw meat. The Duke was now pounding the old guy into a vat of pudding. Ironically, it looked like old Pellie was enjoying the tussel.
After another ten minutes of trying to get the dragon-breathed monster of his back, the exhausted Duke had had enough. Unable to carry the wrinkled baggage any longer, he collapsed in a heap with Pellie falling on top of him. The gritty old man stared into his enemy’s eyes as he heavily panted through his toothless mouth. The halitosis stench blasted on the Duke’s face like a musty coal cloud as Pellie huffed, “You’re a feisty thing.” As a final act, the Duke gagged then vomited on Pellie before passing out.
That day, the knights of the triangular table fought bravely, beating back the Dukes army of thugs. The Camelrot kingdom was spared as well as the lives of the unfaithful Dancelot and Chandelier as long as the queen agreed to an amicable divorce. Morbid and the Duke were thrown in the dungeon then, later in life, made the plumbers in charge all the royal loos.
Merlot would visit his boy Ootie from time to time, as if to check on him and ensure all was well. The king always knew he was close by when he heard the soft whisper of the wind and a bottled being uncorked. Just as knew Merlot had saved him on the day of the great battle by changing him from a beaver to a chimp. King Artie lived a long happy life with his new queen Sledge and their two kids — one of which had buck teeth and the other was a bit hairy and loved bananas. Every night he drank from the Grail believing he would live forever. Perhaps it was the true Grail because King Artie has never been forgotten.
by Jeff Charlebois