A Game of Groans: A Sonnet of Slush and Soot (24 page)

Sasha whispered to Malia, “He’s been totally grouchy since he got into the poo fight with Jagweed.”

“Totally,” Malia agreed.

Lord Headcase Barker felt horrible about yelling at Sasha and Malia, but the pressure of being a King—even for a day—was weighing on him. After he finished with the girls, he found himself in desperate need of grog; being that he was in Bobbert Barfonme’s house, he figured finding libations would not be a problem.

He was wrong. After an hour-long hunt, Head determined that Bobbert had either hidden the grog in some secret compartment, or had drunk every last drop. Irked and on edge, Head walked back to his room, opened the drawer of his nightstand, and pulled out the last of the heroyne.

Recalling the manner in which Bobbert had ingested the powder, Head took a tiny pinch, brought it to his nostril, and took a tentative sniff, then climbed in the bed with his head in the clouds, and was gone.

*

It was hot, hotter than the hottest of Summers. The mud was gone, and in its place, sand, miles and miles of sand, sand as far as the eye could see, the nose could smell, and the ear could hear. Head walked through the desert, naked and sweating, at once feeling light and heavy, black and white, awake and exhausted. He came across a man, a dark-skinned man cloaked in a multicolored blanket, a feathered headdress atop his skull.

Head asked the man, “Do you have a message for me?”

The man regarded Head with a skeptical eye for what seemed like hours, then droned, “You are a Caucasian man amongst Caucasian men, yet you are a fighter amongst fighters. You are ready now. You have always been ready. You have never been ready. Go out and stroll with the misery of the Earth. Stroll to the end of the hurricane and break it for all, as you were meant to do. You are the Stone of Oliver. You are the Kilmer from Val. You are the King. The temporary King. The Lizard King.”

Staring into the dark man’s eyes, Head was overcome with a sense of peace unlike anything he had ever experienced. A light called him from above, and as Head floated toward it, the sense of calm tripled, as did the size of his erection. The light kept calling, and calling, and calling …

*

“I’ve been calling and calling and calling, and you haven’t answered, and I was worried. Are you alright, Head?”

Head grunted, then groaned, then moaned, then belched, then said, “What’re you doing here, Queen? And what are you wearing?”

Cerevix looked down at her body, blinked, and chirped, “Ooh, goodness gracious me, it appears that I’m wearing nothing.” Sighing, she added, “Bobbert hasn’t seemed too impressed with this, and it makes me lonely. So I ask, Mr. Temporary King: Do
you
like what you see? And do you want to keep me company?”

“We’ve been down this road before, Cerevix, and if I was so inclined, I’d tell the story via flashback, but it wasn’t that great, so why bother?”

“It was great for me,” she purred. “You sure lived up to your name, Head.” She hopped onto the bed, straddled him, then breathed, “Ooh, goodness gracious me, it appears that somebody’s ready for action.”

“That was here before you showed up, Cerevix.” He could not, however, deny the fact that the Queen’s grinding felt magnificent. Head felt his willpower drain away, and, against the King’s specific wishes, he touched her boobies.

The faster she grinded, the louder her noises became; after several minutes, her grunts became full words: “Yes … yes … right there … that’s it, baby … oh, wow … you’re so hard, Jagweed…” At that, Head shoved her off. “Hey, I wasn’t finished,” she complained. Gesturing at the clean sheets, she added, “And apparently neither were you.”

“We’re done here, Cerevix. Go back to your room, please.”

Cerevix pouted. “This was because I called you Jagweed, wasn’t it?”

“To quote my oldest daughter:
Duh!
”

“What’s the problem, Heady? You’re well aware that’s the way us Sinisters do these things. We keep it in the family. This has been going on for, what, like ten generations now. We’re about three generations away from becoming a master race.”

“You think?”

“I don’t
think,
sweet cheeks, I
know
.”

“What about Goofrey?” Head asked. “That kid’s not exactly master race material.”

“Ah, right, Goof, that’s a whole other story. You’ll find out about him in the not-too-distant future.”

“I don’t really care to find out about Goof, Cerevix.”

As she slinked from the room, she sang, “Oh, you’ll care soon enough, Heady. You most certainly will.”

Juan Nieve, Snackwell Fartly, Otter, Pinto, Bluto, Flounder, and D-Day became sworn members of the Fraternity of the Swatch in a long, boring ceremony that can be explained via another of those awkward metaphors that populate these pages: Ever watched
Anymal Housse
while sipping on grog, gnawing on a turkey leg, and rubbing a cheese grater across your stomach? It was a lot like that.

King Bobbert Barfonme staggered into the throne room, puddles of blood and bodily fluids spurting from dozens, if not hundreds, of wounds that dotted his entire body. Lord Headcase Barker hopped off the royal toilet—er, the royal throne—and ran to his friend, managing to catch him before he fell to the floor.

“My Gods, Bobbert,” Head exclaimed, “what happened?”

Bobbert plucked a slender, pointy piece of wood from his left eye, then said, “Barky-Boy, they got me with my tee…” He then removed a shoe with a spiked bottom that was stuck to his backside. “… and my spikes…” He then took off his shirt and plucked five small, white, dimpled orbs from his chest. “… and my balls. Godsdamn it,
they got me with my own balls
.”

“Bobbert, what is all this, this, this
paraphernalia
?”

“It’s the accoutrements of a game, Barky-Boy, a game of Kings. And this game has killed others of my kind. I don’t know why I play, Head.” He coughed tragically and put his shirt back on, then repeated, “I don’t know why I play.”

Queen Cerevix traipsed into the room, gasped, and dramatically—some might say
too
dramatically—cried, “Oh my Gods! Bobbert! What has happened to you? Tees in your eyes, spikes in your butt, and balls in your chest? Who would do such a thing? Who would commit such a heinous crime? I have never been so upset or surprised in all of my life!”

Head asked, “How did you know about the balls in his chest, Cerevix? He has his shirt on.”

Cerevix blinked, then stammered, “I … um … I … er … a wife can sense these things. Especially one who loves her husband above all others.”

After spitting up a huge blop of black blood, Bobbert coughed, “Just stop it, Cerevix. You’re embarrassing both of us.”

Cerevix blinked, then stammered, “I … um … I … er …
Headcase touched my boobies!
” And then she sprinted from the room.

As they watched her go, Bobbert croaked, “The dumb bitch totally had me whacked.”

Nodding, Head agreed. “Totally.”

“She wants Goof on the throne. I shudder to think.” And then, deep in thought, he shuddered. After heaving up another heap of hemoglobin, Bobbert ordered, “Barky-Boy, take a letter.” Once Headcase rustled up some paper and a quill, Bobbert dictated, “To whom it may concern: First of all, Cerevix had me whacked, so if somebody could kill her, that would be greatly appreciated. Secondly, I shall be replaced on the throne not by my son, Goof, but rather by my brother, Slobbert.”

Head stopped writing. “Wait, I’ve known you for eighteen Summers, and you never once said anything about having a brother.”

“I’ve been keeping him under wraps just for such an occasion.”

“What kind of occasion?” Head asked.

“An occasion when I can introduce him into a story in a dramatic, surprising fashion.”

Nodding, Head said, “Okay, okay, I get it, I get it. A little soap opera-ish, but not bad at all. But why should … um, what’s his name again?”

“Slobbert. And as if that’s not bad enough, our sister is named Knobbert.”

“Ouch. So why should Slobbert be the King? Isn’t Goofrey next in line?”

After vomiting up another chunky mass of red and white cells, Bobbert opined, “Goofrey is a moron.”

“How can you say that about the product of your own loins?”

“I can say it simply because it’s true. The boy is dumber than mud. But Barky-Boy, here’s the thing: Not only is Goof a moron, but he’s also a jerkoff.” Bobbert paused, then noted, “That’s not exactly true. We know who his father is. The guy’s just been kind of absent.”

“It’s Jagweed, isn’t it?”

Bobbert laughed, hacked up some more fluids, then said, “Ah, if only it was that easy. No, Goofrey Barfonme’s father is…” Another cough. “… is…” A deeper cough. “… is…” A rattling cough that shook the castle. “… is…” And then, a tragic cough that signaled the death of King Bobbert Barfonme, the eleventh King in the long history of Easterrabbit to die of golf-related injuries.

As Lord Barker wept over the corpse of his oldest friend, Tinyjohnson crept into the throne room, put his hand on Head’s shoulder, and whispered, “He’s in a better place now.” The possible eunuch let Lord Barker cry for a bit longer, then, once Head regained some semblance of control, asked, “You’re coming to Incest Boy’s swearing in, aren’t you?”

“But what about Slobbert? Bobbert decreed that he take the throne.”

Tinyjohnson asked, “Who the hell is Slobbert?”

“Bobbert’s brother.”

“Let me get this straight: Bobbert has a brother that nobody knew about, and we’re supposed to let him take the throne just to keep Goof from being King? Screw that
deus ex machina
crap. It’s Goof’s gig.”

Holding up the note with Bobbert’s dying words, Head said, “But Bobbert dictated…”

Tinyjohnson ripped the page from Head’s hands, tore it into itty-bitty pieces, and growled, “Bobbert didn’t dictate a Godsdamn thing. Now that little shit Goof is taking the throne tomorrow afternoon, and if you don’t like it, you can take your sorry ass back to Summerseve. I’ll meet you there.”

“You’ll meet me where? At the swearing in?”

“No, in Summerseve.”

“But how can you be at the swearing in and in Summerseve?”

Tinyjohnson huffed, “I … I … I …
fuck you, Headcase! Long live King Goof!
”

As the little man stomped out of the room, Head yelled, “Or long
die
King Goof!” After a pause, he mumbled, “Wait, that doesn’t make sense. Maybe
short
die King Goof? No, that’s also weird. How about
quick
die, King Goof? Or
quick death
to King Goof? Man, I could go for another direpandaburger…”

Out of breath and practically dying of hunger, Freon arrived at the court of his father, King Seabiskit. “Father,” he burbled, “I am here to lead your ships into battle!”

His face redder and shinier than an ancho pepper in a Summer rainstorm, King Seabiskit roared, “You fool! That’s not supposed to happen until the next book!”

“The next book?” Freon asked.

“
A Crash of Bling: A Sonnet of Slush and Soot, Book 2.
Coming March 27, 2138.”

“Please direct your attention to the front of the room, where, for the first time, his Grace, Goofrey of the Houses Barfonme and Sinister, Thankfully the First of His Name, King of the Anuses and the Ryebread and the Fat Fathers, Lord of the Who-Knows-How-Many Kingdoms, and Protector of the Protractor, takes his rightful place on the throne!”

Lord Headcase Barker stood in front of the dais, glaring at Lord Petey Varicose Bailbond as he introduced the new King to the apathetic audience. It took all of Head’s strength to keep from leaping onto the stage and trying to throttle Goof, Tinyjohnson, and Queen Cerevix. (Yes, his leg was still brown and smelly, but righteous anger trumps a poo’ed leg.) But even if he did leap upon the stage and try to throttle Goof, Tinyjohnson, and Queen Cerevix, he likely would not have succeeded, as Tinyjohnson had hired Grandstand and Sandstorm Leghorn to protect Goofrey. Headcase was good with his fists, but he was aware that going up against two men who had a combined total of seven arms might prove problematic.

Goof plunked gracelessly on the royal toilet, er, the royal throne, and raised his arms above his head in triumph. Three people in the crowd of three hundred responded with claps, and three others with yawns, while the rest shuffled their feet uncomfortably. The new King frowned, turned to the Queen, and asked, “Mom, why’s everybody being so quiet?”

She whispered into his ear, “They just need to get to know you. They need to feel confident that you can rule them. So read the decree.”

Brightening, Goof said, “Oh, right.” He pulled a parchment from under his cape, unfurled the document, and read, “Today, on the fifth day of the fourth week before Winter is coming…”

Cerevix loudly cleared her throat, leaned over, and whispered, “It’s
Summer
is coming, Your Highness.”

“I said
Summer,
” Goof whined.

“No, honey, you said
Winter
. Don’t worry about it. Everybody makes mistakes. Just keep reading.”

Goof read, “Today, on the fifth day of the fourth week before
Summer
is coming, I declare that the rights to the plot of land to the West of Mount Cheeryos will…”

Again, Cerevix loudly cleared her throat, leaned over, and whispered, “It’s
East
of Mount Cheeryos, Your Highness, not
West
.”

“Fine,” Goof sneered. “The rights to the plot of land to the
East
of Mount Cheeryos will reburt to Sur Anglophile Pointystick of…”

Again, Cerevix loudly cleared her throat, leaned over, and whispered, “It’s
revert,
Your Highness, not
reburt
.”

Goof threw the parchment at his mother’s chest and whined, “If you’re so smart, why don’t you read it yourself?”

“I’m just trying to help you out, honey,” Cerevix explained.

“I don’t need your help,” Goof whined. “I hate you. I hate you, and I hope you die.” He stomped out of the room, after which the crowd delivered a lengthy standing ovation.