The Unfortunate Event of a Disillusioned Knight
I have never been able to understand my fellow knight’s silly obsession with fair maidens. Until I saw her. She was standing in the boxes, which were reserved for the nobles, and trying to look amused as a bumbling knight attempted to charm her. She had a face that could give one a heart attack…in the good sense. Her silky braids were piled up in a fanciful creation on top of her head. She was smashing…into the ceiling. But I didn’t care. I gathered up my wits and, well, clanked over to her. I pushed the knight of-oh-so-little-intelligence aside, raised my visor, and smiled up at her. She was smitten. I saw it in her face immediately.
“My fair lady!” I exclaimed. “Never before have I seen such beauty in all the land! You are a sun’s kiss!” She smiled.
“And what, I pray thee, brazen knight, is thy name?” My smile faded. I quickly turned away and pretended to spit a watermelon seed. Only I accidentally choked. I attempted to hack out the stupid watermelon seed which wasn’t even supposed to be there anyway. Who did it think it was messing with? Once I had regained my composure, (and annihilated the seed) I turned back to her and replied as sweetly as possible.
“Sir Pork, of eh, Loins.” I watched her smile fade.
“What a poor man.” She mumbled. Suddenly, our wonderful start to a beautiful thing was interrupted by the sound of trumpets. I looked around.
“AAAAAAND NOW!” A herald cried, “THE HURL OF VOMIT IS CHALLENGING ANY stupid KNIGHT WHO WISHES TO FACE HIM!” The crowd in the tournament stands went wild. I turned back to the fair lady…and shoved a knight-of-oh-so-finite-charisma away.
“But now, oh one of fair face-ness! What, I prithee, is thy name?” I called to her in a deep voice. She looked away.
“I shall only tell thee, if thou can grant-eth me victory on the field of tournament.” She said.
“Name my adversary, I pray thee!”
“The Hurl of Vomit.” She said. My face blanched. The Hurl of Vomit stood uncontested! But, I would do anything for her. I began to speak to her, but my voice squeaked. After clearing my throat, I gave a witty reply.
“Your wish shalleth be-ith my command!” Well, maybe more cliché than witty…
The fair lady leaned over and handed me a silken kerchief.
“Please, wear this, as a token of my…best wishes.” I took the kerchief and stared at it. It was pink and had lace on it.
“Uh…Your wish-eth shall be my-eth command-eth!” The crowd screamed suddenly, and the herald cried out another announcement.
“ANY CHALLENGERS WILLING to be maimed TO FACE THE HURL OF VOMIT?” he cried. I stepped up to the lists and all too soon was on my horse. We were pushed into the arena amidst a horde of screaming fans. I gulped nervously as I sized up my opponent. He had a greenish, bloated face and sported pea-green and brown colors. This man obviously had a grudge against the world.
I noticed a group of Russian peasants to my left. They were screaming something in their rough tongue. I smiled and waved. (It is always good to impress the foreigners.) One of them ran up to me and handed me a silver penny.
“Gut luck, yah?” He said. I nodded, but was far too concerned to pay attention.
“SIR PORK OF LOINS IS NOW TO FACE THE HURL OF VOMIT!!! THE WINNER SHALL RECEIVE A KISS FROM THE FAIR LADY!!!” I was impressed. This was obviously for the money. (Or kiss in this instance, I suppose.) A brief chorus of off tuned horns sounded, and we faced each other. Then, all at once, we galloped straight towards each other with lowered lances. The last thing I remember thinking was, “This is all for love.” Then, I was hit. Hard. Right in the…OOF!!! stomach. I reached the end of the arena and seriously considered sliding off of my horse. Just then, the Russian peasant ran up to me.
“Hard hit yah?” He asked.
“That guy hits like a freight train!” I gasped.
“What is “frog-et train?”
“Look, never mind, okay Stroitka?”
“My name is Feofilaktslavoristroikavaromeisiya.”
“Feo-WHAT!?”
The trumpets blasted again.
“Two time more? Yah!” Fofil…Feolak…Felak-slav… “Feo” slapped my horse and we went forward again. I quickly sat up and held my busted lance. Unfortunately, Feo knew very little about men running at each other with sticks and…OOF!!! my stomach crashed into the end of a seven-foot pole. I nearly fell off my horse before reaching the other side.
“Very gut! I bring you new stick, yah?”
“They’re called lances and…”
The trumpets sounded again.
“Hey hey hey hey HEY!” I shouted as my horse ran forward again. Somehow, I actually managed to aim and…OOF!!! felt that familiar impact in that good ol’ stomach. This time, however, as I looked back I spotted the Hurl of Vomit on the ground. He was screaming naughty things. I will only quote the interpreted version:
“You are not a very nice man. After I get up off the ground, I am going to tell you what I think about you, and then I will punch your lights out and mop the floor with your face.”
I felt a glow of satisfactory triumph…and then I threw up. Only my visor was closed.
So that was why he was called the “Hurl of Vomit.” Great. Just great.
“THE WINNER SHALL NOW KISS THE FAIR MAIDEN!” I felt even sicker.
“Hey Feo-whats-your-name?” I called.
“Yah?”
“Do me a favor and go kiss the fair maiden for me. I…don’t feel like it.”
“Yah yah!” He walked over to the fair lady. She leaned over and kissed him, right smack on the lips. She was smitten. I could see it in her eyes. “Oh bother!” I thought. I watched as she gave him a pink silken kerchief identical to mine. I burned with envy. But then, the herald cried out for a new challenger, and I smiled as the love-sick Feo wandered off to face, “Sir Stab of Death.”
