A Game of Groans: A Sonnet of Slush and Soot

by George R. R. Washington

  “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…”

  FREON

  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.”

  HEADCASE

  “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.

  After the noise died down, Head jumped onto the stage and, ignoring the pain in his wounded, fetid leg, roared, “You have just applauded the departure of a false King! Before he died, King Barfonme declared the new ruler to be his brother, Slobbert!”

  In unison, the crowd cried, “Who the hell is Slobbert?!”

  Head answered, “The rightful heir to the throne!”

  In unison, the crowd cried, “Why haven’t we heard of him until now?!”

  “One of Bobbert’s dying wishes,” Head explained, “was that Slobbert be introduced into the story in a dramatic, surprising fashion!”

  In unison, the crowd cried, “That’s a really good literary device! But that doesn’t mean this Slobbert guy should be King!”

  “I agree,” Head agreed. “But do you want young Goofrey ruling the roost?”

  In unison, the crowd cried, “Not particularly! He’s kind of a dick!”

  “I know, right?” Head said. “So how about we give this Slobbert fellow a chance?”

  Tinyjohnson said, “How about you shut your mouth before Sandstorm cuts off your lips.”

  In unison, the crowd cried, “Ooooooooh!”

  Tinyjohnson pointed at Lord Barker and, addressing the audience, yelled, “People of Capaetal Ceity, do you want to see this man executed?”

  In unison, the crowd cried, “Not really, but we don’t have anything else going on this afternoon, so go for it!”

  Tinyjohnson turned to Head and pointed out, “The people have spoken. Are you ready to die?”

  “As a Lord, I am always ready to die, eunuch…”

  “I’m not a eunuch!” Tinyjohnson screeched.

  “… but before you begin the execution proceedings, I’d like you to taste this.”

  And then Head reached behind the throne and picked up an onion cream pie, which he threw across the room with the speed, accuracy, and élan of a snake coiling and uncoiling.

  And then the lunacy began, lunacy that ended in the arrest and possible death of Lord Headcase Barker.

  MALIA

  Wordless screaming, incessant curse words, and rapid-fire splats: For the life of her, Malia Barker could not figure out what the noises from the throne room signified. Part of her wanted to open the door and look, but the other part of her wanted to track down her father and finish preparing for her return trip to Summerseve, and yet the other part of her wanted to divorce herself completely from the proceedings, as the page count was starting to pile up, and even though Malia was not much of a reader, she knew there was a point when enough is enough … for instance, when you get to, say, page 527, it might be time to call it a day. Finally, after much deliberation, for the first time in years, Malia took the path that would keep her out of trouble.

  Or so she believed.

  On the way to the staircase that led to her and her father’s respective bedchambers, Malia was stopped by ten men clad in full Knight regalia. “Halt!” the commanding officer commanded. “State your name and your business!”

  The Knight to his left mumbled, “Sur, you already know her name and business. It’s the youngest Barker girl and she’s looking for her father so she can finish preparing for her return trip to Summerseve.”

  The lead Knight bonked his subordinate on the top of his headgear, then explained, “I know how to read, Sur Whalewhipper. I’m just following Goof’s orders to detain and question everybody named Barker.” At that, all ten Knights broke down in laughter, after which the leader chortled, “Ahhhh, Goof Barfonme giving orders, what a joke. The kid’s an idiot. I give him a week.”

  “If that,” the subordinate giggled.

  Once the laughter died down, the lead Knight ordered, “You are to come with me. We have been ordered by good King Goofrey…”

  One of the Knights in the back whispered, “You mean dumb King Goofrey.”

  “… to put you in a nice room with a comfortable bed.”

  The Knight to his left mumbled, “Sur, we were ordered to bring her to the basement and flog her so she wouldn’t stop us from murdering her father.”

  The lead Knight bonked his subordinate on the top of his headgear, then explained, “That comfortable bed thing was supposed to be misdirection, Sur Whalewhipper. The girl knows how to fight, and if she becomes aware that we are going to jail her, then murder her father, she might engage us in a battle. Whereas if she believes she’s being taken into a nice room with a comfortable bed, she will be less likely to…”

  Malia interrupted, “I will not be imprisoned, never!” To the head Knight, she called, “You: What Pittsburgh Pirates player had exactly three thousand career hits before dying in a plane crash?”

  The Knight asked, “Who?”

  “Wrong! Roberto Clemente.” At that, the Knight gagged and died.

  To the second Knight, Malia called, “You: What franchise has lost the World Series a record twelve times?”

  The second Knight asked, “What’s a franchise?”

  “Wrong! The Dodgers of both Brooklyn and Los Angeles. But I would have also accepted if you had just answered Dodgers.” At that, the Knight keened and croaked.

  To the third through ninth Knights, Malia called, “You seven: name the first five players elected to the Hall of Fame.”

  At once, all six Knights said, “Um, I don’t know, maybe Jesus Chryst?”

  “Wrong! Ty Cobb, Babe Ruth, Honus Wagner, Christy Matthewson, and Walter ‘Big Train’ Johnson.” At that, the six Knights retched and kicked the bucket.

  Malia and the lone remaining Knight stared at each other, then finally, the Knight brandished his sword and pointed it at the girl. With a noticeably unsteady hand, the Knight nervously stuttered, “You’d … you’d … you’d best stand down before I … I … I attack!”

  Malia took one step closer, and asked, “Would you like me to be merciful, dear Knight?”

  The Knight fell to his knees and wept, “I beg you, m’Lady, for the love of Gods, please be merciful! If you’re going to kill me, show a modicum of compassion! If you have a kind bone in your body, you will not ask me a question about baseball!”

  Nodding, Malia murmured, “I shall show you compassion, good Sur. Put down your weapon and remove your headgear.” After the Knight followed Malia’s requests, she pulled Syringe from her dress and stabbed the Knight in the face 412 times.

  With his dying breath, the Knight gasped, “Tis far more noble to have perished by the miniature sword than by the trivia battle!” At that, the Knight retched and expired.

  Malia regarded her good work, put Syringe away, then called, “I’m coming for you, Father!” And then she began a journey through the castle that might or might not end in the death of a main character.

  LOLYTA

  Lolyta Targetpractice’s womb was so stretched that she felt as if she were going to give birth to a horse, which stood to reason, because chances were quite good that she was going to give birth to a horse.

  As Loly lay in bed, barely able to sit up, Ivan Drago held her hand, kissed away her tears, and sadly repeated, “Ooga booga. Ooga booga. Ooga booga.”

  With a brave smile, Loly said, “Thanks, honey. That’s sweet of you to say.” She to
ok a deep breath, then continued, “I’m frightened, Ivan Drago. This thing in me is so big, and it’s going to tear me up on its way out, and I’m so scared, and I feel so clueless, and I think if I knew how it all worked, I might feel a little comforted. Oh, how I wish you could explain it all to me, darling. I see the wisdom and love in your eyes; if only there was a way you could express it in words.”

  Ivan Drago walked to the other side of the room, peeked out of the window, then closed the curtains. He said, “Okay, here’s the deal, babe: Childbirth—which is also referred to as labor, birth, partus, or parturition—is the culmination of a human pregnancy or gestation period with the birth of one or more newborn infants from a woman’s uterus. The process of childbirth is categorized in three stages of labor: the shortening and dilation of the cervix, the descent and birth of the infant, and the birth of the placenta.” Ivan Drago then went on to explain in lengthy, graphic detail about the machinations of having a baby. After he finished, he asked, “Now that that’s out of the way, what do you say we go to the village, grab some grog, and have sex in front of everybody, like Dorkis have always done, and Dorkis always will do, even up through books six and seven, which might or might not eventually be written.”

  Poleaxed by both her birthing lesson and the newfound knowledge that the husband she had previously believed to be a monosyllabic idiot was actually a verbose genius, Loly agreed, even though the last thing she wanted to do in her physical state was get stabbed in between her legs by her husband’s enormous Dorki love-sword.

  When the KERBANGER and Ivan Drago arrived at the center of town, the crowd, sensing some voyeurism in their near future, buzzed with anticipation. A Dorki woman tapped Loly on the shoulder and said, “Yowza, yowza, yowza, KERBANGER. Chuckle chuckle doo.”