Lame of Thrones

by The Harvard Lampoon

  “You know what they say, fourth life’s the charm!” laughed Jon as Whoremund cradled Boats, who was rapidly losing blood. The assassins were tied up on the ground, bleeding heavily from the fight that had ensued after Jon died again. A crowd of Mildlings and Brothers of the Night’s Crotch had gathered. They gawked at the newly revived Jon.

  “What do you want us to do with these traitors?” asked Smellisandre.

  “Ahhh, just let ’em go so we can toss the ol’ pigskin around like we used to” is what Jon wanted to say. Surely that is what his father would have done. But Jon was conflicted. He knew his men wanted justice for the traitors who had killed their leader. On the one hand, they did kill me, the Bored Demander of the Night’s Crotch, twice, he thought. But on the other hand, it suuuuuure has been a while since we tossed the pigskin. Jon looked to Toast for guidance, but he knew that would be of no use. Toast loved the pigskin more than anyone.

  Jon decided that his best shot at an answer would be to ask the Seven Gods. Perhaps they could share some hidden wisdom. O Gods, hear my plea, thought Jon. I request an audience with you all: The Father, the Mother, the Hamburglar, Officer Big Mac, Mayor McCheese, Grimace, the Chicken McNuggmonster, Dr. McFlurry, Auntie Cheese, and any of the other Seven Gods I forgot to mention. My Brothers ask what is to be done with these three prisoners before me—prisoners we have long called Brothers, who have fought fiercely beside us to guard the Trench. What am I to do?

  For a moment all was still. Then Jon’s head erupted with the sounds of the Seven arguing among themselves like usual. The burgers are all mine! No, they’re mine! Hey, who turned out the lights? I’m a dad, I’m a dad, I’m the father! Ooookkaayy, who ordered the Nuggmonster? Jesus, I deserve better than this. I’m a doctor for Christ’s sake! Wait, who’s Christ? I’m Auntie Cheese! Jon didn’t know what to make of this. But then one voice rose above the rest, calming and pure. Jon knew that voice. It had brought him comfort in his darkest moments and showed him the path when he was most lost. It was the low baritone of Officer Big Mac, shepherd of justice, lord of law enforcement.

  Jon, spurted Officer Big Mac from somewhere between his two all-beef patties slathered with special sauce. Your men deserve the justice they elected you to provide. These three traitors are not worthy of the black they wear. They are not worthy of the oaths they swore. They are not worthy of the air they continue to breathe. Officer Big Mac’s words struck a chord in Jon, but he was not sure these were the words he wanted to hear. Officer Big Mac continued, You must make an example of these men. Take them to the gallows and lay their souls bare for all to see—oh my, what is that?

  Just then Jon had conjured an image of the pigskin in his mind. Pretty swell, huh? thought Jon.

  Fuck. Perhaps this is not as cut-and-dry as I thought, said Officer Big Mac, his lips salivating. No, no! We must stay focused on the task at hand, he said. Officer Big Mac sucked the saliva back into his mouth, regained his composure, and continued. Those traitors must be executed. And you must be the one who does it. The world will gain nothing through your mercy today. You are the 998th in an unbroken line of honorable men—men who rose to do what was right, despite any apprehensions. You are the 998th Bored Demander of the Night’s Crotch. And you are the son of Deaddard Snark. He raised you to be loyal, to be true. If you let these traitors go, you will not only betray the Night’s Crotch. You will betray your father’s memory. And you will betray the people of Westopolis—the very people you’ve sworn to protect. Now go, Jon. Go and do what needs to be done.

  Jon looked out at the sea of faces. Theirs were the faces of a people long starved of justice. A people possessed of a dwindling hope. He needed to show them that the world was not devoid of order. That so long as there was even a single man still sworn to uphold the laws of Gods and men, all would not be lost. He needed to be a leader.

  Jon began, “I, Jon Dough, Bored Demander of the Night’s Crotch, Defender of Westopolis, Watcher of the Trench, do sentence these men—”

  “Oy, everybody! Look at the Bored Demander’s crotch!” screamed someone in the crowd.

  Jon looked down at his pants and saw an enormous wet spot.

  “Oy, lads, he’s had himself a wet dream while he was dead!”

  Laughter filled the courtyard of Casablacka. The Brothers of the Night’s Crotch were beside themselves. Jon looked to his friends, but they were all rolling on the ground, weak with laughter. Desperate, Jon looked to Toast for support—but the direwolf had donned a fake mustache so as not to be associated with the humiliated Bored Demander.

  “Hey! Everyone listen to me! I’m going to execute the traitors!” shouted Jon. But his voice cracked in the middle of every word. The crowd absolutely lost it. Jon was more flustered than ever, the Seven Gods were struggling to contain their laughter, and even Toast couldn’t help but look at Jon and raise his eyebrows as if to say, Well, if this ain’t just a bitch.

  Jon stormed over to Whoremund and Boats and hoisted them to their feet. “Help me bring these prisoners to the gallows!” Jon screamed. Whoremund and Boats somehow found the strength to suppress their laughter somewhat and lift up the assassins, who were squirming and laughing the hardest of all. Jon led Whoremund and Boats up the gallows steps, and he instructed them to place the assassins on the trap doors.

  “People!” shouted Jon at the crowd. No one listened. “Hey! Everyone!” he tried again. Still nothing. Out of options, he did the only thing he could in this situation. He raised Casablacka’s prized football in one hand and held a knife to it with the other.

  Instantly the crowd quieted down. “That’s better,” said Jon. He put the pigskin away and began once more, “I, Jon Dough, Bored Demander of the Night’s Crotch, Defender of Westopolis, Watcher of the Trench, heretoforth notwithstanding hencewith, and subject to the terms and conditions, do sentence these three traitors to death.” He paused for a moment. “But I will not hang them.”

  Murmurs could be heard from the crowd. “But you’re the Bored Demander! You have to execute them!” screamed someone in the crowd, who then threw a big clump of dirt at Jon’s head. The rest of the crowd joined in, throwing whatever they could get their hands on. Someone threw Eddddd, but he didn’t fly nearly far enough and hit the ground really hard.

  “Hey! Ow! Stop! I’m still going to kill them!” squealed Jon. He held up the football again. All the projectiles froze in midair and fell to the ground. The crowd was his once more.

  “As I was saying, I will not hang them. Instead, I will allow them to choose the manner by which they will be made an example of today.” The crowd was silent. “Meaning that I’m gonna kill them however they ask me to.” The crowd went wild.

  “First we’ll start with Asserhole Thorn.” Jon approached Asserhole, whose laughter from earlier finally seemed to be dying down. “Asserhole, you and I have never liked each other. You’ve always been super mean to me actually. To be honest, I’ve always secretly hoped that you could kill me twice so that I could kill you once in front of everybody. Now, how do you wish to die?”

  Asserhole thought for a moment, and then smiled. “Sex,” he said.

  Jon was confused. “Uhhh, what do you mean?”

  “I mean I want a horde of beautiful women to come and make incredible love to me until long after the point that I’m drained of semen, and then I’ll die.”

  Jon looked disappointed. He’d really wanted to kill Asserhole for a long time. But a promise was a promise. “Very well, Asserhole. May the Gods have mercy on you.”

  Jon dispatched a few of his men to go to the nearest brothel and bring back forty women. When the women arrived, Jon explained Asserhole’s wish to them, and they descended on him like piranhas swarming a cow. They had hot, sticky sex with him on the gallows for days. Jon recalled hearing that the human body could only go for three days without eating or drinking, so he’d been surprised to find Asserhole Thorn happily giving and receiving oral sex deep into day seven. On day eight the whores stepped away and revealed
his dead body.

  Next up was Fucknugget. “Fucknugget, you and I have never liked each other—”

  “More sex,” said Fucknugget.

  Jon was dumbfounded. “Uhhhhhhh… what?”

  “I want a shitload of hot broads to fuck me and make me cum buckets. I’m talking an absolute gaggle of women. Fifty times as many as Asserhole had. I want them to make me cum until I’m shooting blanks. And then I want to keep cumming until my body has no choice but to shoot my brain and my heart out of my penis, and then I want to cum some more. And once I’m done cumming I’ll cum some more. And then I’ll die.”

  Once again Jon had no choice but to keep his promise. He dispatched one hundred of his finest men to go back to the brothel and buy the whole place out. When they returned, Jon explained to the women what Fucknugget’s wish was—this time using diagrams, mannequins, and some finger puppets when there weren’t enough mannequins—and they got down to business. For eighty-three days they labored over Fucknugget’s body as it slowly deteriorated. The crowd couldn’t make out any of the details in the swirling mass of bodies; every once in a while a fleck of semen would fly out and arc across the courtyard of Casablacka, and every few days a random internal organ would fly out and hit someone in the eye. It was unclear at what point he died.

  Finally it was time for Orphan Kid. This one would be the hardest of all. Jon had known Orphan Kid since way back when he was named Kid With A Family That Is Alive. It was Jon who supported the boy when he wanted to change his name to Orphan Kid because he thought it sounded cool. And when a year later his parents incidentally died, Jon was the only one who continued to call him Orphan Kid. Jon was like a father to him. But the boy had betrayed him.

  “Orphan Kid, I want you to understand how hard this is for me,” Jon said, stifling tears. “I always considered myself a father to you. Not your father. He’s dead.” Jon cast one last look at the boy. He was so small. So bright. He could have grown into a fine Brother. “But it’s too late for that. Now, Orphan Kid… how do you wish to die?”

  Orphan Kid somehow managed to hold back his tears, but a little poop still managed to slip out of him. He stood there thinking for what seemed like five hours, even though it was only a few, tops. Finally he looked up at Jon and spoke in his meek little voice. “Jon, I want to kill myself.”

  The crowd gasped. Whoremund, Boats, and Smellisandre looked sadly at the ground. Jon was honestly kinda bummed that he missed out on killing someone again.

  “Jon, I know now that what I did was wrong. I shouldn’t have killed you the first time. I probably shouldn’t have killed you the second time either. And I definitely shouldn’t have laughed when it was obvious you had ejaculated in your pants and your voice cracked.” The crowd started giggling at this last comment, but the boy continued. “I want to kill myself with the knife I used to stab you. I think it’s only right that this is how I do penance for my crimes.”

  Jon was touched by Orphan Kid’s decision. He had shown more grace and wisdom than his fellow conspirators, men ten times his age. “Very well, Orphan Kid. May the Gods have mercy on you.” Jon untied Orphan Kid, but he didn’t know where the knife was. Jon looked all around the gallows and the courtyard until he found the knife still sticking out of his chest. He pulled it out and handed it to Orphan Kid. “Haha, guess I forgot to remove it when I was brought back”—just then, Orphan Kid stabbed Jon in the heart again—“to life!” Jon managed to croak before collapsing dead.

  “Honey, I’m hoooome!” said Jon as the Brothers and Mildlings were stomping Orphan Kid into the ground. Jon batted them away and jerked Orphan Kid to his feet. “Alright Orphan Kid, veeeery funny. That was very funny what you did back there. That was actually really funny, I’m proud.” Jon brushed the blood-encrusted hair off Orphan Kid’s face and cast one last look at the boy—again. “But now, how do you really want to die?”

  “The most sex,” said Orphan Kid without missing a beat.

  Jon would have face-palmed if only he weren’t so confused again. “Uhhhhhhhhhhh—”

  “I want three women for every man, woman, and child in the North, and I want them to make me shoot big gooey ropes of—”

  “Okay, that’s enough. You guys don’t all have to describe it,” said Jon. He got the gist of what Orphan Kid wanted. “Very well. May the Gods have mercy on you.”

  Jon dispatched every Brother and Mildling under his command to travel to all the brothels in the North and bring back every whore under the sun. When they returned to Casablacka, three hundred thousand whores in tow, Jon addressed them from the castle walls, where he had assembled a hundred local acting troupes—armed with all manner of costumes, props, paraphernalia, and lubricants—to demonstrate to the women how they were to go about killing this small boy. The show went on for several days, and after ten minutes of questions the women swarmed Casablacka and leapt onto Orphan Kid. He was dead within minutes. His flesh was stripped clean. The women took their payment and vanished into the horizon, never to be seen again.

  Jon climbed down from the gallows and started walking back to his chambers when he heard a familiar voice from behind him. “Oh Jon, oh brother dear!” It was Jon’s half sister, Pantsa Snark. He couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t seen or heard from her in years, not since the day he’d left their home castle of Wintersmells.

  “Pantsa! By the Gods, you’re alive!” Jon rushed to his sister and jumped to give her a hug—but she held him at arm’s length and gestured for a firm handshake instead.

  “Yes, yes, delightful to see you and all that,” said Pantsa, who was frantically disinfecting the hand she had just used to touch her brother. She held one of her silk handkerchiefs to her nose and surveyed Casablacka, her face twisting into a grimace of disgust. “My, my! What a, um… fine castle this is, Jon.” She looked her brother up and down and put a second handkerchief to her nose. “And you! You… you… you look, uh… well, I love how you just wear anything, Jon.”

  Jon smiled, happy at his sister’s compliment. “Pantsa, what brings you up to the Trench? Don’t you have to, uh…” Jon tried to remember the kinds of stuff his sister liked to do way back when they lived in Wintersmells. “Uhhh, don’t you have to go find some leather to chew on? Those baby teeth should be coming in soon!” Jon was beaming, hoping his sister wouldn’t call his bluff.

  His sister looked puzzled. “Jon… my… baby teeth?” Jon smiled even harder but was starting to visibly sweat. “You… I… why, I just can’t believe you remembered!” Pantsa opened her mouth to reveal her rows of white, well-maintained teeth and pointed to one little scraggly tooth poking through in the corner. “But that’s not important right now. I came to the Trench because I need your help. Wintersmells has been taken by a cruel, cruel man named Handsy Boytoy. I was forced into marrying him and was kept as his captive, but I escaped. And now… I intend to return and take back our family castle.”

  Jon didn’t know what to say. He still couldn’t believe that baby teeth thing worked. “Pantsa, I can’t leave the Night’s Crotch. I was just killed and brought back to life—the Brothers can’t bear to lose me again.”

  Pantsa looked behind Jon, where she saw the Brothers cooking, cleaning, helping one another, and developing advanced forms of technology and a flawless political system without Jon’s help. “Jon, if what you say is true and you really did die, then your oath to the Night’s Crotch is fulfilled. You’re not a Brother anymore. And besides, the other Brothers are tough and independent. They can fare just fine without you.”

  Jon turned around and looked at the Brothers just as they were finishing up their first manned voyage to the moon. Maybe Pantsa was right. “But Pantsa, where are we going to find men to come and fight for Wintersmells? The Brothers need to stay and defend the Trench from the White Wieners and their army of zombos.”

  “The Mildlings, Jon. They are the toughest people in all of Westopolis, and they all look to you as a leader. If we don’t get their help in the fight against Handsy, he an
d his men will come attack the Night’s Crotch, and then there will be no one left to defend the realm from the White Wieners.”

  Jon looked over at the thousands of Mildlings who had gathered around a rat corpse and were taking turns licking it. They sure are tough, thought Jon. But will that be enough… Haha, look at that, I made a rhyme without even trying. Jon looked back at Pantsa and said, “Very well, sister. I’ll come with you. There needs to be a Snark in Wintersmells. Just give me a moment.”

  Jon walked over to Eddddd, who was still lying motionless in the mud in front of the gallows. Jon shook his friend by the shoulders. “Eddddd! Edddddy, my friend! Wake up!”

  Eddddd woke up, confused.

  “Jon! I’m alive!” Eddddd shouted as Jon continued to shake him.

  “Eddddd please stop making this about yourself. I have something very important to tell you. I’m leaving the Night’s Crotch. I’m going to march south with the Mildling army to take back my family’s castle. And I want you to be the new Bored Demander of the Night’s Crotch.”

  Before Eddddd could protest, Jon peeled off all his clothes—the sacred uniform of the Bored Demander, still caked in blood from all the times he was killed—and threw them on top of Eddddd. Jon walked away as Eddddd suffocated under all the clothes that were blocking his airways.

  Jon approached the Mildling camp, naked as his name day, and addressed the group. “Mildlings!” But they were too occupied by the rat corpse to listen. “Yoohoo, Mildlings!” Jon screamed as loud as he could, but there was no way they would hear him over the sounds of the particularly good licking the rat was getting right then. Jon ran up to the rat corpse and ate it in three large bites. The Mildlings were in awe.