Lame of Thrones

by The Harvard Lampoon

  Malarya was furious. Time to end this for good. She doused what remained of Littledingle’s body in oil and torched him. Littledingle went up in flames. In the air, his ashes arranged themselves to spell out “Pantsa, you’ve just got to forgive me. I love you. I’m sorry. Please. I really thought your dad was ol’ ‘Iron Neck’! I’m sorry. I love you. I also love your mom.”

  Malarya swatted at the ashes, scattering them around the Great Hall. When she was finished, Littledingle and his last words were gone. “Have a nice die, see you next death—wait, no, guess you love Pantsa and my mom and dying—wait, let’s see you fuck my mom now—okay wait, wait, I got it: I want to watch you have sex with my mom.” Satisfied, Malarya dusted off her hands and strutted out of the Great Hall, slamming the doors behind her, the ash she had thrown everywhere causing all the people trapped in the hall to cough, several of them to death.

  Dennys

  Do you want to do it again?” asked Dennys, splayed out on her bed and seductively rubbing her tummy.

  “Again?” asked Jon. “But we’ve already done it so many times.”

  “Please. For me.”

  “You’re insatiable.”

  “Just once more.”

  “Okay, but this is the last time.” said Jon. “I, Jon Dough, do bend the knee and pledge the North to Queen Dennys Grandslam.”

  “Yes! Oh hell yes! Yeah! Oh fuck yes!” screamed Dennys, writhing around in pleasure on her bed. “Thanks for reenacting that one last time for me, Jon.”

  The two of them sat on Dennys’s bed aboard the HMS Dragonmilf en route to the Strip. After the amazing courage and heroism that Dennys displayed when rescuing Jon’s group from the zombos, he’d felt obligated out of politeness to bend the knee to her.

  Beerion was watching in secret from behind a thumb tack when the two began to kiss. Just wanting to spy on the political drama and not on their intimate relations in a perverted way (although that’s not to say this wasn’t exactly the sort of situation that would get Beerion’s rocks off), Beerion went prone and crawled out underneath the closed bedroom door to leave them be.

  The two began to undress each other. Dennys removed Jon’s armor, his tunic, his pants, and his shirt. Jon removed Dennys’s three-dragon pin, her three-dragon logo jacket, her “Draggin, Dragun, and Jragon” monogrammed pants, her triple dragon ring, her “I’ve Got Three Dragons, Bitch!” hat, her plain white shirt (on which she had drawn her three dragons), and her underwear with “Fire Breathing Dragon (×3)” embroidered on the front.

  “Oh yeah… sorry about Draggin,” said Jon. “I guess you’ll have to get some new gear.” Dennys began to weep. Jon tried to cheer her up. “You know two dragons isn’t so bad, Dennys. In my opinion, two dragons is actually the perfect amount. Two dragons is way cooler than three.”

  “My dragons are my only children,” said Dennys. “I will never bear another child.”

  Jon wondered if Dennys meant she was choosing not to have other children or if she was literally incapable of becoming pregnant. Jon suspected it was the latter, and this made him very erect.

  Dennys looked at the man she did not know was her nephew. “Maybe you can make it up to me by putting your dragon inside me?” She giggled at her joke.

  “I’m going to put a dragon inside you,” said Jon in a dead serious tone.

  Dennys giggled again. Jon began to kiss her.

  “I’m going to put a dragon in you,” he repeated just as seriously before.

  I really want to have sex with Jon, thought Dennys. But he seems to be taking my joke really seriously in a weird way.

  “Look at me,” said Jon, holding Dennys’s face in his hands. “I,” he said pointing to himself, “am going to put a dragon in you.”

  “Do you want to just have sex already?” asked Dennys.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” said Jon, suave as ever. “I guess I can just put a dragon in you later.”

  Interesting, thought Dennys, confused but ready to have sex with her nephew.

  As they laid next to each other on her bed, an idea occurred to Dennys that excited her too much not to mention.

  “Wanna try something to really turn me on?”

  “Duh,” snorted Jon.

  “Can you make… it bend the knee to me?”

  “My penis?”

  “Oh yeah,” said Dennys, moaning at the mere thought of it.

  “What does that mean?”

  “You know, just like make it sort of kneel and pledge allegiance to me.”

  “Like, you want me to bend my penis so it looks like it’s kneeling to you and then do a voice for it and have it swear loyalty to you?”

  “Can you?”

  “I can do the voice, but I definitely won’t be able to bend my penis in half right now.”

  They bickered for almost an hour until eventually they found a workable compromise. Finally, Jon had sex for the second time ever while having incest for the first time ever.

  After taking the wheel and making a rocky parallel-parking job in the King’s Landing Strip docks, Jon got off the ship. “Land ho!” he shouted for the tenth time that morning.

  They were headed to the dragonpit where Cervix had scheduled the meeting to take place.

  “Dragonpit ho!” shouted Jon, skipping and whistling and clicking his heels together in midair.

  “Very good. That’s enough now, Dough,” said Beerion, massaging his temples.

  “Meeting to show Cervix a zombo and have her help us fight the White Wieners ho!” Jon shouted as they began marching to the dragonpit.

  Beerion took a long swig from his flask.

  Outside the castle walls, the entirety of the Funsullied arranged themselves in one large circle.

  “What in the fuck is that?” asked Ser Lemme Bangsister from atop the castle wall.

  “Ser, it appears they’re trying to intimidate us,” replied LeBronn.

  “Hit it!” shouted Dog Shit, leading the Funsullied. Suddenly the circle began to spin. Then, over the horizon came thousands of horses being ridden by the Clothkhaki. Into the spinning circle rode Clothkhaki men, whooping and hollering.

  “LeBronn, surely they can’t fit all their horses in that spinning circle? How are they even entering if its spinning?” asked Lemme, somewhat enraged.

  “Easy, Lemme,” assured LeBronn. “Don’t let it get to you.”

  But one by one, each Clothkhaki on his horse rode into the circle and kept riding around inside. The men began to pick up the Funsullied from the human perimeter and hoist them onto their shoulders. Now only half the Funsullied stood forming the circle, as the other half balanced on the shoulders of the riding Clothkhaki.

  “What are they going to do with the rest of the Funsullied?” asked Lemme. LeBronn was silent. “LeBronn, I asked you a question! What are they going to do?”

  What they did was grab the remaining men and balance not one, not three, but two men on each of their shoulders as they rode in increasingly complex patterns with their horses. First it was abstract shapes that looked beautiful, but then they began to spell out letters with the riders: S-U-C-K O-U-R H-O-L-E-L-E-S-S B-U-T-T-S. As they spelled this, the Funsullied began to do impressive acrobatics from atop the shoulders of the Clothkhaki, such as backflips and jumping onto other horses at the same time and perfectly switching places.

  Lemme couldn’t take it anymore. He stormed away.

  “Where are you going?” asked LeBronn.

  “To consult the Royal Choreographer,” said Lemme.

  LeBronn rushed down to meet Jon and his posse as they entered the dragonpit. Their party was quite large. Not in terms of numbers but certainly in terms of the quantity of important characters. Jon stood with Beerion, the Clown, Yora, Peeon, Brian of Fart, Godsdick, a few randoms who inserted themselves into the group by saying they were “friends of the author,” and, curiously enough, not Dennys Grandslam. The Clown hauled the chained-up zombo in a box that they’d brought to show Cervix.

  LeBronn ma
de a beeline for Godsdick and gave him a great big hug to get his guard down and then punched him in the balls. “What’s the matter Gods? Your magic cock can’t withstand a good ol’ nut tap?”

  When he was done wheezing and barfing, Godsdick put his arm around LeBronn and gave him a smile.

  “Now how about we leave the adults to their talking and you and me grab a drink?” asked LeBronn.

  “That sounds fantastic,” said Godsdick.

  LeBronn smiled and kicked Godsdick in the nuts again. “Never let your guard down!” he yelled, chuckling. “Now let’s get that drink! This round’s on you.” LeBronn picked his old squire up off the ground and carried him away.

  Jon and the rest took their seats in the empty dragonpit. Suddenly a noise began in the distance.

  “Bang-sis-ters! (Hoo!) Bang-sis-ters! (Hah!) Bang-sis-ters! (Hoo!) Bang-sis-ters! (Hah!)”

  The chant grew louder and louder, until Lemme Bangsister entered the dragonpit, leading his sister and their cronies, chanting and clapping and marching. They continued the chant until their whole party was in the arena, at which point they began to do a group dance. Lemme danced proudly and gracefully in front while the rest tried to follow his lead in clumsy unison. Most of them just stood still and looked around, unable to remember the new dance moves Lemme had explained to them just a few moments ago. After thirty seconds of dancing, Lemme gathered everyone in a big clump and went “Bangsisters on three! Bangsisters on three! One… two… three… Bangsisters!” to which a couple people in the group joined in and unenthusiastically said “Bangsisters” along with him. Lemme stuck his hands in the air and twinkled his fingers.

  Yourmoms Playboy of the Ironic Islands stood up, took a swig of ale, and smashed the bottle on his head. “Is that my little cousin Peeon?”

  “Leave me alone, cousin,” pleaded Peeon.

  “I didn’t know they allowed little bitches in the dragonpit,” said Yourmoms. He walked up to Peeon and took a disgusting dead raven out of his pocket that stunk so bad that everyone in the dragonpit held their noses shut. Yourmoms took a blank scroll from the dead raven and said, “This raven’s got a letter! For you! I’ll read it! ‘Dear Peeon, I’m so happy to be severed from you because I am getting more action than I ever did when I was attached to your body. Sincerely, Your Penis. P.S. What are you supposed to be? Some kind of bitch or something?’”

  “Really?” asked Peeon holding his nose shut. “Was that joke worth carrying a dead raven and making yourself smell disgusting?”

  “Cousin, I’m sorry that your penis wrote such an awfully mean letter to you. But you should thank me for relaying it to you.” Yourmoms gave his cousin a wet willy and then sat down next to Cervix. “He doesn’t have a penis,” he whispered to Cervix, explaining his clever joke.

  Cervix stood up. “Now we’ve got business to attend to, and I really didn’t plan this meet-up so we could engage in old interfamily squabbles, so why don’t we—”

  “Brother!” shouted the Clown, standing up and looking at Ser Greggy. “Is that you, you ugly bastard you? You massive dirty fuck! I’ve got a familial score to settle with this one!”

  Cervix began cursing under her breath and sat down. She took a big sip of wine straight from the bottle.

  Ser Greggy, “The Building,” grunted back at his brother.

  “Are we all done now?” asked Cervix. “Anymore old scores to settle?”

  Jon locked eyes with Sideburn and glared at him. Sideburn glared back. For ten seconds they locked eyes until they realized they had never met before and had no beef and stopped glaring at each other.

  “Fantastic,” said Cervix. “Now, where is the so-called Spider Lady?”

  Sideburn quickly whispered into her ear.

  “I mean Dragon Queen,” said Cervix. “Where’s the Dragon Queen?”

  “She took her own form of transportation here,” said Jon, hiding a smug grin.

  Cervix turned red, outraged to have been snubbed by Dennys. “Get on with it then. What’s so important that you had to show me?”

  The Clown hauled their large chained-up box into the center of the dragonpit. One by one he removed the locks. Finally, he removed the top from the box and took a few precautionary steps backward from the horror that lay inside.

  “Surprise!” shouted Dennys, popping out of the box, scaring Cervix so much that she did a spit take with her wine.

  “Alright, laugh it up!” shouted an embarrassed Cervix as Dennys high-fived her friends, all of whom had burst into laughter. Beerion was in stitches. He took out a hundred golds, gasping for breath, and handed them to Dennys.

  “I can’t believe that worked!” Beerion said, doubled over. “I’m crying. I’m actually crying.”

  “How long were you in that box?” asked Lemme.

  “Eight hours!” shouted Dennys, pumping her fists.

  “What?” asked Lemme.

  “Was this all some joke?” asked Cervix. “Or do you actually have something to show me?”

  “You bet my sweet ass I do.” Dennys whistled and spoke a command in high Ovarian: “Come’here-ys!”

  Dragun and Jragon descended into the dragonpit from the sky, each hoisting a rope in his mouth and carrying the real chained-up zombo box. The two dragons dropped the box into the dragonpit and then began to do lap after lap of the arena. Jragon and Dragun flew faster and faster, doing flips and tricks, gliding with ease. The sound of “oohs” and “aahs” echoed off the walls, as for most this was their first time seeing a dragon. The creatures landed and shot beams of fire upward into the sky, screeching as loud as they could.

  Wow, I’m really lucky that they decided to do this meet-up in the dragonpit, thought Dennys. If they had held this literally anywhere else I couldn’t have done that really intimidating dragon stuff. I mean, what are the odds that they’d hold the meeting for me, the Dragon Queen, in the pit they have that’s designed specifically for dragons? Seems like a dumb move on their part, honestly.

  The Clown took the real zombo box and unchained it. Out popped the zombo, at this point practically just a skeleton with little bits of hair and skin hanging off. The Clown held it by chains as it tried to sprint straight at Cervix and the Bangsister royals.

  “Behold,” said Jon, “a zombo.” Jon threw a banana peel on the ground. The zombo slipped and fell, collapsing on itself into a pile of bones. “Is he dead?” asked Jon. “He’s just a pile of bones now. Not scary, right?” Seconds later, the bones reassembled themselves back into their original form, and the zombo kept trying to sprint toward the humans. “Wrong. He’s not dead,” said Jon, tossing another banana peel. Again the zombo slipped and fell and then reassembled itself. “The zombos will never stop,” he said, tossing yet another couple banana peels on the ground. “No matter how many times you deliver a blow,” he said, throwing several banana peels directly at the zombo this time, “they will always get back up.” By this point Jon had dropped almost a dozen banana peels on the ground. Whoremund continued scarfing down bananas at an uncomfortable clip and tossing his peels to Jon. The zombo was caught in an endless loop of slipping on the peels, collapsing into a pile of bones, reassembling itself, and then slipping again in the giant pile of banana peels. “This is an enemy who doesn’t obey kings or queens. This is an enemy who wants chaos and death.” Jon pulled a lever that dumped a barrel filled with hundreds of banana peels onto the zombo, burying it. Within seconds the zombo had dug its way out.

  “The only way to kill them is to burn them or to shoot them with this: a gunne.” Jon held up the ancient weapon for them to see. Jon pushed the zombo onto the ground, loaded his gunne, and fired it into a rag he’d dipped in oil, which caused the rag to combust and burn the zombo, killing it. “So what do you say, Cervix? Will you help us fight the undead? Will you save the human race?”

  “Huh, whuh?” Cervix jolted awake. “Oh, you’re done. Sorry. Fell asleep for a second there. Um, yeah, so I actually have like twelve of those things in my dungeon already. So, no
. I won’t help you fight them.”

  Yourmoms Playboy stood up, mad with indignation. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I’ve never been scared in my whole life. Not once.” He paced back and forth in the center of the pit. “To be honest, I’ve never even known what fright is supposed to feel like. Is it similar to when you’re bored? Or is it like when you’re grossed out by something? My whole life I’ve had no idea. To me, Halloween is like any other day of the week.” He pointed at the zombo’s ashes. “But this! This monster! This scares the dickens out of me. My pants? Soaked with my own pee right now. My pants? Also soaked with my own shit right now. I want my mom. I’m terrified. And for that reason, I’m going home to the Ironic Islands so I can hide from these scary, scary monsters like a coward. An honest, virtuous, brave coward. Good-bye.”

  And just like that, Yourmoms Playboy walked out of the dragonpit and took off, only stopping briefly to give a few wedgies to Peeon on the way out. If Lemme’s head wasn’t made of gold, he’d have smiled, watching his sister’s suitor cower in fear while he stood strong by her side. Instead, he held the same expression that was permanently sculpted into his gold face (raised eyebrows and a wide open mouth).

  “I won’t help you fight,” said Cervix. “But after seeing my boyfriend, Yourmoms, get frightened to that degree, I will call a truce. Until the war with the undead is over, we will cease fighting with you. For you see… I have a reason to listen to fear again. A reason to cling to the world of the living and stave off death. I am with child.” Gasps erupted from everyone in the crowd except Lemme. “Yourmoms just got me pregnant with a 100 percent incest-free child, much like all of my past children who have been robbed from me by the icy, wicked hands of death. Again I reiterate, Yourmoms, a person to whom I am not even tangentially related, is the father of my child. For the love of the Gods, I bet most of you didn’t even know he existed until now, which is why I am confident you all believe our love is strong and true. To be clear: none of my siblings got me pregnant this time; nor have they ever, least of all Lemme, who, I suggest, should stop rubbing my belly and whispering, ‘Don’t worry, papa’s here,’ while I am saying all of this.”