Lame of Thrones

by The Harvard Lampoon

  Dennys flew to Cervix, hovering as best she could in front of her balcony, which meant she was rising and falling ten to twenty feet in the air every second with the flapping of Dragun’s wings. The result of this continuous up-and-down motion was that everything Dennys said to Cervix was constantly fluctuating in both volume and pitch.

  “CERvix, it’s the END of the LINE,” said Dennys as Cervix strained her neck, rapidly looking up and down to follow her. “THE city IS rinGING the bells. THEY SURRender. NOW IT’S time YOU surrenDER! I’VE won.”

  Cervix knew the Dragon Queen was right, but she didn’t want to admit it.

  “Fine,” said Cervix, knowing she was out of options. “I slur blenders.”

  “What?” shouted Dennys, landing on the balcony. “You have to say the actual words. Say you surrender.” To prove that she would accept nothing but the correct verbiage, Dennys unleashed another devastating stream of fire from Dragun upon the city.

  “I did,” said Cervix, darting her eyes around. “I stir tenders.”

  “You can’t just say stuff that sounds like ‘surrender.’ That’s not a loophole that stops you from having to surrender.”

  “What loophole?” asked Cervix, unconvincingly pretending like that wasn’t her plan. “I told you already: I blur gender!”

  Dragun burned down another section of the Strip.

  “Fine! Yes! I was trying to use a loophole. I spur vendors! Happy?”

  Another five neighborhoods set ablaze.

  “Say it. Say ‘I surrender.’”

  “You surrender?” asked Cervix, feeling very smart. “Well, if you insist!”

  “Okay, no,” said Dennys. “Stop trying these little tricks. I have a dragon and burned your entire city down. This is purely symbolic.”

  “Ugghhh,” moaned Cervix. She knew Dennys had won. “I don’t even care! I surrender. I never wanted to be queen anyway. This city sucks ass, and Westopolis is horseshit. The Pointy Chair isn’t fun to sit in. Now put your dragon to rest.”

  A dark, menacing smirk came across Dennys’s face. “Very good. That wasn’t so hard, was it? Well, I’m off to continue melting the city,” announced Dennys.

  “No! You promised! What point is there in further destroying a city that’s now your own?!” pleaded Cervix.

  “Sorry, dear, but promises are like similes. They don’t always hold.” Dennys then whispered to herself, “Come to think of it, why should I continue burning the Strip?” She pondered for a moment. “I’m not a quitter? Yeah, sure. I’m Dennys Grandslam, and I never quit!” Dennys mounted Dragun and took off into the sky, this time as queen.

  All the hate and pride in Cervix’s life began to transform toward the one goal of making it out of this situation alive. And then her goal of making it out of this situation alive began to transform into the goal of having sex with her brother one last time. Cervix ran to give the Pointy Chair one last kiss before leaving to find Lemme. To spite Dennys, she also decided to lick the chair. Immediately Cervix cut her tongue on the swords but kept licking and cutting her tongue until every inch of the chair was covered in her saliva and every inch of her tongue was covered in stab wounds. Cervix crouched down and carved her initials into the bottom of the chair, right under the heart that said “Ser Wensley + Jenny the Prostitute Forever” and just next to the “Winter Sucks!” carving and just above the carving of a busty she-dragon.

  As Dennys continued her rampage and Cervix began her descent of the Red Queef’s massive staircase, Lemme found his way inside through a second hole entrance at the bottom of the palace. He lusted after Cervix, making his way deeper and deeper into the bowels of his former home. Smoke and dust from the crumbling building obscured his vision, as did the fact that his eyes and whole head were made of solid gold. To navigate, Lemme figured out that he could continually slap himself in the face, making a nice ringy-dingy noise against the metal to echolocate throughout the premises.

  But such smacking attracted none other than Yourmoms Playboy, who had washed ashore when Dennys’s army defeated him and the Ironic Fleet. If Yourmoms was going to die, he was going to bully Lemme one last time and get in some final taunts and barbs.

  “Oy there, Goldilocks, you wanna piece of me?” shouted Yourmoms, as he cut off his own ear and threw it at Lemme. Clang! It hit Lemme’s shiny metal head.

  “What? Who goes there!” Lemme greatly increased the frequency of his head smacking to improve his echolocating capabilities.

  “I said.… OY THERE, Goldilocks, you wanna PIECE of ME?!” Yourmoms doubled down, cutting off another one of his ears, becoming mostly deaf in the process. CLANG! He chucked it at Lemme; it hit him smack in the temple and let out the perfect ring. With that, Lemme was able to get a picture-perfect echolocated snapshot of his surroundings for a brief second.

  And that was all he needed.

  Lemme stabbed himself with a dagger and started squirting out a giant pool of blood, which he pushed Yourmoms into. It was gross. It was sticky. And it had Hep C. Yourmoms kept slipping and sliding around in the blood like a fool, humiliated.

  Yourmoms used the stream of blood to slip ’n’ slide down the corridors of the Red Queef at breakneck speed, breaking his neck in the process.

  “Try and catch me now, pretty boy!” shouted Yourmoms. He zipped and zoomed around crumbling corridors like a bloody penguin, somehow still alive. Thinking quickly, Lemme painted a realistic-looking tunnel to outside onto one of the walls of the palace. Yourmoms promptly slid himself into it headfirst. His thick skull smashed through dozens of meters of bricks, causing further structural instability to the already crumbling palace. He was dazed, but he wouldn’t give up on getting some great last insults in on Lemme. Using a dull brick, Yourmoms carved a slit down the side of his thigh and removed his femur with his bare hands.

  “Look!” shouted Yourmoms, sloppily throwing his femur at Lemme. “Now I can say I’ve boned Cervix and Lemme Bangsister!”

  “Oof,” groaned Lemme. “That was really bad.”

  “Yeah, Goldilocks, I made sweet, sugary love to your Bangsister sister. I poured syrup all over our bodies, and then we feasted on the pancake of the flesh.” Yourmoms said all of this standing on the last leg of his life, tibia in hand.

  Lemme knew what he said must be true. Cervix was a sucker for all things sweet—and umami. He had to win this battle, for love.

  “Oh yeah? Well I took her to Philadelphia on vacation and got a honeymoon suite. You wanna know why?” asked Lemme.

  Lemme got in real close, all up in Yourmoms’s stuff, and with 0.01 decibels said, “Because it’s the city of BROTHERLY fucking LOVE.”

  “The only reason your moldy face can get a room with her is because you shared a womb with her. She wants a man like me, one with guts.” Yourmoms lifted his shirt and began cutting open his stomach to reveal his innards.

  “Oof, your guts smell really bad, man.”

  “Oh yeah?” shouted a dizzy Yourmoms, barely able to stand. “Well… my penis is uh, big! Bigger than yours!” he said, going for the cheap shot and miraculously making out words as his ear holes dumped out blood.

  “What? That’s not even a joke.”

  “Hm… um, okay. I had uh, um, I fucked your sister!” shouted Yourmoms as if he had just said something very clever.

  “Yeah, I know. None of these are good burns.”

  “You uh, um, okay, I got this… YOU had sex with your sister?”

  “You’re just saying facts.”

  “My uh, oh this is good, hmm, yes, oh okay. MY HEAD, hurts?”

  Lemme had heard enough. He smashed his head into Yourmoms’s. Yourmoms let out a blood-curdling scream as he fell to the ground, suddenly realizing that because he’d had sex with Cervix and Lemme had also had sex with Cervix, then by the transitive property, they’d had sex with each other. Yourmoms thought he was way out of Lemme’s league.

  Smashing his golden head into Yourmoms had given Lemme a perfect gong-like noise with which he was able to e
cholocate through the entire Red Queef. Through all the walls, halls, and chambers, Lemme was able to get a perfect position on Cervix. Latitude: 50.618952°, Longitude: 165.986255°, forty-four feet above sea level.

  Lemme gave a final glance at his mangled rival and spoke words that would echo throughout the course of humankind: “I’m gonna go do incest with my sister.”

  Lemme sprinted out the door as Yourmoms, on the verge of death, screamed the last insult he’d ever utter.

  “Ummm, I… uhhh, you’re a big fat—no, wait, okay, you’re sooo—no that doesn’t make sense, hmm, wait,” said Yourmoms. And then Yourmoms closed his eyes forever. Minutes later, he had it: “You are a big fat.” He died content.

  Lemme navigated the halls of the Red Queef, screaming for Cervix.

  Cervix reached the bottom of the massive spiral staircase, distraught. She always thought there were 1,890 steps, but there were… 1,892?

  As she began to climb back up the stairs for a recount, Lemme called out.

  “Cervix!”

  She turned around to see a battered form of the man she had always loved.

  “Lemme?” her eyes filled with tears, mostly because of the dust in the wake of the building collapsing.

  The two siblings embraced, holding each other as the Red Queef continued to collapse. Bricks, anvils, and pianos fell from what felt like the sky but was actually the brick, anvil, piano, and banana peel storage room collapsing one floor above them.

  A doorway to the wide-open courtyard where they’d be safe from the building collapse was mere feet away. Both Bangsisters wanted to run through it, but neither wanted to ruin the moment, so they stood still and kept making out.

  Cervix leaned in to give her war-torn brother a final, parting kiss.

  “Until we meet again, death makes us all into children once more,” muttered Cervix, as she closed her eyes for the big finale.

  Lemme moved his head in way too fast, knocking Cervix hard on the noggin and chipping a few of her teeth.

  “Ah! Sorry,” he said.

  With a toothy smile, Cervix tried again: “And now, with this kiss, my beauty will sleep forever.”

  Cervix took the lead this time, leaning in to suck her brother’s big, shiny metal face.

  ZAP! A huge arc of electric current shot from Lemme’s lips to Cervix’s. All that running around with Yourmoms had built up a formidable amount of static electricity.

  More pianos and anvils fell from the upper levels of the Red Queef, trapping the lovers inside a stony, musical tomb. Cervix was fried but gave it one more go.

  “Our… our love is like a zoo: enclosed, animalistic, fucked up. Now, kiss me.”

  Lemme leaned in. This time nothing could interrupt them. They both gave each other a mediocre last kiss with way too much tongue.

  And with that, the Red Queef let out its final sigh, collapsing fully to the ground, delighting the Bangsisters with the shared smooch of death.

  Beerion

  Beerion drunkenly stumbled through the Strip as the city came crumbling down on top of him. His plan was simple: get to the tavern and jump inside a glass of ale. Dragonfire can’t burn me if I’m swimming in a glass of ale, he thought. I’ll be safe inside the beer. And more importantly, I’ll be drunk. Wait a second… Beerion earnestly checked his face and then down his body with both hands. I am drunk! Good, good.

  Beerion scurried around the corner, and at last he saw it in all its smelly glory: the tavern, Ye New Taverne. Safety and alcohol were in reach. But before he could get there, something caught his attention. Holy shit, thought Beerion, as he watched dozens of naked whores panically sprint through the street. The brothel must have fallen. Beerion wiped a tear from his eye. The city is truly lost.

  But then, something more important caught Beerion’s eye. Lengths above, on a tenth-floor balcony of the Red Queef, directly across the street from the tavern where Beerion hid, two freakishly large men were fighting each other. The Freakishly Large Fighting Men wing of the brothel must’ve fallen too, Beerion thought dismally. Unless… it’s only the Clown and the Building?

  The Clown shoved his sword through his brother’s chest. “That’s for not letting me play with your toy when we were kids!” Then he shoved a dagger through the Building’s head. “And that’s for burning my face in a fire when I played with it anyway!” Then he shoved a third dagger into his stomach. “And that’s as much as we know about our character arcs!”

  The Building calmly removed all three blades from his body, unaffected. “You mean this toy?” he shouted, reaching into his armor and pulling out a jack-in-the-box. He began to furiously wind it while holding it as high up above his head as he could.

  “Quit it!” said the Clown, hopping up and down and flailing his arms as the toy’s music taunted his ears. “I want a turn! I deserve a turn!” The Clown jumped higher and higher, but he couldn’t reach the toy. “Eh, eh, eh,” he whined as he jumped. “Come! On!” He couldn’t do it. The music from the toy suddenly halted as the jack popped out of the box. The Clown pounded his fists on the ground. “This is not fair!”

  “Haw! Haw! Haw!” snickered the Building in his low evil laugh as he began to pet the toy. “What a lovely toy it is that I have to myself.”

  The Clown began to turn red as his body filled with rage. He couldn’t take this much longer.

  “Oh yes, it is so sweet to have my special box in which Jack is inside,” said the Building. “Such a wonderful bliss I receive when he surprises me by popping out into our world.”

  That was all the Clown could stand of this torture. He stood up and began to speak. “It’s… my… TURRRRRRRRRRNNNNNN!!!!!!!” The Clown took off at full speed, charging at his brother. When the Clown’s body made contact with the Building’s, he was going so fast and with such passion that it sent them both flying over the balcony while wrapped in each other’s arms. The two behemoths fell identically to how Voldemort and Harry fell in each other’s arms in the nearly exactly parallel yet legally distinct scene from Deathly Hallows Part 2. I, George R. R. Martin, have never seen that movie of course, and I also had the idea first.

  Oh shit shit shit, thought Beerion. Not the tavern. Not the tavern! Land anywhere but the tavern. Their trajectory was forming a perfect arc toward the tavern just in front of Beerion.

  As they soared further and further downward, the two juggernauts of men continued to get hits in on each other for the last time ever.

  “No choking!” shouted the Clown. “No choking! I’m telling mom!” He kicked his brother in the nuts.

  “Owwwww! Off limits! No balls!” said the Building, pulling the Clown’s hair.

  “Hair puller! Hair puller!”

  “Nut kicker! Nut kicker!”

  “I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you!” they shouted in unison, as their combined eight hundred pounds of body mass fell closer and closer to the load-bearing roof of the tavern until—CRASH!—it was over.

  Beerion couldn’t believe his eyes. There on the ground in front of him—right out of the sky—had fallen an unopened six pack. The Gods are good, he slurred in his head. Beerion set to work devouring the cans—beer and all. It wasn’t until the fifth can of beer that he realized he wasn’t getting any drunker. O’Doulio’s Non-Alcoholic Beer?! This can’t be. No. No. No. Beerion panicked as his vision started clearing up and his judgment became sound again. He hadn’t had a real drink in minutes, and if he didn’t find one soon, his BAC might drop dangerously below seven.

  Desperate, Beerion started digging around in the ruins of the Strip. For a while all he could find was mountains of gold jewelry and gemstones, all of which he kicked to the side since he wasn’t a little girl. Eventually he unearthed a small flask, but when he opened it he found it only contained water from the Fountain of Youth—not even a single drop of Fireball. He threw it over his shoulder and cursed. For the first time in years, he felt like he could spell his own name. This made him curse harder and more coherently than ever. He kicked the
biggest stone that his six-inch frame allowed him to—and underneath that pebble he found a person.

  “Finally! Help has arrived!” shouted the man who was buried beneath the pebble.

  Beerion was confused. He was sure he knew that voice, but he had no idea from where. He gave up on trying to recognize the man’s face, as it appeared to be sliced in half vertically. “Who are you? Do I know you from a tavern somewhere?”

  “Oh, m’lord, I know many people across Westopolis. Why, I was just completing a tour of the continent when I ran into this girl up north who…”

  The man droned on, and Beerion eagerly awaited the part of his story where he would reveal that he was the owner of the biggest tavern in Westopolis and that he had hidden away hundreds of casks of wine in the little spaces in his body where he’d been split in half, just waiting to be given to the man who dug him up from the rubble.

  “… and then I managed to crawl down to the Strip, but just as I made it to the hospital it exploded in front of me! Oh, m’lord, I thought I was going to die under all that rubble. Jolly good of you to rescue me and all—”

  As the cold winds of sobriety blew away the last sweet clouds of Beerion’s drunkenness, he suddenly remembered who this guy was. “Oh. It’s just you. Ed Sheeran.” Disappointed, Beerion tossed the pebble back on top of Ed, killing him instantly.

  Beerion moved on to another pile of rubble, hoping he’d have better luck there. He moved a large stone and unearthed a young boy whose face he thought he recognized.

  “Hallelujah! I’m saved!” yelled the boy, who had a small slice across his throat and was covered in non-life-threatening cuts. “Thank goodness, now I can go back to looking for my family—”

  “Spare me the story and just tell me your name,” said Beerion, rubbing his eyes as he adjusted to not seeing double.

  “My name’s Rickety—Rickety Snark. I’m one of the Snarks of Wintersmells—”

  Beerion lost interest. Not only did this kid definitely not have alcohol, but he couldn’t even bother to come up with the name of one of the actual Snarks. Beerion tossed the stone back on top of the lying boy, as well as a few more stones when the first failed to kill him. As Beerion was walking away, he was hit by a realization. “Wait a minute—‘Rickety Snark’…” Beerion turned back to the pile of rocks. “That boy… had the dumbest fake name I’ve ever heard!” Beerion started laughing. He laughed harder than he had in years. He fell to the ground and rolled around, flailing his little arms and kicking his little feet. He laughed so hard he got light-headed and started seeing stars. He was loving this. He almost felt drunk again.