In which our hero learns the dangers of an abundance of alliterations…Read Episode 3 here
—4—
The niceties of taunting vary with the situation one finds oneself in. For example, if one’s goal is to goad one’s enemy into a rash decision, one might catapult a cow after several successful taunts have disheartened one’s opponent to the point where they have no taunts left. Braggadocio is ballsy but be careful when death is on the line: one never knows when one’s adversary has built up an immunity to iocane powder!
Vulgarity works best when one can string together multiple low brow words that all rhyme: “You lewd, crude, rude, bag of pre-chewed food, dude!” is an excellent example. However, vulgarity is most aptly implemented when taunting pre-teen boys (or those whose sense of humor revolves around various forms of the word “poop”). The goal is to leave one’s opponent speechless and gain unanimous audience adoration, which is best done through base consonance and a glut of grossness.
In a true test of taunting adroitness, outhouse humor is best left for final blows when one’s opponent is on the ropes and the crowd is ready to chant one’s name. Building up to that point requires badinages and bon-mots more sophisticated than the barbs and brickbats of one’s antagonist.
Nevertheless, the primary nicety of taunting is one’s ability to alliterate one’s insults. While there is a bit of catchiness to “Your mother wears army boots,” it is rather passé and does not even rhyme, let alone alliterate.
A recent, very pretty painting of Queen Meredith’s castle…minus the daisies and buttercups!
“Your mother wears army boots!” shouted Gremnik from his position amidst the daises on the opposite side of the capacious roadway. Our rather small audience (at this point, no more than our compatriots) groaned, proving my point. I smirked, planted my meaty hands on my manly hips, and thrust my chest forward so that my shiny armor sparkled and shimmered. Unfortunately, standing amidst a field of buttercups as I did on my side of the capacious roadway took away much of the noble and virile effect I had hoped for.
“A brigade of boots borne by a battalion of bugbears cannot help you with your mommy issues, Gremmy!”
The crowd applauded lightly. Obviously, my opening salvo was not as powerful a taunt as I’d hoped, but one should see my point about the importance of alliteration. Still, I would have to improve my insults if I hoped to triumph.
Gremnik rolled his fat blue lips back and forth as he considered his next salvo. He couldn’t afford another weak vituperation. However, one of the key niceties of taunting is the rapidity of one’s response. A plethora of pregnant pauses places one in a precarious position. Then his beady eyes narrowed and he smiled wickedly.
“Your stupid sword–if you can even call such a shoddy, substandard slice of steel—is barely sharp enough to shave stubble…” He took one step forward. “…off a woman!”
Gasps followed by more-than-polite applause followed. I frowned. Gremnik’s salvo had topped mine. I had to think fast.
Lady Belinda clasped my shoulder with comradely support and I stood tall.
“Your bulbous blue belly bounces like a baby’s bassinet when it’s bellowing for its bottle!” I disseminated rather proudly.
Unfortunately, most the witnesses did not applaud. Instead, they scratched their chins, quizzical looks on their faces. Clearly, my word picture had failed to convey the intended insult.
Roderick, on the other hand, guffawed morosely. If it had not dawned on me previously, it did now. My wizardly compatriot is an odd man. However, several of the others now chuckled oddly, as if trying to impart they had grasped my intended imagery and I allowed myself the tiniest of smiles.
Gremnik grimaced. “Don’t know what you all are chuckling about. Sir Chippy is so ugly his mama took one look at his face and immediately traded him for the neighbor’s rat!”
Gremnik’s thugs howled with laughter. My compatriots tried to keep a straight face but hid their mouths behind their hands. After several seconds, my second finally lowered her hand.
“Foul! Gremnik’s taunt uses neither alliteration nor rhyme!”
“Hah!” the foul blue-skinned man laughed rudely. “You all laughed. I’m winning!”
My snappy comeback died on my lips for, at that very moment, the castle gates creaked loudly as they swung open in a rather ponderous manner. We all turned to stare as two dozen blazingly white destriers pranced lightly towards us. Astride all but three gleamed tall knights in shining, virile armor. The visors of their silvery helms were all up, revealing dazzlingly handsome faces. Plumes of golden feathers erupted from the top of each helm and the lances each knight held at perfect right angles were uniformly long and pointy.
Be that as it may, this vision of virile manliness was eclipsed by the sight of the other three riders all dressed in gold lame. The first, to my astonishment, was as handsome a slab of manly muscle as I’d ever witnessed right down to the superbly square jaw and the carefully coiffured chestnut hair and goatee. Even from this distance, his sullen blue eyes blazed so brightly even my dauntless knees trembled. It was no wonder Princess Mary had said ‘yes’ to this heroic hunk of beefcake perfection!
All that said, Prince Jack was a distant third compared to the other two riders, both of whom sat sidesaddle astride their mares. In my (admittedly limited) years of experience as a distressed damsel deliverer, I have seen a variety of visions of loveliness from princesses who would look better as toads to serving wenches who should have been princesses. To witness two exquisite beauties so divine was unparalleled. Not even Knights For Dummies could prepare one for such a sight.
An amazingly life-like artist’s rendering of Queen Meredith. Few oils have ever appeared so lifelike!
Queen Meredith was the definition of stately elegance: regal black hair piled beneath an elegant golden crown, pearlescent marble-white skin that shone brighter than her golden gown, and luscious lips so rosy as to make rubies dull in comparison. Next to her rode the soon-to-be-legendary Princess Mary. The amount of adjectives required to convey her beauty would require a poem of epic nature. One can only start a tally:
I Form of a goddess II Gently tanned skin III Flowing golden tresses IIII Kissable scarlet lips IIII Heart-shaped face IIII I Eyes of a doe IIII II Never-ending legs IIII III Dainty hands
Obviously, this is only the beginning of the list one could compile, but it should help one understand why a thousand suitors had already sought Princess Mary’s dainty hand.
Lady Belinda slammed her hand on my chest with a glare.
“Stop that thing from thudding!” she hissed, and I gulped. I had not realized my inflamed knightly heart was causing my armor to bang as loudly as a drumline battle. Fortunately, all other masculine eyes in the vicinity were wholly focused on the two feminine figures who approached with surprising rapidity. I had no success despite my desperate efforts.
Unfortunately, both lovely royals realized as soon as they drew close how loudly our hearts were thumping and rolled their eyes.
Fortunately, the queen did not order her knights to chop off our heads.
Unfortunately, she chose to taunt us.
“What is this?” she cooed sarcastically in her low, sultry voice. “Nine idiots pretending to taunt?”
Eight of us heaved heavy sighs. With a voice like that, Queen Meredith could have sung in any tavern she wanted. Lady Belinda, however, snorted and pointed her cigarillo at the queen.
“If we were on MNG, you’d be betting on us instead of taunting us!”
Queen Meredith’s eyebrows rose. Princess Mary’s jaw dropped. Prince Jack turned ashen. The tall knights in shining, virile armor all aimed their long, pointy lances at Lady Belinda and myself. I groaned.
For the first time since I’d met my compatriot, Lady Belinda’s face reddened and she curtsied. Attempted to, I should restate. It was the clumsiest curtsy from a female-type person I had ever witnessed, aided as it was by her sword entangling her long legs.
When she finally managed to regain her balance (albeit without her cigarillo, which now lay smoldering atop a buttercup), it was the third time I’d ever heard her stammer.
“Uhm, I mean, your majesty, uhm, milady, uhm…”
As her voice trailed off, her panicked-yet-irritated face turned towards mine. There are many terms in different languages to express this look, but in the common tongue, the most common term is known as ‘WTF’. As in “What the Fruitcake just happened to me?” (Actually, in Eleshi cultures, “What the Fudge?” is the preferred slang term while in Neitos it stands for “What the Fish sticks?” The truly vulgar version, as used in The Blackmore Tavern, most often comes out as a variation of “What the Fried dumplings?” or “What the Fried tomato?”)
At that moment, all irritation dissolved into additional panic on Lady Belinda’s face. She had just learned how sharp the lance tip of those handsome knights could be, as blood suddenly trickled down her neck. She dared not wipe it away, since the aforementioned tip still threatened to do more than prick her skin, hovering as it was just beneath her chin.
“Shall we cut off her head, my queen?” asked the handsome knight who held the lance, his voice rather emotionless. I suppose, even though one is handsome enough to pose for the current edition of the Fireman’s Calendar (even though one is a mere knight), one may grow complacent when surrounded by two dozen equally virile knights. The challenge of maintaining one’s beefcake status must be all the more wearisome when said status is simply status quo.
“Oh, mother,” groused Prince Jack, “Not again!” As he moaned, he heaved his manly chest so mightily that his gold lame suit sparkled, blinding us momentarily. As my eyes recovered, I realized for the first time both how forlorn he seemed and how farcical his suit appeared. Small wonder, since no man—even if one is a singer of some repute—should be subjected to such a outfit. Unfortunately, once seen in such a light, such a sight cannot be unseen. Even today the memory still haunts me.
“What would you have us do?” she purred, her voice so slinky and sultry I feared my kneecaps would shatter from trembling, despite the obvious bloodlust bubbling just below the words.
“They are mere mercenaries, mother,” he replied with a dismissive wave. “Just send them on their way.”
“Mere mercenarwees?” screeched Princess Mary. “Dose men ahh gonna make sure youse shows up at our weddin’!”
I covered my ears the moment words exploded from her luscious lips. How could such a beautiful woman squawk as loudly as a gaggle of geese fighting for the best spot at the pond? All of a sudden, my collection of Princess Mary oils seemed far less valuable, and I wondered how many of the thousand suitors she’d actually rejected and how many had run the opposite direction upon hearing her strident tones. Press releases, it seems, really do drastically inflate the truth in order to inflame the ego of certain celebrities.
Ummm, yeah, this was borrowed from a commercial site…click to visit the page… (but, still, you can see why Mary had had a thousand suitors!)
My eyes flickered between the three nobles and I questioned my acceptance of this quest. There is a reason why I usually draw the line when rescuing damsels in distress to those who do not hold a royal title. Princesses always turn out to be ogres in disguise, whether literally or figuratively, and Princess Mary was no exception. Her morose fiance and his bloodthirsty stepmother did nothing to dissuade my theory that nobles are nothing but trouble and only the greediest of bastards would accept their fees, no matter how inflated.
“Ugh,” I sighed heavily, wishing I was not such a greedy bastard. Unfortunately, heavy sighs are generally heard by everyone.
Hint #2: Never sigh heavily unless one wants to draw attention to oneself.
Hint #3: Follow one’s own advice.
Unfortunately, on this day I ignored both Hints 2 and 3, resulting in all eyes turning my direction. I gave Lady Belinda my own “WTF” look, although I believe mine was filled with futile annoyance.
“Maybe we should cut off all their heads,” susurrated the queen. I briefly pondered how such an astonishingly beautiful woman could make bloodlust sound like satin and silk.
“Please, mother,” groused Prince Jack. He pointed at me and my compatriots. “These are the mercenaries I hired to save me from a lifetime of listening to that voice!”
“And not my mercenarwees!” caterwauled Princess Mary, her dainty finger jabbing at Gremnik and his cohorts. “Dey are mine ta do with as I pleeze!”
“Hmmmm.” The queen studied us all, her long sensuous digits tapping the horn of her saddle. Her blazing blue eyes focused on Lady Belinda until my compatriot’s cheeks reddened for the second time.
“We think,” the queen said suddenly, “that this sell sword is not amiss when she claims MNG is the proper fate they shall face.”
“Not another taunting!” decried Gremnik. “How much of Sir Roger’s hyperbole must I endure?”
“A taunting?” the queen murmured. “How droll. No, we shall have a proper dual, a dance to the death in which whoever survives shall determine the fate of my son and the princess!”
Comments