The Trilogy Concludes
Headbutthine.
And now, ladies and chaps and those of unbeknownst denominations, I present to thee the conclusion of thy story. When we last lefteth Lord Jeremy the Poor and Sir Richard the Cash-Strapped, thy heroes had justeth climbed a hill, and blah blah blah, thy remember the resteth.
Onward our heroes pushed, bravely trudging forth to the Field of Fed-Ex. Off in the distance, what do our heroes see but two more brave knights, halted at what appears to be an ice cream trucketh. And ho ho ho, what are thine purchasing but.... Confectioners sugar?
No, good listeners, thine two knights were purchasing substances of an illegal trade! In a mass effort to rid the world of powdered donuts, thine knights werth buying all of the delicious white powder, leaving us only to purchase regular cake donuts.
Okay, that waseth a lie. Our heroes were witnessing a drug deal. Two guys saideth, "what's up", our heroes respondeth with the same, and onward they trudged. It was kind of creepy if thy asketh me.....
ONWARD our heroes walked, surely knowing that the Field of Fed-Ex. By the grace of Poseidon's beard, there it was! The Field of Fed-Ex, decked out in all it's green and purple glory. Magnificent!
Except our heroes underestimated what lie in store for them.
What lie in store for them, you ask? It was a trap.
Many thousands of years ago, Dark Emperor Turbiathan ruled the world with thine iron fist. A thousand years ago, after narrowly losing the popular vote, Turbiathan wenteth into hiding, vowing redemption and spite. Now, longing to take down the heirs of thine voters who refused to cast a ballot, Dark Emperor Surpreme Turbiathan stood at the Field of Fed-Ex, having promised two young knights, Lord Jeremy the Foolish and Sir Richard the Dumb fame, adulation, and cake.
"Aha, young knights and decendants of those who refused to cast a ballot, be struck down by my iron fist of plenty!" screamed Dark Emperor Exaultant Supreme Turbiathan as he prepared to smite our two brave heroes.
"Huh?" responded Sir Richard the Confounded. "Vote?"
"You mean your ancestors never votedeth?"
"No. Hey, we're tired since we walked for three fricking hours. Can we get a beer?" asked Lord Jeremy the Realistic.
"Oh, yeah, sure, there's a little tailgating thing going on over at my car. Sorry about the whole iron fist of plenty and smiting thing, I thought for sure you guys were the descendants of my sworn enemies. You guys want some chips?" And with that Dark Emperor Exhaultant Surpreme Commander Turbiathan openedeth up the trunk of his car, from which protruded much beer, much more chips, and seats aplenty.
Lord Jeremy the Exhausted and Sir Richard the Dead-tired rejoiced, for they had conquered their journey to the Field of Fed-Ex, and could finally sit down. And with that, ladies and chaps and those of unbeknownst denominations, I shall quiteth plucking thine lute, and bid ye farewell. Checks and money orders for my performance may be senteth to the address on the right.
K bye.
And now, ladies and chaps and those of unbeknownst denominations, I present to thee the conclusion of thy story. When we last lefteth Lord Jeremy the Poor and Sir Richard the Cash-Strapped, thy heroes had justeth climbed a hill, and blah blah blah, thy remember the resteth.
Onward our heroes pushed, bravely trudging forth to the Field of Fed-Ex. Off in the distance, what do our heroes see but two more brave knights, halted at what appears to be an ice cream trucketh. And ho ho ho, what are thine purchasing but.... Confectioners sugar?
No, good listeners, thine two knights were purchasing substances of an illegal trade! In a mass effort to rid the world of powdered donuts, thine knights werth buying all of the delicious white powder, leaving us only to purchase regular cake donuts.
Okay, that waseth a lie. Our heroes were witnessing a drug deal. Two guys saideth, "what's up", our heroes respondeth with the same, and onward they trudged. It was kind of creepy if thy asketh me.....
ONWARD our heroes walked, surely knowing that the Field of Fed-Ex. By the grace of Poseidon's beard, there it was! The Field of Fed-Ex, decked out in all it's green and purple glory. Magnificent!
Except our heroes underestimated what lie in store for them.
What lie in store for them, you ask? It was a trap.
Many thousands of years ago, Dark Emperor Turbiathan ruled the world with thine iron fist. A thousand years ago, after narrowly losing the popular vote, Turbiathan wenteth into hiding, vowing redemption and spite. Now, longing to take down the heirs of thine voters who refused to cast a ballot, Dark Emperor Surpreme Turbiathan stood at the Field of Fed-Ex, having promised two young knights, Lord Jeremy the Foolish and Sir Richard the Dumb fame, adulation, and cake.
"Aha, young knights and decendants of those who refused to cast a ballot, be struck down by my iron fist of plenty!" screamed Dark Emperor Exaultant Supreme Turbiathan as he prepared to smite our two brave heroes.
"Huh?" responded Sir Richard the Confounded. "Vote?"
"You mean your ancestors never votedeth?"
"No. Hey, we're tired since we walked for three fricking hours. Can we get a beer?" asked Lord Jeremy the Realistic.
"Oh, yeah, sure, there's a little tailgating thing going on over at my car. Sorry about the whole iron fist of plenty and smiting thing, I thought for sure you guys were the descendants of my sworn enemies. You guys want some chips?" And with that Dark Emperor Exhaultant Surpreme Commander Turbiathan openedeth up the trunk of his car, from which protruded much beer, much more chips, and seats aplenty.
Lord Jeremy the Exhausted and Sir Richard the Dead-tired rejoiced, for they had conquered their journey to the Field of Fed-Ex, and could finally sit down. And with that, ladies and chaps and those of unbeknownst denominations, I shall quiteth plucking thine lute, and bid ye farewell. Checks and money orders for my performance may be senteth to the address on the right.
K bye.
posted by Rich @ 4:42 PM
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