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Member
Join Date: Jan 2008
Posts: 11
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Twenty-Four Hours in the Life of King Fifty
I sit up the instant I wake up, as I do every morning when the first ray of sun makes contact with My face. A split second later and I’m out of the covers and standing, though still on the bed. I jump on My bed seven times and do a triple backflip (I have very high ceilings) and land on My feet. Then out the door to the balcony! I leap up and stand on the railing, balancing there as I survey My domain far, far below.
I extend My mighty arm out in front and to the side, curling My magnificent fingers inward. I point My royal thumb toward Myself and thrust it into My sacred chest, which I am puffing out as far as it will go. I then re-extend My mighty arm as far as it will go and repeat this motion thirty-nine times, making forty. I do this so that all My subjects can behold Me and talk amongst themselves about how awesome I am.
I beat My chest and roar like a pelican, then step down from the railing and take the elevator down to the ground floor. It takes half an hour to get there because My house is the Tallest building in the world. Before heading to my banquet hall for My royal breakfast feast I go and open My front door, where I find Chowlie asleep, curled up in a ball under a pile of straw. No one else will let him sleep on their doorstep, because he is old and stinky and has tarantulas in his beard, but I in My infinite compassion allow him to sleep here as long as he leaves the moment I command him to. And so I say unto him:
ME: Chowlie. Chowlie, get up, Chowlie. You can’t stay here, Chowlie.
Chowlie groans and stirs a bit but does not get up. I go back inside and carry out a machine I invented to hurt Chowlie. It’s custom-designed to cause Chowlie, specifically, the maximum amount of hurting possible in all the exact places that he, personally, least likes to be hurt. He gets hurt and runs away, and I go back inside to eat. My peen poin Walter dragon meets Me at the door.
“Good morning, Your royal Tallness,” he says unto Me, “You are smart, strong, and interesting, and You are very, very Tall. And I am just a lowly peen poin Walter dragon who is stupid and gay.”
ME: Ah, yes, it is true, I am indeed extremely Tall.
“I have had the robots prepare Your royal breakfast, my liege. It is a tremendous feast of roast wizard, quail cabbage, and grape on the cob, with mead and Snapple™ to drink.”
ME: Ah, good, I love quail cabbage. Throw the rest of it into the garbage and bring Me only that, please, with a bowl of candy and soda pop. I’ll take it in the play room.
“Yes, Your Tallness.”
ME: O, and go hose down the front porch. I had to hurt Chowlie again, and I’m expecting company.
I turn and enter the play room, where I have crucified three zombies.
“Good morning, Your royal Tallness,” they say in unison unto Me, “You are smart, strong, and interesting, and You are very, very Tall. And we are just three lowly zombies who stupid and gay.”
ME: Ah, yes, it is true, I am indeed extremely Tall. You smell especially horrid today.
I pull up a chair to the billiards table which I have set up directly in front of their crosses and stare at them in silence as I wait for My food.
“Umm… Your Tallness?” one of them dares to interrupt My musings.
ME: I… am… THINKING!!!
“Sorry.”
I let some time elapse.
ME: Okay. I’m done now. What was it you wanted to ask Me?
“Umm… well, we were just wondering, umm, that is to say, we were wondering if You were-”
ME: Ah, here it is!
I take the food from My peen poin Walter dragon and set it on the billiards table in front of Me.
ME: I love, love, love quail cabbage! Oh, how I do! Now, where were We?
“Umm… uh… we, uh, we wanted to know, umm-”
ME: You may go now, slave.
My peen poin Walter dragon leaves and closes the door behind him.
“Uh… we were just wondering, Your Tallness, if today You were going to do like You said and… uh… You know?
ME: Hmm… No. No, I am afraid that I do not.
“You said that today You were going to chop off our heads!” blurts out another of the zombies. He then shrinks back in horror.
ME: O?
“Err, yes,” says the third. “You said that on Friday You were going to chop off our heads so that we could die. Today is Friday.”
I stare at him, expressionless.
“You… You said that You would. You promised.”
I take a large piece of quail cabbage and stand up. I climb on top of the table and walk over to that last zombie, until I am inches away from it. I take a large bite of the quail cabbage, ripping it hard with my teeth and hands. I chew. Standing on tip-toe and touching My nose to where its nose used to be, I say this unto him:
ME: Did I now?
It draws its head back, terrified of My majestic, towering frame, and swallows.
“Yes… yes, You did.”
I pause and breath on him for a minute or two, then turn and leap down from the table.
ME: Aha! Ahahahaha! Well, why didn’t you just say so? Come on now, zombies, I can’t be guessing at everything that’s going on in your tiny little minds now, can I? How am I supposed to know what you’re thinking unless you just come out with it from the beginning?
They do not dare respond.
ME: However, I’m not so sure I remember saying that at all. Are you certain that this conversation even took place?
“Err, yes, yes we are. It was six days ago, remember? It was the day before You dressed us up like women, and the day after You dressed us as the Three Stooges.
ME: O? And what did I dress you as on that day?
“Umm… you didn’t. You pretty much just tortured us all day.”
ME: A! Aha! Yes, now I remember! Yes, I do remember saying that to you now! But, tell Me, friends, what in the world makes you think that it’s Friday? How would you, in the state that you’re in, have any way of knowing what day it is? Or even how many days there are in a week, for that matter? You are, after all, only zombies. I have taught you speech and elocution over the years, and I have taught you to sing, but I never taught you that.
“Well we- we overheard You talking to the peen poin Walter dragon four days ago. It had left the door slightly ajar that day and-
ME: O?
“Uh, yes. And- and we heard You telling it to clear Your schedule for the next four days, through Friday. Then, after that, we just looked out the window and counted the sunsets.”
ME: I see. Hmm… Well, King Fifty has always been a man of His word, that is certain and true. Of that there can be no doubt whatsoever. But I wonder-
My peen poin Walter dragon interrupts me.
“Your Tallness, Father William is here to see You.”
ME: Send him off. I can’t be bothered right now. Then come back here when you are done and I’ll let you eat some of My table scraps.
It scuttles off, and I begin My meal.
ME: Alright, so I gave you My word that today I will chop off your heads. So I have promised, and so it shall be. But zombies, there are still many hours left in the day. I think we have time for just one more song, don’t you?
The zombies look at one another and smile and laugh, and noises of gratitude and praise erupt from their throats.
“Right away, Your Tallness!” they exclaim.
My peen poin Walter dragon comes in.
ME: A, you’re just in time! My zombies are about to sing for us.
It curls up at my feet, and I feed it candy and quail cabbage under the table as My zombies begin their song.
I can’t tell you how badly I wish you could hear My zombies sing. Their voices are so beautiful it brings Me to tears every single time. I have a baritone, a tenor, and a soprano. I will include here some of the words of the song that they sing, but you need to picture them singing it slowly, in the most beautiful three-part harmony you‘ve ever heard, okay? Oh, and they also snap their fingers, so picture that, too. Okay? Okay, here it is then:
O, we three zombies pirates be,
And cyborg-ninjas, too
We’ve wrote a song so heavenly
That we shall sing for You
There was a lass from Aberdeen
A bonny lass indeed
With eyes so pure, and hair so clean
It made our eyes to bleed
Her skin it was as woven thread
Her farts they smelled like roses
She wore a mink that wasn’t dead
And diamonds on her toeses
When she would sing we’d all fall prone
So much her voice did ravish us
And she could play the saxophone
Like a goddamn magicus
“O, lady, please” we’d all implore,
“Give us thy queenly hand
That to we zombies may restore
Our honor ‘cross the land!”
As My zombies continue with their song I look down upon My peen poin Walter dragon, who has fallen asleep listening to their beautiful, beautiful voices. I watch it snore contentedly, its belly full of My candy, then place the heel of My boot on its head and crush its skull. I sit back and stare at its body as it twists and squirms, then finally lies still. It would have to have been four billion years old, at least. No bother; I’ll just get a new one. My zombies have stopped singing.
ME: I didn’t say stop.
They just stare.
ME: Hey, don’t stop singing. Keep singing.
They just stare at Me stupidly with their stupid, disgusting faces, blinking their stupid, disgusting eyes.
ME: Keep singing I said!
I hate them so much right now.
ME: That’s it!
I get up and go to get the machine I invented for hurting My zombies. I don’t carry this one, because it’s much to big and dangerous to be carried. It needs to be wheeled out on a large motorized cart I designed for just such a purpose. The reason it’s so big is first of all that there are three of them and I like to be able to hurt them all equally, at the same time, and secondly because you can hurt a zombie much worse without killing it than you can a human being like Chowlie, so more firepower is required. This is the main reason I love zombies so much. They can feel pain just as much as you or I, but they won’t die no matter what you do to them unless you chop off their heads. Sometimes I’ll go all day, and stay up all night, too, just hurting them and hurting them and hurting them. It’s lotsa fun.
I let them have it. I let them have it worse than I ever have before, with everything I’ve got, using options on My machine that I’d never before employed upon them in My infinite compassion. And they scream, my God, do they scream. They scream such beautiful screams, I can’t tell you how much I wish you could hear them. They scream and they scream, and they beg for mercy, beg Me to chop of their heads, but every time I take a short break to catch My breath or rest My arms, they still refuse to finish their song. I let them have it all day long, and up until sunrise the next day, forcing Myself to keep going even though I am so very tired and My arms are so very sore from working the machine so much. Finally I can go no more, falling into My chair and panting and sweating. When I have finally caught My breath I say this unto them:
ME: Well?
Nothing. They stare at Me with their mangled eyes, their mangled faces completely expressionless. I get up and leave them there in their mangledness in complete disgust and close the door behind Me. I shan’t cut off their heads today.
I pour Myself a glass of mead, tell the robots to fix Me a quick feast, and turn on My gigantic television. I sit down and have a nice, full-bellied laugh.
ME: Ahahahahahaha! O, Urkel, you are a character!
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