A Game of Groans: A Sonnet of Slush and Soot

by George R. R. Washington

  “I heard that,” Vladymyr huffed, then spun around and walked right into a Dorki’s hindquarters. Purely on instinct, the Dorki bucked, then kicked Vladymyr in the midsection. He doubled over, sat on the ground, and winced. “Godsdamn it,” he whined. “You got mud all over my suit.”

  Ivan Drago grunted at Loly, then beckoned her to the chuppah. He nodded at the reverend and said, “Ooga booga.”

  The reverend nodded back and agreed, “Ooga booga.” He then turned to the throng of Dorkis and preached, “Booga booga boogity boo! Oonga doonga Ivan Drago bobbity bobbity bobbity Lolyta Targetpractice, Princess of Duckseventually zippity doo dah! Blahbitty blah blah, na na na na, hey hey, giggidy giggidy goo, zabida babida zabida KERBANGER!”

  The crowd then let loose with an almost violent cheer, after which the reverend motioned that Loly and Ivan Drago should kiss. Ivan Drago kneeled down and put his face an inch or two in front of Loly’s, seemingly nervous to make the first move. After an awkward minute, Loly grabbed Ivan Drago’s long ponytail, pulled his head close, and mashed her lips against his. Ivan Drago moaned, and his horse manhood became engorged with whatever the hell it was that coursed through the body of a Dorki.

  Loly and Ivan Drago broke the embrace, and then the crowd chanted in unison, “Oonga boonga KERBANGER! Oonga boonga KERBANGER! Oonga boonga KERBANGER!” Then they dumped bottles and bottles of Dorki wine over both of the Targetpractices.

  The Targetpractices both licked the wine from their respective lips, after which they collapsed face-first in the mud.

  The crowd went silent. Ivan Drago and the reverend stared at the fallen Targetpractices for a brief second, then the reverend nudged Vladymyr with his toe; he did not move. The reverend looked at Ivan Drago. Ivan Drago looked at the reverend. The reverend then took a breath and said, “So what do you think?”

  Ivan bent over and held his hand just in front of Loly’s mouth. “Perfect. Alive, but out cold.” He turned to the crowd and said, “Okay, they’ll be up in ten minutes, so let’s light this candle. I’d like to call to order the fifteenth meeting of the Brotherhood of the Committee of the Bureau of Dorkis for a Marxist State. The first item on our agenda was the last item from last week, and that is making a decision on our slogan. Me, I think it should be something about the group philosophy rather than us as a horsepeople.”

  From the middle of the crowd, somebody yelled, “Why? All horsepeople are equal! And equality amongst the masses is the whole point!”

  “I understand that, Ivan Bill,” Ivan Drago placated, “but if all the horsepeople are equal, what’s the point of mentioning them? That’s a given, so by focusing on that, we’re not advancing anything, but rather stating the obvious. If you’ll recall, Ivan Dave put forth, ‘History repeats itself, first as tragedy, second as farce, third as epic fantasy,’ which I think sums up our philosophy quite well; we’re all about learning from our mistakes and making the future a better place to be where everyone gets to star in a chapter told from their perspective, even if they die later on in the book. Now what was it that you countered with last week?”

  “‘All for one, and one for all,’” Ivan Bill said.

  Ivan Drago shook his head. “How does that relate to Marxism? For that matter, how does that relate to anything?”

  Ivan Bill explained, “It’s a simple dissemination of Communist theory.”

  A female voice called out, “Too simple, as far as I’m concerned. And stupid.”

  Ivan Bill said, “How about we put it to a vote? Ivan Dave’s Karl Marx ripoff versus my catchy little line?”

  “It’s not catchy,” the female voice noted. “It’s stupid. If we want to be simplistic, why don’t we just use ‘Power to the proletariat’ or something.”

  Somebody yelled, “That’s Lenin! We’re Marx!”

  Just then, Vladymyr let out a huge snore, and Ivan Drago said, “Ahhh, crap. They’re getting up. Meeting adjourned! Hasta la victoria siempre!”

  As one, the crowd yelled back, “Until victory always!”

  Loly sat up several seconds later, blinked into Ivan Drago’s face, and asked, “What happened?”

  Her new husband said, “Ooga booga,” then pinched her nipple.

  Loly gave Ivan Drago a salacious grin and said, “How about we consummate this marriage?”

  Ivan Drago pointed at his engorged horse manhood, pointed at the chuppah, and said, “Boogie oogie oogie?”

  Surmising that he wanted to consummate right here and now, right in front of everybody—and that was a correct supposition on Loly’s part, because consummating in front of everybody is one of the things that pop culture critics have cited as a particularly memorable (if not a tad fetishistic) plot point—she shrugged, removed her tiny wedding dress, spread apart her thighs, caressed her new husband’s horse manhood, and said, “Sure, Ivan Drago, what the heck, let’s boogie oogie oogie.”

  JUAN

  Juan tiptoed into Allbran’s bedroom and was shocked by the boy’s condition. “My poor hermano seudo,”17 he growled. “I shall destroy the cabrón18 who hurt you! The man who put you in this bed shall pay with his life!”

  Allbran’s eyes popped open. “Oh, hey Juan,” he smiled. “Cómo está usted, jerkoff?”19

  Juan put his hand on Allbran’s shoulder. “Tell me where it hurts, semental pastels.”20

  Stretching his limbs happily as if he’d just woken up from a deep, peaceful slumber (which he had), Allbran said, “Nowhere.”

  “Not here?” Juan asked, punching Allbran in the bicep.

  “Well, now it does,” Allbran said, rubbing the tender area.

  Juan patted the boy’s arm and whispered, “There, there, young soldier. You shall heal soon.”

  “I’m healed now,” Allbran pointed out, then sat up and tried to get out of the bed. Before his feet could touch the floor, Juan punched him in the gut. Allbran doubled over and coughed, “Hey, cut it out!”

  “You are quite infirm, Allbran,” he said, then backhanded his brother across the cheek. “You must get your rest. Now go to sleep.”

  “But I’m not tired, and I won’t be able to fall…”

  Before Allbran could finish his sentence, Juan coldcocked him in the temple with the butt end of his sword.

  When Allbran was completely unconscious, Juan gently, lovingly caressed his cheek and whispered, “Rest, sweet prince. Recover. Get healthy. You’ll be up and about in no time at all.” He tiptoed backward toward the door, but before he could get out of the room, he crashed into someone or something. “Mil perdones,”21 he said.

  “Enough with this odd language of yours, jerkoff. I order you to speak a weird, bastardized brand of English. You’re in Summerseve, for Gods’ sake, where everybody speaks a weird, bastardized brand of English. No clue why. I mean, it’s not like saying ‘Gods’ instead of ‘God,’ or spelling ‘sir’ s-u-r adds anything to the proceedings, you know?”

  Juan spun around, and stood face-to-face with Lady Gateway Barker. They stared at each other for a moment, then Juan asked, “Why do you always talk to me in such a harsh manner, m’Lady? Why don’t you like me?”

  “Hmm,” Gateway wondered, “gee, gosh, why don’t I like you, let me think, oh, right: My husband boned some slut and out came you.” She took a deep breath, rubbed her temples, and apologized, “Apologies. That’s no way for a Lady to speak. It’s been a long day, what with Allbran in such pain…”

  Young Barker’s eyes popped open, and he exclaimed, “I’m really not in any pain, Mother.” Again, Juan smacked him upside the head with his sword, and again, Allbran fell unconscious.

  Glaring at her sleeping son, Gateway said, “Like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, it’s been a long day, and I need to unwind.” Pulling a pile of Godsweede from her purse, she asked the jerkoff, “Do you indulge?”

  Smiling, Juan exclaimed, “El infiernos a los que sí, perra!”22

  Lady Gateway said, “No clue what that means, but I’m going to go with, ‘Let’s smoke.’�
�

  “Close enough.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Gateway and Juan were lying on the floor and staring at the ceiling, their heads touching. Gateway rambled, “Snakes are poor denizens of hell. They have come slithering through the tall weeds to face the puddles of opaque lizards. Trying to get to sunny Los Angeles, boo-ya. It’s the awful peacoat making me look like a self-defeated self-murdering false thug.”

  Juan said, “No clue what that means, but you are soplando mi mente.”23 He paused, then added, “But if I may be honest, I’d rather you were que sopla mi polla.”24

  “No clue what that means.” Gateway inhaled. “But it sure sounds pretty.” After letting out an endless stream of smoke, she asked, “So what’s this I hear about you pledging for the Fraternity of the Swatch?”

  “Oh, caca,25 I have to go say farewell to Malia!”

  “Why Malia?” Gateway asked. “We’re, like, sixty-three pages in to this thing, and as far as anybody knows, you barely have a relationship with her. We know you’re tight with Allbran because you’re visiting him in his sickbed…”

  “I’m not sick,” Allbran called out.

  “… and you shot arrows with Bobb, so we know you’re pals with him,” Gateway continued, “and we know that Head is your jerkoff father.”

  “What’s your point?” Juan asked.

  “My point is,” Gateway said, “here you are going away to party at the Wall for who-knows-how-many seasons, and the one member of my family you go out of your way to say good-bye to is Malia? What’s that about?”

  Juan stood up and struggled to gain his balance. After he found solid footing, he rubbed his bloodshot eyes and explained, “I forgot what you just said.”

  Gateway sat up and scratched her head. “Wait, what were we talking about?” she asked.

  “I don’t remember,” Juan said.

  “Me neither.”

  “Couldn’t have been that important.” He cleared his throat, then said, “Okay, I’m off to join the Frat.”

  “If things get tough on the Wall, remember this, jerkoff: When you’re in your normal, square city, and you’re having a normal, square daydream, hang it up and see what the next daydream brings. Like the hoo-hah dude once told me, play your guitar, girl, play your guitar.”

  A single tear rolled down Juan’s cheek. “No clue what that means, but that’s beautiful, man.” They stared meaningfully and wordlessly into each other’s eyes, then he tiptoed backward toward the stairwell, but before he could get out of the room, he crashed into someone or something. “Mil perdones, otra vez,”26 he said.

  “Hey, watch where you’re going, Shecky.”

  Juan spun around, and stood face-to-chest with Tritone Sinister. They stared at each other for a moment, then Juan asked, “Who’s Shecky?”

  “Never mind. So what’s this I hear about you pledging for the Fraternity of the Swatch?”

  “Wow,27 word gets around fast.”

  “I keep my ear to the ground, baby. So listen, how’re you getting to the Wall?”

  “Sinjean Barker and I are riding together,” Juan explained.

  “Sinjean Barker?!” Tritone exclaimed. “He’s so ugly, he makes blind kids cry. But I won’t tell him that, because he’s, you know, insane. He ever tell you that story about Hamburger Hill?”

  “No.”

  “How about Operation Eagle Pull?”

  “No.”

  “The Ho Chi Minh Order?”

  “No.”

  “The Second Battle of Quang Tri?”

  “No.”

  “The Tet Offensive? I know he told you about the Tet Offensive.”

  “He didn’t.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re better off. So at any rate, I’m tagging along with you, Sheckys.”

  “Why?”

  “Us jerkoffs have to stick together.” Tritone smiled. “Plus I have to get out of Summerseve. This place is as exciting as watching paint dry on a piece of growing grass.” After Juan remained expressionless, Tritone asked, “Not funny?”

  “Not really,” Juan answered.

  Tritone mumbled, “Ahhh, lighten up, onion breath. They can’t all be winners. Anyhow, see you at the city limits tomorrow. I’ll be the tall one who looks like me.” Then he strode away.

  Juan tiptoed backward down the stairs, but before he got to the ground floor, he crashed into someone or something. “Mil perdones, otra vez, otra vez,”28 he said.

  “Hey, watch where you’re going, handsome.”

  Juan spun around, and stood face-to-face with Malia Barker. They stared at each other for a moment, then Juan said, “I’m going to…?”

  Malia said, “Yeah, yeah, I know, you’re going to join the Frat.”

  “How do you know?” the jerkoff asked.

  “You’ve mentioned it about a million times in this chapter.”

  “So I have.” He nodded, then pulled his sword from his belt and swung it over his shoulder, gouging a priceless painting in the process. “Before I leave, I have a gift for you.”

  Grinning, Malia said, “Nobody gives me gifts. They all go to Sasha, which is stupid, because she’s such a pill.” She gave him a hug, then said, “Juan Nieve, you’re the best jerkoff brother a girl could have.” Juan smiled, then held out his sword. Malia gulped, “I can’t accept that.”

  Juan unscrewed the sword handle, then pulled a smaller sword from the bigger sword. He then unscrewed the handle of the smaller sword and pulled out an even smaller sword. He then unscrewed the handle of the smaller smaller sword and pulled out an even smaller sword. Offering the tiny weapon to Malia, he said, “Can you accept that?”

  Malia took the gift from Juan, held it between her thumb and index finger, and waved it in the air. “It’s wonderful. I’ll call it Syringe.”

  HEADCASE

  King Bobbert Barfonme gazed sadly into his enormous mug of grog and said, “Did you ever meet Googlit Altavista?”

  “I don’t think so,” Lord Headcase Barker declared. “Who’s he? Or is it a she? You can never tell anybody’s gender by the way they name people on this Godsforsaken continent.”

  “She’s a she. She’s the one who got away.” Bobbert sighed. “The lovely Googlit Altavista. Kind. Warm. Intelligent. Gorgeous. No gag reflex. A keeper. But I let her go.” He took a guzzle of grog, then said, “I met her at a joust. She liked me right away. I was skinnier then, you know…”

  “I agree,” Head agreed.

  “… and I had more hair, and I could get it up whenever I wanted, however many times I wanted.”

  Uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was heading, Head said, “Shouldn’t we be on our way? Capaetal Ceity awaits.” He pointed at the hundreds of men, women, children, and horses surrounding their campsite, and noted, “And I’m sure these people want to get home, do their Easterrabbitarian duties, and make sweet, sweet love to their relatives.”

  After another guzzle, Bobbert said, “Capaetal Ceity and these people can bite my bum.” Raising his voice and shaking his fist, he yelled to his posse, “You’re all a bunch of ingrates!” Then, to Head, he predicted, “I give it two weeks before you start hating everybody in the Godsdamn place. No, make that one week. No, make that one day. No, make that one chapter. No, make that one page. Now back to Googlit and her deeper than deep throat. She did this thing with her tongue that—”

  “Alright,” Head interrupted, “enough.”

  Bobbert said, “Fine. Be that way, you Godsdamn prude.” He finished off the contents of his mug, then noted, “Me and you, Heady-Boy, we have something in common, something that you might not know about.”

  “What’s that?” Head asked.

  “Jerkoffs. I’ve one of my own.”

  “Thanks for sharing,” Head said.

  “Actually,” Bobbert slurred, “I have twelve of my own.”

  Choking on his grog, Head choked, “Twelve!”

  Bobbert shrugged. “Maybe more.”

  “Does Cerevix know?”

  “W
ho cares?” Bobbert shrugged. “The bitch doesn’t love me. Plus the bitch is as frigid as the Wall is cold. Plus, well, she’s a bitch.”

  Head wanted to agree, but held his tongue.

  “I have jerkoffs all over the place,” Bobbert continued. “A jerkoff here, and a jerkoff there. Here a jerkoff, there a jerkoff, everywhere a jerkoff jerkoff.”

  Bobbert belched, and Head cringed at his friend’s alcohol-tinged breath. Standing up, the new Foot advised, “Time to go. Are you okay to drive? Or do I have to take your reins?”

  The King pulled himself up from his chair, then promptly fell on his backside, straight into the mud. “Nah, I’m good,” he claimed.

  Head and Bobbert’s journey to Capaetal Ceity was long and boring, and not worth recounting here. If you feel shortchanged, read this paragraph 261 times, and that will replicate the length and monotony of their excursion.

  When the Barfonme/Barker traveling party—which, for reasons that might or might not become apparent, included Sasha and Malia—finally arrived at their destination, they were greeted at the castle door by a short, pale, cherubic man, who lied, “It is a great honor to welcome home the King and his new Foot! Nothing pleases me more in the world than to gaze upon these two transcendent beings. So excited am I that, as we speak, I am erect.”

  Bobbert told Head, “He’s not erect. He’s a eunuch.”

  “I am not a eunuch,” the short man insisted. Unbuckling his belt, he asked Head, “Would you like me to prove it?”

  Rubbing his temples, Head sighed, “No, that’s alright, I believe you.”

  Bobbert hopped off his horse and said, “Head, meet my Secretary of State, Lord Petey Varicose Bailbond. You may call him Tinyjohnson. He may be small, but he does the work of two men.” Head and Tinyjohnson fist-bumped, then Bobbert asked Tinyjohnson if he missed anything while he was in Summerseve.

  Tinyjohnson looked shiftily to the right, then to the left, and then mumbled, “There’s news from Dork. Word on the street is that Lolyta Targetpractice got hitched to the King of the centaurs.” After a couple more shifty glances, he whispered, “Word is, they made love inside the castle.”