A Game of Groans: A Sonnet of Slush and Soot

by George R. R. Washington

  Over Burntsienna’s chuckles, Lysergic roared, “You whacked Functionary, you tried to whack Allbran, and now you will pay with your freedom!” She turned to the door and called, “Guard, take Mr. Sinister back to his cell.”

  Tritone held up his hands and said, “Hey there, ho there, whoa there, Shecky. No trial?”

  “We have no evidence,” Lysergic explained. “Thus we have no trial, thus you’re sentenced to life in prison.”

  Lady Gateway piped up, “Sister dear, that’s not the way we do things in House Barker. We don’t chop off anybody’s head until we’re good and certain they deserve it. And if there’s no evidence, we let them battle their way out.”

  “Battle?” Lysergic asked.

  “If they can beat up Headcase, they can go.”

  “How’s that working out?”

  Smiling, Gateway said, “Head’s undefeated. Eighty-two up, eighty-two down.”

  Lysergic nodded. “That’s fair, and I suspect that’s the way Functionary would’ve wanted it. Fine, let the stick figure go down swinging.” She turned to Tritone and said, “So, murderer, I will allow you to fight for your life. For that matter, I’ll even let you choose your weapon.”

  Tritone smirked. “Any weapon?” he asked.

  “Any weapon,” Lysergic agreed. After a pause, she added, “But no mud or onion fights. We’ve already had plenty of those.”

  “Fine,” Tritone said, “I choose my tongue.”

  In unison, Gateway and Lysergic screamed, “Your tongue?!”

  Nodding, Tritone confirmed, “Indeed. My tongue. I want to engage House Aaron’s finest in an insult battle.”

  In unison, Gateway and Lysergic screamed, “An insult battle?!”

  “But not just an insult battle,” Tritone continued.

  In unison, Gateway and Lysergic screamed, “Not just an insult battle?!”

  “No. A ‘yo momma’ insult battle. Modern colloquialisms and contemporary references allowed.”

  In unison, Gateway and Lysergic screamed, “Noooooooooooooo!”

  HEADCASE

  The mud was gone.

  Head fell to his knees onto the green, green grass behind the castle and stared up into the blue, blue sky. He touched the lawn, reveling in its feel, its scent, its color, and its cleanness. As he was about to lie on his stomach and put his face in the luscious grass, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Without turning around, he intoned, “Yes?”

  “Good morning, Lord Barker,” the voice said. It was a deep, guttural voice, yet somehow had a tinge of effeminateness. “How are you on this lovely morning?”

  Head answered, “I’m wonderful.” Then he looked over his shoulder to find out whose question he was answering.

  It was a horse. But not any horse: a white horse with golden eyes, and, oddest of all, a horn protruding from its forehead. “Who are you?” Head wondered. “And why are you able to speak?”

  “I’m a unicorn,” the animal explained, “and I speak because it has been spoken that I speak.”

  “Who spoke that you can speak?”

  “It’s not a who, Lord Barker,” the unicorn noted, “but rather a what.”

  “Well, then,” Head said, “what spoke that you can speak?”

  “It’s not a what, Lord Barker,” the unicorn noted, “but rather a who.”

  “But you just said it was a who, not a what.”

  The animal shrugged. “What can I tell you, Barky-Boy. Unicorns are flighty.”

  Just then, someone did something to Head’s leg, something more painful than anything he’d ever experienced. He looked at the limb and, noticing nothing out of the ordinary, asked the unicorn, “Did you see anything weird?” But the unicorn was gone, which was odd, because he heard its voice repeating, “Barky-Boy … Barky-Boy … Barky-Boy…”

  * * *

  “… Barky-Boy. Hey, Barky-Boy. Knock-knock, pal. Wakey, wakey, wakey. Helloooooo…”

  Lord Headcase Barker opened his eyes and got a gander of Bobbert Barfonme’s smiling face. “Ah.” The King smiled. “There he is, back from the dead.”

  Rubbing his eyes, Head asked, “Where am I? And what happened?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Bobbert pointed at the pile of white powder on the table next to Head’s bed, then asked, “You going to do something with this?”

  “What is it?”

  “Powdered onion,” the King sneered. “Come on, buddy, don’t play dumb. It’s heroyne.”

  Head had heard about heroyne, but had never seen any up close, let alone indulged. “Why is there heroyne here?” he asked.

  “You might want to take a peek at your leg.”

  Head lifted up the bedsheet, and, when he saw (and smelled) what had happened to his left leg, almost vomited: his leg was brown, and lumpy, and reeked of waste. “What happened? How did that get…” And then he remembered the excrement battle with Jagweed. Covering himself up, Head sighed, “To quote my oldest daughter, that is seriously grotty to the max. It looks brutal. I’m surprised it doesn’t hurt.”

  “Barky-Boy, you have enough heroyne in your system to take down a Dorki. I’m surprised you can even move.” He paused, then added, “But you’re feeling okay?”

  “I suppose.”

  “And you don’t need any painkiller?”

  “I guess not.”

  “So you think I could get a taste?”

  “A taste of what?”

  Pointing at the powder, Bobbert elaborated, “A taste of your H. Your scag. Your smack. Your scat. Your junk. Your whoopee dust. Your rootie tootie kazootie. That’s the best shit House Barfonme has to offer, and I never even get a snort.”

  Head agreed, “Go for it.”

  Bobbert said, “Thanks, pal. Say hello to my little friend.” He picked up a two-handed scoop of the powder, rubbed it all over his face, took a deep inhale, and moaned, “Barky-Boy, it’s like kissing Gods.” He picked up another heap, took another snort, and slurred, “My wife’s on her way over. No matter what she says, it’s not okay for you to touch her boobies.” He then climbed into Head’s bed, rested his head on his friend’s chest, and passed out.

  Several minutes later, as promised, Queen Cerevix Barfonme entered the room and sat on the edge of Head’s bed. Pointing at her husband, she advised, “I’d roll him over if I were you. He drools.”

  Head gently pushed Bobbert off his chest, then asked, “Has anybody given you any idea of how long it’ll be until I can go back to Summerseve?”

  “That’s up to you, Headcase. You can leave the second you’re able to walk, but you have some things to answer to. You have committed some crimes. Some serious crimes. Crimes that could lead to your execution.”

  “What are you talking about?” Head intoned. “I’m the only truly moral adult in this whole Godsdamn book.”

  “That’s not what I hear,” Cerevix said. “I hear you’re a criminal, and if you confess to your crimes, you can go back to your jerkwater burgh.” Cerevix stood up, pointed an accusatory finger at his face, and accused, “Confess, Lord Barker!”

  “Confess what?”

  “Confess that you produced Journey Through the Secret Life of Plants!”

  “What?” Head asked.

  “And confess to producing every Nickelback album, and Peter Criss’s solo album, and everything by Creed, and the Black Eyed Peas’ later stuff, and most of that boy-band crap, and Liz Phair’s self-titled set, and Lil Wayne’s Rebirth, and that awful Nine Inch Nails remix album, and Madonna’s Who’s That Girl, and Lady Gaga’s Born This Way!” After a pause, Cerevix added, “Oh yeah, you might want to also confess to kidnapping my stupid taller brother, and attempting to murder my sexy twin brother.”

  Head said, “Okay, maybe, just maybe I produced Liz Phair, but I definitely didn’t kidnap Tritone, and Jagweed attacked me first.”

  Cerevix caressed Head’s cheek, then said, “Oh, you poor, poor fool. You don’t know what’s really going on in Easterrabbit, do you?”

  “Honestly, Cerevix,”
Head complained, “what with all the shifting perspectives and rambling plotlines, I don’t think anybody knows what’s going on in Easterrabbit.”

  She kissed him on the forehead and explained, “What’s going on is you’re about to be punished for crimes you might or might not have committed. Sorry, handsome.” Then she smacked Bobbert on the top of his head and growled, “Wake up, chunks! Time to sentence Headcase.”

  Bobbert popped up, burbled, “Who? What? When? Where? Oh, right, that. Barky-Boy, you’re sentenced to be King for a day.” He rolled out of bed, fell to the ground, added, “I’m hitting the links. Gotta work on my putting,” then crawled out of the room.

  After the King was out of sight, Queen Cerevix told Head, “Meet you in the throne room in an hour. We have a town hall meeting. You’ll love that.” She turned to go, but before she left the room, asked, “Hey, now that you’re King, do you want to touch my boobies? Bobbert said it was okay…”

  GATEWAY

  Lady Gateway Barker turned to her sister, Lady Lysergic Aaron, and asked, “Are you sure your people can handle this? I think there are better ways to go about…”

  “Why do you always question me, sister dear?” Lysergic asked. “You think when something wasn’t your idea, it’s a lousy idea. You know, you aren’t always the smartest person in the room, Gateway.”

  “Well, sister dear, when you and I are the only people in the room, I am the smartest person in the room.”

  “Smarmy know-it-all!”

  “Uptight virgin!”

  “Weedehead degenerate!”

  “Hairy-legged spinster!”

  Tritone Sinister interrupted, “Ladies, those are some fantastic insults. Write them down for me, and I’ll pay you a nickel for whichever ones I use in my act. So let’s get this ball rolling. Who do I insult first?”

  Lysergic grinned evilly. “Oh, you won’t be insulting us, Sinister.” She put two fingers in her mouth, gave a shrill whistle, then called, “Knights!”

  A dozen armor-clad men clattered into the room in lockstep, coming to a halt in a perfect line to the left of the throne. In unison, they yelled, “Squad Four, reporting for duty, m’Lady!”

  Tritone gave the Knights an appraising look, then noted, “Pretty awkward that you all showed up to work wearing the same outfit.”

  “Silence, Sinister!” Lysergic cried. “Now let the contest begin! Sinister, as the guest of House Aaron, you may launch the first salvo.” Pointing at the first Knights, she commanded, “Sur Repetitious Runningjoke, step forward!”

  Tritone pointed at Sur Runningjoke and said, “Hey, Shecky, yo momma’s like a squirrel: she can’t keep the nuts out of her mouth.” Runningjoke clutched his heart and fell to the ground.

  Staring at her downed Knight, Lysergic said, “Lucky shot. Sur Warblenose Chickenbroth, you’re next.”

  Tritone pointed at Sur Chickenbroth and said, “Yo momma’s so fat, she has more Chins than a Chynese phone book.” After Chickenbroth gagged and collapsed, Tritone strutted up to the third Knight in line and said, “Yo momma’s so fat that her bathtub has stretch marks.” To the next: “Yo momma’s so old that when Gods said, ‘Let there be light,’ she hit the switch.” To the next: “Yo momma’s like a hockey team: She changes her pads every three periods.” To the next: “Yo momma’s like an ice cream cone: everybody gets a lick.” To the next: “Yo momma’s so poor that when burglars break into her house, they leave money.” To the next: “Yo momma’s so ugly that when she entered an ugly contest, they told her, ‘Sorry, no professionals.’” To the next: “Yo momma’s a carpenter’s dream: flat as a board, and easy to nail.” To the next: “Yo momma’s so dumb that she put lipstick on her head so she could make up her mind.” To the next: “Yo momma’s so fat that she fell in love and broke it.” And to the last: “Yo momma’s so…” But before Tritone could finish, the last Knight screamed and sprinted out of the room.

  As Lysergic and Gateway stared at the fallen, weeping, moaning Knights, Tritone said, “Okay, that was fun. I’m outta here.” Motioning to Sur Crayola Burntsienna, he asked, “You want to stay here with these chuckleheads, or you want to come have some fun?”

  Burntsienna saluted Gateway and Lysergic, and said, “M’Ladies, it’s been a pleasure,” and then he followed Tritone Sinister out of the throne room and toward the front door.

  After they were long gone, Gateway said to Lysergic, “So did that work out the way you planned it?”

  “Ah, pipe down, you insufferable primate.”

  “You putrid simpleton!”

  “Imbecilic pinhead!”

  “Pompous phony!”

  “Ego-tripping snot!”

  TRITONE

  Tritone Sinister stared at the cave. “We should go in. Maybe there’s something we can kill and cook. I’m so hungry, I could eat a buttered monkey.”

  “No way,” Sur Crayola Burntsienna chattered. “I ain’t going in there.”

  “Are you admitting you’re a dirty coward?” Tritone asked.

  “No, a clean one!”

  “You know what you are, Burntsienna? You’re a swine.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, you’re a pig.”

  “Pig is the same as swine.”

  “Alright,” Burntsienna retorted, “you’re a ham!”

  Rolling his eyes, Tritone ordered, “Come on, we’re storming the place.”

  “You can storm. I’ll stay here and drizzle.”

  Despite himself, Tritone chuckled, then said, “Ah, Burntsienna, we’re quite the pair, aren’t we? Me, the outcast from a royal family, you a deserter from a family nobody’s heard of. We’re so mismatched that we belong together.”

  Burntsienna clapped Tritone on his butt—he could not reach his back—and said, “You’re right, Tritone. If I have to take the road to Summerseve, I’m glad I’m taking it with you.”

  Tritone smiled. “Ah, yes, the road to Summerseve.”

  Burntsienna smiled back and said, “Yes. The road to Summerseve.”

  Tritone reached up into a tree, pulled out two top hats and two canes, threw one of each to Burntsienna, and shouted, “One! Two! One, two, three, four!” And then they began to sing:

  Road to Summerseve

  Music and lyrics by Tritone Sinister (Sinister Sounds/ASCAP)

  We’re off on the road to Summerseve

  Squishing through the mud like a dog

  One of us is tall, and the other one is short

  The short one looks a little like a frog

  Well, we’re off on the road to Summerseve

  Onions are the only things we eat

  There are weird and scary animals everywhere we turn

  And don’t get us started about the heat

  Well, we’re off on the road to Summerseve

  We’re not sure why we’re going there at all

  To start a war? To stage a coup? To try and game a throne?

  No matter what, we’re still having a ball!

  After the applause died down, Tritone and Burntsienna found themselves sitting in the mud, huddled up by a campfire. Burntsienna said, “I hate to complain, but might it be too hot for a campfire?”

  “Those idiot Swatch guys went through that too-hot-for-a-campfire crap already,” Tritone pointed out. Then, apropos of nothing, Tritone asked, “Hey, did I ever tell you how I popped my first cherry?”

  “How you what?”

  “Picked my first lock? Tore off my first piece? Trimmed my first teacup?”

  “Still not getting it,” Burntsienna complained.

  Sighing, Tritone explained, “My first sexual experience.”

  Grimacing, Burntsienna mumbled, “I’m not really interested in…”

  Tritone bulled ahead: “It was magical, Burntsienna, just magical. Sure, it was in a whorehouse, but it was the finest whorehouse in all of Easterrabbit. And sure, my brother and sister were in the corner watching, but they were really quiet. Plus it was really dark, and I couldn’t see anyhow.”

  “Sounds lovely.
”

  “It was. It really, really was.” Tritone was then hit with a massive wave of tiredness, so he laid down in the mud and fell into a deep sleep.

  * * *

  The whorehouse’s scent was scintillating, a combination of male ejaculate, female ejaculate, male sweat, female sweat, money, Rush by Gucci, M by Mariah, Tommy Girl, Fantasy by Britney, opium, and onions. It was a scent that Tritone Sinister would never forget.

  Jagweed held him by his left elbow, Cerevix by his right. Jagweed explained, “It’s all paid for, Tri. All you have to do is get it up and stick it in.”

  Cerevix panted, “That’s right. Get it up and stick it in.”

  Tritone asked his sister, “Are you okay? You’re sweating.”

  Wiping her forehead, Cerevix claimed, “It’s not sweat. It’s, um, it’s lemonade.”

  Before he could follow up on his sister’s ridiculous answer, he locked eyes with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, a dark-skinned brunette with pouty lips. He leaned toward Jagweed and whispered, “Can I have her?”

  Jagweed said, “No, we have somebody else picked out.” He pointed across the room to a woman leaning in a doorway: “Her.”

  “Her?” Tritone asked, giving the tall blond girl a onceover. “I don’t know, Jag, she looks a lot like Cerevix. That’s just weird.”

  “Word is she’s the best one,” Cerevix noted, “and only the best will do for our baby brother!”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess,” he said, and then strolled into the room, his twin siblings close behind. “Hey, guys, a little privacy?”

  Jagweed explained, “Listen, Tri, we’ve both had sex before, and you might need some advice.”

  “And Jag has moves,” Cerevix claimed. “You should totally listen to him.”

  Shrugging, Jagweed said, “Aw, you’re being nice, sis.”

  Tritone sighed, “Okay, fine, you can watch, but keep it quiet.”

  “Not a word,” Jagweed agreed.

  When all four were in the room, the prostitute blew out the candle and told Tritone, “Take off your clothes, and we’ll start.” While he was getting naked, he heard somebody else remove their garb, but it barely registered, as he was so trembling with anticipation. The girl took his hand, led him to the bed, and brought him to places he had never been either before or since, places like Nome, Alaska, and Fort Lauderdale.