Evil Minions

Fryeday Evening, Janoary 13th, Year of the Field Mouse

It sure is dark in this tunnel. Are you crying, Jimbo? Then wot's that noise your making? Oh for Heaven's sake! Keep it down! Bad enough we can't see in here, you want the dragon to sneak up on us and take a bite in our bums while we're not looking? Wait a minute. I'd rather not see that happen. Hey, did you hear that? Sounds like scratching. Or like little feet scrabbling on the floor. Woah! Hey! Where did you get that torch from and how in the world did you light it? Flint and tinder? You carry flint, tinder and a torch around with you? Oh, I see. You were going to set fire to... Wot!? Nevermind. I don't want to know. Look at this! It looks like tiny footprints. Too big for a regular lizard. Way too small for a fire-breathing dragon. Could it be a baby dragon? Lizard men, huh, Jimbo. Midget lizard men in mini armour bearing crude spears and shields. And the occasional sword. Pretty impressive, Jimbo. But what would make you say something as ridiculous as that? They're standing right in front of us, eh? Wot!? To arms! Hold them off, Jimbo, while I run and get help. You sprained your ankle, you rememeber? So I'll go. Yeah. No, I'm sure. Here, take Slayer, my wooden sword. *Fling* Oops! Sorry, didn't mean to hit you in the head. Or the torch. Or have the sword land on the floor. Pick it up! Atta boy. See you in about a half-hour. I'll bring tea and crumpets and some help. Wot's this? They're backing off from you, Jimbo! Well, I'll say! How'd you get Slayer to light up like that? Me magical sword has never done that for me! They're running scared, all thanks to you, you and that blade (and a little bit of my knightly intimidation tactics). That’s right, run you little evil minions. Cower in the face of a righteous knight and his loyal squire. And don’t come back. Phew, that was close, wouldn’t you say, Jimbo? Rumbling? I don’t hear rumbling. Oh that rumbling. Isn’t that running water? Getting louder, huh… Scrabbling feet… Can’t be giant elephant rats… Omigosh! They went to get reinforcements! No wonder you’re already hiding in that there alcove. Quick now, make some room for me. I see torches in the distance…

Aha!

Fryeday, Janoary 13th, Year of the Field Mouse

Wot’s this, Jimbo? Jimbo? Are you all right? Sprained ankle and maybe broken ribs? You’ll run it off. Me? I’m Sir Frederick, Dragon Slayer Extraordinaire. I don’t get hurt. Oh this bloody gash on me forehead? ‘Tis but a flesh wound. But look here! Looks like some sort of cave hidden behind the brush. Bear cave? Bear poop in front of it, eh? Might well be. However, my knightly instincts tell me it might be dragon poop, hence…that’s right… Dragon cave! No, no. Stop trying to feebly scrabble back up the hill. You look like a frog trapped in a well. How would I know what that looks like? Er, yes…I *don’t* know actually. Enough whining. Let’s go slay that dragon!

Peace At Last?

Fryeday, Janoary 13th, Year of the Field Mouse

The Hibbots and I have made our peace. Or at least I’ve been put on stableboy detention duty for the past two days and they haven’t tried to bug (or bugger) me. In fact, them Louts of the Ring have been trying to be nice.

Yesterday I was sweeping the stables when I thought I caught Harry trying to smack me upside the head. It turns out he was only offering his hand in friendship. Nursemaid Helga, who has been with me since I was so unjustly wronged by the hot Nursemaid Nancy (I’ve already forgiven her by the way), smiled at me and nodded.

Last evening, Pippen stopped by as I was refilling the water troughs for the ‘orsies. I thought he was making to dunk me noggin’ in drink when he just ruffled me hair. Nursemaid Helga nodded and smiled.

This morning I was weeding the garden just outside the school castle walls when I felt a hand upon my back. Seeing I was just atop a slope and all, I whirled with cat-like reflexes to face my assailant. All I saw though, was Hamwise, hands in the air, eyes wide. He clapped me on the shoulder—Nursemaid Helga nodded and smiled.

What a day. Almost done with this here garden. Yes, Jimbo, I see him. Well hello, Guido. Glad you came to make peace as well. Put ‘er right there, good man, er, Hobbot. I say, that’s a firm handshake. Tight grip, you’ve got. Why, you can stop squeezing now. Elsewise Nursemaid Helga will have you sent to the knight-master of discipline. *Ow* Hey now… Where’s Nurse Helga? She sent you? To tell me that I’m off stablebay detention duty? Why, thank you*ahhhouch*… Jimbo, some help here. No, Jimbo. Where are you going? No, no. Get up. Don’t give in to this thug*Owwwaahhh*… Okay fine. Roll down the hill on your own, Jimbo. Yup, there you go. Bye. Guido, don’t tell him he’s the smarter one. I beg to differ. Why, thank you for letting me have me hand back. It was staring to go numb. Here, since we shook on it, let me step aside so you can be on your waaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy*roll*ooof*ing*ooof*down*ooof*the*ooof *hill*uffff*sharp*ufff*rocks*ufff*right*in*ufff*back(darn those ring bearing brutes)…

The Morning After The Morning After

Wedsday, Janoary 11th, Year of the Field Mouse

Ugh. Wot a splitting headache. It’s darker than a dragon’s lair in here. And it smells like one too. Wot’s that I taste? Yuck. Let’s see, last thing I remember seeing…Oh yes, them Hobolings stopped by. Plth. My mouth tastes like almonds. Bleh. I recall hearing something about me elastic shorts Mommy gave me last Christmas. Pfft. They’re so elastic, by the way, that I had them pulled over me ‘ead once just last week. *Hccaak* Gosh it’s dark in here. And I’m choking on the taste and smell. Something about Hershey’s? It’s must be some sort o’ bonce bump remedy the nursemaid might have given me. Well it sure tastes like shit, tough. Wait a tick, is that you, Jimbambino? Bleh. How come I can’t see you? ’Cos me undies are over me eyes? Well why didn’t you tell me? Okay, why didn’t you tell me earlier? There we go. ARRRGH!!! Blinding light! That could only mean one thing! We’re under dragon attack! To arms, good squire! And get me ‘orsie as well, loyal Jimbo! What? Only daylight? Oh…. Still smells like dragon arse, though. The Harbitts get to you too? Under the bed, eh? You fell asleep…right…while they were doing what? Remember what I just said about you being ‘good’ and ‘loyal’? I take it back. Whaddaya mean I’m lucky only Guido shat in me Sponge Bob shorts and pulled ‘em over me noggin’? So that’s why me mouth tastes like bloody doodoo. Pllthththaaakkkpplooey! I was beginning to think that they started making bonce bong remedy in almond flavour. Ugh. Where are you, you coward? Get out from under me bed. No, I have a better idea. You stay there and I’ll come down to hand you a knightly spanking. With me wooden sword. Don’t tell me to stay in bed, I’m getting out. Woah… Gimme a second, Jimbo. Just sat up. Head’s spinning. Lemme catch my breath. Okey. Pfftbleh. Vile taste. A bit like peanuts, now. And corn. Where was I? Ah yes, right foot over the edge… no, I’m coming down there yer tarty farty pansy pants. Left foot over the edge… Don’t try to convince me otherwise… And rumpy over the edge… Smooth, light landing…into…GIANT TURDS!!! All around me bed! Eeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwww............Who?... Habbitlings? With turds this size? I don’t care if I splashed some in your eye. There must be fifteen piles around here! Just how many times do Hurburtling shit a day? Oh, I see. Friends from The Shire. But this size? Fetch me a towel and a hot basin of water, good Jimbo. I shan’t move. I refuse to step in more shit from The Shire. You on the other hand…oh? Oh my. We’re trapped under there are we? Okay only you are. All right. I shall have to do that which I was previously unwilling. No, not start speaking like a ‘normal’ 6-year-old. I’ll have you know that if one were to measure intellect, on a scale of 3-18, I’d be a 19. Back to the task at hand. I shall now have to…reinstate to you all rank and titles which I had previously stripped from your person about five minutes ago. This includes, but is not exclusive to, ‘good’ and ‘loyal’. Now go get me my basin of water. And that towel. Oh hi, Nursemaid Nancy. You’re lookin’ foxy. Did I say that out loud? No, no, please don’t scream. I don’t know why I said that. I guess I must be a tad hungry and when I saw your, well, ample… Oh? Oh, this. It wasn’t me, I swear it. It’s shit from the Shire. Tell her Jimbo. Jimbo? Say something. No, don’t get Nursemaid Helga. Wait. Wai…I’m, I’m…losing…me…balance.........nnnnnnnnnnnnnooooooooooooooooooooooooo! *Ugh* *Pffft* Don’t tell me it’s because of the way I talk, Jimbo. I’ll talk like whatever I want. Whaddaya mean ‘right now like a shit-faced stableboy’? Why, when I get this Hibbit shit outta me mouth…and nose…and ears…and fingers…and hair…and Sponge Bob shorts…

The Morning After

Tuusday, Janoary 10th, Year of the Field Mouse

Apparently, according to everyone, I fell off my horse yesterday. Apparently, everyone is stupid. Weak-willed fools. Oh hello Jimbo. How long have you been by my bedside? Since they put me here after the horsie stallion from hell and its mongrel master bewitcherer threw me off? I see. No, you’re not stupid. Yes, I know I did, but you were bewitched. No, not like the others. They were stupid. Because you knew I was thrown off. The others are saying I fell off. I suspect they are still under a spell of some sort. Wot? They’re also saying I got on that Blasted Burning Buck of Beezlebub backwards? Bell, bhey’ve bure bas bell bave beir bacts barse backwards. Er, I mean they sure as hell have their facts arse backwards. Surely. And their heads screwed on the same way too. I know what I saw. But wait a minute. There’s one thing I certainly don’t get. If I’ve been unconscious since getting tossed like a salad and you’re the first person I’ve seen, how did I know that everyone’s been saying I fell off? Argh. My. Head. Hurts. Confused. Can’t. Talk. In. Sentences. Longer. Than. A. Word…Guido. Hamwise. Barry. Pippen. Good. To. See. Ok. Wedgie. Ow. Drowsy…

Jousting Class

Monsday, Janoary 9th, Year of the Field Mouse

Today’s our first real day of lessons in knighthood, with last week being mostly Squirehood 101 and sums. But why worry? Such trifles will be taken care of by my loyal servant and squire Jim, affectionately known as Jimbo. Who better to clean up when me horsie poo poos and count me treasure (confiscated in the name of knighthood from slain beasties)? So…it’s seems that it’ll be “Introductory Jousting” today taught by Sir Percival the Fat, named after the famous Knight of the Round Table. Haha. He should have been named Sir Pork Barrel, Knight of the Buffet Table. Haha. Fat Git. Well, this’ll be right up my alley. No, Jimbo. The jousting, not the pork barrel part. Yes, I’m sure. I’m big-boned. And handsome, nonetheless. Look at him. He’s got a booger in his moustache. No, I’m sure it’s not a turkey chunk from his lunch. It might be… Okay. Whatever it was, he just ate it. One wonders—however is he going to get on his horsie eh, Jimbo? Hahaha. Er, no sir, I didn’t say anything. Me? Demonstrate how to mount a horse? Why, Sir Pork..er..cival, you do me great honor. However, I would not be at all comfortable embarrassing the rest of the class, what with my skill in horsemanship and all. No, no, sir. Horsemanship. Not horse shit. Yes, sir. I do know the difference. No difference when it comes to me, you say, sir? Ah well, all right, if you insist, good sir. It’s simple. All one has to do is to slip one’s foot into the stirrup like so and…alley oop! Thank you, thank you. Don’t have to be so stunned by my brilliance. No need to applaud. Though you really should. Just a little. Jimbo! Are you laughing at me? Stop that. Not you too, Sir Perkival. The rest of you too? What manner of witchery has caused all of you to turn against, me, your best and brightest? Wot? Wot’s this? Me horsie’s got no head! Great dragon balls of fire! This is the work of an evil sorcerer! It’s got to be one of the girly boys from Hogfarts! Show yourself, conjurer of the black arts, and you shall taste justice from my wooden blade! Wot’s that, Jimbo? Behind me? It’s at times like these I need a brave squire, Jimbo, not a pointing lunatic. It’s witchcraft, not the Macarena. Okay, okay, I’ll look. Wot devilry! Why is me horsie’s head on it’s rump? God Almighty! Woah, horsie. Stay calm. Well I guess I’d be kinda freaked out (and a little pissed off) too if I found my head on my arse. Stay calm, sta…woah…woah…WOAH! Ooooof! For the love of God, I can’t feel me legs! My head! It feels the size of a watermelon! Everything…going…dark…at least…horsie’s…got head and arse back in place…And is that Harry Farter from Fagtarts hiding in the brush?…could have sworn…it was him…stop…laughing…get…him…witchery…

Getting to Know the Guys

Satsday, January 7th Year of the Field Mouse

I’ve found out through some reliable sources the name of the thug who’s been terrorizing myself and my good squire Jimbo. Wot? Whaddaya mean you’er not my squire? All right, not technically. But everyone knows Jimbo is no knightly name. Frederick, on the other hand, befits not just a knight, nay, but a lord as well. Why, even a king would be honored to have such a name. Sir Frederick and his humble squire, Jimbo of The Highlands. So what if you’re not from Scotland? Sir James the Brave and Fumbling Freddie, his comic relief squire from The Shire? Stop laughing. That’s not even funny. Has that bungling bunk mate of yours, J.R.R. Wotsisname been regaling you with his tall tales again? I tell you, there’s no such thing as a Hobbot, Hibbert, Hoboling or whatever it is he says there are.Now, where was I? Ah yes, a reliable source… Yes, yes, Jimbo I know you are the reliable source. Would you rather be known as a reliable source or a Junior Stable Boy? Told you so. Of course I trust you. You’re the reliable source. No, that doesn’t mean I should believe when you say Herbbertlings exist. Can we get back to the topic at hand? We’re not off topic? Are you off your rocker, mate? Puffing (instead of slaying) that magic dragon? Or are you just missing your girly mags? Oh, the Hobbutts have your girly mags???? Are you shittin’ me? A Habbitling!? The bully and his goons, the ones who have been all over us like a rash since school began, those guys are Hobburts? Guido, Hamwise, Barry, and Pippen? But those guys are huge! What are they, like four feet tall (Except for Pippen, that one’s huge, about six and a half feet, give or take, wouldn’t you say? Yeah I know, he’s black as well—but what does that have to do with anything)? I tell you, the next time they come around I’ll be ready to sock it to ‘em. Wot? Eh? Why are you pointing behind me with that constipated expression on yer face, good man? Oh? Hey, hello fellas. Came to return them girly mags? No? Oof! Right in the breadbasket. Not the face chaps, not the face. Hey, Jimbo come away from behind that tree. No, don’t climb it. Come see this. Hibbits have hairy feet, right? Well, *Ooof*… the guys here don’t! You didn’t say they had hairy feet? Then who did? J.R.R.? Here now, no need to take off your pants, Guido. I certainly do not want to see your backside. But you want to show me where Hobbotlings are hairiest? Whatsis? Hamwise, Barry—I’ll have to ask politely request that you to let go of my arms. No, no, not closer to Guido’s behind. Further. I can see that now. You guys have the hairiest arses in all of Bumsbury. Why, Guido’s even has a nest of birds in his. Bits of apple. And is that a worm squirming in some hot ffffffffffmmmmmmmmmfffffffffffmmmmmmmmmffffffffffffff!!!!!!!!!! Okay. That wasn’t hot fudge…I liked hot fudge…I don’t think I like it any more though. Suddenly it smells like shit around here.

The Squire To Be?

Thurusday, Januory 5th, Year of the Field Mouse

Right, it's been four days since the beginning of the school year and I tell you, these other wannabe squires in here know nothing about knighthood. Can you imagine, there are kids in here who tell me that knighthood is about honor and chivalry and serving your king. One even said that the purest and most gallant of knights serve only God! What a bunch of bollocks! Come on! Everyone knows being a knight is about slaying the dragons. There is this one new kid though, Jim, who told me it's all about saving them fair maidens. Okay, fine. It is what you do after you slay dragons, but still, this guy wears glasses. Seriously. Whoever heard of a knight (or a junior stableboy) who wears spectacles. What a wanker. You'd think he'd fit in better next door at the school of wizards or some such. What do they call themselves? Hogforts? Fagtarts? Sissies. Wot? I wasn't talking to you. No, I didn't call you a sissy, Jimbo. I was talking about those school of wizardry dorks. Okay, maybe I did mention you in association with being a wanker but it was only because of them glasses. Wot? Of course it's your fault you have to wear them. Are you telling me reading them girly mags every minute of the day actually improves your eyesight? Hey! Where'd you come from? Unhand that girly mag. It belongs to good Jimbo. Here now, no need to punch him in the face. Look what you've done! His glasses are smashed. Okay, you're right. He won't be needing them now that you have his girly mag. (Give them the rest of your mags, Jimbo.) What mags!? What?...ugh. The ones you have tucked in the back of your pants, fer cryin' out loud! Don't give me that look. You had it coming. Hey! Wot's this? I didn't do anything to you. I even showed you where Jimbo kept his stash! Why are you grabbing the back of me knickers? No, sir. They won't go any higher. Nor will Jim's. I'm telling you, good sir...aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!
Wow. I didn't know one could wear knickers as underwear and headgear at the same time. I think we'd better run along now, Jimbo. Okay. No. Running. Hurts. Nether-regions. Yeah. See you at dinner. Wanker.

Introductions

Monsday, Janoary 2nd, Year of the Field Mouse

Ah yes, my first day at school. Let me first introduce myself. My name is Frederick de Courd, I am six and currently enrolled in the Bumsbury Academy for Knights. While many of you might be unclear about the "DSE" following my name, I'll have you know that "DSE" stands for "Dragonslayer Extraodinare." A title that will soon be bestowed upon yours truly after getting through grade school, middle school, high school, college, acquiring my M.A., PhD and killing a few dragons along the way. Phew, gotta catch my breath. *Eh*...er...right, where was I? Ah, yes. But right now, I'll just have to be satisfied with the title of Junior Stable Boy.
So let's see what Mum’s packed me for lunch...What, hey! What's this? It would seem an older (and bigger, much bigger) student has snatched away the lunch of this honorable...er...junior stable boy. All right, you can look at it...hey...no, don't take it out of the bag...ok, if you really want to have a bite. Hey! You've dropped my turkey gizzard sandwich! Ok, I understand, it slipped. No biggie. You'll be most glad to share your lunch...right? Careful, don't slip and fall while you're stepping on it. You don't want to mess up those brand new calf hide boots you're wearing now would you? What's what? This? Oh nothing, I wasn't going to draw my wooden play sword. No, seriously. I was just making sure that I didn't drop from my belt. These carriage rides to school can be a tad bit bumpy on the rumpy. No I don't want to fight you. Hey! where did these two little goons of yours come from? Drat, dropped the journal I was writing in. Hang on fellas. Say, good man, seeing as how you're not going to beat me up (nor lift a finger to prevent my beating), would you care to keep a record of these ongoings while I'm unjustly restrained by these bullies here? Right, the quill's right there. Thanks. Now, as for you boys...Unhand me you thugs. Oof!...That hurt...all right, enough now. I'll let you off with that one, but no more punches to the gut...Oof!...HALP!!!!! Someone, help!!!