lunedì, agosto 16, 2004

The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 1

The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 1
By Eddie G.

Twice upon a time, there was a beautiful resplendent land called Teffaru. The reason why it was twice upon a time and not once as one would usually expect was because the author knew how appealing the name was and foresaw that another dumbass author would copy it, breach about 17 copyright laws and still not get sued.

Anyway, Teffaru was an enchanting place, laden with lush rolling plains, elaborate fjords, majestic mountains, equally resonant valleys and a playground.

The playground could be found just a few miles away from the Teffaru town square, while the plains, fjords, mountains and valleys could all be found in an atlas.

Smack dab in the middle of Teffaru, a few miles away from the Teffaru town square, stood an awesome castle - Castle Blackrock as it was called - and at the drawbridge of Castle Blackrock stood two very incompetent guards. So incompetent were they that were even unable to stop pesky kids from running around the courtyard, horny teenagers from making out under the drawbridge and adventurous nuts from scaling the castle walls and then base-jumping from the turrets.

In short, Castle Blackrock was the playground.

In the middle of Castle Blackrock sat a splendid jewelled throne. And on the spendid jewelled throne sat a fat grumpy cat.

Beside the cat stood an even fatter and grumpier King, who'd just spent the past three hours talking to the cat, not because he wanted to, but because he never really had a choice.

"Now see here, Pussy," reasoned the King for the thirty-second time that evening, "I'm the King around here, you're not. I rule the land of Teffaru, you don't. I should be sitting on this here throne, not you. So I think be high time you removed your fat Pussy ass and let me put mine there. Now what say you?"

Old Chinese proverb: He who is wise would see no point talking to cats.

And for the thirty-second time that evening, the cat looked up at the King, and went back to grooming itself.


The two incompetent guards dutifully hurried in, and in a gesture of utmost respect and piety, knelt before the cat.

"I'm up here you fools!" the King bellowed!

Bosch looked up to the ceiling.

"Where?" he asked.

A bookmaker stood outside the castle.

"The stone well pays 3:1," he announced, "the clump of mulberry bushes 5:1, the great oak tree 10:1 and the gargoyle fountain pays a whopping 50:1. Place your bets now!"

He allowed a couple minutes of flurried activity before finally clearing his throat.

"Alright! Betting is officially closed. Now we sit back and wait."

Presently, the two guards came out, and landed in the gargoyle fountain.

The King now sat squarely on the splendid jewelled throne. And rightfully so, he reminded himself. The cook, unlike those two morons, had managed to take care of the fat grumpy cat, along with dinner. The King was in a terribly foul mood, a mood one would expect from someone who'd spent the entire evening talking to a cat who just wouldn't listen.

"Send for my Jester!" he ordered.

A jingling of bells annoyingly accompanied the arrival of Sunny-Jebus, the Court Jester. He wore on his head a ridiculous-looking Jester's hat, one which he loved very much. He called the hat "Scrubbie".

"Me and Scrubbie await your command," the Jester sang, bowing low.

"Scrubbie and I!" yelled an irritated Court Historian from across the hall.

"It's poetic licence!" the Jester offered.

"It's poetic bullshit!" the Historian snorted.

"Sez you!" the Jester.

"Sez me!" the Historian.



In a fit of rage, the Jester charged across the room and caught the astonished Historian in a malicious headbutt. A fight ensued.

And of course, no fight would be complete without degenerating into an all-out brawl.

The King sat on his throne applauding heartily, enjoying every moment of it. A punch here, a slap there, the dropkicks, the spinebusters, the piledrivers and even the occasional steel chair. He knew, though, everything was all choreographed, and everyone could smellllllllllllllllllelellel what the Blackrock was cooking!

Readers of the Chronicles thus far would probably get the feeling that it lacks a certain something. And they are right. For in the entire land of Teffaru, astounding Teffaru, there lived only ONE female, called Atria the Washerwoman. But because she was just a washerwoman, her deeds were thus unrecorded in the Chronicles. And good thing too, because how Teffaru - like the Smurfs who only have one "Smurfette" - was able nonetheless to sustain their population despite all that is really none of your business.

But it was the business of Prince Kyovane, a dashingly handsome young man who inherited NONE of his fathers looks. In fact, it would actually be easier to believe that the population of Teffaru was sustained by a horny washerwoman than that Prince Kyovane was really the son of that fat grumpy King.

Now the Prince had a problem on his hands. He was on the verge of turning 18, about the proper age for someone to start a family. But in all of Teffaru, he couldn't find someone to love. And for the longest time, he yearned dearly that he would find that someone and find her soon.

It would have helped considerably if the Prince was a bloody mother-fucker.

But he wasn't.

"Father, we need to talk," said he.

"Not now, son," grunted the King who was applauding his Jester who had just been choke-slammed.

"But father, this is important!" the Prince insisted.

"Alright. What is it?"

The Prince took a deep breath. Where was he to begin?

"It's just that I-"

"You have my permission," declared the King, his eyes still glued to a maimed Sunny-Jebus.

"You don't even know what I'm going to ask for!"

"Look, son," the King said, finally turning around. "You're the bloody Prince for crying out loud. You don't have ask my permission every time you want to rob the bank."

"Have you any idea what I really want?" yelled the Prince, dodging a sledgehammer that was thrown in his general direction.


The Prince shook his head. There was no point in continuing this conversation. Angrily, he stalked out of the throne room, stepping on a bleeding Historian on the way out.

That was it, he decided. The time had come! The Prince would leave Teffaru, enamouring Teffaru, on a quest to a faraway land. A quest not for power and wealth, a quest not for glory and fame, but a quest for love.

Now in the land of Teffaru, spell-binding Teffaru, existed a demi-Mortal known as The Eddie G., who realized that if the Prince were to really embark on his quest then the name of this story, "The Chronicles of Teffaru" would effectively be made redundant. So in a deft flick of hiS wrist, hE created another FEMALE character. Enter Sylvanas Reinhart, a girl as ravishingly beautiful as Prince Kyovane was dashingly handsome.

However, The Eddie G. was sadistic in hiS own way, for hE made the path that the Prince had to take laden with tests and trials of fortitude. Tests and trials to prove that Prince Kyovane was indeed worthy of fair Sylvanas.

The Eddie G. was also sadistic enough to only reveal what these tests and trials are to be in the next episode of "The Chronicles of Teffaru".

In the blink of an eye:

  • The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 2

  • The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 3

  • The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 3;Part II

  • The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 4

  • The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 5
  • Ye who seek for audience, let ye speak now!

    And so it came to past that at 10 ottobre, 2004 17:14, in the presence of The Eddie G., Blogger anna. had spoken the following...

    Reading this the first time around, I was in a bit of a daze, and therefore failed to appreciate the piquant humor of the piece, but I must applaude the "demi-mortal" for his excellent bullshit, for none other than he and Douglas Adams could create a work of complete logical nonsense. Bravo! :D

    And so it came to past that at 08 aprile, 2005 11:59, in the presence of The Eddie G., Anonymous picco had spoken the following...

    I thought it was quite cute :)


    Posta un commento

    << Home