The Day of Kingsleycost had put a spring in the step of the spinning quills. FemCallamitus had a particularly springy bounce in his step. He was full of song and daily refilled his lamp with the oil of hope, like the wise virgins of yore. “My bridegroom, King Gambrach, cometh for me, surely!” he sang, with great expectations. “Will you be ready? Will you be ready? Will you be ready when my Lord shall come?”
Behold, his expectations were not cut short. For like a thief in the night, though he was not one and his arrival was not in the night but early when the cock crowed at dawn, Gambrach returned to the Kingdom from Jandinia in his winged chariot.
The evil detractor-enemies from Padipalia and beyond had rented huge bellows and yea, they orchestrated a heavy gust of wind to blow Gambrach of his feet as he descended from his chariot. However, Gambrach was full of Jandinian fortification and though the bellows blew and caused him to sway and stagger, the King stood firm. And the all Lovengers exclaimed, “Oh what a great and stiff standing of the King! The greatest and stiffest standing the Kingdom has ever seen! How blessed we are to have a King so stiff and firm, against the bellows of the haters!”
Lo, as the King arrived, the scribes of the Kingdom gathered to welcome him. Yea, were there scribes from beyond the Kingdom even, for his long absence had become a source of consternation for the entire global world. “Welcome, O King,” they greeted him. “It gladdens our hearts to see thee back from thy flossing and chilling and big pimping in Jandinia.”
“My what?” asked Gambrach clearly puzzled.
“Thy shooting of the breeze” they responded, “for it was the word of FemCallamitus (who by the way, spake not with thee until Kingsleycost) that thou wert not infirm. Twas also the word of Lar Yi that thou wert hale and hearty. His Highness must therefore have been hanging out with his Jandinian homeboys.”
“Ye mock me, surely” said the King, “for since I was young, yea unto my geriatry of present, I cannot recall a time when I was more infirm!”
“Oh, wawu! So art thou taking over from Pretend King Osinoshin yet?”
“Nay, he shall yet be Pretend King a few days more. For my journey was long and fatiguing. Behold, I have yet more recovery to recover.”
However, very quickly, Gambrach decided the time for Osinoshin’s pretence was over and he came back into the throne room. And lo, as he ingressed the room, the entire council of the Kingdom was there – his ministers and the lesser kings. So, he shook the hand of the nearest councillor and accepted the warm remarks of welcome, then made for the throne. However, he heard the gentle song of the councillor standing beside the one whose hand he had shaken. It was a soft and piercing song of supplication, “Gambrach, Gambrach, here my humble cry! While some others thou art shaking, do not pass me by!”
Gambrach rolled his eyes, for all he wanted to do was sit and preside over the council. Now they were all singing it and he had to shake all their fricking hands. And so he shook them one by one, until none had been passed by. But then he saw that one may have indeed been passed by, or was perhaps not in the room.
“Where is El-Farquaad?” he asked Balavida. “In the Land of the Nethers, your Grace.” came the reply. “Hmmmmm…”
The following day, the time came again for Magoo to defend his prefecture of the Everly Failing at Convictions Commission before the senatii under the wardenship of Abushola. Kyocera had snitched on Magoo’s ess like crazy the last time but the King had returned and Magoo was down with the King, so he was confident.
“Why shouldest we affirm thee as Prefect of the Everlies? Thou art everly failing, after all.”
“My Lords senateens, ye may yet change our name, for the commission faileth not anymore. We have recovered vast vaults of coin stolen from the Kingdom. Behold, the magistrates have convicted former king Jabal of the kingdom of Mah Wah and sentenced him to half a decade in prison. Our noose tightens against many of ye senateens before whom I seek affirmation today. Affirm me with haste, that I may procure thy incarceration with uncompunctious despatch.”
“We see thou comest today with a bagful of jokes, Magoo” said Abushola “dost thou want to be prefect or a mouth of basket?”
“Perhaps, Lord Warden, he might tell us exactly how much he recovereth” volunteered a senateen.
“My Lords, I cannot tell thee the number. As we were counting the recovered coin, we reached the upper limit of our numerology. The numbers as we know them finished. Just know ye this, that it is a HUGE amount of coin.”
Magoo expected to receive his affirmation then. Alas, Kyocera and the Deliverance Squad Squadron had delivered yet another word for Magoo, proclaiming him unfit for the prefecture. And the people were puzzled. For Kyocera and Magoo were both courtiers of the King. “Perhaps they are gladiators and senatii is the arena and Gambrach pits them against each other for the kingdom’s amusement” the people mused.
There was also more puzzlement as the Trumpet blew yet again in Trumpstantinople. The Trumpet had just accused the former king of tapping his booty during their electoralis and then was visited by Queen Mer Kel of Allemagne. King the Trumpet and Queen Kel addressed the people jointly and as they finished, the people called for the customary clasping of royal hands. “Grab her hand, grab her hand!” the people demanded. But the King in his tremendous and bigly wisdom demurred. “Okay, grab her pou sea, grab her pou sea!” they suggested in the alternative. At this point, the revelation became hazy and the chronicler had to put down his quill.
And as the quill went back into the ink pot, the voice of the Tword commanded, “pick it back up gaddemit, for unchill cometh!” So the chronicler obeyed and opened his eyes to the revelation.
Behold, there was a rumbling of unchill in the kingdom, as several copies of a cluster of parchments were distributed across the kingdom by the Kalahari Pseudojourns. Was it a new play by a famous playwright? It certainly had an intriguing title – “Thou Fallest My Hand, Bruh!” but it was no play. It was an epistle from King El-Farquaad of Dunamis to King Gambrach. And it was two score and ten gaddem pages long! Luckily, the voice of the Tword abridged the epistle for the chronicler. And it read thus –
“THOU FALLEST MY HAND, BRUH (for reals)
Thou fallest my hand, bruh. Thou promised change to the people but in the words of the great bard Amaru, ‘Change? I guesseth change be good for any of us, whatever it taketh to get up out of thy farm. I’m with thee, I ain’t mad at thee…’ I ain’t mad at thee for thou anointest my head with oil and made me king. But thou fallest my hand bruh with the dud change and if the people be mad at thee, they be mad at me too.
“Dude! Why be-est thou aloof? Why chinnest thou Shiwajun and the convocation from which thy reign arose? Why givest thou Kyocera and Balavida the audacity to feel like they running things? Those homeboys are rude, naive, uncouth, inexperienced, clueless and just generally bad news. Thou cautionest them not, and thou fallest my hand, bruh.
“I believe in you bruh, but everything be falling apart under your reign. You my dawg and errthang but unless you bring your A-Game, we are going to lose the throne. The other sheets in this epistle are my blueprint for the turnaround. Don’t let Balavida or Kyocera get their hands on them – if you do that, you be falling my hand again, bruh. Anyways, I hope you get this, man, hit me back
Just to chat, truly yours, your biggest fan, this is
It probably helped not that El-Farquaad was away in the Land of the Nethers when the epistle went into circulation but, my gheeeeuuuuurd, there was no gaddem chill in the land!