This is a fellow SARTian’s Facebook post penned in 2011 (I’m guessing it’s the year he was admitted in The Smart Alec Roundtable), and updated online in 2013. The post was recently regurgitated and after reading it again and having a great laugh, I simply had to share.
Check on it 😀
Today I come of age. To the Kingdom of Sartia I go to seek a fortune. Knighthood awaits me there, I’m sure. Perhaps even a crown. (Lol! Seriously, I mean that.) I take nothing with me, save my horse. My faithful Myrddin. The swiftest Arab charger you ever did see.
Presently I stumble into a clump of trees. Strange. Surreal. Everything here is a queer colour. The trees are purple. The earth is…well, purple, too. Clouds swirl directly over my head, making sounds like rushing rivers.
Is this a dream?
All right, fine, I know. I am lost. I whip out my map, stretch it open, and take a look. Now, let’s see. The Fart-lands are here, beyond Shite-wood and Piss-borough. So Sartia must be…there…no, here…wait, wait…over there. Oh shucks! I fling down the map. Darn medieval cartographers! They should stick to their true calling, i.e., decorating tapestries.
Then I hear it. No, not the clouds this time. The noise of human presence, snapping twigs underfoot. I swing my horse around, and who do I see? The Lady Eketi! She rides a tall black stallion. Taller even than my Myrddin. And her sword is at least 10-feet long. (To God who made me!)
“Good lady,” I say. “Can you show a poor lost gentleman the way to Sartia?”
“What seek you there, fame or fortune?”
“Well, milady. Let’s say if fortune was bread, I would eat mine smeared with fame.”
I grin. She grimaces. She studies me. I study her. She tries to circle me on her horse. I try to counter-circle her on my horse. She stops. I stop.
She says, “Sartia is not for dirt-bag fortune hunters such as you. You will turn around now and crawl back into your dung-hole or kiss the edge of my steel.”
I say: “I’ve got something you could kiss, too – the crack of my aeors.” (Gee, I hope I get away with the Old English.)
OK, I’ll cut to the chase. And by chase I mean CHASE! I tear through the woods in a direction I suspect leads to Sartia, the Lady Eketi hot on my heels. She cusses furiously: “Turn around, I say! Turn around you <bleep>-ing, <bleep>-ing <bleep>-er!”</bleep></bleep></bleep>
But I trust my Myrddin, na! He bolts through the forest like Thor’s fiery chariot. The Lady is 100 paces behind. Then 200! 250! 300! I laugh out loud.
Then I’m not laughing. And the paces are shrinking. Now 250! Now 150! Now 50! The Lady Eketi rides not on a horse. She rides a Ghost-Rider-esque motor-bike! (Yea, I’m talking Nicholas Cage.) A 2035 Hengroen T1170 75cc power-bike! Then she draws her sword. Except it’s not a sword. It’s an X10 Class 750 Excalibur. And in case you are wondering what that is, it’s the latest-technology death beam. One of them directed-energy weapon thingies. So the good Lady goes sci-fi on me, eh? Great. Just great.
“Giddy up, Myrddin,” I urge. “Faster!”
Beam! Beam! goes the death beam. And my Myrddin crumples to the earth. A mass of sizzling flesh. Dead. It gets better!
I must make do with my feet now. On a good day I can give Mr. Bolt a run for his money. But this is a baaad day. And baaad days bring out the baaad-ass superhero in me. (Y’all didn’t know I got powers, huh? Ha!) So I blaze away at the speed of light (literally), my legs a whirring blur (again, literally – Gabe Law from ‘The One’ should see me now!)
Beam! Beam! Eketi shoots her futuristic gun. For where! I duck. I dart. I leap. (Talk about ‘Matrix IV: Back in Time’!)
The Lady on the Power Bike is losing ground. Losing ground. And getting madder. I see the Lake of Alecium now. The moat and the city walls are beyond – SARTIA! I look back. “Hasta la vista, baby”, I say, and take a huge ‘is-that-even-possible’ leap across the Alecian Lake, the Lady’s “NOOOooo!” ringing in my ears.
Then I wake. Sweating. Panting. Where am I?
It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream. Thank God, it’s just a dream. I lie in my bedchamber in the castle in Sartia. King Walter, the Ladies Debbie and Eketi, and the court physician/chaplain Sir Mannicus watch over me. I have a little fever, Mannicus tells me. Nothing serious. A few days’ bed rest will do.
The Lady Eketi bends forward to feel my burning temple. Is that a malicious gleam I see in her eyes? I am not sure. Until she says in lucid Nigerian Pidgin: “So for your mind now, you sabi run, abi?”
Oh shit! And don’t even think I’m cussing, because I just shat in my pants.
Written by Nonso Nnajide