Once Upon a Time in Jersey

Once upon a time, in the vast fairy-tale land of northern New Jersey, amidst the rolling hills, asphalt highways, and the innumerable old-man bars, there lived a princess. She was Jodi of Belleville, a woman of renowned beauty, kindness, and a madly foul mouth. Many a man did fall in love upon just a glimpse of her perfectly proportioned figure, or with but the faintest whisper of an obscenity. Alas, the fall was most always fatal, as the princess was the betrothed of Prince Michael of Asbury, a fabled figure many had heard of, but few had ever actually seen. ‘Twas oft questioned whether he did, in fact, exist, or if he, instead, was nothing more than some alcohol-induced fantasy of the princess. Real or no, with only the threat of his actuality by her side, Jodi soon found herself unable to keep the suicidal at bay.

‘Twas then that King Vito of Belleville, in his infinite wisdom and paranoia, called forth a court of champions to protect his delicate flower from this deluge of the hormonally insane. Fearless knights, strapping warriors, the noblest of lords and ladies were called to task, but, sadly, these more reputable souls of the land were all otherwise engaged. His plan failing stupendously, King Vito turned round on his earlier intentions entirely, and let his daughter surround herself with whosoever she saw fit.

There was Andrea, handmaiden to the princess, and Arturo, the apprentice warlock, a font of unfinished and occasionally useless knowledge. The next was Sir Gregory of Bloomfield, a handsome and dangerous knight from a dangerous and filthy kingdom. And lastly was I, the penniless bard, Nathaniel, drinker of all things caffeinated, and the one elected to tell our tale.

Together we accompanied and protected the princess as she sojourned throughout the various smoke-filled pool halls and overpriced movie theaters of the land. We became the stuff of legend, feared and hated by wait-staff everywhere, the scourge of any that dared offer free toast or serve a bottomless cup of coffee. No corner of Jersey remained untread by our feet, no parkway rest-stop unsoiled. For ours, ours was a friendship borne of honor, trust, and loyalty; of convenience and very little spending money. We were the Company of Jodi, and we had nothing better to do.

***

One particularly fabled year, as spring died off and the weather grew as pleasant as the suburbs would allow, it came to pass that, upon visiting one of the legendary diners of Jersey--magical places where a man could get a plate of undercooked eggs and greasy bacon at four in the morning for a reasonable price--the princess and her party came across an unkempt and delusional giant, more a mountain than a man, knee-deep in the act of feeding himself. Silently, we bore witness to the unfortunate death of a plate of disco fries, a disturbing concoction of gravy, cheese, and french-fried potatoes. Satiated, the giant grinned and bid us welcome.

The court, having crossed paths with the giant prior--myself, in particular, having spent many a day of my childhood with him--listened happily as he regaled us with tales and misadventures of his recent past. Gregory, however, being from the farther kingdom of Bloomfield as he was, and a more recent acquisition of the princess than the rest of us, was not familiar with the hulk of flesh before him.

"Good Nathaniel, what in the name of all that is holy is that?"

"Why, Sir Gregory, that is the giant called Anderson."

"Is he aware that his shirt doth not fit him?"

"I would highly doubt that, good knight, as he tends to have a difficult time viewing the nether side of his quite portly abdomen."

"But...'tis so glaringly...swollen...and...and... Good God, man."

"Try not to stare directly at it, Sir Gregory. Thou mayst blind thyself."

Feeling both pity and a chivalric duty towards the giant, we invited him to join us in our weekly rite of cold coffee and artery-clogging food. Over time, the giant became an honorary member of the company, and began to accompany us to events elsewhere in the land. I must admit that it was not unfavorable that he had in his possession a large automobile. Despite the fact that parts frequently fell off this car, the whimsically named "Piss Yellow Love Ma-Keen," it was a more than welcome event when Anderson volunteered his services as chauffeur.

I realize that giants are not renowned for their piloting nor their navigational abilities, but Anderson had thus far failed to kill anyone, so the benefit of our doubt was his. Still, a cry of "shotgun" was not often heard, as none of our assemblage was particularly keen on sitting beside the giant as he wove the yellow monstrosity up and down the right lanes of the land. The front bench-seat was littered with partially empty food containers, the floor smelled of fermenting sugar-water, the glove compartment had a nasty habit of banging against the knees of the passenger, and the only working speaker was situated directly above it. Anderson, finding some strange pleasure in Japanese rock and old-school hip-hop, was inclined to have that speaker threshing about at the maximum volume. The members of our guild could quite often be found drawing straws: the loser forced into the seat of bruised knees and bleeding ears, the other four crammed into the back. More often than not, Sir Gregory would try to look down the shirt of the princess, she would slap him, and the rest of us would proceed to swear profusely and gesture offensively at passing motorists whilst the giant deftly hit every pothole.


'Twas on a break from one of these highway sojourns, during a repast of grilled cheeses and cherry-flavored colas deep within the pine barrens of Jersey, that the giant pulled me aside and confided the following:

"Nathaniel, we are friends long time, correct?"

"Of course, Anderson, why I can still recall many a ..."

"Me can tell you things, right?"

"Um, sure, why not. 'Tis something of trouble to you?"

The giant paused, taking a cavernous breath.

"Me think me in love with princess."

"Pardon me, kind giant, wouldst thou repeat that?"

"Me like Jodi. Me like bad."

"Holy shit."

I excused myself from conversation with the giant and straightaway sought counsel with the prentice-mage, Arturo, in the hopes that he could offer some guidance. The warlock, conveniently, was apart from the princess, using his magicks and boundless skill with duct tape to once again repair the automobile of the giant. Waiting until Arturo removed himself from the underside of the car to light a cigarette, I, with stifled snickering, recounted my brief conversation with Anderson. The almost-warlock and myself broke into a fit of hysterics.

Regaining our collective composure, I convinced Arturo that the giant was indeed serious. He grew visibly disturbed and considered our options, of which only one was legal. Not content with these limited findings, the wizard bade me wait until evening, whereupon we would proceed to ask the advice of Sir Gregory, a master of the romantic, or at least close enough for our purposes.

Night fell and so did Gregory, convulsing with laughter. Again, a solution to our problem was not forthcoming. The list of useful opinions depleted, we defenestrated our common sense and called upon Andrea for advice.

"Fairest damsel, perhaps thou couldst be of service to us?"

"What in the name of thine sweet, sweet Lord doth thou want?"

"'Tis about the princess, m'lady. Anderson seems to have fallen in love with her and... Andrea? Andrea? Wouldst thou be so kind as to get up from the floor? 'Tis not that funny."

Andrea slowly gathered her wits about her and began to babble aimlessly for quite some time. Sir Gregory eventually got her to shut the fuck up, and, jointly, we came to the conclusion that the only serviceable course of action would be to not let Jodi know anything.

"'Tis best not to inconvenience the Princess of Belleville with such trivial matters. There is no need to upset her, nor the already fragile ego of the giant."

"Besides, she might actually leave the Prince of Asbury for him."

We proceeded to injure ourselves laughing.


There was one in the land, however, who failed to find humor in the situation. ‘Twas the detestable Simon, a lawn gnome who, having once been inanimate and happy, awoke one day to discover himself cursed with sentience. The awakening was, in and of itself, rude and unexpected, as, previously, he had been utterly incapable of expecting anything, much less of having to deal with the failure of those expectations. Not to mention the shock and years of therapy resulting simply from waking up on some random front yard to a heretofore nonexistent life and suddenly having all the ramifications thereof tossed into his face, all the while dressed in green short pants and a pointy red hat. It would be an understatement of gargantuan proportions to say that Simon had been in an exceedingly foul mood ever since.

In fact, the only bright point in the life of the gnome came one dark day when Simon, while sifting through the dumpster of the royal video store, chanced to hear the word “fucktard” trilled softly and enchantingly from some distance away. Looking up from the bags of broken movies before him, he caught but an abbreviated sight of the fair Princess Jodi and, like so many before him, fell madly in love. He swore, then and there, that one day, oh yes, one day, she would be his.

And, really, that was all just fine and dandy with the princess. For the gnome was a weak and stupid creature, more often than not content to stalk from the gutter, and easily avoided on those rare occasions when he did grow bold enough to venture forward. Upon finding out about the giant and his intentions towards the princess, however, Simon developed a spine and rapidly became a full-fledged, card-carrying pain in the ass.

The gnome would simply appear, nearly everywhere Jodi went, no matter the distance, time, or effort the princess took to stave off his arrival. ‘Twas many an outing ruined by Simon and his incessant and unwanted courtship of the princess. Far be it from us to deny any creature the respect due to him or the basic right to dine at a public eatery, but, holy mother of toaster pastries, the gnome was irritating. Frequently clad in leather pants and mesh shirts, with hair almost as tall as he, perpetually in need of a ride, and swearing more than an ex-sailor who became a trucker and dropped a brick on his foot, Simon was not the most pleasant of creatures to be around. His personality was unnecessarily abrasive, his taste in music poorer than that of the giant, his sense of tact and decency was nonexistent, his pining for Jodi almost criminal, and his reluctance to fully pay his portion of the bill was surely justifiable grounds for homicide.

But, alas, the gnome simply could not be stopped. Much like the giant, Simon would not listen to reason, choosing instead to revel in the belief that he, too, could win the princess from her still unseen suitor.

***

As the daily visitations of the sun dazedly stumbled toward their longest, the love-struck miscreants, growing bored and increasingly frustrated with ogling Jodi from afar, became suddenly proactive. Hokey gifts and bad poetry abounded.

Soon, however, with startling coincidence and downright disturbing tenacity, the gnome and the giant each set upon a series of endeavors to connive and scheme his way into the panties of the princess. Many a time did the giant or the gnome have the audacity to speak to the princess of a great social gathering only to later retract that statement--after he had picked her up, of course. Quite often, some member of the guild was called to a rain-soaked parking lot in the Kingdom of Wayne, or a shady convenience store near the Ruther Ford, in an effort to rescue the princess from her frighteningly persistent suitors. Maps were purchased, coffee was spilt, senses of direction were taxed. The navigation of broken avenues and the scouring of forgotten roadside attractions caused no end of difficulty. On one occasion, it took the entire company three hours to locate Jodi after the gnome had whisked her away to the yearly swamp carnival. Troublesome as that evening was, though, 'twas but a trifle compared to what soon followed. For the most legendary and insidious of plots involved not Simon, no, but rather Anderson, a video camera, and the underpants of the princess.


The giant, wanting to show the fair damsel his staggering intellect, devised a plan to create a movie for a purported film class he was enrolled in; a movie that just coincidentally involved Princess Jodi in varying states of undress. Anderson claimed she would be the star of his short film, and, consequently, he would need her in his cave, alone and often, to film it. The princess, more or less scared shitless, asked the company for protection from the giant during the midsummer spelunking she was about to undertake. The others allegedly predisposed, it was I, the lanky Nathaniel, strongest of stomach and weakest of nasal capacity, who was chosen to venture with the damsel into the smoke-stained lair of the giant.

"Pardon, brave Nathaniel, but it smells rather foul in here."

"Indeed it does, fair princess."

"Lo, what is that monstrosity?"

"'Tis the giant, princess. Lacking his clothing."

"I feel ill."

The giant, behind an outcropping of thankfully tall proportions, turned toward us.

"What he doing here?"

"The poet is my ride, gentle giant."

"Why then he still here? He can pick you up later."

"'Tis easier, for all of us, if he remains. Surely thou couldst use an extra set of hands in the making of this film?"

Anderson gnawed at a chicken leg contemplatively. He walked toward us with heavy footsteps and an ungodly amount of jiggling flesh.

"You really need him?"

"Yes, yes I do, yes, yes, oh holy crap yes."

Miraculously, we both retained our vision. Seating ourselves upon a bench deep within the cavern of the giant, we waited for him to finish his meal. After a time he reclaimed his pants and joined us, and he and the princess proceeded to discuss his cinematic masterpiece.

"Is there, perchance, a script that I couldst read?"

"No. No dialogue, no need for script."

"Pray, tell me giant, what is thy film about?"

"Me no say."

"How then am I to be a part of it, if thou wilst not state to me what mine part entails?"

"You do what I tell you to."

"I am afraid, kind giant, that I am uncomfortable with that."

"Then me make you comfortable."

"Oh holy fuck."

I quickly interceded, spoiling the giant's ham-fisted attempt at seduction. We then reached an accord with him, whereupon he gave to us a brief overview of the plot and we gave to him our word that the princess would do all that she could to uphold his artistic vision.

Satisfied with our agreement, the giant commenced preparations for the film: setting up a bank of lamps and checking it against a light meter; threading a reel of film into the camera; laying out props, furniture, and masking-taped marks of where to stand; coming dangerously close to convincing us that he was indeed serious about his movie.

Then he began filming.

It became quite clear that the giant was making things up as he went along. For the full span of a day, he told the fair maiden where to stand and what to do, and then, after witnessing her compliance, wholly changed his prior orders without rolling so much as an inch of film. In between bending and posing, the princess would ask why she was being made to act if nothing was being recorded. Anderson would claim "sudden inspiration" as the culprit and make sure to get the next few moments on celluloid as proof of this cinematic intuition. In the meantime, I was ordered to retrieve coffee or hold furniture, anything that would keep me apart from the princess even momentarily.

At one point late that evening, the giant bade me stand outside with an electric lamp during a rainstorm, under the pretense that I was setting the appropriate lighting for a much needed noir shot. Doing as asked, I waited a full ten minutes before recovering the full employment of my faculties. I found, with only a modicum of surprise, that the way back in was barred, and had to circle round the exterior of the cave and climb through a window to regain entry. Princess Jodi immediately latched onto my arm, whilst the giant stood with his camera, still and silent as stone, and more than slightly perturbed.

With the filmmaking ordeal fast drawing to a close, the desperate giant made one last, and admittedly bold, venture to view the princess in far less than her underpants. Anderson, with a certain amount of glee in his voice, asked that, for the last scene, could the princess please remove all of her clothing in front of a mirror. Visibly stricken by the thought of disrobing in front of him, Jodi asked Anderson as to why he would even remotely consider the shadow of a possibility of such an occurrence.

"Artistic purposes."

"Artistic purposes?"

"Need protect integrity of film. Want to make honest movie, need an honest performance."

"And how exactly, giant, does my nudity reflect honesty?"

The giant shrugged.

After a mystifying torrent of bargaining and begging, I found myself relegated to a damp corner behind the couch, whilst the princess stood in front of the mirror, removing her t-shirt and revealing only a lacy white undergarment beneath. Much to his, probably repeated, enjoyment, Anderson filmed the scene, whilst the fair maiden and I tried to fathom how such a thing could have just happened.

As Jodi stood there, half-naked and trembling, I came to the inexorable conclusion that it was time to leave. I gathered up the princess and her clothing and bid the giant farewell.

"What?! You no go."

"Alas, old friend, 'tis indeed time for us to make our departure. The princess and I require sustenance, and then I must return her to the castle of the king, lest he hunt me down and hang me with mine entrails."

"Me go too."

"There is no need, good giant. You just dined, and I am leaving anyway. 'Tis no reason why I shouldst not be the one to return the princess to her home."

"No! Me must go! Me need princess!"

Jodi grabbed my arm, as her knees had abruptly given out.

"By princess, me mean food. Why would me say princess, I no need princess..."

"Fucking hell."

The princess and I hastily made our retreat and proceeded straightaway to the nearest fast-food establishment, wherein Jodi made clear her growing discomfort with the giant.

"Holy. Fucking. Shit. What just happened in there?"

"I do believe, my lady, that you removed your clothing in the presence of both the giant and his camera."

"Sweet fucking Christ, 'tis something wrong with me? Ere this day, the giant worried me, but now, now I fear I will not sleep well at all, acting as I did." The princess slowly sipped her soda.

"'Twas witchcraft! The giant deceived me with devilry and lies. 'Tis the only possible way."

"'Twas not witchcraft, princess. As much as it pains me to admit it, Anderson has proven himself a cunning linguist."

The princess raised an eyebrow.

"You just watch your mouth there, Nathaniel."

As we dined on our ground beef and deep-fried potato products, Princess Jodi of Belleville continued to dwell on the troubling overtures of the giant. She reached such a frenzy of worry and anxious theorizing that I had no choice but to confirm her fears. Quickly, though, I assured her that despite the giant and his less than honorable intentions, all was well and her company was firmly in control of matters.


But all was not well in the land of Jersey. As the days blistered onward, the maleficent gnome continued to stalk the princess, having repeatedly been seen driving past a number of locales the princess frequented, the castle of the king notwithstanding. King Vito, for his part, commissioned the construction of an impenetrable white picket barrier around his castle, as well as personally threatening the life of the gnome no fewer than three times. Fences and death threats, however, were no match for the lusting of the gnome.

Arturo reported that, in spite of his best efforts, he had been followed and verbally assaulted by Simon in a nearby bowling alley.

"Where the fuck is she?"

"Where the fuck is who?"

"Do not toy with me, wizard."

"I wouldst not think of it, gnome."

"I know where you live!"

"No. Thou doth not."

"Fuck you!"

Simon had, in fact, begun to inquire as to the nature of the relationship between the princess and every other man on the planet, searching for both allies and enemies in his quest for the fair Jodi. The giant, too, had redoubled his efforts, sending parcels and flowers by courier, feeling not the slightest embarrassment nor hint of ignominy after the movie-making incident.

Throughout it all, the princess remained calm, addressing the situation in private with her handmaiden, Andrea. Of course, there is nothing private when it comes to Andrea, so eventually I, too, was told of the flourishing anxieties of Jodi.

"Nathaniel, hast thou talked with either the giant or the gnome?"

"Alas, not recently, no. Why doth thou ask?"

"The princess is troubled by them. The gnome hath been seen driving round the castle repeatedly, and the giant calls endlessly on the telephone. Jodi grows concerned they have taken her friendship too far. She fears that she has become little more than some recession to them."

"You mean obsession."

"That's what I said."

"Right. And just what doth thou propose we do?"

"Hell if I know."

Andrea and I then attempted to ask Sir Gregory for his opinions regarding the behavior of Simon and Anderson, but the prurient knight had vanished, presumably passed out in one of the many strip clubs of the land. With the resource most adept in compulsion assumed unconscious, we once again sought the advice of our chain-smoking seer, Arturo.

"Oh wise sage, what shouldst we do regarding the giant and the gnome?"

"Hell if I know."

"Thou art a fucking magic man, Arturo. Thou hast been to no fewer than three universities in the past four years, thou hast paid very, very large sums of money to be taught how to think and learn and be of some use to society. So put thine tiny melon to work and tell us what to do, thou laziest of shits."

"Lazy? Lazy?! Hast thou seen mine homework? If I want to graduate from this god-forsaken technical school..."

"Why start now?"

"At least I will be able to use my degree, poet."

"That was low."

"Gnooooome. Giiiiiiiant. Doth not that ring any bells, boys?"

"Bah. I cannot be bothered with thy trifling affairs."

"They are stalking the princess."

"Well, why the hell didn't you say so? Giveth me but a moment, and I shalt think of something."

"Sure thou will."

"Fucketh off."

Three cigarettes and one cup of coffee later...

"I have a solution. I propose that the poet and myself talk the giant out of his pining for the princess. His intentions are honest; he is just misguided. I do not believe that he means to harm Jodi at all. Nonetheless, we must set things straight and bare unto him the truth, scrofulous though it may be."

"Scrofuwhat?"

"Large and unsightly. Ugly."

"Damn right he's ugly."

"Jesus, Dre, was that really necessary?"

"I 'unno. Yes?"

Arturo shook his head.

"And what of the gnome?"

"What of him, Nathaniel? He is a burden to society and a truly obnoxious little fuck. I wouldst worry about him no longer. If we continue to shun him, he will be forced to realize that he is unwanted and slink quietly back to the gutter forest from whence he came."

"Thou hath better be right."

"I'm a goddamn genius, of course I'm right."


That very evening, as the moon rose from the grave of daylight, Arturo and myself, with talk of new anime videos and Star Wars action figures, persuaded the giant to journey with us to the mall, a great monument to consumerism and swift, low-quality food. Once inside the motorcoach of the warlock, however, we set aside our Kevin Smith homage and bluntly introduced the topic of the princess to the man-mountain.

"Anderson, despite the fact that none hath ever seen him, the princess doth indeed have a boyfriend. I am afraid that thine efforts are in vain."

"Me aware. Me be good now."

The resounding thud of our mandibles dropping was reported to have been heard in villages throughout the land. Startled by not only the speed, but also the ease with which the task had been accomplished, the near-wizard and myself could think of nothing else to speak of. Our trio continued onward to the mall, filled now with nothing but the desire to spend money and eat poorly constructed tacos. The princess was not mentioned once during the entire course of our visit. The warlock and I grew in our hope that all was now for the better.

Lamentably, the journey home revealed the giant to be far more stubborn than either Arturo or myself had chosen to believe.

"Princess birthday is soon. Me throw party."

"Good giant, that is a grand idea. The company shall indeed throw a party for the twentieth birthday of the fair Jodi."

"No, no company. Just I."

"Anderson, did not we just speak of this very topic?"

"Me just want make her see that there other options. Ghost-prince not the only muskrat in town."

"Options?"

"Muskrat?"

"What options? Thou art a fucking giant! What in the holy hell art thou talking about?"

"Options! Just want make her see options!"

Our efforts at diplomacy plowing headlong into a wall of brick, the mage and I looked at one another, tacitly abandoning any and all hope for the poor creature. So far gone was Anderson that every future attempt at reason ended with the steadfast declaration of his intentions toward the princess, the giant clinging to the word "options" like a fraternity brother to a porcelain commode. There was little we could do to help him now.


Despite this transition from a pitiful, forlorn admirer of the princess into an unornamented and downright frightening stalker, the plan conceived by the giant was indeed a noble excuse to get drunk. Arturo and I brainstormed the details over a late supper of coffee and sprinkled donuts, beginning preparations for the gala the very next morn. Foremost on the list was informing the princess of her impending celebration.

"Fair Princess Jodi, your company humbly requests thy presence a week from this evening, at a joyous banquet of meats and ales and merriment, and possibly a pony, to be held in honor of the forthcoming anniversary of thy birth."

"Sweet."

"We shall not be inviting the giant, nor the gnome, in an effort to avoid the unfortunate scenes and unpleasant situations that wouldst surely arise from their attendance."

"'Tis understandable, Nathaniel, but I would feel ill at ease if we didst not invite the giant."

"Princess, art thou confident that is wise? Thou hast not been huffing magic markers again, hast thou?"

"I will ask my betrothed, Prince Michael of Asbury, to attend, in the hopes that his corporeality will be able to speak facts and truths that words cannot."

"I do not mean to worry you, my lady, but Anderson is bordering on a criminal obsession worthy of song at this point. What if the prince should fail?"

"He has slain dragons for me, a giant shouldst not be a problem."

"Is not that a bit... excessive, princess?"

"I suppose. Perhaps he could lop off only a hand or a foot?"

"Oh, of course. 'Tis much more reasonable that way."

"Eat me, poet."

"Would not the Prince of Asbury be angered if I were to obey?"

Jodi shook her head.


Whilst I was engaged with the molestation of the Princess of Belleville, Arturo communicated to both the handmaiden and the knight--who had reappeared just as abruptly as he had vanished--our plans for the upcoming party, the three proceeding to make the necessary purchases and reservations for the event. A time and location were secured, but, sadly, no merchant was foolish enough to entrust a pony to our care.


That same evening, a besotted Sir Gregory was ambushed by Simon during a lap dance, and, quite distractedly, conveyed to the gnome our designs for gaiety and royal diversion. The gnome nearly soiled himself with glee. He was then hurled to the sidewalk by a large and burly security guard.

Later that evening, the princess and myself delivered vocally to the giant his invitation and were nearly broken by his embracing arms. Jodi and I ran away with more swiftness than we had previously thought ourselves capable of, as Anderson had thoroughly befouled himself with what could only be assumed to have been joy.

Even later that evening, the knight confessed his accidental betrayal and, upon asking for retribution, was flogged by Andrea. A number of garments were sullied with penance in the process.

Still later that evening, Gregory, Simon, Anderson, and Andrea ran into one another at an all-night laundromat. A number of half-hearted greetings and awkward silences followed, before each went home with his or her fresh linens and fell asleep.

***

The intervening days were spent keeping the gnome and the giant from slaughtering one another. 'Twas not that we particularly cared about their continued existence, but moreso that we feared they might do something in the name of love and ruin the festivities. The tension between the two had become as conspicuous as a monkey driving a tractor and hung in the air as unpleasantly as King Vito after Mexican food. What was once a more or less friendly, if woefully misguided, competition had flowered into a bloodthirsty rivalry, as Simon and Anderson continued to connive and campaign for the hand of a woman who wanted neither of them. The newest card in their collective and still not quite full deck was the undermining of the challenger in the presence of the princess; the gnome and the giant now actively sabotaging the already weak efforts of the other to enchant Jodi with honeyed words and hackneyed actions.
The incessant complaining and baseless lying, the none too subtle coughing of words into a hand, the conflicts fought in bouts of superfluous nattering, the idle threats with forks and butter knives. The duo caused no end of headaches and embarrassment.

Thankfully, the fated day arrived without any great incident, and, as the moon slowly kicked the ass of the sun into submission, the princess and her court gathered in the parking lot of the royal video store. To the apparent surprise of only Jodi, the Prince of Asbury was not in attendance.

The company was dressed to massacre: the males appareled in our finest denim and cleanest cotton t-shirts, the pseudo-mage and myself accessorized with flannel long-sleeves; the women in painted-on khaki slacks and v-neck blouses, their hair in a style other than pony-tailed. Presents were given in exchange for a hug from the princess, she was happy, we were happy, and all seemed well in the Kingdom of Belleville.

Then the gnome arrived.

Reeking of cigarettes and garbed in an attitude befitting a disgruntled children's clown who was just punched in the crotch, Simon managed to piss off everyone in the company, none as fiercely enraged as the giant. Quickly, before even hollow greetings could be traded, we piled into two automobiles and left for the banquet hall.


Situated on the farthest outskirts of a massive shopping center, the themed dining hall was not the most elegant of restaurants by any means, the animatronic apes themselves a new low for dining entertainment. Still, it was the classiest location of which we could conceive. The tacky interior notwithstanding, Princess Jodi of Belleville was jubilant, and that, after all, was the purpose of the evening.

Free bread was proffered and devoured, course after course was ordered, served, and ravaged, round after round after round was stealthily passed to the underage members of the court. Princess Jodi was overjoyed with the celebration, the knight inundated with the phone numbers of waitresses, the giant serene and charming, and the entire company awash with liquid merriment. More impressively, neither Simon nor Anderson had dared to exploit the royal drunkenness of Her Highness. Truly, a grand time was had by all.

Satiated on undercooked hamburgers and more than drunk on cheap ales and lagers, the company prepared to call an end to the banquet. The check arrived and was passed around, each member contributing his share to the fund. But, lo, the gnome refused to pay.

The giant was overcome with a violent fury, his veins threatening to burst forth from his corpulent neck. Sir Gregory was the first to notice, and brought the warlock's and mine own rather inebriated attention to it.

"Good sirs, a brawl couldst be afoot."

"Yes, Sir Gregory, it could indeed."

"This promises to be quite enjoyable."

"Enjoyable? Nay. This shouldst prove fucking hysterical."

Despite our growing bloodlust, 'twas then that common sense and etiquette took hold. We covered Simon's portion of the bill and removed ourselves from the premises, lest something get broken.


Arriving back in the Kingdom of Belleville, the prognostication of the knight manifested itself as truth, as Anderson unleashed a volley of obscenities, somehow managing to sully the already sordid reputation of the gnome. Simon retaliated, defaming Anderson before laying into the shins of the colossus with itty-bitty steel-toed boots. The giant bitch-slapped the gnome a full twenty feet backwards. Simon, realizing the futility of another physical assault, then challenged the giant to an intellectual debate.

"Fuck you!"

"Fuck you!"

"Fuck you, you fat fuck!"

"Fat? Fat?! You short little cock-goblin! This all muscle, bitch!"

"Who you callin' a bitch, you hulking ass-monkey!"

"Pointy-haired son of a fish-crotched whore!"

"Overgrown, tiny-brained pig-fucker!"

"Horse-sucking half-wit!"

"The princess is mine, god damn it!"

"No, she is mine!"

The princess, however, was not aware of belonging to either of them.

"What in the holiest of fucks art thou talking about? I am the betrothed of Prince Michael of Asbury. And even if I was not, there is no conceivable way that I wouldst ever disgrace myself by foundering to the level of thee. The pair of you art detestable creatures, fighting over me from afar, both too chicken-shit to be honest with yourselves, too feebleminded to face the truth. How couldst thou possibly think that I could want thee? For the love of all that is sweet and fuzzy! I wouldst choose Sir Gregory or the warlock, even the poet, over either of thee. I cannot even begin to fathom how long the pair of you have been doing this. 'Tis disgusting, to be drooling over me in private... What in the fuck is wrong with thee?"

By the time she had finished, both the giant and the gnome were handsomely degraded. Simon, fuming beneath his hair, managed to find a few novel uses for the word "fuck," new to even the princess, before driving away in abject shame, never to be seen again. The giant, however, moved not an inch.

"Good thing he gone now, we can get back on with the party."

"Sweet zombie Jesus, giant. What're you? Retarded?"

"Maybe now that gnome gone you might want to come back to cave..."

"Holy fucking hush puppies! Were you not listening, thy elephantine beast of backwater thought? I do not love thee. I do not want thee. I can barely tolerate thee as of late. Whatever ideas thou hast in that thick-shelled cranium art damaged. Thou art a fool, Anderson, a slow-witted sack of stupidity with spoiled porridge for brains, a fetid pile of..."

Sir Gregory turned toward the rest of the company.

"Soooo... coffee?"

***

Being royally debased, soundly insulted, and quite thoroughly rejected was still not enough to deter Anderson from his quest to seduce and win over the princess. The giant continued to call her repeatedly, groveling, apologizing, tendering gifts and iced lattes and trips to the movies, carrying on as if the preceding summer had never come into existence.

The fellowship, tiring quickly of the limitless and disquieting perseverance of the giant, once again girded itself with the bazooka of reason and assailed the man-mountain. 'Twas of no consequence, however, as the giant was built of sterner stuff than logic. Though our pity and feigned understanding of his beleaguered heart could only extend so far, it still pained us to realize that the only unexpended option was to relieve Anderson of the burden of our companionship.

Calling upon the tactic of unrelenting avoidance that had worked so well against the gnome, each member of the court tendered his or her last words to the giant, a final "fare thee well," "good luck," or "find some pants that fit." We then, simply, ignored Anderson until he disappeared from our lives. It took a considerably ridiculous amount of time, but, eventually, Anderson was nothing more than a memory, a casualty lost to the rabid poodle that is obsessive love. 'Twas not our finest moment, by any means, but it was necessary. At least, this is what we told ourselves.


In the end, however, even self-delusion was not enough to save us, as karma pummeled us bloody in payment for our sins.

Within but a year, the Company of Jodi collapsed, member by member. The wizard Arturo received his degree and, corrupted by his own intelligence, left us for more lucrative kingdoms; Sir Gregory, succeeding where so many others had failed, stole the heart of the princess, just before going altogether mad and vanishing one final time; the handmaiden Andrea fell deep into debt with the wrong kind of people and is now a part of the pavement in a nearby sporting complex; and I, the pedantic Nathaniel, teller of our tale, finally saw the very-much existent Prince Mike... right before he ditched Jodi for the Queen of Miami, leaving only the princess and myself to live happily ever after.

Which we did.

More or less.