"Yes," said Prince Vitamin C, "Begonne and leave the pursuance of the fair princess
to one worthy of her hand."
"If, sir," began Baron Shagnasty, "you are implying that I, a noble baron of the
Ninth of Nov, am not worthy and that you, a ramshackle pile of second rate fruit,
are, then I shall not leave.
I shall not cease my courtship until I am standing at the altar with Princess
"Then I challenge you for the right of courtship," said the prince, "He who loses
leaves the kingdom and never returns."
"Very well," said the baron, "Monopoly at ten paces!"
"Bags I play the boot," said the prince.
"OK, I'll be the iron."
"Landlord! The Monopoly board, if you please!"
"Hey," said the landlord, "I'm not having any Monopoly playing in here!"
"Why not?" said Baron Shagnasty.
"Well, not unless I can join in," replied the landlord, "I may be only a humble
tavern landlord but I'm a loyal subject of King Farnsborough.
I think I deserve a fair crack at his daughter.
I'll be the racing car."
"And I'll be the dog," said Tetley, "As court chamberlain, I'm entitled to a piece
of the action as well."
"Hey, what is this?" said Prince Vitamin C, "Let's all crap on the prince?"
"And I'll be the hat," said the prince's hitherto faithful steed.
"Et tu, Crappalot?" said the prince, "What about you two guys inside? You wanna
stab me from behind?"
"No thank you, ducky," said Simon blithely, "We're quite happy as we are."
"Oh shit!" said Tetley.
"What is it?" said the prince.
A duck had just entered the tavern and was waddling up to the bar.
"It's Bollinger," said Tetley, "He has some very bad news."
"It's the trousers!" said Tetley horrified, "They're rising!"
"Sorry," blushed the baron, "It's all this talk of the princess."
"No, no, you don't understand," explained Tetley, "It's your dried pulses!
They've infested the trousers!"
"Here in Farnsborough's Kingdom we're dependent upon the Edible Trouser which we grow
in great abundance.
They're very tasty and highly nutritious but they have one dangerous down side."
"If they come into contact with dried pulses then they become aggressive.
Bollinger has come to tell us that they've broken out of the
and are attacking the kingdom.
The king has summoned us to defend his castle at all costs."
"Oh, and there's a reward for whoever slays the most trousers."
"Let me guess," said Crappalot, "Princess Daughter's hand in marriage."
"How did you know that?" gasped Tetley in disbelief, "Do you speak Duck-Butler?"
"Well," said Crappalot smugly, "When you've been in shite stories as long as I have
you get to be able to spot these things."
It was a horrible sight. Children were screaming, dogs were barking, the church
bells were chiming out in alarm.
The market square had already been decimated.
Mr. Slippage-Festival the fishmonger had been injured as he valiantly tried to save
his stall from a vicious gang of plus-fours and was now lying in the trampled
remains of his mackerel.
An entire row of paper clip stalls had been destroyed by a single pair of Levi 501's
and the second hand nose stall had been over-run with D.I.Y. overalls.
And then the army of trousers had left the market square and marched down
Spigot's Parade towards King Farnsborough's castle.
By the time our heroes from The Jolly Jugs had arrived the trousers
were in full melée with the king's army.
Archers fired volleys of arrows from the rampart.
Soldiers fought hand-to-leg before the castle walls.
*Sorry. Couldn't resist that one.