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Tales From Beyond The Enchanted Prong Hills

The Baron Of Dried Fruits

Mike

Page 1



  

A Sequel to
The Prince Of Fresh Fruit

Princess Daughter was undeniably the fairest maiden in the land. Exactly how extensive an area of land you considered is a matter of personal judgement - there are, afterall, some pretty tasty bits of strumpet on the north bank of the Colostomy River. But anyone within an hour's gallop of King Farnsborough's castle would agree that she was probably the niftiest little number they'd seen all day.
The princess had many suitors. Most of them turned out to be dickheads who she would lure into the castle lodge where her faery godmother Primrose, a wicked witch from the dreaded Hell Nymphs Of Satan coven, would drug them, seduce them and turn them into personal organisers.
Primrose was a thoroughly rancid old hag with a face full of pustulous boils and breath which smelled of decaying mullet. Her eyes, deep and piercing, told of a wealth of knowledge of an ancient magick and her teeth spoke of a lifetime's experience opening bottles of Newcastle Brown. It was a horrible way to go.
Some suitors, however, did turn out to be of a marriable quality but the princess's wise and jolly old father would invariably come up with some harebrayned reason why they should part company with their heads. Courting Princess Daughter was therefore a hazardous business pursued only by the gallant, the brave and the downright stupid.

Our story begins in the castle gardens where the latest optimistic swain is trying his fragile luck. His name is Baron Shagnasty from a mystical spongy land known as the Ninth of Nov* and he has been visiting King Farnsborough to discuss trade agreements in soft blue things.
Having finished his audience with the king he spied our luscious princess on his way back to the livery and, well basically, not to put too fine a point on it, got the raging rampant horn.
Discretion and common courtesy dictate that we should not pry into such personal and intimate matters but to my mind that amounts to censorship. I believe that authors have an inalienable right to monitor and report the exploits of their characters. Afterall, if they wanted to keep it hushed up then they should have chosen a location that I didn't know about, shouldn't they? But I just happened to begin this story in the castle gardens and they just happened to be there and . . . well, come on, let's have a look . . .

"O' fair beautiful princess
Were you e'er in distress
I'd get you out of your mess
And fill your heart with gladness ."

*Ninth as in Plinth, not 9th. (Sorry to appear niggly but it's important to get these pronunciations right.)

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