Categories > Original > Humor > The Book of Hondo
And in the Lost City of Constagando, 30 leagues, or ten milliliters, east of the Airport, the Dudes didst come upon the Marketplace.
‘Wearing pants, art thou?’ a man in a grey toga said unto Scoot, ‘Thou’rt a strange one!’
‘I feeleth like chicken tonight,’ quoth Casey.
‘Thou always feeleth like chicken every night,’ quoth Scoot.
And everyone didst look to Adria.
‘No!’ quoth she, ‘thou canst not eat little Skidmarks! He’s an endangered species! And, for thine information, farting chickens tasteth terrible.’
And so they didst search the market for a merchant who was selling chickens, and didst finally find one, but she wanted a Blue Figurine, three Souvenir Spoons, and a silk tapestry for them, but that’s another story.
‘Look at this!’ quoth Casey, ‘for I have acquired the Hammer of Not Bickering for two Souvenir Spoons and a Golden Jackal Statue!’
And he didst hold it high over his head and gloat, in accordance with the Thirty-Seventh Commandment.
‘And I have the Gothic Axe!’ quoth Dirty Uncle Orty, ‘for a Stone Tablet, two Bundles and a Shrubbery!’
And he didst hold it high over his head and gloat.
And they didst meet a old man who stood on a soapbox, proclaiming: ‘We art all just characters in some insomniac’s fucked-up story! Our every day in life is just a click of his mouse! If my words be untrue, may I be struck by the Gods!’
And the old man was turned into a fire-breathing cat with an umbrella for a tail.
‘ ’Tis a sign!’ cried a woman.
‘Look!’ quoth some guy, ‘Scoot the Ko’An!’
And soon a crowd had gathered around the Dudes.
‘I have a climbing axe stuck in my head!’ quoth a young woman.
And Scoot didst yank out the axe, and said unto her: ‘Put thee some duct tape on that. Taketh two aspirin and call me in the morning.’
‘I am going bald!’ quoth an old man.
‘I shall refer that one to our resident medical expert, Casey,’ quoth Scoot. ‘Not only is he the Pope, but he is also a member.’
‘Shave thy beard,’ quoth Casey, ‘and put five ounces, or 45 °/kghr, of Miracle Grow upon thy head. Oh, and forget not to eat lots of tomatoes.’
‘I’ve (hic!) had (hic!) the hic!-ups for (hic!) thirty-seven (hic!) years!’ quoth an old man. ‘Canst thou (hic!) help me?’
And without warning, Scoot didst stand backwards, scaring him within an inch of his life.
‘Holy shit!’ cried Nori ‘Warn us the next time thou’rt gonna do that!’
‘I’m healed!’ quoth the old man. ‘Many thanks to thee, and the Gods of Hondo!’
‘ ’Tis a sign!’ quoth a woman.
‘I am an insomniac!’ quoth a young man.
And Scoot didst stare at him for a long moment before he spoke.
‘Don’t look at me!’ quoth Scoot. ‘Dost thou think I can help thee?’
‘I been cursed with the Gooney Itch!’ quoth a old woman, ‘and I can’t stop dancing the Macarena! Help!’
‘Free thy mind from the porn!’ cried Scoot as he didst lay hands on her, and the old woman ran away dancing an Irish Jig until she was hit by a bus.
‘Well,’ quoth Scoot, ‘four out of five’s not bad.’
How beautiful are thy feet with shoes, O prince’s daughter!
Thy navel is like a round goblet, which wanteth not liquor; thy belly is like a heap of wheat set about with lilies.
Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins.
Thy neck is a tower of ivory, thine eyes like the fishpools in Heshbon, by the gate of Bath-rabbim; thy nose is as the tower of Lebanon which looketh toward Damascus.
Thy stature is like to a palm tree, and thy breasts to clusters of grapes.
And a man didst walk up to Yoco and said unto him, ‘Wouldst thou tell thy Master that I hath something he might be very interested in.’
‘Master?’ asked Yoco.
‘Thou art Scoot’s slave, art thou not?’ asked the man.
‘Slave!’ cried Yoco. ‘I belong to nobody! I am the Sacrificial Goat of Hondo! As such, I am the Supreme Lord and Master of All Goats, Sacrificial or Otherwise! I am the Lord of Sacrificial Goats, God of Scapegoats, Emperor of Billygoats, King of Can-Eaters, Rajah of Rams, Prince of Capricorns, Pope of Mountain Goats, Patron Saint of Goatherds, Czar of Goat-Suckers, Sultan of Stuffed Goats, and Duke of Haggis! And don’t ye forget it!’
And the self-proclaimed Supreme Lord and Master of All Goats didst turn to Scoot and said unto him, ‘Hey, Scoot! This guy doth want to speak with thee!’
And so the Dudes didst speak with the old man.
‘Wearing pants, art thou?’ a man in a grey toga said unto Scoot, ‘Thou’rt a strange one!’
‘I feeleth like chicken tonight,’ quoth Casey.
‘Thou always feeleth like chicken every night,’ quoth Scoot.
And everyone didst look to Adria.
‘No!’ quoth she, ‘thou canst not eat little Skidmarks! He’s an endangered species! And, for thine information, farting chickens tasteth terrible.’
And so they didst search the market for a merchant who was selling chickens, and didst finally find one, but she wanted a Blue Figurine, three Souvenir Spoons, and a silk tapestry for them, but that’s another story.
‘Look at this!’ quoth Casey, ‘for I have acquired the Hammer of Not Bickering for two Souvenir Spoons and a Golden Jackal Statue!’
And he didst hold it high over his head and gloat, in accordance with the Thirty-Seventh Commandment.
‘And I have the Gothic Axe!’ quoth Dirty Uncle Orty, ‘for a Stone Tablet, two Bundles and a Shrubbery!’
And he didst hold it high over his head and gloat.
And they didst meet a old man who stood on a soapbox, proclaiming: ‘We art all just characters in some insomniac’s fucked-up story! Our every day in life is just a click of his mouse! If my words be untrue, may I be struck by the Gods!’
And the old man was turned into a fire-breathing cat with an umbrella for a tail.
‘ ’Tis a sign!’ cried a woman.
‘Look!’ quoth some guy, ‘Scoot the Ko’An!’
And soon a crowd had gathered around the Dudes.
‘I have a climbing axe stuck in my head!’ quoth a young woman.
And Scoot didst yank out the axe, and said unto her: ‘Put thee some duct tape on that. Taketh two aspirin and call me in the morning.’
‘I am going bald!’ quoth an old man.
‘I shall refer that one to our resident medical expert, Casey,’ quoth Scoot. ‘Not only is he the Pope, but he is also a member.’
‘Shave thy beard,’ quoth Casey, ‘and put five ounces, or 45 °/kghr, of Miracle Grow upon thy head. Oh, and forget not to eat lots of tomatoes.’
‘I’ve (hic!) had (hic!) the hic!-ups for (hic!) thirty-seven (hic!) years!’ quoth an old man. ‘Canst thou (hic!) help me?’
And without warning, Scoot didst stand backwards, scaring him within an inch of his life.
‘Holy shit!’ cried Nori ‘Warn us the next time thou’rt gonna do that!’
‘I’m healed!’ quoth the old man. ‘Many thanks to thee, and the Gods of Hondo!’
‘ ’Tis a sign!’ quoth a woman.
‘I am an insomniac!’ quoth a young man.
And Scoot didst stare at him for a long moment before he spoke.
‘Don’t look at me!’ quoth Scoot. ‘Dost thou think I can help thee?’
‘I been cursed with the Gooney Itch!’ quoth a old woman, ‘and I can’t stop dancing the Macarena! Help!’
‘Free thy mind from the porn!’ cried Scoot as he didst lay hands on her, and the old woman ran away dancing an Irish Jig until she was hit by a bus.
‘Well,’ quoth Scoot, ‘four out of five’s not bad.’
How beautiful are thy feet with shoes, O prince’s daughter!
Thy navel is like a round goblet, which wanteth not liquor; thy belly is like a heap of wheat set about with lilies.
Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins.
Thy neck is a tower of ivory, thine eyes like the fishpools in Heshbon, by the gate of Bath-rabbim; thy nose is as the tower of Lebanon which looketh toward Damascus.
Thy stature is like to a palm tree, and thy breasts to clusters of grapes.
And a man didst walk up to Yoco and said unto him, ‘Wouldst thou tell thy Master that I hath something he might be very interested in.’
‘Master?’ asked Yoco.
‘Thou art Scoot’s slave, art thou not?’ asked the man.
‘Slave!’ cried Yoco. ‘I belong to nobody! I am the Sacrificial Goat of Hondo! As such, I am the Supreme Lord and Master of All Goats, Sacrificial or Otherwise! I am the Lord of Sacrificial Goats, God of Scapegoats, Emperor of Billygoats, King of Can-Eaters, Rajah of Rams, Prince of Capricorns, Pope of Mountain Goats, Patron Saint of Goatherds, Czar of Goat-Suckers, Sultan of Stuffed Goats, and Duke of Haggis! And don’t ye forget it!’
And the self-proclaimed Supreme Lord and Master of All Goats didst turn to Scoot and said unto him, ‘Hey, Scoot! This guy doth want to speak with thee!’
And so the Dudes didst speak with the old man.
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