During my many travels around the world, I met many, many individuals. However, few of them—nay, none of them (save for myself) had a rapport with the ladies which could rival that of Mr. Jonas P. Quattlebaum.
Jonas was a roguish young man and his appearance bore witness to that fact. He wore loose fitting clothes that were torn and lay dangling across his many rippling ‘ceps. He liked it because it gave him a sort of “Kevin-Sorbo-from-Hercules look.” He had long, curly hair that danced on his shoulders like thin, blond aborigines around a fire on a starry night. His eyes were as deep and blue as an empty ocean cavern. Women shuddered just to see his face, for they knew they would never find another man as desirable as he.
Looks were not all that Jonas had going for him. He was a true poet, an artist of words. He would sing sweet whispers into maidens’ ears, making hymn-like brushstrokes across the quiet air that could make the blind see his face, the lame dance for him, and the mute sing his name (he tended to prefer handicapped women for some reason).
One day, though, Jonas P. Quattlebaum made the greatest mistake that any great man has ever made. Jonas P. Quattlebaum fell prostrate to an evil temptress named Jezebel Cankersore.
It all began on a warm, rainy afternoon somewhere deep in the Arabian desert. Quattlebaum and I had just finished raiding a local camel farming community, and were enjoying some delicious sugar dates and camel’s milk in our tent to celebrate our new booty.
“Speaking of booty, Dr. Sneezefarts, that Jezebel Cankersore sure has a nice one,” Quattlebaum said to me, staring off across the empty miles of newly-wet sand dunes.
“Quattlebaum, could it be that you, the second greatest lover in the history of human relationships, have fallen for one single, fallible and imperfect lady?” I asked in mocking disbelief. I knew that such a relationship could never last, mainly because Quattlebaum was far too delightsome, and Jezebel was just sort of, for lack of a better word, plain—like a boiled egg, or noodles without any sauce.
Despite my endless mockery and shaming, Jonas persevered in his quest to develop a relationship with Jezebel. He became distracted from our camel raids, and was beginning to be more of a liability than help during our occasional sword fights and skirmishes with the locals. In fact, there is no telling how many camels we lost because of his incessant whining about how he had told that nasty, plain Cankersore that he loved her, and how he didn’t think she felt the same way.
I waited patiently, for I knew that this silly infatuation was sure to end. And then, one day, the inevitable finally occurred. Jezebel Cankersore, the quiet, weird, dumpy, smelly temptress, who had stolen Jonas P. Quattlebaums soul for so long, went out with Jonas for a very long camel ride. I did not trust Jezebel, so I tracked them silently, watching her every move. Jonas and Jezebel did not speak, and they interacted almost like strangers, even perhaps enemies, riding in complete silence that was only interrupted by Jezebel’s hideous, screeching attempt at singing.
The camel ride stretched from hours to days, and my mouth and skin grew dry from dehydration as I crept behind the dunes. I was forced to slay desert rodents and drink their fluids for hydration.
Finally, on the eleventh day of their camel ride, Jezebel made her move.
“You are far too great of a lover for me and I hate you for it!” she shrieked, her disgusting plain voice penetrating my skull with such a stab that I thought surely it had lacerated my brain.
Jezebel pulled out a golden knife studded with rubies and slashed toward Jonas, but I was ready. I sprung from behind the dune and with one great swoop of my saif, I chopped her arm off just above the elbow before her blade could come anywhere near Quattlebaum. The horrible pained shrieking continued and I swung my blade again, this time removing her plain head from her dumpy body.
To my great surprise, hundreds and thousands of cobras began pouring out of the two open wounds, and I furiously stabbed at the ground trying to kill all of them. Snakes are gross.
After I had killed the nearly three thousand cobras that Jezebel Cankersore’s plain, dumpy corpse had produced, Jonas and I returned to our camp, and I gave him some camel’s milk and some sugar dates, and he was back to normal within a few minutes. In fact, that very night, Quattlebaum and I went into the nearby town to gallivant, tomfool, eat, drink and woo the many beautiful Arabian maidens.
It was on that fateful shenaniganous night that I first crossed paths with Methuselah Firkington, Randall Stumpgrinder, Jericho Shamewater, Alouicious Carolscreamer, and Remus T. Railroad. Little did I know it, but two of these men would become my greatest allies. One of them would become my most hated enemy.
The other two I liked okay but didn’t keep up with them very well.
I love it !
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