Lo, the chicken-f***ing does not end in Kingdom Erris. One fine morning, on the Day of Tyr, Squire Bugiganga got to the castle bright and early, before anyone else got there, so that he may depart early. He awakened his Windows XP Pro unicorn, and the first thing that appeared was a scroll from ShaqsDad the Destroyer, address to all the squires, requesting some one to execute a task:
“I need someone to travel to a Rook of Greece and find the magic number that will enable us to make more rooks across the land. I need this by morning, so get this done as soon as possible.”
Despite his disdain for the Destroyer, your noble narrator decided to take the charge. He journeyed yonder to the Rook of Greece. I got lost along the way, but made it there safely. There was nary a house nor hut, nor stable for many miles. There apparently was nary a snow plow either. There was a wall of metal thistles surrounding the rook. There was a gate, but the gate was locked. This was not a good idea. You ever-dedicated adventurer looked at the e-mail again, and read it fully:
“I need someone to travel to a Rook of Greece and find the magic number that will enable us to make more rooks across the land. I need this by morning, so get this done as soon as possible…[further down the e-mail]
(Oh, you might have to vault a wall of metal thistles to find the magic number :)).”
Squire Bugiganga was not content with the entire e-mail. He was already at the Rook of Greece, though, and just wanted to get it done. He figured out a way to climb the wall. As he climbed, he thought what everyone would in his situation: “If someone drives past here, my black a** is going to jail…I hate you ShaqsDad.”
At the top of the wall, he saw the land inside, and saw nothing but ice and snow. He thought, “I’m going to jump down and slip and not be found for a week. I should have just stayed in the Castle…man, I really hate you, ShaqsDad…”
Miraculously, your nimble narrator landed fine, got the elusive magic number, and got back to Kingdom Erris safely…then, on his way to the castle gate while walking from his chariot, he twisted his ankle in the lot of chariots, spraining it for a fortnight.
The moral of this story is…there is none. I f***ing hate you, ShaqsDad.