A Game of Groans: A Sonnet of Slush and Soot Read Online Free PDF Page A

“Gods in hell, Allbran’s queefs are getting chunkier.” Then he put his pillow over his head, hoping sleep would again come. Just as he was about to nod off, there was a louder rumble, followed by a cry of “Hey Barky-Boy, drop that tiny winky of yours and get your fat ass out of bed!”
    Head groaned, then elbowed Gateway awake and murmured, “Get up. Bobbert’s early.”
    Gateway echoed her husband’s groan—it was almost as if they were playing a game of groans—then reached over to her nightstand, grabbed the remnants of last night’s pre-bedtime Godsweede, sparked it up, and took a hit. With the smoke still in her lungs, she held out the plant to Head and gasped, “Want a taste?”
    Head—who indulged once when he was eleven, an indulgence that still elicited nightmares of yet-to-be-fought battles against bearded scribes with predilections for composing overly lengthy tomes that often included scenes in which a beloved protagonist is prematurely killed—said, “Tempting, but I’ll pass. Bobbert will probably be all grogged up, and when he’s grogged up, he likes to talk, so I should probably be lucid.”
    “Good point.” She nodded. The unclothed Gateway then rolled out of bed, stumbled to her closet, and grabbed her robe. Covering herself and sauntering to the window, she added, “It sounds like a circus out there. I wonder who he brought with him.” Did he bring the entire cast of characters? Did he bring people we’ll see in season one or season two? Or the next book? Or the book after that? Or the book after that? Or the book after the book after the book after The Hunger Games ?”
    “I’m afraid of who he brought with him. Hopefully not the Queen. My best shirt is stained, and the last thing I need is Cerevix whining, Head isn’t fit to be a Lord, and Head doesn’t represent House Barker the way it should be represented, and Head isn’t this, and Head isn’t that .” Clutching his stomach, he added, “Gods, my ulcer is acting up already.”
    Gateway said, “Maybe Cerevix didn’t come.”
    A cry came from outside: “Rise and shine and open the Godsdamn door, Barky-Boy! Cerevix has to take a leak…”
    Head sighed, “Godsdamn it. Cerevix came.”
    Bobbert continued, “And Jagweed’s gotta drop a deuce.”
    “Wonderful,” Head gamely groaned. “That one’s here too.” He stood up and sighed. “Let’s get this over with.” He trudged to the other side of the room as if the floor were covered with the muddiest of mud, pulled back the curtain, opened the window, forced a grin, and roared, “Bobbo Slobbo!”
    “Barky Burger!”
    “Kingo Ringo!”
    “Header Bedder!”
    “Barfy Barfy Banana Fanna Fo Farfy!”
    “Lordy Lordy, drink a forty!”
    Head wiped the crust from his eyes and gave his friend a onceover, not impressed with what he was seeing. King Bobbert Barfonme was big even when he was little, but his years on the throne had not been kind to his waistline. The King had probably packed on thirty or forty pounds since the last time they got together, three Summers before. “You look great, Your Highness!” he called.
    “I look like hell, and if you call me Your Highness again, I’ll slap that scraggly beard off your face.”
    “I’m sure you will, Bobbert. I’m coming down. Tell Cerevix and Jagweed they can use the outhouse.”
    Queen Cerevix—blond, beautiful, regal Queen Cerevix—roared, “Head, there is no way in hell that my junk is touching a toilet that’s been touched by the junk of a peasant!”
    “That’s all we have to offer, Cerevix.”
    “Godsdamn jerkwater town, full of empty-headed mud-suckers,” Cerevix grumbled as she trooped to the toilet.
    Head called to the King, “Looks like your way with words has been rubbing off on your wife, Bobbert!”
    “That’s not the only thing I’ve been rubbing off on her!”
    At that, Gateway chuckled. Head turned around and glared at her, then hissed, “Quit laughing. You’ll only encourage