Your general is here! It is time to celebrate our victory!
Raise your tankards of mead and rejoice!
Let us celebrate today’s glorious battle! On the count of three, I want you to shout “TO VICTORY!” One, two, three…TO VICTORY! That was nothing. One more time. One two three…
Cue To Victory sound cue.
TO VICTORY! Much better.
Your general is very proud of you today! I am filled with pride. Nay, bursting with pride. Were you to slice me open with your sword right now, you would be splattered not by entrails, but by pride. And entrails. And why am I proud? Because today, my warriors, you fought like wolves! You fought like bears! You fought like bears with a wolf strapped to each paw! Well, if you think about it, such a creature really couldn’t move properly, could it? And the wolves would probably end up getting into a fight and eating the bear. But those full-of-bear wolves would then fight on even braver than before! And that’s what you fought like today! Like some wolves that had just finished eating a bear which they had been strapped to the paws of. Until recently.
Enough of the self-congratulatory blather. As we do after every battle, it is now time to go over the things that we did well today, and the things that we did not do so well. Oh I know what you’re thinking – “But General, we won the battle, can’t we just get stinking drunk and go enjoy the company of the dancing women of Lucky Cheng’s?” Men, curb your appetites! I know the dancing women of Lucky Cheng’s are of a wild, untamed breed, and their unnaturally strong physiques make them incredibly desirable as mates, yet it seems that no matter how many times we ravage them, they fail to produce any offspring! Well…let’s keep trying. After all, they really, really, really seem to enjoy our company. But I digress! Now is the time to break down today’s battle, not daydream about their sweet and incredibly strong embrace!
What did we do well today? Well, I can think of two things right off the top of my head! First off, we kept on killing. I know it sounds trite, but how many times have we gotten off to an early lead in a battle, only to forget the one thing that got us there in the first place: the killing! This time, when we struck an enemy to the ground, we didn’t stand over them, gloating, only to be stabbed in the groin. We didn’t lean in really close to see if he was still breathing, only to be stabbed in the groin. We didn’t thrust our groins at them in a taunting manner, saying “stab my groin if you can” only to be stabbed in the groin! No, today when we struck a man to the ground, we stabbed him in the groin. Repeatedly. So good work on the groin stabbing and groin stabbing avoidance.
What else did we do well today? We kept our cool! Not once, and this used to be a big problem of ours, not once did any of us drop our weapons, throw our arms up into the air and begin walking in tiny mincing steps in a circle, like this, crying, in a high-pitched stereotypical Mexican accent – “I no wanna fight. No fight. No wanna fight. Please no fight.” I was very pleased to see that none of you did that. It used to be that we couldn’t get more than five minutes into a battle before dozens of you were doing that very thing! It’s amazing to think that we won any battles at all. Ever.
Alright, sadly the list of things we need to improve upon is a bit longer! Let’s start with the lancers. Lancers, where are you? Let me see a show of hands. Okay, listen up. When we go into battle, I need you to be in the front row. When you start out in the back row, by the time you reach the enemy, you’re like a giant goodguy shishkebab.
Archers, don’t be so quick to laugh! Where are you, archers! A show of hands! Come now, don’t be shy! Archers…please aim higher. This will allow the arrows to arc over our heads, and into the ranks of the enemy. It’s simple trigonometry, people!
Horses! A show of hooves, please! I’m kidding. I’m not addressing the horses, I’m about to make a comment pertaining to the horses. I’ve been thinking a lot about our use of horses lately, and I’ve come up with a novel idea. Perhaps we should start riding them. When we release them onto the battlefield, sure they’re fun to watch for a few minutes, but I find that they can be both distracting and hazardous. If we ride the horses, then perhaps we can use them to our advantage, directing them where we want them to go. Perhaps we could reach our destinations at speeds even greater than we can reach on foot! I’m still thinking about that one.
Oh, I know what you’re all thinking. The general has been partaking of the mead in great quantities tonight. I hope he doesn’t launch into one of his infamous stories, like the one we’ve all heard a million times about how he defeated Lord Foulmouth in hand-to-hand combat during the Battle of the Foggy Valley. Well, rest assured, if that’s your concern, I have one thing to say to you…
The valley was very foggy that day. I had made a grievous error by leading my troops into the valley single file and backwards, and now we were paying the price for my foolhardiness. We had been ambushed, and we were being decimated. With all of the fog, I could barely see my hands in front of my face, but all around me I could hear the agonized screams of my men as they were being killed.
“Eaygh. Oh God ack!”
“I don’t wanna fight, no fight – eeeurk!”
“Marco. Polo. Remember, it was very foggy. Marco. Polurk!”
Soon, I was the only one standing. The enemy warriors were closing in on all sides, I was hacking and slashing with wild abandon, my blood stained hair obscuring my vision, my muscles exploding in white hot pain as I kept fighting. My brain was telling me to kill, kill, kill, bake, no kill! I was going to die, I was sure! Then, I realized that they had stopped attacking me. The enemy warriors had fallen back into a circle around me, so that I was now standing in a small clearing in their midst. Then, I saw someone approaching through their ranks. The warriors parted and HE stepped into the circle, a giant man in gleaming black armor, wielding a massive two-handed broadsword. He must have been seven feet tall, or at least five ten. He turned to his men.
“Leave this cocksucking motherfucking asshole to me,” he said.
“Lord Foulmouth,” I replied, “your mouth is every bit as foul as your name would seem to indicate.”
He took a step forward and raised his sword. I took a step backward and re-sheathed mine. Then, rethinking, I drew it again.
“Shit ass.” He said.
“Shit ass?” I queried. “What exactly is that supposed to—“
Too late! He was upon me! His sword came crashing down upon mine, and I was thrown back. I parried and attempted to slash at his torso, but my sword simply glanced off his gleaming black armor.
“Pussy,” he said as we resumed circling, doing the dance of battle. Imagine the scenery swirling cinematically behind me.
“Ah yes, well pussy I understand. It’s an insult, but can we go back to shit ass for a second? It doesn’t make any –“
Again, he attacked! His sword came at me in a sweeping arc, and slammed against my shoulder! My arm went numb, and my sword flew from my hand. I dropped to the ground like a sack of freshly killed squirrels.
As I lay there on my back, Lord Foulmouth stood over me, poised to deliver the killing blow.
“Now you shall die, you crapass titshitting dildowhacking piece of…”
He went on and on like that. A constant stream of profanity the likes of which I’d never heard before. As he stood over me cursing and cursing and cursing, I frantically searched my pockets for anything at all that I could use, anything!
A piece of lint. No good.
A ticket for the Producers. There was no way I was going to let him have that. I ate it.
“Fucky shitty damn damn crap” he was running out of curses. I had to hurry!
A metrocard. A chapstick. More lint. Maxine’s phone number. She is the most fetching of the Lucky Cheng’s dancers. I ate that too.
“Pee pee poo poo kaka…” He was almost done!
A nickel. A guitar pick. A knife. Zagat’s 2001 pocket guidebook to battlefields. More lint, a…wait a second. I had a knife!
Without hesitation, I stabbed Lord Foulmouth in the groin! The only thing messier than his crotch were the regurgitated Producer’s tickets that Maxine and I used the next evening!
Right, then. On with the victory celebration! To victory!!!
BONUS TRACK – here’s an alternate chunk regarding the whole pride topic that I have used as part of this Warlord bit from time to time:
Well, enough of my prattling. We won the battle, and that’s what matters, right? RIGHT?! Right. But before we carry on with the celebration, let me just remind you how proud I am of you today. I am filled with pride. My scalp is itchy with pride. If I were to lean over you right now and scratch my head, you would be sprinkled not by dandruff, but by pride. And dandruff. And entrails. After all, I was just in battle today – it seems that someone’s entrails are always in my hair. You know what, I feel a bit congested right now. Could it be? Yes! I think that my nose is stuffy with pride as well! And I feel a bit phlegmy with pride too. (cough) You know, I think I’m coughing up bits of pride! And I feel achy. I’ve got PRIDE FEVER!!! That’s right, I’m burning up with pride! Ooh. Perhaps I am just drunk with pride. Ahem…
And why am I so proud? Because today you fought like dragons! You fought like killer whales! You fought like a dragon with a killer whale strapped to each claw! Well…if you think about it, the killer whales really couldn’t DO anything strapped to the dragon’s claws. They don’t have arms or legs…and it really wouldn’t be in the dragon’s best interest to fly close enough to the enemy for the killer whales to use their teeth. I mean, the dragons would probably want to rely on their fire breath to roast the enemy from a safe distance. The killer whales would pretty much be big…pontoons, in case the dragons needed to make a water landing. And speaking of the dragons’ fire breath, the killer whales would probably just catch fire by accident at some point…so why don’t we just make the killer whales fireproof. And just to give them something to do, how about we give them the ability to shoot piranhas out of their blowholes. Flying piranhas. Flying piranhas that don’t need to breathe…even better…flying robot piranhas…programmed to chew through the enemy’s skull, directly to his brain! YES! That’s what you fought like today! Like some brain-eating, flying robot piranhas that had been shot from the blowholes of fireproof killer whales in the claws of dragons!
Right, then. On with the victory celebration! To victory!!!