Open Mic Night at the Crazed Heifer
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[Tonight at the Crazed Heifer: the Knightmare Open Mic Comedy Spot. Hordriss walks up onto the makeshift stage. He's nervous.]
Hordriss: 'Ah, g-greetings, ladies and gentleman. One, I mean I, have a small joke for you, and I hope you will make your appreciation evident.'
[Silence]
Hordriss: 'What will Grimwold the Ogre do when he catches a cavern elf whilst he is hungry? Elita!'
[A tumbleweed passes by, but it does not laugh. Hordriss taps the microphone.]
Hordriss: 'Elita!'
[Hordriss is pelted with vegetables, juggling balls and bread rolls, and hitching up his robes, he runs off.]
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[TV presenters Richard and Judy find themselves in Series 3, Level 2, surrounded by goblins.]
Richard: 'Say hello to the goblins, Judy, and ask them if they'd like a present.'
[I should stop there, shouldn't I? But I'll carry it on a bit...]
Judy: 'No, Richard, you do it.'
Richard: 'N-now, Judy, we've talked about this. You do it. And don't bicker in front of strangers.'
Judy: 'I'm NOT bickering!'
Richard: 'Yes you are!'
Lead goblin: [advancing, baring teeth] 'After the break, You Say We Flay...'
[Greystagg sits at the bar in the Crazed Heifer, draining an orange liquid from a c0cktail glass. She's drunk.]
Greystagg: 'I'd like another Witch Amber, if you pleashe.' [She sways]
Barkeep: 'Don't you think you've had enough?'
Greystagg: [Smashes glass] 'I'll TELL you when I've had enough!!' [Falls over]
[Open mic night at The Crazed Heifer continues. Grimwold the Ogre walks up the microphone, and adjusts the height.]
Grimwold: 'Hi there, I suspect most of you know me. I... [sigh] I worry, that I've come across as an angry sort of fellow these past few years. I've just been... I've just been struggling to find my voice, my Muse if you will. If I've broken a few bones and chewed some flesh on my way along that... arduous path, I sincerely apologise. [Some mutterings and coughs from the audience.] But the reason I'm here tonight, is that I've finally found inner peace through creative writing. And to prove it, here is a little poem I wrote. I hope... it pleases you.
There once was a canine called Festus,
Who hit on a hunger for jesters.
First Folly, then Motley,
Protesting quite hotly,
"I'm hoping that mutt can't digest us!"'
[Moderate applause; Grimwold bows.]
Mrs. Grimwold: [From the back] 'Oi!! I wrote that poem last night, you big oaf! You nicked it!'
[Grimwold roars, and begins smashing up the inn. Festus runs wild.]
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[Another installment of open mic night at the Crazed Heifer. Mrs. Grimwold steps up. She is holding a skull aloft.]
Mrs. Grimwold: 'Good evening, ladies and gentleman. I'm now going to perform a speech what our lodger, Will Shakespeare, wrote for me last week. It ain't too cheery, so be warned.
To be, or not to be, that is the question, innit, dearies?
Whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune... and the clubs, of course, if me 'usband's made it out of bed
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And, by opposing, end them? I don't know about you, but I'm stumped, dearies!
To die, to sleep, to sleep, perchance to- SHUDDUP FESTUS!! I wish 'e'd sleep; but when one 'ead nods off, the other 'ead's always awake!
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come - or nightmares, heh
When we 'ave shuffled off this mortal whatsit
But give us pause... well, go on, Festus, pause! You wouldn't like to be dead, would you?
Where was I? ...the undiscovered country from whose bourne
No dungeoneer returns puzzles the will - well, it puzzles my will at any rate, dearies
And makes us rather bears those ills we 'ave
Than fly to others that we know not of - makes sense now, don't it, 'ey?
Thus - and 'ere's the end bit, ladies and gentlemen, and Festus - conscience does make cowards of us all - even you, Grimy
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of- SHUDDUP, FESTUS!!
Don't explain why all them dungeoneers end up killing themselves, but there ya go - it must mean something. 'Ey, Festus?
Well, that's it. You've been a smashing audience. Literally, in me 'usband's case. G'night.'
[Applause rings out; she chucks the skull to Festus.]
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(Well, the last KM book, Lord Fear's Domain, does essentially make Shakespeare a Knightmare character. If you treat that as canon, then Shakespeare could quite easily be acquainted with Mrs. G., without the need for time travel. )
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