Saturday, May 21, 2005

The Knights of the Order of a Most Romantic Death

Howdy. Can it be that Latigo Flint has all these many months failed to tell you about The Knights of the Order of a Most Romantic Death?! Why that's almost unforgivable. This heinous omission would shame Latigo Flint terribly if he wasn't at present obliterated beyond all recognition on diesel fuel fumes and peyote.

Let Latigo Flint take you back across time and waters to a forgotten land known now only as six oddly assembled letters on crumbling parchments: E u r o p e.

England, 1349, is a nation in turmoil. The Rodent Wars continue to rage unchecked and all the lands do fast approach the eve of a seventh straight decade of bitter strife and poverty. With every passing day, squalor and starvation consume the last remnants of innate human compassion. Opportunism and betrayal have become so commonplace they would surely have been considered synonymous with breathing and blinking had the word synonymous been invented yet.

Sister slays Brother for the chance to slay and rob helpless neighbor. Fraudulent raffles do shopkeepers hold for the prize of secretly poisoned meat pie, which in turn provides the base meat for future pies. Scamper open-mouthed do the thousands of enterprising orphans across hills of festering leper flesh for the fraction of a gram of protein the flies may yield. None can remember the last time two lovers embraced for a purpose other than the stealing of crusts from the other's pockets.

And then into this decaying land did one day ride the twelve Knights of the Order of a Most Romantic Death. Over crest of hill in such glorious clank-kankery fashion did they gallop atop sinewy steed -- HEY PAY THE FUCK ATTENTION!!! The friggin' Knights of the Order of a Most Very Romantic Death are goddamn cresting a sodding hill here!!!

what was i saying?

Ah yes... With hoof-pounding clumpedy-clumpfullness and in most glorious, clank-kankery fashion do they crest the windswept hill - All abreast and so utmostly triumphant of chin atop their sinewy steeds.

As one voice does come the mighty "Huzzah" from deep within the tanned chests of these twelve incomparable heroes: Gafferdine the Magnificent, Sergio Nuffintaffy, Bendlestaff O'Flankerien, Natches the Effeminate, Sir Napekiss of the Sylmar Plain, Suffpotte Lerhanklemor, Duke Cherrybreath the Wise, Fran Squire Weatherscout of Spuffington, Tortoisespleen Sorrowbough, Rapier Gentlestroke, Twitchworth the Gruff and Horkington Paddlestrong the Hesitant.

... is what their names were. Their sworn cause and knightly order? They were none other than The Knights of the Order of a Most Very Romantic and Triumphant Death.

And m'lady, I shall tell you of their adventures when either you or I are dead.

(Or in the three minutes between your successful fellatio of me and my subsequent slumber. One or the other. Thus has it always been and so shall it remain.)


At 8:05 AM, Blogger ty bluesmith said...

very nice

At 11:31 AM, Blogger OldHorsetailSnake said...

I understand this story has the blessing of the Vicar of Cunnulingus. Thank goodness.

At 11:51 AM, Blogger Cindy-Lou said...

I look forward to hearing the tales. You busy tonight?

At 12:03 PM, Blogger Noir Muse said...

Mr. Flint, I am far too gullible. There I was - all ready to read about the Triumphant Clumpedy-Clumpness you set me up for. I truly hope that when you wake from your peyote trip you feel real, real good about yourself.

You are too cruel.

At 2:38 PM, Blogger Rasmus said...


I was too hoping for a glorious Saga about these fine Knights.

How is your side healing up after that heroicly selfinflicted shot you took to scare away the spiders?

At 9:47 PM, Blogger Dave Morris said...

Don't ask me to IM Kid Relish in order to hear the tale, of which you've barely scratched the surface.

Although considering my willingness (or lack thereof) to die or fellate, that may be my only recourse.

At 7:34 AM, Blogger Blog ho said...

sheer poetry, mr. flint. reminiscent of the jaberwocky.

At 12:25 PM, Blogger Ari said...

This post got me all like Episode 3 and shit... just stunned at its brilliance and complexity.

At 7:27 PM, Blogger Asian Lep said...

Europe is... quaint.

The boys, the cars and the clothes are the best things about it.

If you're not into any of those things, don't waste your time.

At 7:40 PM, Blogger Amandarama said...

I look forward to reading about the continued adventures of "The Knights of the Order of a Most Romantic Death". I am curious if they get to unleash a Vorpal Sword on a bad guy, all snicker-snack (and not in the chocolate-y sense). That'd be cool. Of course you had me at "HEY PAY THE FUCK ATTENTION!!!" I'm easy like that.

At 10:40 AM, Blogger Matteus Von Mustard said...

What perchance is the relation between Fran Squire Weatherscout of Spuffington and Sir Silas Weatherscout the marine biologist?

At 1:23 AM, Blogger Latigo Flint said...

Thank you Tblue.

He was on the fence initially, Old Hoss. 'Came around in the end though I guess.

There are probably several ways to read that comment Cindy-Lou... I've yet to find the one that doesn't make me blush and then stain my shorts.

Hello Muse. To be cruel was never my intent. If I have over time become so (and it's a dangerous, sexy sort of cruel that excites young girls) then hooray for me, and who would argue I don't deserve a bit at this point.

Howdy Rasmus. You know the funny part is I was too. Thank you for asking about my side. The staph infection nearly took my life, but a number of self-cauterizations finally beat it back.

Dave, The Kid doesn't IM. In fact, he has trouble operating a blender.

Thank you Ho, my beamish boy. And I am Latigo Flint.

Ari, you are one of the very most kind Texans. (Please don't tell anyone, but I'm actually neither brilliant nor complex. Brilliance lies in the execution, not the idea... my boots have holes in them you know.)

Goodness... Latigo Flint has heard of Asian Leprechauns before. (Latigo Flint is extremely well read and learned you know.) How exciting to finally meet one.

Often times, Amandarama, the anticipation exceeds the event. (And other wise sounding things also.) I think Dwight Yoakam wrote a song about one of them... Bendlestaff O'Flankerien I think. (Or not, now I'm uncertain.)

Matteus oh Matteus! Your keen eye does me most proud. Silas is of course directly descended from the Suffington Weatherscouts. And I had begun to fear I hadn't made that connection clear.

At 6:09 PM, Blogger Matteus Von Mustard said...

me oh my, my geneological tables must be a little wobbly then, i'll have to stuff a folded geneological napkin under one of the geneological legs. thank you for the update.


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