Just Desserts? Just Deserts! [Part 1]


Once upon a time, deep within the far-flung Kingdom of Doom, there ruled Brutus the Barbarian… the foolhardy, blowhard, hard-liner, who fancied himself omnipresent, omniscient and omnipotent. Yet, truth be told, His Highness was as dull as his daily routine.

Each, typical new morn, he’d emerge from his bedchamber… lumber down the flickering, torch lit corridor and pause to rattle the door handle to his estranged wife’s boudoir. Without fail, she had locked it and, on occasion, he’d even hear her snarl,

“Buzzeth off you unfaithful scum wad!”

By that time, Barry the Barber would, for the umpteenth time, bounce on by to offereth his services, but, per ususal, Brutus would shoo him off. His Majesty actually preferred shaving off his royal whiskers for both practical and preposterous reasons. After all, he knew he must not trust anyone to wield a straight-edge anywhere near his carotid artery. Besides, his making this a DIY task did offer him the perfect excuse (not that he really needed one) to gaze longingly into his mirror, primp and preen, comb over his golden, slumbers-tousled tresses and, last but not least, fess up how he was, actually, in mad, Mad, MAD, purple passionate love with… With… WITH…

HIMSELF! Only pangs of hunger could pry him away from his reflected self. And so, with tummy growling, the 250 kg / 550lb Brutus would then waddle down the gradually spiraling, red carpeted staircase, his fur trimmed orange robe all a’flutter in the castle’s musty drafts. Upon his grand entrance into the Hall of Audiences… the adoring crowd (estimated to be 6 million souls) would give him a Standing O and the Royal Trumpeters would fanfare him onward to the very table where he, alone, would be seated. It was there, that a bevy of wrongfully objectified, scantily clad handmaidens awaited him with (faked) bated breath.

While they served up his piping hot, six-course morning repast, Brutus, upon unceremoniously dropping his silk pantaloons and whitey tighties, would seat himself atop his glistening, one-holer gold throne… all bejeweled with sparkling diamonds, emeralds and rubies. As expected, everyone would be “treated” to yet another disgusting, grunting and grimacing, voiding and moving moment. And to top that, this was whilst he’d be chowing down… no less (eewwww)! Ofttimes, while talking with his mouth full, he’d lament over how it was physiologically impossible to outsource each nature’s call to some “lucky” lackey.

Once His Majesty felt a bit… uh… relieved, Harold the Herald, would take that as his cue to enter. In fine baritone voice, he’d loudly attempt to verbally pretty up… to make rhyme or reason out of each and every last damned one of Brutus’ non-accomplishments. He would really shovel on the praise, whilst reciting and regurgitating, ad nauseam, the litiny of royal whoppers.

At that point, it would be incumbent on the note-taking Miniver the Minstrel to, first, mentally string together the appropriate musical notes… to next pluck and strum his lyre to transform Harold’s talking points into lyrical epics. At that moment, Jessie the Jester would literally stumble upon this already strange scene… his mission? To appear so damned outlandish and doltish that, by comparison, Brutus the Barbarian would appear The Very Stable Genius… that he wasn’t.

All throughout the festivities, the enraptured egomaniac leader would gesticulate nonsensically, flash his sadistic ear to ear grin and nod his noggin in mindless approval and contentment.

As one might expect, daily, day long binge and purge, culinary orgies… all accompanied by Harold’s accounts of Brutus’ bogus sham exploits… all set to MIniver’s melodies… all punctuated by Jessie’s gymnastics / pratfalls… left absolutely no possibility for anything of consequence to ever materialize… anywhere… at anytime.

As such, it was dumb luck… not Brutus the Barbarian… that stood between their utterly defenseless homeland and an overlooked, opportunistic, lurking off in the shadows, take no prisoners, genocidal assailant.

Little did the Kingdom of Doom’s denizens know it… but… their luck was about to run out…


Stay Safe… Stay Home… Stay Healthy…

Stay Tuned, too, for the next installment of Just Desserts? Just Deserts!