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hardly matter."
"Why do you follow this person?" Sally asked.
"Because even though he is demented, insane, crazy as a loon, wacko,
daft, unhinged, all fucked up, mentally unbalanced, and full of more shit
than a Christmas turkey& I like him; I really do."
Don Quixote's hands were trembling as he held the helmet in front of
his face. "But of course, who am I to presume that I should be its wearer?
For thou, Don Jack of Del Mar, are a more than worthy knight. Still, if I
might presume upon your greatness" wow! "to allow the splendid helm
to sit upon my humble brow for no more than a minute, I will forever be
indebted to thou personage."
"Tell you what," I said, "why don't you wear the golden helmet until we
reach the i& the castle?"
Jeez, you would've thought his six Lotto numbers had just turned up!
He creak-clanked around in a wild dance, and the sounds he made were
like those of a guy on the verge of a climax. Sally got real interested in
that.
"Sir Knight, thou honor me beyond measure!" he exclaimed, and he
placed the bike helmet reverently and backward on his head. I
straightened it and strapped it under his pointy chin.
"It doesn't look half bad on the old fool," Sally said.
"Now then," the Don continued, "have the footmen bring the princess's
royal coach, and we shall set out for the castle."
I shrugged. "Uh, Princess Rosabel's coach was swallowed by quicksand,
and her footmen devoured by a giant."
"Yes, there's a lot of that going around," Don Quixote said.
"Right. Anyway, she'll have to double with one of us."
"I don't want her on my ass," Sancho said.
Sally screwed up her face as she pointed at my bike. "And I do not wish
to ride upon Nishiki, your magic steed."
I looked at the Don. "Well, my man, I guess her highness doubles with
you."
His eyes started rolling around in his head. "Another knight with whom
to share my adventures," he gasped. "The golden helmet of Mambrino
upon my head. And now, the exquisite Princess Rosabel of Belarose riding
behind upon my noble steed! It is proof that I have been brave and
virtuous, for the Lord has chosen to smile upon me& "
Don Quixote passed out from all the excitement.
Another four inches to the left and his eight hundred pounds of armor
might've done some serious damage to my front wheel.
"Oh, shit, here we go again," Sancho muttered.
Okay, take a break. It's going to be a while, I'm afraid, before we can
revive Don Quixote and get started for the inn (yeah, I can say inn,
because the poor guy's out like a light).
CHAPTER EIGHT
Wherein is recounted
the grand and glorious adventures of our noble hero, Don Jack
of Del Mar, as he embarks on his first sally with Sally, the
virtuous and semicomatose Don Quixote of La Mancha, and the
pissed-off but nonetheless blockheaded Sancho Panza, toward
the inn that is really not a castle, with all manner of strange and
terrifying events upon the long and winding road that leads&
never mind. And then later, at the aforementioned inn, all kinds
of shit that befalls our intrepid band as they try to convince the
boorish innkeeper to let them spend the night in this pestilent
place. (What do you want from me? Cervantes titles most of his
chapters like this, and his stuff is classic literature!)
You would think that a good squire would have a supply of water
around, right? But then, I don't know if any literary scholar of the past
three centuries had ever considered Sancho Panza to be a good squire. It
was always gimme gimme gimme. Gimme some food, gimme an island to
rule, gimme a soft bed of straw on which to lay my ass.
Anyway, the bottom line was that he didn't, so guess what, it befell me
to revive Don Quixote with a few squirts of Gatorade in his soulful face. He
liked the taste, and of course figured it was some kind of nectar from the
gods, the mere thought of which almost caused him to pass out again.
With Sancho's help I managed to get him on his feet. Then he saw the
kitchen slut Sally Fuerte whom he fancied as Princess Rosabel of
Belarose sitting astride the indefatigable Rocinante.
Don Quixote passed out again.
Shit, more Gatorade down the tubes. But this time, after coming to, he
seemed more in control of himself than at any time before and wondered
what all the attention was about.
"Sancho, my lance!" he cried. "My sword!"
The squire handed him the lance (upside down) and said, "Uh, Master,
your sword is already buckled around your waist."
"Yes, I knew that." He waved the lance and nearly impaled his foot.
"And now, let us sally forth to glorious adventure!"
"That's Sally Fuerte," Sally said.
"I beg your pardon, my lady?"
"Never mind," I said. "Let us indeed sally forth."
"It's Sally Fuerte, Don Jack," Sally said.
Yeh! Anyway, Sancho Panza, who had sat down again, got off his ass
and got on his ass. I pushed, and Sally pulled, and together we managed to
get Don Quixote and his eight hundred pounds of armor up on
Rocinante's sagging back. (Jeez, did I feel sorry for that poor horse!) To
their intense curiosity I straddled Nishiki, the enchanted metal steed, and
without further ado we started to sally forth to glorious adventure.
"That's Sally Fuerte" Sally said.
Within half a mile the road forked. Was I getting my share of this
lately, or what! Sancho pointed along the right fork. "That is the way we
came."
Sally pointed along the left fork. "That is the way to the i& the castle
where I am staying as a guest."
Don Quixote tried to scratch his head; his finger got caught in a vent of
the Bell helmet. "Which way should we go?" he asked.
Sancho shrugged and muttered, "All his qualities aside, my master is
quite a doofus."
I glared at the twerp. "Why don't you get off his case?"
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