A Game of Groans: A Sonnet of Slush and Soot by George R.R. Washington Alan Goldsher Page A

then pulled her sword Syringe from behind her ear and said, “You have insulted my family, and we will now fight to the death. And you might want to pay attention, because there are a Godsdamn lot of fights to the death just around the corner. And around the corner from that. And around the corner from that.” She then mumbled to herself, “Chryst, there’re a lot of fights to the death around this dump. At some point, somebody has to say, enough is enough. Where’s a good editor when you need one?”
    Goof stammered, “Um, I don’t think, um, that that’s, um, such a good idea, because, um, because you’re a girl, yeah, that’s it, you’re a little girl, and Barfonme men don’t go to battle with swords against girls.”
    Malia got into a fighting stance and teased, “Are you sure it’s not because you’re scared?”
    Puffing up his chest, Goof claimed, “Nothing scares me!”
    Malia thrust her tiny sword into Goof’s face and he gasped. “Sure, Goof,” Malia sneered, “nothing scares you.” She put her sword away, then added, “You have insulted my family, so we must battle. If swords aren’t acceptable, you can choose your weapon.”
    Again puffing up his chest, Goof claimed, “You will never beat me in a battle of wits. Never .”
    “Seriously?” Malia asked. “Me and you in a battle of wits?”
    Goof nodded confidently and boasted, “Nobody has ever beaten me in a battle of wits. Nobody .”
    Malia noted, “That’s because everybody lets you win, dummy.”
    “I win my battles fair and square,” Goof asserted, “as I will right now. I will even let you choose the topic.”
    “Okay. Baseball.”
    “What’s baseball?” Goof asked.
    “In 1967,” Malia asked, “who won the American League Triple Crown?”
    “The American what?”
    “ Wrong! Carl Yastrzemski, who batted .326 with 44 homers and 121 RBI.”
    “Wait a minute…”
    Malia interrupted, “Next question: Name the only pitcher to throw a no-hitter on Opening Day.”
    “Opening what?”
    “ Wrong! Bob Feller, April 16, 1940. The Tribe beat the White Sox one–zip.”
    Goof sniffled and wiped something from his eye. “You’re being really, really mean, Malia.”
    “Nut up, Barfonme. Next question, and this is an easy one: Who earned the nickname ‘Mr. October’?”
    “Um, I don’t know, maybe Reggie Jackson?”
    “Crap. Lucky guess.” She peered at Goof’s face. “Hey, are you crying?”
    Goof wiped a tear from his cheek, then sniffled, “I hate you, Malia Barker! You suck! I hope you die! I’m gonna tell my mommy on you!” And then he ran toward the forest, bawling the entire way.
    “Hey,” Malia called, “you forgot your horse!” After Goof was out of view, she turned to her sister and said, “Well, I guess I didn’t need to tell you about making babies, did I?”
    Gazing adoringly at the forest, Sasha said, “Oh. My. Gods. Goofrey Barfonme is, like, the cutest boy ever . I’m going to totally make love to his penis.”
    Malia Barker threw up in her mouth a little bit.

HEADCASE
    “Gods, I’m hungry,” Lord Headcase Barker complained from his position on the floor beside the throne, right beside the King’s feet.
    King Bobbert Barfonme topped off his mug of top-shelf grog and, staring at the thick, dark purple liquid, noted, “If you throw down a couple bottles of this stuff every day, your appetite won’t seem like much of a problem. For that matter, nothing will seem like much of a problem.”
    Oblivion sounded appealing to Head, and he was tempted to go on a grog bender, because it turned out Bobbert had been right: Being the Foot was awful. Aside from having to keep the increasingly erratic King on track, it was one annoyance after another: If Queen Cerevix wasn’t complaining about the horrible state of the castle’s mudroom, it was Goofrey whining about how somebody stole his Leapstyr. If it wasn’t Tinyjohnson trying to undermine what little authority Head had, it was some commoner