To our hero’s luck, as he was fleeing the brothel, he had been propositioned for a job. Coming forward from the alley, the man longed to recruit prostitutes, but none were so bold to try it. He produced a glass vial of white powder and explained that he needed this vial delivered from one end of the city to the other. However, security had tightened as of late, and a number of courtiers had already been caught. He needed this vial transported through a specific, concealed place, that was sure to pass through all checks.
When our hero heard the sum rewarded, he accepted, though reluctantly. It did not matter the vial was bigger than his last lover’s member.
It did not matter in the sense that it did not dampen our hero’s zeal. Our hero realized there was a limit to how much the vial could be pushed in, before it triggered flatulence, then vomiting.
When it was told the king that his subjects were taking fairy’s foot, wasting the strength of their limbs and spending much of their day in a doze, rather than using those same muscles to bring in wealth for the city, he furiously took his scepter, ready to lay the law of the land. However, after a reasonable discussion with some wealthy individuals, he proposed a tax on the drug in those parts of the city where recreation was the highest. This was much less barbaric, he reasoned, than cutting off the perpetrators’ heads, whipping their wives and children into ribbons, and dashing any relations of theirs and friends who have shared wine onto the rocks, though, unfortunately, it was less fun.
Our hero approached a checkpoint, guarded with armed men with blades, when they were implementing a novel idea. Upon our hero alighting them, he was ordered to strip himself naked. This idea was a good one because there were a number of beautiful women in the district.
Fear coursed our hero’s veins, and he bristled, as he was able to conceal the vial but to the head. Yet, being a good citizen, he complied, sitting down to take off his shoes. This had the effect of sliding the vial all the way through. Curiously, he felt it in his stomach and in his groin. He tried not to cry, though he could have if he wanted, as he seemed the sort to cry easily.
Just as, to our hero’s fortune, he passed inspection, a guard noted loudly how large his buttocks were. The minds of most men are a fog, and one could not say whether he said so out of some masculine obsession or whether, indeed, they were very large buttocks. The other men began grabbing our hero’s rear, slapping it, and remarked how wide it was, the size of some of the holes in their rooms. Someone called out for a banana, and they were making bets.
As soon as the tip of the banana slid in, a loud wind, a tempest, emitted from there, and the noise and the smell reminded these men they were on duty. Luckily, the vial did not fall out, but our hero retched a few times.
Our hero arrived at a lavish mansion. There were many beautiful fruits to eat here, and many beautiful women, and our hero contained within him a thing worth more than them all together, so much so that it was difficult for him to avoid attention, as he made his way over to a pot. After he relieved himself, vial in hand, he made his way to the owner of the mansion, who, unfortunately, had been assassinated by his advisor. The advisor asked one of the beautiful women to clean up the blood, only for himself to be gutted in return; so on and so forth, until the mansion was empty save for our hero and one acned boy, barely thirteen years of age, who had been accustomed to taking naps around this time of day.
© 2025 François-Marie Lee