THE BATTLE OF THE PUDDLE: All 57 Parts and All That Came Before

Apparently, King Wilbur Bartly the III was having dinner with King Charles Winston the II in his favourite hall, and the main course arrived at the table on an ancient porcelain plate.  

"Where should I put this, your majestic majesties?" the servant asked. 

"Oh yes!" Wilbur clapped. "That’s my favourite! Fried chicken in the middle, please--thank you!" And he continued talking about his many wives as if nothing had happened. 

King Charles Winston the II was very offended that the other king had mistaken the name of his favourite dish. 

"But your majesty, I am quite hurt that you call this fried squirrel a chicken,” he said. "Who do you think we are? Barbarians?" He looked very deeply into Wilbur’s eyes and glared.  

Now Wilbur was very offended.  

"If you didn’t know before,” Wilbur said, “fried chicken is my favourite dish. I would pay a mouthful of gold for a slight lick of deep-fried chicken.” He smacked his lips and the other king gasped in shock. 

"You are a barbarian!" he spat. "If you represent the people of your entire kingdom, then this peace treaty is over!" 

And the two kings started to yell at each other. 

"My mother loved fried squirrel! If your mother tells you it’s fried squirrel—it's fried squirrel alright!" King Charles Winston the II was furious. 

"Well, your mother must be grotesque and she disgusts me more than you disgust me which must be some sort of a record! Where is your mother now?” asked Wilbur. “I would like a word with her.” 

"My mother’s dead." 

“HA!” 

They had both gotten so loud, so deep into the yelling they had forgotten the servant was still standing there, waiting to be dismissed.  

Eventually they realized she was there and Charles acknowledged her first, but not particularly nicely. 

"You!" he said to the servant, snapping his fingers. "What dish is this? Fried chicken?" He wrinkled his nose just saying it. "Or is it fried squirrel?" he finished, looking much more refreshed. 

"I have the same question," hummed Wilbur. "Is it fried squirrel or fried chicken?" 

"Ummm," said the servant. 

"Um WHAT?" asked King Charles Winston the II. 

"Shhhh—she’s thinking about it." 

“How--” 

“Let her think about it. It’s a very hard question.” 

They stared at the servant long and hard as she kept her mouth closed.  

"It’s fried shrimp,” she said finally. 

"GUARDS!!!" both kings screeched at the same time. 

Four big men scuttled in. 

"Take her to the dungeon at once!" Wilbur screamed. 

After the guards left with the servant, the kings got up and King Charles Winston the II put on his coat.  

"This will never be forgotten,” they both murmured in sync. 

Wilbur pointed at the other king with his index finger like he would not hesitate to poke King Charles Winston the II to death in an instant. "I will see you off but do not forget you and your subjects are now prohibited from entering my kingdom."  

"The same goes to you,” seethed King Charles Winston the II, because he must have the last word. 

*** 

The next two years went well. In terms of peace. Both kingdoms refrained from associating with each other at all. The sky was blue and the grass was green. Buildings were in one piece.  

Until a merchant decided to cross the border through the tiny forest and sell his drugs in Wilbur’s kingdom. And that was why, sadly, the first part of the battle began. 

*** 

Wilbur called up his best knight, Clovis, alongside his army. Clovis looked troubled, "I haven't had my energy juice for the day."  

His energy juice consisted of blue Gatorade and red Gatorade and green Gatorade and piss puree. And he was convinced that if he drank one glass a day for many, many years, he would grow muscles as big as the kingdom itself. It was only a matter of time.  

"You and your energy juice,” sniffed Wilbur as the rest of the army was plucking shields and swords from the racks. 

"You want some too? If I get cracking right now I can make enough for you and me by eight o’clock,” said Clovis happily. 

"NO!" Wilbur knew it would almost be as bad as fried squirrel. 

"What’s this battle about now?" asked Clovis getting back on topic.

"Food,” said Wilbur.  

"Oh, good! This is fantastic! Your reputation shall finally be saved! Marching into battle fearlessly for the selfless sake of obtaining food for your citizens! Although I never knew we were running out of food--thank you for getting food and saving all of our lives, my king,” said Clovis and he bowed deeply. 

"No. This battle must be fought to determine whether fried chicken is fried squirrel or fried chicken is fried chicken," said Wilbur. 

"Oh,” said Clovis and he started to sing, "Well, if it makes you feel better, I wasn’t expecting anything more from you."  

*** 

Wilbur’s army emerged from the depths of the forest in perfect formation. 

"This battle shall go down in history as the Battle of the Lake!"

Wilbur announced as he pointed his sword at a body of water minding its own business next to their soon-to-be battle ground. 

Clovis whispered to his king, "I think that’s more of a puddle than a lake." 

"THE BATTLE OF THE PUDDLE."  

And with that they charged forward, flattening every blade of grass in the clearing. 

*** 

The Battle of the Puddle - Part 1 did not go very well, to sum things up. They lost. Badly. And through the years the other 55 parts were horrible to them as well. Until finally, Wilbur’s army marched up to the walls of King Charles Winston the II’s humble castle after a long day of holding the line and ramming forward.  

They set up their catapults. 

"This is your last chance, King Charles Winston the II!” announced Wilbur. “It took sweat, blood and no tears—because my men don’t cry—but we have done it! It was immensely difficult but it has been done! Your army has been crushed by mine. So! I ask you: Is this fried squirrel I see before me?" He held up a plate of fried chicken/fried squirrel like the preserved human heart of his grandfather.  

King Charles Winston the II looked through his window and took in the display of armed catapults. “OH NONONO—PLEASE, I AM HAVING LUNCH WITH MY GOOD ALLY, KING FALFI!” 

“I ask you: Is this fried squirrel I see before me!!!!” 

"IT IS FRIED CHICKEN—LIKE YOU SAID! MY MOTHER WAS WRONG!" shrieked King Charles Winston the II coming out onto the balcony. 

"Very well!" said Wilbur and his army fired the catapult. It shattered the entire side of the castle. 

Again, Wilbur raised up the plate of fried chicken/fried squirrel.   

"IS THIS FRIED SQUIRREL I SEE BEFORE ME?" he bellowed. 

"IT--” King Charles Winston the II looked like a toddler who had coloured outside the lines and his teacher was going to get out her longest ruler from her desk no matter what. “WHAT!”  

Another catapult snapped and King Charles the II had only his little dining tower and balcony intact out of the entire castle. The rest of his kingdom was debris and collateral damage.  

Wilbur said, huffing and puffing, “Is. This. Fried. Squirrel. I. See. Before. Me.” 

“IT IS! I WAS WRONG, M’KAY?” He waited nervously for an answer. 

Wilbur waved up at him as if they weren’t standing in a warzone, with a stiff and burly army surrounding them; he waved up at him as if they were just neighbours and Wilbur wanted some sugar.   

"Come down, I want to talk to you,” he said. And he signaled to his army to put away the catapults. 

King Charles Winston the II joined him in his courtyard, shaking.

"And it just so ends that the Kingdom of Charles Winston the II has fallen to the Kingdom of Wilbur Bartly the III in the Battle of the Puddle – Part 57,” said Wilbur, proudly, when Charles Winston the II edged over timidly.   

“All over fried chicken,” the terrified king teeheed.  

"It’s fried squirrel!" screamed Wilbur.  

A short, tan man slithered out of the castle doors—King Falfi.  

"It is for a fact, fried--" King Charles Winston the II paused, reassured that his good ally had come out to help him.  

King Falfi jingled his bracelets and rearranged his hair. He went over to Wilbur, examining the dish. He took a long and calculated whiff. 

“This is fried shugndoefi,” he said sternly.  

“And what exactly is that, your majesty?” prompted King Charles Winston the II and Wilbur waited hopefully.  

King Falfi squinted. “I don’t know how to say in English.”