Do You Have Royal Blood? the game.

“You ask me if I have royal blood and I’ll give you a definitive answer,” said the skeleton.    

Do you have royal blood?  

“Possibly, but you’re definitely giving me a royal pain in the ass,” said the skeleton.  

Do you have royal blood?   

“Why not personally examine my royal hemorrhoids for the magisterial answer to that one, poseur?” said the skeleton. 

Do you have royal blood?

“Possibly, but I could increase my odds by drinking all of yours,” said the skeleton.  

Do you have royal blood?    

“Why, are you thirsty for a rich drink, unlanded vampire?”   

Do you have royal blood?   

“I don’t know, let’s compare it to your’s.  Come on, out with it, all of it, bloody bastard.”

Do you have royal blood?  

“Get on your knees when you ask me that, peasant, and call me ‘Sire’.” 

Do you have royal blood?  

“Not necessarily, though I do have hemophilia,” said the skeleton. 

Do you have royal blood?  

“Beats me, but I do have a swollen royal blue asshole, I might be baboon royalty,” said the skeleton.

Do you have royal blood?  

“I don’t know, but it’s rushing to my head, and when it gets there, I’m going to order you and your family out of your home and have you hunted by hounds and nobles on horseback,” said the skeleton. 

Do you have royal blood?  

“I know you are, but what am I?  OK, that’s enough of that, Elie.  This was really stupid.  Not only a waste of time for everyone involved, burping out these semi-snappy MAD magazine-style rejoinders to a stupid question, but not even something I’d do when I was alive.

 “Wait, I know what you’re going to say– I have that power now absolutely–  ‘well, you’re not alive, and you’ve grown up since your death’– and that, I can tell you, 100%, is complete bullshit.  I haven’t changed a bit, except for that night when it began to dawn on me I’d be dead in a few hours and I thought it only fair to give you what I’d withheld from you for your entire life.  

“I’d been consistently unfair, taken advantage of your better nature to make everything your fault, make you shoulder the entire weight, and blame, for our long, relentless war.  It was only fair for me to say, before the little candle of my light winked out, that it hadn’t all been your fault.   I went a step further, since you were so mild about it by my death-bed, and took all the fault.”  

The leaves on the trees around the grave, once green, now orange, yellow, brown and red, trembled in the light breeze.  The wind made a quiet whistling sound, to accompany the rustling of the dry leaves.  There were no cars on the road.

“The Holy One, Blessed be He, threatened those who were hostile to Him with uncontrollable terror at the trembling of a leaf.   ‘The sound of a windblown leaf will make you run in terror, as if hunted by a hoard of your enemies, you will flee, heart pounding, though nobody pursues you,’ or some such poetic phrase, in your beloved Leviticus 26.   You know, as the days grow shorter and the temperature cools off, nights suddenly frigid, older, sick people tend to die and babies who are not fated to live long also begin to sicken and die.  

“The coming of winter is a living metaphor for death and humanoids recognized that thousands of years ago.  The holidays around the winter solstice all involve the lighting of candles, the miracle of the Hebrew zealots kosher oil burning for eight days, the Christmas lights, Diwali, a hundred primitive religions that time has forgotten, or whose practitioners have been wiped out by religions who had deadlier weapons.  

“Look, man, in fairness to yourself, you can’t just get up and come in here and expect much to happen every day.  Some days you are just going to be swinging an unstrung racquet at a nimble baboon’s unwashed ass. Today may be such a day.  No matter how you wiggle, and jiggle, and dance, the last three drops go down your pants.  Face it.  You can write all the lines you want for me, some days, this is all you’re going to get.  As for me, shit, I don’t mind in the least.”

Do you have royal blood?  

“OK, I’ll let you in on a little secret I’ve never revealed to anyone.  I was a King.  This land is mine, God gave this land to me.  That is what made it so intolerable to me to be treated as an asshole, no different than the rest of you fucking peons.  

“Do you realize, when a little king is whipped in the face, the cataclysm that is rendered in the heavens and down here on the earth?  My divine right to rule, contested by an ignorant and vicious commoner, with a crude but effective whip in her hand, over and over with all her raging might, into my tiny face?  Do you understand what this does to the order of things?  How can you possibly understand that?”

Obviously I can, I have royal blood.


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