The Chronicles of the Inquisitor, Part 1

By Sir Guillaume de la Belgique
Copyright Scott Farrell, 2005

I need to begin this chapter with an explanation. During our reign (as King and Queen of Caid), several strange, bizarre, amusing incidents occurred in rather spontaneously — in fact, you might say the entire reign was made up of such incidents. While these incidents had very little to do with the formalities of being on the throne, they were, as we say in the world of journalism, “too good to pass up.” Thus, after the end of the reign, I asked someone called “The Inquisitor” — a shadowy, retiring entity with a nearly omniscient awareness who, nevertheless, chooses to reside in the coat closet in our guest bedroom — to set down his recollections of these incidents in writing, just as the great medieval chroniclers such as Matthew Paris or Geoffrey de Villehardouin would surely have done had they run out of real news to cover.

So, with that in mind, here’s the first of a three-part series called “Chronicles of the Inquisitor,” that details events that took place (thankfully) outside the public eye during our reign.

The first incident that I must relate to you occurred at a meeting of the revered Order of the Laurel, which Guillaume, being king, was allowed to attend. The order’s appreciation of his presence was expressed by the first item of business that Mistress Angelina, secretary of the order, had put on the agenda: “Debate regarding whether or not to duct tape king’s mouth shut.”

Fortunately, royal participation in the meeting turned out to be a very minor issue. Guillaume, with his considerable attention span, was captivated by the intellectual discussion of the arts and sciences for almost 13 full seconds. After that, he began to search for something to amuse himself with which involved either breaking furniture or setting something on fire.

Glancing around the room, Guillaume saw that a party held in the home of the meeting host had resulted in several unused piñatas being strewn around the room. One of these piñatas was shaped like the animated dog “Blue” from the cartoon Blue’s Clues. As the Laurels’ discussion of the arts and sciences continued, Guillaume felt that he could add to the order’s body of knowledge by quietly demonstrating that Blue was hollow and that the king’s entire hand could fit inside Blue’s head.

At nearly the same time, Guillaume also spotted another “leftover” item from the previous night’s party: a six-pack of Silly String aerosol spray cans. It was not long, therefore, before Guillaume in his finite royal wisdom put these two pieces of data together by placing an entire can of Silly String inside Blue’s head.

At this point, the meeting reached a lull and the members of the order turned to the king to ask whether it would be the royal pleasure to continue with the next item of business, or to take a short refreshment break. Guillaume looked at them all momentarily with an expression of great compassion, then held up the piñata and said, “I think we should take a break, ’cuz Blue’s allergies are bothering him. Tell us how you feel Blue.”

Then he made an appalling “Ah-choo!” sound and sprayed green Silly String out of the piñata’s nose, striking members of the Order of the Laurel who were sitting as far as 20 feet away.

This joke was met with the uproarious sound of horrified silence, so Guillaume repeated it several times just in case anyone had not fully appreciated the subtle humor of their king causing slimy green string to shoot out of the nose of a papier-mâché dog.

The Laurels’ appreciation of this prank was so great that in less than a minute Mistress Angelina was considering whether a simple majority vote would be sufficient to add “beat king to death” to the agenda. Fortunately Mistress Maria Theresa devised a more expedient way of calling for a recess by acquiring her own can of Silly String and conducting an experiment (remember: it’s arts and sciences) to determine whether string sprayed into the king’s right ear would, in fact, shoot out through his left ear.

Just for the record: It did not.

(Enjoy more irreverent, insightful and appalling details of Guillaume’s experiences on the throne in his new book.)