For The Love Of Ratweed

by UniSciKill
Holding a piece of parchment in her right hand, Eunice, read the unfamiliar verses neatly scrawled upon it. Near the last lines of the poem, her indifferent mask crumbled into expressions shock and disgust.
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Fisting her empty hand she seethed, “Mouth watering boobs… Laytex open-crotch panties… Ride me… Who dares to write this provocative nonsense?!”
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Eunice roughly balled the parchment up and aimed for her advisor, Rallesklar. The wad of paper bounced off his forehead and landed on the gleaming marble staircase leading to her throne. With a furious fixed stare, she impatiently awaited his answer.
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“Y-Your majesty, I-I believe it is the work of the somewhat notorious and brilliant poet, Ickysbud.”

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Queen Eunice, ruler of the kingdom of Bashamerica for years, had made a simple decree. There would be no laughter or bantering, only serious discussion about serious things like environmental problems or ethical issues in science. Most importantly, there would be no – absolutely no – written discussion or other pertaining to sex or the like. Failure to adhere would be punishable by torture or death depending on the lightness of the situation.
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Bending her finger back and forth, Eunice, gestured to Rallesklar to come closer. With apprehensive steps, he managed to stand a few feet away. Still, Eunice quietly beckoned him to come even closer. When he came within her hand’s reach, she swiftly stood up and grabbed him by his throat. He squirmed and struggled to breathe under her painful hold.
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“Listen to me you mongoose-loving twit! You will find him by ANY means necessary and bring him to ME,” she yelled. Satisfied with getting her message across, Eunice let him go and he dropped to the floor with her words ringing in his ears. Rallesklar hastened to his feet and scrambled down the stairs, calling for the royal guards.
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Eunice resumed her previous position with a smug grin. “I will have your head, Ickysbud, on a plaque for my collection,” she ominously whispered to herself.
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Imagine human heads instead…

***
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“Ha! I reckon I’m better off paring with a papier-mache version of yourself, Snobbly,” a lean muscled man spoke.
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“Well Ickysbud, if you quit *ucking twirling and hopping around like a tutu-wearing girl on steroids, I might get a decent swipe at you,” Snobbly grumbled.
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Ickysbud raised an eyebrow at Snobbly’s barbed retort but said nothing in return. He preferred to use his sword on the field and his quill in everything else. Writing poetry was not a hobby. It was a passion of his. A passion that was steadily gaining him his much-needed popularity. However, not all of his audience consisted of his well wishers and admirers. Last week, for example, he received a message from an official demanding him to cease and desist. Though with a few gold coins, he silenced the man for good. If that failed, he would have done as Snobbly suggested and haggised the man to death.
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Although, Snobbly could not evenly match his partner, he gave a decent fight. Wiping his sweaty brows, he sat on the ground and began yanking his armor off while muttering about pansy poets. Nightfall was approaching fast and the evening was planned as usual. Drinks would be bought, songs would be sung, and poetry would be written in a secluded pub down a few streets. Both Snobbly and Ickysbud were aware of Queen Eunice’s rules, but couldn’t care less. As far as either of them were concerned, a woman only ruled over her kitchen.
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With twin smiles, both headed off toward the pub they usually frequented when suddenly… men garbed in royal wear attacked. Ickysbud avoided the spears hurled in his direction and protected himself and Snobbly as best he could at the moment. Knocking an approaching royal guard on his back, Ickysbud stole his sword and decapitated him smoothly. Snobbly watched in awe as Icysbud gallantly disarmed another royal guard. Twenty minutes went by as Ickysbud skillfully defeated every opponent, and decided to escape before more could arrive on the spot.
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“Come on Snobbly!”
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Recovering from his silent spell, Snobbly bit out, “Bloody hell, did she send her whole *ucking squad of bastards after us?”
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“Why don’t you ponder over that after we get away.”
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“How will we get away? Do you want us to run into the damn forest? That’s *ucking miles away!”
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“I’ve got a better idea,” Ickysbud spoke after quickly spying a set of horses tied to a nearby fence.
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“Oh thank *uck! I won’t die tonight.”
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These horses probably look more serious than Ickysbud and Snobbly…

***
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“Mouth watering boobs…”
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Tarty giggled as she re-read the most wonderful and brilliant piece of poetry she ever had the pleasure of reading. The first time she laid eyes on the paper on university grounds, she felt a connection. A connection deep, very deep, and even deeper to her heart. She had a mental orgasm when she finished reading it aloud… in her closet. Her parents were loyal followers of the queen and trained her to be one as well. However, she never wanted to follow her. She believed the queen to be too proud of herself and even though she might not be afraid of her, the thought of her parents’ punishment made her wet her panties in fright. So, she hid in her closet to heed her guilty desires.
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The thought of either parent finding… No, this paper must be kept secret. She didn’t want whoever this brilliant man was to get caught and executed. If she was being truthful with herself, she would admit she was starting to fancy the man, maybe even love him. Yes, she was falling in love with the man behind a paper of deliciously brilliant humour.
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Grabbing her stuffed rat, she brushed his hair and lay in bed. Occasionally giggling as she remembered a few lines from the poem. She tossed and turned and wondered where this man was and what he was doing right now. Was he writing another poem? She hoped so. How would she live without reading another verse from him again? Oh, how she wished she could meet him. She would meet him, she decided. One day soon. With happy thoughts of marriage and children, Tarty eventually went to sleep.
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Isn’t ratty- err I mean Tarty beautiful?

***
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(To be continued by other people in the comment section or by me in another post, whatever you want…)
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Author’s Notes:
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Duncan, don’t fret. I haven’t forgotten you. Your role is pretty important.
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20 Comments to “For The Love Of Ratweed”

  1. “Who is this fucking imposter?” demanded Snobbly.

    “There is absolutely no way that I would ever spell fucking with a fucking asterisk at the fucking front”, he continued, enraged. “It’s a fucking affront to common fucking decency; that’s what it is!”

    “A bloke can’t even read a story without finding himself being impersonated by someone without the balls to swear properly…it’s….it’s…. fucking disgraceful!”

    “Ay! Ay!Calm down, Calm down!” screeched Ickywotsit, affecting a rather dubious scouse accent “you’ll scare dem fuckin’ ‘orses”

    “They look a bit shifty to me”, said snobbly who had experience of ill-behaved horses, and bruises to prove it “they look like they’re plotting something”…..

    “Bloody hell – you’re right. Look at that

    • I knew it would bother you. That’s why I did it. *smiles*
      Plus, it sounds funny coming from your character.

  2. so ratty’s a female?

    well that explains a lot – and all this time I thought he was simply a cross-dresser !

  3. I’ve just looked at “my” photo. I could definitely give myself one.

  4. Whilst noting the double enterinterer meaning, I’d give you more than one.

  5. Honestly though… how was my writing? how is the plot so far? what about the characters? I was being serious when I said I’m practicing my novel writing skills. If a book like “50 Shades of Grey” can be a best seller, which I haven’t read save for the sample portion of it, then why can’t something I write be good enough to publish?

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