I don’t think it will be too difficult for any of you to recognize the King of Turdville in this satirical romp. This post first ran in 2020.
All of the books in my “Bicycling” series are a combination of comedy, science fiction, satire, and an occasional serious moment or two. The excerpt I’m going to share from the fourth book, Back on the Bike Path, is a mixture of them all, with an emphasis on satire.
To set the scene, cosmic bike rider Jack Miller has ridden into a world where all of the life forms resemble turds. He’s not too thrilled about it and wants to get back to the Ultimate Bike Path. But in order to gain enough speed to shift into the alien-implanted 22nd gear, he requires—in his own words—“a steep hill or mountain, a deep rift in the ground, or a very tall building.” Only the latter is available, but it is the dominion of the narcissistic King of Turdville and, as he is warned by many, “You don’t want to go there.”
But Jack has no choice, so off he goes to the Turdville Tower, which bears a disturbing resemblance to Isengard. Taken prisoner by the King’s “Enablers” because he looks different, he is marched before the monarch. Here is the scene.
Six…no, seven female turds stood in a half-circle, their backs to me, in the middle of the chamber. All had long blonde hair that cascaded down far below where their buttholes should’ve been; all wore the highest of high heels yet, five-inch stilettos in a variety of colors. There could be no doubt who held their attention.
“Move out of the way, bitches!” a chalk-on-the-blackboard voice squealed. “I have visitors.”
The females hastily mega-tottered backward, two of them nearly falling. They moved aside, and I had my first unwilling look at the King of Turdville.
This fat, pear-shaped turd sitting on a large purple pillow brandished a scepter in one small hand that could easily have passed for a long dildo…actually, I think that’s what it was. He wore a pair of brown combat boots. The expression on his puffy face fell somewhere between pissed off and moronic. Perhaps his most striking feature was a sweeping shock of orange hair—the only color I had not seen on any turds, male or female, since I’d landed here. Now I understood the scene at the mile marker with the female whose roots had been showing.
As the harem continued to mega-totter farther back, the orange piece of shit rose unsteadily on his combat-booted feet and strutted toward our little group. Aiming a stubby finger in my direction he squeaked, “Who the fuck is this? Who? A foreigner? He’s a white guy! Why the fuck are you bringing me something like this? Maybe he comes from someplace with lots of things like him…a war! Yes, we can wipe them out…no infections. Don’t want their kind…did you see Minerva go down on me? I like it when…what is this metal thing with wheels the white guy—”
Okay, screw this. “Listen, asshole,” I snapped, taking a step forward, “I don’t have to put up—!”
The orange piece of shit jumped back with a shriek as Lembrick and another Enabler held my arms. My Nishiki toppled over on its side. The little fucker rushed me again, shouting, “Did you hear what this inferior thing called me? Can’t have…where is Cassandra? I want my cake! Where—?”
“I am here, Highness.” Another tall, blonde female appeared from somewhere and mega-tottered over to the King on her stilettos. She carried an enormous hunk of frosted cake that, from casual observation, contained about 46,872 calories and 845 fat grams—yeah, give or take. The orange piece of shit snatched if off the plate and scarfed down every crumb. He then smacked Cassandra on the…ass or wherever with the elongated dildo and dismissed her with a wave. I could tell from her expression that he’d hurt her, but she kept it to herself. Oh, I wanted to throttle the fat little turd.
After washing down his cake with some kind of liquid from a beaker—it looked like piss but was probably wine—the orange piece of shit glared at me again and waved a warning finger. “Now, where was I? Oh yeah, this white thing called me a name! Can’t remember what it is, but no matter, because—”
“I called you an asshole,” I interrupted. “You’re also a peckerwood and a dumb fuck! A homophobe too, though you probably don’t know the meaning of the word. I could go on, but why bother? What kind of country are you running here anyway?”
Was I showing some cajones, or what? The orange piece of shit began jumping up and down, like a preschooler throwing a tantrum. The Enablers looked super pissed, all except Fitzmorris, who was sending me a subliminal cool it jack message. I tossed back a half-second no worries smile.
“This white thing has to die, that’s all there is to it,” the King decreed. “Am I right?”
The nods that followed were in the majority, but not unanimous. “How shall it be done, Sire?” Lembrick asked.
The orange piece of shit scratched his head as he contemplated the method of my demise. But before he could come up with anything another female mega-tottered onto the scene.
“Highness, it is time for Adulation!” she exclaimed. “All have gathered below. Come quickly!”
This time the King jumped up and down with a big shit-eating grin on his face. “Oh, I forgot it was time for Adulation!” he squealed. “How could I possibly do that? Enablers, think about ways we can put this white creature to death, while I allow the rabble to show their love for me.”
He hastened over to an open door that led onto a large balcony, the females mega-tottering close behind. On the way he ordered the Enablers to bring me along so that I could bear witness to his loving minions. I had to leave the Nishiki where it fell, so I wasn’t bidding adieu to this crazy shithole just yet. Besides, I still needed to run my crazy plan past Fitzmorris and see if I can do something positive for the good…folks of Turdville.
Out on the balcony, which had no barrier separating it from a sheer drop, the orange piece of shit trundled to the edge and looked down, his arms extended. A loud roar arose from below. The Enablers dragged me next to the King, where I tried not to look down at the throng that had gathered at a large plaza. You know me and heights, and the Turdville Tower was very much like Isengard—a.k.a. real freaking high. The cheers turned to boos when the turds spotted me, and the orange piece of shit let it go on for a minute before ordering me back into the royal chamber. Once again the gathering let loose a chorus of adoration as the King strutted back and forth along the edge and gave his fans below a double thumbs-up. Gawd, I would’ve liked to kick the little pecker right down to his adoring minions!
Most of the Enablers were caught up in the spirit of their ruler’s love-fest with his subjects. After Turtletaub and Fitzmorris led me inside and had me sit down on a marble bench, the former ordered his underling to watch me and returned to the balcony. Perfect! I laid out my plan as quickly as possible, and the bogus Enabler smiled for the first time. Then, his expression changed.
“Yes, that is bold, Jack, and if it works, Turdville will become a better place. But I do not understand. How will you and your…bike not splat on the plaza below?”
I grinned. “You let me worry about that, pal. Hey, here they come.”
The orange piece of shit, all puffed up from his ego being stroked, strutted toward us, followed by his females and bodyguards, the latter calling out suggestions for the demise of one Jack Benjamin Miller. I heard words like hanging and beheading and buried alive (oh no, not another premature burial!) and slow disembowelment and cut into pieces bandied about, and the King nodded thoughtfully as he considered each one.
“Is there a way we can do all of them?” he wondered out loud. “They are all befitting of a stranger who insults my royalness.”
So how will Jack get out of this one? Well, somehow he always does. For more craziness check out Back on the Bike Path: A Jack Miller Senior Moment—Book Four on Amazon. You’ll also find the other books in the series there. Enjoy!