A Fistful of Tannenbaum, Chapter 18: The Pope War

Editor's Note: In the last prematurely published chapter, time-traveling Fancy Dan Jed Foster stepped up his flirting with the buttonesque-cute Princess Penny. King Arthur, Jed's host for his visit to his century, was not amused, and unfolded a plot to have Jed promoted to Supreme Knight of the King's Army and sent to battle, where he would surely be killed. We also introduced the lovable Catpants, whose full function in this story couldn't even be hinted at in the briefest of parts he played.

Yesterday things had been going so well. Jed Foster had at last kissed the endmost fingernail of the Princess Penny, and could probably work his way up to the back of the hand itself by the end of the month. But in one day it all changed, since the King had just promoted him in a very quick ceremony hardly worth writing about as part of the King's "Get On With It Already" policy. And then in the blink of an eye, thirteen weeks later, he found himself on the battlefield, pitching a tent in the least comical sense, and ready to command his men against the Pope's legion of pompous assholes.

"The sky looks ripe for battle, Sir Uncle." Jed sat collecting a pinch of snuff from a borrowed snuffbox, which is highly unsanitary, but he had become a fiend for the stuff.

Sir Uncle agreed, because he had no personality of his own. "Are you ready for battle, my lord?" He always called Jed that because he couldn't remember his name.

Jed shrugged his shoulders, which takes a lot of muscles to do under thick chainmail and armored shoulder pads. "As ready as I ever will be. You know, Sir Uncle, I have a maiden back home."

"I've got a maiden, too, my lord. My mum."

"No, no, Sir Uncle. My maiden is legal to sleep with." Jed's mind wandered back to his fair maiden with the golden locks and luscious backside.

Suddenly, a young peasant squire came running into Jed's command tent. I mean, this guy was a real tool of the feudalistic society. Dirty face, humped posture, and eyebrows brewing their own penicillin.

"Suh! Suh!" shouted the cockney git to Jed. "The Pope's Legion of the Damned are coming over the 'illside!"

Jed slapped the young rogue and grappled him roughly about the collar. "You insipid fool, you use your G's when you talk to me!"

"Sorry, my lord," corrected the brash idiot. "The Pope, he and his army are coming over the hillside. They look harmed to the teeth, my lord."

"Goddamn that Pope," said Jed, picking up his sword and its attachable bayonet to ready himself for the battle. "To death and glory, I suppose, Sir Uncle.

Jed and his army formed themselves into a brilliant formation widely known as Foster's Square, and took to the battlefield. Foster heard the chilling battle cry of the Pope's men, "In nomine pater!" His own men trembled in fear at the sea of ridiculously large hats flocking toward them, but Foster held them fast with threats of running them out of showbusiness. Suddenly, as the battle seemed to turn, with tons of flying arrows, swinging swords, and real Peter Jackson-quality filmmaking, and Jed's men had the advantage at last. But then, a holy staff blindsided him and sent him tumbling to the ground. His armored thighs scraped together and sent sparks flying in all directions. He opened his eyes and his little face flap on his helmet to see a sinister figure standing over him.

"Pope von Hufnagel the Pious the Fucking First, at your service," growled a familiar face.

Either Professor von Hufnagel, Ostrich's insidious leader, had traveled back in time with Jed, or this guy was tremendously, unluckily ugly.


Next Chapter: World's Worst Pope

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