Chapter Ten: Helm's Cheap (It's only a model)
THE BALLAD OF HELM HAMMER TOE
Hmmm…nothing heroic about a deformity of the proximal interphalangeal joint of the second, third or fourth toe, save perhaps going barefoot to a beach party. How about…
THE BALLAD OF HELM HAMMERHEAD
No one would ever expect Helm Hammerhead, the Rohirric Land Shark!
*knock, knock*
Wolf, son of Freca: Who is it?
Voice behind the door: Pizza delivery.
Wolf, son of Freca: Pizza? Even as an obvious anachronism, pizza does not appear in 3rd Age Middle-earth!
*knock, knock*
Wolf, son of Freca: Who is it?
Voice behind the door: Maintenance.
Wolf, son of Freca: Look, I have dirt floors and no indoor toilet facilities. There is nothing to maintain. Try again.
*knock, knock*
Wolf, son of Freca: Who is it?
Voice behind the door: Helm Hammerhead.
Wolf, son of Freca: Nonsense! It is the middle of winter and there is a blinding blizzard! We will just see who is out there…
*opens the door*
Wolf, son of Freca: E-e-e-e-a-a-a-a-u-u-u-u-g-g-g-h-h-h-h!
THE BALLAD OF HELM HAMMER & SICKLE
Perhaps we should just dispense with political satire, as it raises too many red flags.
*silence*
Red flags…
*crickets chirping*
You know, hammer and sickle – get it?
*a distant rim shot sounds on the horizon*
Oh, never mind. Humorless bastards.
THE BALLAD OF HELM HAMMER TIME
Thou canst touch this,
Thou canst touch this,
Thou canst touch this,
Thou canst touch this…
Please Helm, don't hurt 'em!
Cut! Cut! Cut!
Oh, bother.
THE BALLAD OF HELM HAMMERHAND
Hammerhand? Oh for Christ's sake, this bit just keeps getting more and more ridiculous! What, are we going to have a character with ball-peens rather than knuckles? It sounds like a nemesis in a Marvel comic book plot: "Quick, Aunt May, go get Spiderman – the diabolical Hammerhand has kidnapped M.J. and is climbing up the Daily Bugle building!"
Hmmmm? What was that? Helm Hammerhand really was a character in Lord of the Rings lore? We are no longer coming up with satiric names at this point? Blimey.
All right then, bring in The Hengist & Horsa Memorial Old English Choir and Beowulfian Bronze Age Band!
*A horde of snarling Saxons tramp onto the stage*
Helm, Helm, Helm, Helm --
Helm, Helm, Helm, Helm --
Helm, Helm, Helm, Helm --
Helm, Helm, Helm, Helm --
Hammerhand, O hero of yore,
Snowbound warrior in times before
The current story was e'er written,
Adding depth for the reader smitten
With tales and maps and Viking crap,
Because pirates have yet to be invented.
Bitter bane of the Land of Dun,
Superlatively notable personage for which this tale is spun --
A woven ode to Odin's offspring,
The convoluted Jute of whom we sing;
But whether Saxon or Geat, Old Helm can't be beat --
Even when his jaunty helm has been dented.
Who preyed upon the Dunlenders just like a bearded vulture?
HELM!
Who ended up so sadly as a Rohirrim ice sculpture?
HELM!
Who gave his name to a rampart, a deeping coomb and cave?
HELM!
Who, alas! has utterly no tomb nor crypt nor grave?
*sniff*
Hammerhand, O national legend of vigorous pith!
Like Jesus or Robin Hood, you're more of a myth.
Just an old bugger out there in the snow,
Homeless vagrant around whom has grown
A bold tale of travail -- of a hero without fail --
Because, after all, pirates have yet to be invented.
*the snarling Saxons stamp off stage*
"That were 'orrible!"
"Sod off, miserable critic!"
*silence*
"So, that's it then?"
"What's 'it' then?"
"Th' chapter. It's over then?"
"Yes."
*additional silence*
"Well --"
"Well?"
"It's rather short. Rather."
"It is as long as was necessary. Necessarily so."
*prolonged additional silence*
"I'm just sayin'--"
"Saying what, exactly?"
"P'raps th' chapter could be – oh, I don't know – a bit lengthier."
"Why? It added nothing to the overall plot. It rabbited on about a secondary character barely mentioned in the story. It wasn't even particularly funny."
"Oh."
*silence, uncomfortably prolonged*
*see, I've added a second line to further the uncomfortably prolonged silence*
"Your hand. It's on my butt, Charles."
"Yes, I know, Robert."
"Shall we to bed then, m'lady?"
"Certainly, my bundt cake of frosted passion."
*silence, punctuated by groans, moan, bleats and funny grunting noises*
"Was it good for you?"
"Oh, yes."
"Cigarette?"
"Thank you."
"What about the goat?"
"None for him. He don't smoke."
"Too young?"
"Yeah. He's just a kid."