Chapter 14

The "Strength" of Men

Spandalf and Enron watched Lardo and Spam from the balcony in Enron's study. "I feel kind of bad about this…" Spandalf said, as he bobbed the waterballoon in his hands.
"Suck it up Spandalf!" Enron said as he threw his waterballoon at Spam.
Spandalf threw his, but missed both the Blobbits by a few feet. He blushed.
"His strength returns."
"That wound will never fully heal. The Diet blade took probably a good ten pounds off of him at least! He'll never be the same."
"And yet to have come so far, still bearing The Doughnut, the Blobbit has shown extraordinary resilience to its Jelly-filling."
"It's filled?" Spandalf asked, "Dude! He's a better man than I. We can ask no more of Lardo."
"Spandalf, the enemy is moving. Moron's forces are massing in the hood — his eye is fixed on Cholesterell. And Sweetin Saruman you tell me has betrayed us. Our list of allies grows thin, even though they are very, very fat."
"His treachery runs deeper than you know." Spandalf informed the stuck-up jerk, "By foul craft Sweetin Saruman has crossed Porks with goblin-men,"
"GROSS!" Enron yelled."
"Yeah, I know!"
"Spandalf, the doughnut can't stay here." Enron whined. "We Elves are too dumb to remember not to eat it or something. I mean, I have wells of deep memory, but not in my memory! I mean, it's a wonder I remembered you at…" Enron turned and started walking away.
"Enron?" Spandalf called after him.
"Oh. Just put them on the radiator. Thanks, hun."
"Whoa! I don't even wanna know!"
"No, wait. You're that guy. Spandy… or something."
"Yeah, we're talking about The One Doughnut that's here now."
"Why?"
Spandalf shook his head, "Doesn't matter. It is in Men that we must place our hope."
"Men? Men are weak. And they suck. The race of Men is failing. The blood of Fúmenor is all but spent, its pride and dignity dumped on. It is because of Men The Doughnut survives. I was there Spandalf. I was there three thousand years ago…"
"Yeah, but you don't remember that!"
"True… But there was a guy… and he said no. And that's why the Doughnut's still around and Men suck, and I can't remember anything. I don't know how the last one is connected, but it must be, because I can remember before then."
"No you can't!"
"True… But it's the thought counts."
"If you had a thought in your empty head."
"True… But…"
"No buts. There is one who could unite them, one who could reclaim the throne of Frontdoor."
"Who?"
"Peppercorn."
"Who?"
"You know… that guy!"
"Oh."
Spandalf nodded.
"Who?"

Evening fell with a splat. Cheesecakeman sat on the terrace reading a book.
Footsteps echo on the stone floor. A man entered and paused in front of a mural painted with Ketchup and Mustard of Cheesildur, with broken sword raised against Moron. He looked the painting intently, then, conscious of another presence, turned and saw Cheesecakeman. "Howdy!" the man said to Cheesecakeman.
Cheesecakeman threw a small rock at the man.
He dodged with his cool ninja abilities, "Oh! You're no Elf! What are you doing here?"
"Me and an Elf are an item."
"Whoa! No way! That's special! Is she good looking?"
"She has a moustache."
"Ooh. Sorry."
"Sorry? That's how I like my women."
The man was silent.
"What's your name?" Cheesecakeman asked.
"Oh me? I'm the son of the nicest guy in the world, Burstintoflames, Steward of Frontdoor. Isn't that a funny name? Burstintoflames. I hope it doesn't mean something bad." He laughed. "I am, as I've said, Burstintoflames's son, one of two. My brother's name is Neglectimir. I hope that doesn't mean anything either."
"I don't care. What's your name?"
"Harold. Nice to meet you. You can call me Hal!"
"I might."
Hal gave Cheesecakeman a thumbs up. "And you?"
"You can die."
Hal seemed puzzled by Cheesecakeman's reluctance to reveal his identity, but smiles again good-naturedly and turned to the Lady's shrine opposite the wall painting. He saw the broken sword lying there. He picked up the haft, shifting it in his hand, testing its weight and felt as a warrior would, and stared at the blade. There was a button on the statue. Hal pressed it.
A recorded voice sounded. "These are the shards of Cartwheel. They did NOT cut the Doughnut from Moron's hand, but you can sound cool and say that they did…"
"The shards of Cartwheel!" Hal said, "The blade that cut The Doughnut from Moron's hand! I do sound cool!" He stared at the blade some more. For some reason there was jelly on the blade, even though it never touched the doughnut. Hal licked the jelly from the broken blade. "Ow! Thtill Thowp!
Cheesecakeman rolled his eyes and flicked Hal off.
"What a jerk!" Hal thought to himself, "But no mo than a bwoken aowoom!" He said as he threw the haft to the ground. He ran from the room, almost crying.
Lardwen entered the room as Cheesecakeman was putting the sword back on the shrine. "Why do you fear the past? You are Cheesildur's heir, not Cheesildur himself.
"What does that have to do with anything?"
Lardwen massaged her moustache, "A si i-Dhúath ú-orthor, Peppercorn. Ú or le a ú or nin."
Cheesecakeman looked at her. "What?"