Altercations

"I admire your courage," said Achilles, still glowering like he had sunk his teeth into a lemon. "But I could have your head on a spit in the blink of an eye!"

"Oh yeah?" challenged Hector. "Don't be so sure. But even if you could, at least my pants will last longer."

"What?" questioned Achilles.

"I believe you're the one who said, 'Yes prince, but our pants will remain', after I said, 'In a thousand years, the dust from our bones will be gone.' "

"I did?" said Achilles. "It cannot be!" He turned, mumbling: "Must have been a typo in the script."

"Want to have a name calling contest?" asked Hector pleasantly.

"Sure!" responded Achilles. "Um…you sack of wine!"

Hector yawned. "That one's a bit overused, wouldn't you agree?" he said. Achilles turned away, abashed once more.

"How about it, you bag of dates?" prodded Hector. "Hm? What's that, you pompous pomegranate?" Achilles slunk away, feeling ill-used.

"Bye bye, raisin brain!" Hector called after him. "Give your mother my regards!"

"Wha-?" said Priam, entering the beautifully furnished room. He saw what Paris had done and he was horrified. "How dare you lock that bird in a cage!" he roared. "It should be free! It should be free as the wind! Let the little bird go, or I will kill you! And by that, I mean from head to toe!"

"Toe?" cried Hector. "What toe? I love my toe!" He pulled off his sandal and kissed his toe.

"Is it really smelly?" asked Achilles, coming back. "I'm just curious."

"Look, you can say whatever you want about me," said Hector, "but no one insults my toe!" He socked Achilles, felling him like a leaf before a lawnmower.

"Ahhhhh!" shrieked Odysseus.

"What?" questioned Paris.

Odysseus pointed downwards towards Paris' foot.

"There…there is a scorpion eating a tarantula on your foot!"

Paris looked down. "Ahhh!" he cried, "Fluffy! Whaaaaa! My wittle Fluffy!" Paris grabbed the remains of his tarantula and squashed Tom, the scorpion.

Suddenly, Achilles began chasing after Paris yelling, "I'll get you my pretty…and your little dog too!"

"Onomatopoeia," said Lysander, cogitatively. "I've always loved that word."

El Fin