Probably my favourite ever piece of my writing. Certainly one of them, at any rate. I have a plan to one day write the whole of Lucas’ story into a full-length rhyming novel. I have it in my head. I hope I get a chance to let it out one day. I was a lot younger (and, obviously, fond of the idea of weed) but I still love this story.
The Chronicles of Lucas
He could not sleep, not even a little.
He lay in his bed feeling scared. Feeling brittle.
His heart was courageous, his resolve, it was strong.
He would set off on his very first quest before long.
He was eager to leave and to be on his way,
And he waited all night for the break of the day.
His party was five, not counting the mules,
who carried supplies and weapons and tools.
Two dwarves were they, and a man and an elf,
And of course John the troll who kept touching himself.
Together with Lucas, six was their count.
And they strolled boldly off, with their wagons and mounts.
In search of the riches of dragons and counts!
Far did they travel – three weeks and a day,
Their seams all unravelled, and John acting gay.
From sunup to sunset they pushed on their way,
Until finally they stopped with a resounding “Wa-hay!”
They looked up at the fortress that they bravely now faced.
Lucas took each in a solemn embrace.
His courage betrayed by the look on his face,
Inside he was kakking, but he knew his place.
So he puffed out his chest and looked to the rest,
as he drew his curved dagger from under his vest.
He knew that the party was strong as a whole,
Except for that dodgy old John the cave troll.
He said that he’d follow the crew to his death,
And fight for their mission with his very last breath.
Far away in the land of Trumpenflay-Heights,
The people had waited for dozens of nights.
Would their heroes prevail and proudly return,
or be crushed by the dragon, scream loudly and burn?
Sally the maiden, was to Lucas betrothed.
Now lonely and horny, she cast off her clothes.
And lay in her bed of soft satin sheets,
Touching herself. Heart skipping some beats.
As she climaxed alone she gave out a yell,
Not knowing that Lucas was fighting through Hell…
He’d slain a giant and dozens of orcs,
And even an army of smurfs with pitch-forks,
He’d shed so much blood, but still they kept coming,
While distant war drums kept relentlessly drumming.
Exhausted and spent he kept up his great fight,
He was quite a gangsta. His skills were lank tight.
He brandished his sword like a warrior possessed,
And turned skull after monstrous skull into mess.
To his left were the dwarves, swinging their axes,
In their quest to retrieve their Land’s stolen taxes.
To his right, Pete the Man and of course, filthy John,
Were fighting and killing and soldiering on.
With Lucas in front of their arrow-formation,
Closer they crept to their end destination.
Meanwhile, in his keep, Slerg could not sleep.
His thoughts were fixated on subjects too deep.
“Why” he asked “do they all hate me so?
Is it my teeth or the fire I blow?
It isn’t my fault, it’s the way I was born.
We dragons are ever the subject of scorn.
Yet here I am lonely, my armies retreating,
I paid top dollar and they’re taking a beating.
I guess when you pay for it, loyalty’s fleeting.”
And with that thought he called a board meeting.
Count Smegmore arrived and sat at the helm.
He said “our orcs will soon be overwhelmed.”
Upon your back I will ride as we flee.
Just you, the head orc, and a sherper and me.”
“But why?” pleaded Slerg, “Surely our forces can,
cope with this elf, and this troll and this man,
those dwarves and that Lucas. I don’t understand!”
“Because,” said the count, “you’ve stolen their gold.
What choice do they have but to invade our stronghold?
They’re fighting pride, for country and spirit.
Those fukken orcs we’ve got – their hearts are not in it.
They’re fighting because we pay them to do it.
When shit’s getting rough, of course they’ll say ‘screw it'”
With that, Slerg stood up and put out his blunt roach.
He thought it was time for a different approach.
He opened the doors of his fortress up high,
And said “what the fuck, let me give this a try”
He cleared his throat and gave an almighty cry.
“Stop my brave foes, let no one else die!
Let’s discuss this like friends, smoke blunt and get high.
I’ve got kief samoosas I’d like you to try.
I’m sorry I stole all your country’s fine riches.
I needed the cash to pay these orc bitches.
I’ll give the cash back and throw in some weed.
The finest it is in the world, yes indeed!”
And with that they sat around Slerg’s mighty table.
They swore to keep peace for as long as they’re able.
Even John, the filthy cave troll,
managed to keep himself under control.
After smoking a chron’ and having a laugh,
They dined on sweet pastry and spit-braaied giraffe.
Upon their return, the townsfolk did cheer!
They showered our heroes with gifts of cold beer.
When they heard of their peace talks and the truce that now stood,
They nodded in agreement that the shit was all good.
And Lucas… well, he and Sally did marry,
And soon had a son who they named Nathan-Gary,
Who later was made king of Trumpenflay-Heights,
And lord of all soldiers and squires and knights.
Once every year Slerg would pop by.
He’d singe a weed field so the whole town could get high.
The moral of the tale, my friends, is this:
Fighting sucks. Weed is the shit.
Gord Laws, 2006