Oh, I'm sure something interesting happened, and Sir Me is trapped in a cave underground with rats slowly eating his feet. Yes, you heard me, RATS. Didn't expect that, did you? Yeah man.
Yes, I haven't lost interest in this baby yet, mainly because I've already photoshopped most of the exam demons and I'll be damned if those 40 minutes of creativity are going unloved. So, yeah, slightly belated (due to me NOT rowing at National Schools and me being a total party monster *rawk and rawl*), here is...
The GCSE Saga episode 3: Enter The Englishman
'Oh fiddlesticks!' said Sir Me. 'Rats are eating my feet!'
Two hours he'd been trapped in the cave, and already his feet were on the turn. Well, made sense. It was melting hot in here. Sir Me had already removed his armour and left it on a rock. He knew that this left him open to attack from demons of might and magic, but demons weren't forthcoming. This was probably a good thing. He wasn't in a good state, trapped in a cave, without his sword, semi-naked, melting hot, with no water (his flask was empty) or food (he'd eaten his Lunchables on the way to the cave), and nobody knew he was there.
Nobody except... he thought suddenly of Charleen, the receptionist at the Inn. But then, oh yeah, he remembered that she'd been horribly mutilated and integrated by Harris, demon of Core Maths. Bastard. Her corpse was lying over there in a pool of liquid excrement. Glumly, Sir Me threw his empty flask at her. By some absurd fluke, he hit the corpse, which rolled over, then slowly fell through the floor.
What? Sir Me leapt to his feet and ran over gingerly. Then he saw it. A trapdoor in the corner of the room. He examined it glumly. Why hadn't he seen it before? It was just big enough for a greased up knight to slip through, but not his armour. He'd have to go through as he was, in his wifebeater vest and hotpants. This was bad; he felt somehow unprotected with an inch of steel and a massive shield surrounding his body. Oh well, he still had his small, rather pathetic dagger of C1 Formulae. As he slipped through the hole into the blackness below, he wondered how much use it would be. Oh well.
The hole led into a dark tunnel which resembled a piece of swiss cheese. There were 6 different passageways , in every imaginable direction; up, down, left, right, and even one really odd looking one that seemingly went through the 4th dimension. Sparking up his torch, Sir Me saw a sign crudely scratched on the wall in day-glo paint: The Labyrinth of Short Stories, Poetry and Drama.
Beneath it was blu-takked a note, written in crayon. The knight examined it. It seemed to be written in code, but after reading it a few times, he realised that it was probably just written by somebody who was mentally defective.
>)()(<< Hi peeeeps! Tis da dark nite here, gibin yew advise about getting fru the labarinth!!!! :Dxx lolz u cn get lost eezlee,s opay atnetion... alwayz go LEFT!!!!12!!2! NEVa RIGT EVer. FoLEw My ADvise N YeW Wl GeT tROuGH OK!!!!!!!!lolL!!!@2! :D :D :D :D :D :D elaways left, emember, and HuRRY! TRhis Labtuynth holds wurst monstars than PoEtRy n Proze. hehehe MWAH ---+-+===_s tee heea maaha
neways GTG LUV YUW =p MWAH peeps
DARK KNighT
After getting it off by heart, Sir Me ripped it off the wall and shredded it into tiny pieces, which he then burnt. He then took the ash and made a pile before urinating on it, then stamping repeatedly on the black soggy mess. Then he kicked the paste into a hole.
"Fucking poor grammatical user."
He put his back to the wall and chose the left passageway, that went down a set of stairs. After decending those, he came to a crossroad. He went left again. For hours he wandered the tunnels, which seemingly went on forever. Every time he thought perhaps he was on his way out, he came to a passageway that he'd previously walked down. He started leaving markings on the walls to help him find his way, but all to no avail. Then he started to get a feeling that he was being followed.
This feeling was confirmed when something leapt onto his back and bit him in the ear.
"Hey, begone, you tit!" cried the brave Sir Me, stabbing his assailant with his dagger of C1 Formulae, thinking perhaps that he was being attacked by an errant C1 equation that had somehow survived the destruction of Harris. But no. The dagger exploded into pi fragments at the mere touch of his assailant's flesh.
"Oh, cuntmonkeys."
"Tee hee" said the assailant, rather unscarily, as Sir Me managed to shake him off at last. The brave knight span, and viewed his enemy for the first time. He raised one eyebrow in a comic way. The assailant in front of him was one of the weirdest photoshop creations he'd ever seen.
"Who the sam hill are you?"
"I am... THE ENGLISHMAN!"
Sir Me thought back to his lessons with his holy mentor, Wise Man Simpson. "The Englishman," Wise Man Simpson had said, stroking his chins wisely, "Demon of GCSE English, was feared by the illiterate dipshits across the country, who were unable to fight back against his fabled screams of essays and rubric infringements. Legend says of the terrible things that had happened to the corpses. In some cases, the very fabric of their skin had been rhetorically questioned. You know what that is? It's IRONIC. It's was a vicarious way to die."
"You'll never take me alive!" said Sir Me bravely, knowing that this probably was the truth. He was unarmed and, although FABULOUS, helpless. The Englishman regarded him severely for a second with his terrible eye of clipart, then rather camply leapt in the air and clicked his high heels together. For an exciting few seconds, the walls whirred and clicked, before the floor around Sir Me simply exploded in a burst of metaphors. The knight squealed as he fell, and managed to grab an outcrop of rock just in time. Now he was HANGING off a CLIFF, above a seemingly bottomless pit.
HANGING off a CLIFF.
He was quite literally, a CLIFF HANGER.
Yeah.
See where I'm going with this?
TO BE CONTINUED. Mwahhaa.
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