Insufficient Stories by Patrick Alexander

Thoknar the Warrior

Thoknar the warrior journeyed over lands unknown, hitting many things with his sword, such as people, rocks, and more rocks. His sweaty nipples glistened in the harsh light of foreign suns.

When he was finished, the King said to him, “Thoknar, you are brave and none shall deny it, but you cannot live among us, for your warrior ways are too yucky to look at for posh people such as we.”

“Good point,” said Thoknar, hitting a rock with his sword. “But shouldn’t that be, ‘you cannot live amongst us’?”

“Either is acceptable,” the King replied. “It’s largely a stylistic issue. The important thing is to be consistent.”

Thoknar closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. He was no fancy man of words but a warrior. “I’ll be off then, forever,” he said, then tripped over the rock and fell on his face.

“You should probably open your eyes again before walking anywhere,” suggested the King.

“I shall tell tales of your wisdom, O King!” declared Thoknar, as he pulled himself to his feet. He opened his eyes, then tripped over the rock and fell on his face.

The King wore a look of sympathy. “Mighty Thoknar, perhaps you would find it easier to walk in a straight line if you stopped slowly shaking your head. In my own life,” he added tactfully, “I have sometimes found this an effective strategy.”

“Good one, O King!” cried Thoknar. “The gods chose you well, for you are good at figuring out solutions to problems.” He stood up once more, and with his noble head facing forwards, and holding his fearsome eyelids open with his fingers, he tripped over the rock and fell on his face.

The King muttered to himself: “My god, he’s got a brain the size of a mungst bean.”