The Duke sat musing by the fireplace in his inner sanctum. He had failed to secure the services of the cheating cannibal from Uruguayana; this deadly cannibal was an untamed mercenary for the Scousers of Liver-puke.
It, the cannibal was neither man nor beast and it had taken the scousers time to tame it as it disembowelled their own men. When unleashed from its cage, it was deadly, leaving blood and bones in its path.
Even after offering 40 bags of gold and one sack of rocks, back-stabbing Brendan, keeper of the cannibal denied the Duke keys to the cage.
Enter Esquire Gnarby…
Esquire Gnarby: My Duke, there arrive-th a letter for thee from an angry mob gathered at Highbury.
The Duke breathed a sigh of despair, he saw this coming. After the plundering of his troops by the Villains of Aston Villa, he knew those vocal Barons would incite a rebellion against his dukedom.
The letter read:
Warrior Prince from France,
Duke Wenger: *Thinking* Hmm…they no longer address me as their Duke?
We, the people of Arsenalia who pay the highest taxes in all of Britania write to declare our discontent with thee and thy rule. His Royal Crispiness, by way of Bishop Ivan the Terrible, hath made it known to all that we have-th gold. Gold enough to strengthen our dwindling troops (as our best men lie in the infirmary) so that we resist the armies of the kingdoms who wish to plunge Arsenalia into the ‘pit of doom of eternal servitude’!
But YOU, warrior prince from France refuse to spend our gold, gold from taxes thrust upon us. We have therefore come-th to the end of the matter, it is either ye spend our gold on cavalries OR ye return-eth to France from whence ye came.
The People of Arsenalia
Duke Wenger: Mutiny! Rebellion!
The Duke pacing to and fro his inner sanctum, nearly knocking poor Esquire Gnarby over…
Duke Wenger: And here I sat pondering! Thinketh ye not that the victory over the Turkey wings of Fenerbache would appease them?!!!
The Duke is perplexed and starts to speak French…
Duke Wenger: Mais j’ai acheté Sanogo et Ryo et Diaby vont être comme nouvelles recrues. Oh foulard noir et Legrove, vous sera la mort de moi! (But I bought Sanogo? And Ryo and Diaby are going to be like new signings. Oh Blackscarf and Legrove, ye will be the death of me!)
The Duke broke down and cried. Gnarby sniffled.
Meanwhile, somewhere up the hill, the scavengers of White Hart Lane…
The Villas of Boas: I believeth we have-th dominance over Arsenalia this campaign. We have strengthened our ranks and with the looming sale of our prized ‘pet’ to the princes of Madrid, we rest assured of the 4th place goblet.
Adviser: But my prince, your old master Horse-eh-Marine-hoe…
Villas of Boas: You called him what?! Horse?! Marine?! Hoe?!! Just call him The One. He can be the ‘whatever’ one at any time he so chooses. He says he’s The Happy One now; he was The Special One before that, who knows what he might be next campaign.
Adviser: The constipated one? *Laughter*
The 2nd battle of the campaign had begun, the Duke and his knights stood outside the borders of the Fumblers of Fulham…
Duke Wenger: Today we fight not just for His Royal Crispiness, but also for our pride as knights! For the unrest among the barons and noblemen! For…for my dukedom… The Duke starts to sob.
Duke Wenger: For my dukedom… *sniff* the kingdom I helped build has turned against me *sob* I do what I think is best, I really do. *sob turns to wailing*
Lord Santi: *whispers to Lord Monreal* (In Spanish) es siempre así? (is he always like this?)
Lord Monreal: Naaah, sólo cuando él sabe que nosotros sabemos que él no sabe mejor… (Naaah, only when he knows that we know that he doesn’t know best.)
Lord Giroud: C’mon Dukey, it’s not that bad, you still have some barons in ye corner. You’ve got us too.
Lord Bacary: Yes Duke, you’ve got us. However, I believe ye should harken to the profitable chastisement of baron Legrove and black scarf. Ye cannot go about thinking in thy head – Arsene knows best.
All the Knights: true, very true.
The Duke assured and comforted, wiped his snot and eyes and got his knights ready for battle. And the knights plundered the fumblers of Fulham and their victory songs could be heard from hills afar.
Enter the Bishop Ivan the Terrible into the cathedral were King Chips sat deep in thought…
Bishop: Your Royal Crispiness, I hear thou sent for me?
King Chips: yes, yes, I did. Sit.
Bishop: and what is that which troubles my Lord?
King Chips: How will thou perceive the strength of our troops if we acquire the services of Di-Maria and Ozil from the princes of Madrid?
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