Barbarian King Read online

intervene in the battle before they ever felt the sting of battle. All BamaOay said he wanted was for his first group to get the enemy worked up in a lather, by using their skills of name calling, empty threats and personal insults. That’s all BamaOay had said he needed...and most of them believed him! They were in for a rude awakening.

  From behind this first rank of weaklings were the hardcore fighters who were armed to the teeth with bone axes, pointy sticks and clad from head-to-toe in animal hides to ward off dangerous blows. Some in this group looked like movie stars albeit with a single eyebrow running from ear-to-ear across their foreheads, and with massive, flat, block heads. Others looked like news publishers and studio moguls with pointy hats and still others could have mistaken as men, but were instead women...the Amazons. These warriors were ready for this fight; their heaving grunting, snorting and farting was all BamaOay needed to see to know these guys and gals were ready and chomping at the bit to go. Now, behind this motley collection of primitives came swaggering along their fearless, cool, calm and debonaire leader, BamaOay, the King of the Jackasses!

  He was on the cusp of becoming the ruler of this world if his plans went as planned this day. There was a great deal at stake. This horde of the Barbarian King’s had all the appearances of being unstoppable by numbers alone, but just the same he did have some slight trepidations. His anxiety was the first group forming the human shield would be too easily broken, not serving its intended purpose to tire and wear down the enemy, an enemy who did not look like the President and his people, but instead had larger, rounder heads and furless bodies.

  Their camp lay directly behind the Barbarian’s horde in a narrow cut in the mountainside merely a continuation of the valley and disappearing upon a rocky beach. There the banner of BamaOay, a male donkey, a Jackass could be seen by all waving gayly in the breeze. The President did not fear a surprise attack from his rear for a sea lay behind them, but the position he selected was a two-edge sword. If things did not go as planned and if his mob should be turned, or worse yet, overrun it would be near impossible for anyone to escape. His military prowess had put his misfits in a trap of his own ineptitude. Far brighter minds had called upon him to choose a different spot for the battle; they were now standing trembling with the rest of the cannon fodder in the front line. BamaOay knew what he was doing and he cared less if anyone, save for he and his harem, survived this day if they did not kick ass and win the battle.

  This self-professed genius now mounted something resembling a lifeguard’s chair behind his mob. Normally trumpets would announce his arrival, but with those missing in this world a long, wavering, high-pitched, vocal trilling of women’s screams rose to a pitch, so loud it rung the ear drums. These were the Barbarian’s Praetorian Guard, the Amazon battalion.

  Opposite him from the valley rose the ruins of a fortress whose purpose had been long forgotten. In the distance and standing opposite him across the field of battle BamaOay could just make out the enemy banner with his keen sparrow-like vision. He looked on at his adversary with contempt. That army facing his massed body of killers looked small by comparison and their grim silence he deduced as a testament to the terror his presence extolled upon them. All told he had a thousand, or more under his command to insure this victory. His strategy, like everything else he came up with, was theoretical mumbo-jumbo and to a large extent a product of a lifetime of liberal indoctrination. The action plan called for the uncomplicated bludgeoning of the opponent into submission with wave upon human wave of his misfits. Today’s outcome would decide who ruled this world, his knuckle-dragging primitives, or those across the field with their round heads and no sun visors.

  “Yes,” the President mumbled to himself, “my plan will work, it must work! By numbers alone my army of Jackasses must certainly overwhelm my foe.” He grinned smugly, his chipped, pearly-white teeth bared like some savage who could only be a Barbarian. “Now, let us get this show on the road.”

  Across the valley the enemy chieftain looked upon the horde of prehistoric people arrayed before him; he knew them as a smelly, hair-growing-everywhere, lowbrow people who also happened to be cannibals. Most were naked, all were stooped over, but some, especially the homeliest of the women, were clad in smelly furs and were now bidding their time ‘ululating’ all over the place. They were markedly further down the evolutionary scale and a stark contrast to his race of men and women; a people who stood erect, had largely hairless bodies and ordinary looking skulls. All but one on his side of the battlefield looked normal, a frumpy-looking female captive who had been led up to the palisade to watch the upcoming battle.

  The worn-out battle ax and debutante was of the opposing army; she was not bound, but instead sat panting after having labored up to the fortress wall. In another time, in another place, and for far too long this broad had been forced onto the political stage for what seemed like an eternity; she had a marked history of countless failures, espousing hundreds-upon-hundreds of lies, and in general was an overall incompetent, but that was then, this was now. Here in this venue she was viewed as a beauty among beauties, an Amazon among Amazons, a Queen. Her man was across that plain - BamaOay, the King, the Barbarian King...her savior, her lover, her future husband?

  The Beginning

  The Boston Post-Chronicle-Tribune-Times - Leaders of the Democrat Party are flying south this holiday to the remote nature preserve of Cumberland Island combining a little outdoor fun with strategy sessions surrounding the upcoming election for the White House. The powers that be are concerned over the loss of the House and Senate in recent elections. Voter turnout was far more dismal than expected. Fortunately the Democrat Party has one of its tried, tested, most extraordinary, brilliant, and attractive politicians...who also happens to be ‘a woman,’ running for the highest office in the land.

  Political analyst Jimmy ArvilleCay had this to say, “Yup’er, things look real good. IllaryHay will win the election y’all. Duh people are wanting a woman as President...no matter what. Yup’er, dis time gender be all that matters.”

  The liberal matron on the donkey reined in her weary steed. The thing stood with its legs widespread and its head drooping as if it found even the weight of the golden hair temptress too much to carry one more foot. The babe in the saddle drew a sandaled foot out of the stirrup and attempted to dismount by swinging down gracefully, but slipped resulting in a heavy fall. Several seconds passed as she remained unmoving, but after a time she began to budge attempting to make every effort to get to her feet. Finally giving up she spied something that might help her prop herself up. Moving along the sand like a baker’s rolling pin she gradually worked her way over to a sapling she planned to use for support.

  Her mount now decided to leave and set about moseying on down the trail.

  “Wait! Wait a second you bastard!”

  She had to act quick!

  The seconds ticked by and all the while she laboriously attempted to drag herself to her feet.

  “Stop! Stop you fucking jackass! No, don't leave me!”

  Too late...the burro had high tailed it, and yes, this bitch had a really foul mouth when not on stage.

  Finally, she managed to pull herself to her feet.

  “God all mighty! Where did that goddamn donkey go?” she asked, as she dusted herself off.

  Her steed was nowhere to be seen. She was out in the wilderness all by herself.

  Swaying to and fro, while holding onto that sapling for support, she gradually regained her breath. Huffing and puffing less and less she finally felt confident enough to stroll after her charge.

  The stillness of the forest track was so antediluvian that the tread of her weight-bearing feet had to be a startling disturbance to any wildlife nearby. At least it seemed so to the ears of this wayfarer. She was moving along the trail without the caution that should be practiced by any Royal who ventures this far from civilization. Here there was no room service, no limo drivers, no hand m
aidens and none of the servile media people to faun over her every spoken word.

  Slogging down that footpath moving one foot then another, something was working its way through the deep bushes that fringed the trail. She approached the sound of what could only have been her donkey some twenty, or thirty yards off the path by her estimates.

  She whistled as if calling a dog to heal. . . nothing happened.

  “Goddamnit!”

  She whistled again without getting the thing’s attention. She was going to have to go in after the beast. Fortunate for her the canopy of trees overhead kept the undergrowth down to a tolerable level allowing her to walk normally toward where she heard the donkey moving about.

  “That fucking mule!”

  She came upon a small clearing and sure enough her donkey was there; the animal had found a freshwater spring. Something else now came to her ear, the noise of the seashore.

  Grabbing the reins of her charge she secured it fast to some branches of a nearby bush, before turning about hands on hips to look at her surroundings.

  Things were not inviting, oak trees and clumps of fan palms limited her visage on all sides save for a path that appeared to lead to the beach. Under the glaring sunlight of the lofty heavens