The Challenge:
BT: Billy Tucker vs. The Queen
The Verdict:
BT: Billy Tucker sat in the corner of a dark damp cell. He was badly beaten and was having difficulty sitting up straight as well as breathing. He didn't recall how he arrived in the cell, nor how long he'd been there. The last thing he remembered was walking down the street and a seeing a crowd of people rushing toward him, screaming, "The Queen is coming, the Queen is coming!!!"
BT grabbed one of the townsfolk by the arm. "Who's this Queen ye speak of, maggot?"
"T-t-the Queen, sir," the roughian stuttered. "T-t-the Queen, R-r-robin S-smith, sir."
BT let loose the peasant's arm. "I've not heard of this Robin Smith. Where shall I find her?"
"N-n-not her, sir. HIM!" With that, he pointed past BT and began running on the opposite direction.
BT turned and saw a big body with a small head nancying over the hill. He wore a gleaming white sweater with the letters FCA on it. BT reached to his side and grabbed his sword. The queen pointed at BT in a faggish-like manner and spoke, "Sthop that ma-en!" Before BT could react, he was surrounded by guards with sticks so small they looked like pricks. They beat him down and into unconsciousness.
BT now looked around his cell to see if they'd left him any food. He saw something moving in the shadows. "Who goes there?" he shouted, though it only came out as a gasp.
"They call me the Rooster," the voice hissed, "though the world once knew me as Chris Sisk." The Rooster stepped forward and BT saw that his long flowing mane was comprable in both length and girth to his own.
"Nice doo," BT said in a deep voice. "Have ye any bread?"
"Nay. But, I know how ye can get some."
"Speak and I'll hear," BT said, breathing faster now to maintain consciousness.
"It's said that any prisoner is free to challenge the mighty Queen to a fight. If the prisoner wins, he is set free with a $200 consolation prize. With that money, ye are free to buy all the bread ye likes!" The Rooster said this as he hopped around the room, laughing a hissy laugh.
"And if the prisoner loses?" BT asked.
"Then death be to him."
"Where do I sign?" BT said as he stood erect, suddenly regaining his power.
"Lords and prisoners, hear me well," the Rooster announced. Have we here a prisoner who accepts the Queen's challenge. Make way for the dead!"
The door of the cell opens and the Rooster leads BT through a maze of dusty hallways until they finally come to a red steel door that opens to a stadium. "I said I can only show you the door," the Rooster croaks. "It's up to you to open it."
The Rooster slinks away to the corner and sits behind a keyboard. There, he plays an arrangement that sounds distinctly like a Yanni song. "Wrote it me self, I did," the Rooster brags. "Me album's in post-preduction roit now."
BT throws open the door and marches into the stadium. Robin Smith meets him in the middle and hands BT his sword. "Here eth your thword, thweetheart." Robin says, spraying his vile spittle into the eyes of our hero. BT, blinded by the slobber, swings his sword in every direction. "Mithed me, mithed me!" Robin taunted. Queen Robin grabbed a steel pipe and hit BT in the back of the head. BT sank to the ground like a wet towel.
"Ith thith all the challenge I get?" the Queen said, with his hands on his hips and his head bobbing from side to side. "Ithn't there anyone here with enough thpunk to fight me?"
"I got your spunk right here, he-bitch" a voice said from behind. Robin turned to see BT's long lost friend, Alan Hale. Alan sported tight cut-off denim shorts and a denim vest with no shirt. "Ooh, bring it on, honey," the Queen said, merrily.
Alan leaped into a flying kick and caught Robin in the jaw. As Robin hit the ground, BT regained his strength and joined in on the action. Alan held Robin in a bearhug as BT pummeled his blubbery gut. Alan thought he heard a faint girlish giggle from the Queen. "I think it's time, BT," Alan said. BT lowered Robin's head between his legs and lifted him upright for a piledriver. The weight of Robin made BT falter, and Alan Hale rushed to the other side of Robin to steady them.
"In any other thituathon, I'd be in heaven, fellath," Robin said just before his head was driven into the ground. The crowd cheered as BT and Alan Hale stood victorious.
"No! Not the Queeeen!" came a cry from behind. They both turned to see the Rooster charging at them. His body was lanky, but his tassle was frizzed. BT drew his sword and swung it at the Rooster's crown. As the blade sliced through the Rooster's scalp, BT said, "There's only room for one mullet in this town, dude." BT held the hairy scalp high above his head as the Rooster's body fell into it's own pool of blood.
BT and Alan Hale walked out of town as the sun was setting. "Who were those men?" a townsman was heard asking. "They are not men, for men are but mortals," another answered. "They are surely of the gods."
