(Arggggh, you got me…)
The horse began spasming and frothing in terrible agony – for it was the Dread Thorne of Thee Unspeekable Plague, which infects those it pricks with incurable Rhyme-on-a-Dime-itis. The horse, now under the Dread Thorne’s hold, was unable to express his agony in anything other than butchered dactylic dimeter:
NEIGHwinnyNEIGHwinny
SNORThumphgruntBLEURGHshinny
PFFFTnumpfrumpKREEhinny
NEIGHwinnySNORT
Our heroes (and villains) understandably hadn’t a dingbat’s wiffle as to what was going on, which was this: Mohammed, who had accidentally manufactured this cursed talisman in his taboo experiments with the bein hazmanim machine, was unintentionally (well…except for the horse) infecting the timeline with his deadly spores. This extraneous and anachronistic drivel bulged through the seams of Common Sense, creating a Plot Hole (the one that had previously swallowed up Henry’s coma) which was rampantly swallowing up vital plot elements and and spewing banshees, unnecessary (and yet so augustly titled) purple geniuses and paisley couches. This corruption of the timestream would eventually cause all of time to collapse on itself, with the end result being the world would implode and reform as a disc on the backs of four elephants on a turtle. Our cast, being completely unaware of all this, was now engaged in a confused (not to mention poetically discordant) tussle over a golden crown which kept inexplicably shifting into different tints of vintage marmalade.
Except Nancy, that is. Handily, Nancy, who had previously contracted and cured a mild form of this plague as consequence of being Mohemmed’s unwilling test subject, was instantaneously able to divine the gravity of the situation. And she knew exactly what to do.
(Continued…)