Off the Table

Great leather wings had the Gorg. Great leather wings and a long, sticky, evil tongue. On its great leather wings did it rustle in and perch on the palace dome. On the palace dome it perched, with its long, sticky, evil tongue lolling about the windows and doors, flicking within, cracking walls. Like a gigantic anteater on a termite mound it sat, working away.

"I am King!" roared the Gorg, after the last of the royal family had slid down its gullet. And some of the people were angry, and some of them were terrified, but most of them just went about their work as if nothing had happened.

"That's pretty much the way we always change kings," they shrugged. "It's no better or worse than the others."

But the Gorg was worse. No one was immune from its predations. Everywhere, it went, and everywhere, its loathsome tongue preceded it. Rare was the house that had not felt the evil lick.

Then the people found a way to defend themselves: peaches. As garlic is to a vampire, so were peaches to the Gorg. Every household began to display a bowl of peaches prominently on its kitchen table.

And after the peaches, there arose a champion. Nancy, she was called. Nancy the Fearless. And she called the Gorg vile names! And the people loved it.

"Foul creature!" cried Nancy the Fearless.

"You tell it, baby!" cheered the people.

"Filthy pig-dog!" screamed Nancy the Fearless.

"Good one, Nancy!" urged the people.

"Back off, aardvark breath!" growled Nancy the Fearless.

And the people elected Nancy the Fearless to be their champion, to go forth and vanquish the Gorg.

"Shove a basket of peaches down its throat, Nancy!" they cried. "You go, girl!"

And it came to pass that Nancy the Fearless went forth to meet the Gorg. The people danced and cheered and awaited her triumphant return. And return she did.

Nancy the Fearless stood before the people and spoke unto them, saying, "Well, the Gorg's the king, you know, and I have to work with it to get anything done. Peaches are off the table."