I was spending my holiday in Sherfordshire Upon Mary Kay collecting errant knights when I became involved in this affair. It started when I unburied an errant knight named Sir Ris. Sir Ris had a slightly boney complection, but he looked smashing in his rusty suit of amour, having entertained many a lover in my tweed waterbed, his rough barnacly exterior yeilded him to a more rustic kind of lover. The women he played Lancelot with were all hearty milk maids. The armor rusted because they loved dumping milk over the tweed waterbed. Next morning, he couldn't move. "Last time I go to bed in full platemail." Making matters worse, his tweed waterbed had sprung a leak. "Milk maids? Lasses? where are you? A little consideration for a drowning knight!" To add to his miserableness, King Barfur walked in. "Dear me, Sir Pansylot, have you wet your sleeping sack?" "Um, just getting baptized, Your Barfiness." King Barfur's face turned green, even more than usual. Sir Pansylot sidestepped the mess. He only needed to be "baptized" once, thank you. A dry set of clothes was waiting ... a jester's costume? Oh well. It was better than being covered in King Barfur's barf. Albeit as soon as the jester's hat was atop his head, Sir Pansylot felt funny. He could sense the funny pulsing through his body like electricity. Suddenly, Sir Pansylot knew every knock knock joke that had ever been conceived. The jester hat had given him The keys to the kingdom provided he was not using the right password and not streaking. Sir Pansylot had a history of schizophrenia. He was under medication so Professor Mewling would get off his back about psychoanalysis. Thus sedated, Sir Pansylot lived the life of a sycophant, winning favor with the royalty. He died a rich, but stupid man.



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