A Game of Groans: A Sonnet of Slush and Soot (29 page)

“How’s it hanging, pal?” the taller being asked.

“How’s tricks?” the younger one queried.

“Um…”

The taller thing explained, “Listen, we won’t keep you. I’m Jarhead, and he’s Airhead, the two of us used to be Swatchmen, but we got murdered in the prologue, then reanimated by the Others…”

From the distance, a voice cried,
“We’re not the Others! We’re the Awesomes, asshole!”

“… and then we dropped off the face of Easterrabbit, and we want to find out why.”

Despite their hideous appearance, Juan could hear the pathos in their voices, and he wanted to help. “There’s only one thing I can tell you, gentlemen:
A veces en nuestro mundo, algo que ocurre, y nada se resuelve
.”

In unison, Jarhead and Airhead asked, “What does that mean, jerkoff?”

“Sometimes in our world, little happens, and nothing is resolved.”

Aside from Loly Targetpractice (aka Lolyta Tornadobutt, Princess of Duckseventually) walking into a raging campfire with her eggs balanced on her shoulders, and coming out of said fire with a bunch of baby ducklings in her hair—ducklings rather than baby dragons, mind you, and you should have seen that coming, because it had been foreshadowed for many, many chapters—little happened and nothing was resolved, but as was always the case when

You can read the remainder of that sentence and much, much more in
A Crash of Bling: A Sonnet of Slush and Soot, Book 2,
coming March 27, 2138.

The author wishes to thank Benjamin R. R. Franklin, Thomas R. R. Jefferson, James R. R. Madison, Alexander R. R. Hamilton, John R. R. Adams, John R. R. Jay, and his beloved wife, Martha R. R. Washington.

The author also wishes to thank his editor, Peter R. R. Joseph, for his patience, his kindness, and his wisdom in advising him to trim 916 pages from the first draft of this book.

The author also wishes to thank everybody at St. Martin’s Press and Thomas Dunne Books, most notably Thomas R. R. Dunne, Margaret R. R. Smith, Loren R. R. Jaggers, and Joe R. R. Goldschein.

The author also wishes to thank his readers Susan R. R. Smith and Kush R. R. Mangat, who have ten or eleven more
Sonnets of Slush and Soot
to look forward to. Maybe twelve.

The author also wishes to thank his literary agent, Jason R. R. Allen R. R. Ashlock of Movable Type Management for his excellent swordsmanship, marksmanship, and penmanship.

The author also wishes to thank his other wife, Natale R. R. Rosenberg, for her love, support, and the mighty tasty direpandaburgers with grilled onions.

Finally, the author wishes to thank the wonderful, kind, handsome, brilliant, adorable, handsome, hilarious, handsome, handsome, charming gentleman who made this all possible—the man of the hour, who makes the ladies wanna shower—Alan R. R. Goldsher. Here’s mud in your eye, and an onion in your mouth.

George R. R. Washington may be related to our country’s founding father. And he might live in Chicago with his lovely wife, Natalie. Or he might not. He won’t return our calls.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to real persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any resemblances to fictional characters are intentionally parodic.

This book has not been prepared, authorized, licensed, approved, or endorsed by any person or entity involved in creating or producing any of the Song of Ice and Fire books or the
Game of Thrones
television program.

THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.

An imprint of St. Martin’s Press.

A GAME OF GROANS.
Copyright © 2012 by St. Martin’s Press. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.thomasdunnebooks.com

www.stmartins.com

ISBN 978-1-250-01126-8 (trade paperback)

eISBN 9781250011251

First Edition: April 2012

1
. Thank you, Father.

2
. My Gods, Father. (Now that you know what
padre
means, we’ll stop footnoting that word.)

3
. Very. Duh.

4
. Holy shitballs.

5
. Gods. (You should have this one down, too.)

6
. The biggest, hugest, smelliest.

7
. Please. (Spanish 101. We shouldn’t have to translate this one for you, but we figure since you bought this book, you shouldn’t have to think that hard.)

8
. Dumbass. Or something like that.

9
. Dude. I think.

10
. Nothing. Duh.

11
. Funny dude. Or something like that.

12
. Dummy. (But he said it nicely, because he likes Malia, and vice versa. Isn’t that sweet?)

13
. Correct. Duh.

14
. Whiny little bitch.

15
. Idiot. That wasn’t the word Juan was looking for, but apparently there’s no Spanish translation for “ditz.” If you know of one, please contact us at [email protected].

16
. Hell. (So dramatic. So very, very dramatic.)

17
. Sorta-kinda brother.

18
. Insert your own epithet. The more vulgar, the better.

19
. How are you, jerkoff?

20
. Stud cakes.

21
. My bad.

22
. Hells to the yeah, bitch!

23
. Blowing my mind.

24
. Blowing my cock.

25
. Poopy.

26
. My bad again.

27
. Wow.

28
. My bad again again.

29
. Asshole.

30
. Fuck your mother. (Normally that would be one of the most offensive insults known to mankind, but in Easterrabbit—the home of fucking one’s mother—it’s practically a compliment.)

31
. I shit in your whore mother’s milk. (That’s a good one, isn’t it?)

32
.
Oy vey
.

33
. Fuck this noise, I’m outta here. Peace out, muthafucka.

34
. Do the nasty.

35
. Godsdamn mud.

36
. Godsdamn mud.

37
. Godsdamn mud.

38
. Summer is coming.

39
. Summer is coming.

40
. Summer is coming.

41
. Fat boy.

42
. Gxgglmrldtwop.

43
. Huge ass.

44
. A bit toasty.

45
. Disgusting.

46
. Disgusting. (Just wanted to make sure you’re paying attention.)

47
. Translate it yourself. I mean, do I have to do
all
the work around here?

48
. Dude.