The sun peeked through the clouds as the morning dew began to rise off the field
as Sir Rosington rode his trusty steed toward the looming mountain. This was the
first day of Sir Rosington's new position. The King had appointed him leader of a
small army whose duty it was to protect the far reaches of the Kingdom from all
intruders.

Sir Rosington got this position quite by accident. He was summoned by the King to
bring him the Royal Prunes. He went into the wrong room without knocking. He
tripped on the rug and fell flat on his face. When he looked up he discovered he
was in the Kings daughter's bedroom. She was in the middle of getting dressed for
dinner and was practically naked. Due to the customs of this particular Kingdom,
they were officially engaged. The King, being a sort of prude, would not have his
daughter engaged to a mere schlepling. He immediately created a position of honor
for his soon to be son-in-law.

Sir Rosington took his new responsibility quite seriously. The area he was to
protect was so far away no one knew where the official boundary was. Sir
Rosington was bound and determined to protect it.

Sir Rosington rode his trusty steed down the path, up to the top of the mountain.
He found the clearing at the top and dismounted. From this vantage point he could
see the entire countryside. He could see parts of neighboring kingdoms that he
had never visited. He could not even pronounce them. This did not deter him from
the task at hand.

He shaded his eyes from the morning sun as he scanned the vastness of his charge.
He walked a few steps away from his horse to the absolute highest point of the
mountain. He stood there for a moment. A moment of pride. He drew his sword and
pointed it in the air in the direction of the neighboring communities. He tilted
his head back and spoke in an authoritative manner, "Let it be known, neighboring
Kingdoms, that it is I, Sir Rosington, Protector of the Far Reaches (That is
really the name of the place) We are here to guard against all invaders,
infiltraters, trespassers, investigators, incapacitaters and all the vermin aloft
in the swamp. Heed my warning. We shall not recede. We shall guard our homeland
with a vengeance. We shall stay in droves. Are we not our own men? Must we guard
our privates with our hearts? These my friends are our marked words. Do not
attempt to slice our vicissitude with a mortal pen. Keep your pubescent genitalia
at bay. Loosen your grip on your tortured mollusks. Give up your futile rage for
it will lead only to a more gentle surrender. We shall fight for our kindred
spirit. We shall fight for our seemingly innocent women. We shall fight for the
young boys that Sir Leonard likes so much. Yes, we will not back away. Our hearts
may be torn limb from limb, our eyes could be plucked out and eaten like sherbet,
but we shall not back away. Listen to me, let it be heard. Let the echoes
reverberate, verberate, verberate. Do not listen to the spiteful words of those
that know no other than themselves. They cannot tell the difference. I know
whereof I speak for I have been between those that have been there before another
was there before the first. (Say that one twelve times fast)."

A hermit, living in the shrubbery nearby, happened to hear the wise ramblings of
Sir Rosington. He crawled out from under the sagebrush and snuck up behind the
unobservant knight. The hermit grabbed a nearby branch and with one mighty swing,
he clubbed Sir Rosington unconscious. The hermit looked at the knight sprawled
out on the ground and said, "Will you shut up! You're giving me a headache that
won't go away. Some people just can't keep their mouths shut. Look what you did.
You made me break my vow of silence." He dropped the branch a trudged back into
the underbrush, mumbling to himself.

Several hours later Sir Rosington awoke. Not only did he have a splitting
headache he also had amnesia. He could not remember his name or what he was doing
there.

Sir Rosington's men never found him. Maybe they never bothered to look. They told
the King that he died of some rare rectal infection. This certainly got the
Princess off the hook. She didn't have to marry the schmuck. This made the
Princess very happy.

As for Sir Rosington, he is still wandering the Far Reaches. Aimlessly searching
for someone who knows who he is.

I hope you enjoyed the story of Sir Rosington as much as I enjoyed writing it. I
hope you enjoyed it more than that. Goodnight and have a pleasant pheasant,