This man has done nothing to me. In fact, for the price of a penny and the fare of a fifty, this man is putting himself in mortal peril, putting himself at risk of dismemberment, disembowelment and decapitation, and all for my amusement. While I gorged myself on roasted chicken, spare ribs, and half a baked potato eaten off of a pewter plate, this man battled next to horse and hawk to merely to entertain me.
And yet I hate him. I hate him more than I can describe. I hate him more than that one guy who took that last package of oreos that one time I wanted to buy oreos and there was only one package of them left and he took it (I guess he was going to give it to the cute four year old girl, whom I also hated), and I wished the worst death known to man to happen to him. I hated this man in front of me now panting, sweat dripping from his face and the smell of horseshit permeating all of his clothes, more than that oreo-taking bastard.
And all because my server told me he was my enemy. While pouring my iced tea into my pewter mug, she pointed across the arena to a section of the audience lit up by green lights and stated, “That color is your enemy. You must boo whenever he appears in the arena.” I not only booed. All because a wench told me so, for two hours my bloodlust knew no boundaries and I dreamed of this honest, hard-working and decent man strung up by his hind-quarters and split in twain.
This is the real reason Medieval Times is awesome. Not the horses, or the food, or the fighting, or the costumes. Not even the crazy amounts of liquor they serve you. It’s the facts that they give you leave to imagine a horrible horrible deaths for these brave knights, they make it easy by choosing for you, and then they make you feel okay about your violent thoughts.
May the Green Knight know no boundary to his pain in anguish!