Author: Mickey Hennesey

... a gargantuan castle. From where he was standing, albeit barely, Yanzek could make out that the castle was covered in copious vines and other foliage.

“Alas, this castle is covered in copious vines and other foliage,” thought Yanz. “Ergo, I extrapolate that this is Castle de Bayonne High School, better know as The Bean Stalk. It is at this egregious sight that the final battle of our time shall be decided. My beloved green tights... I am coming!”

Choking back tears, Yanz treaded onward. “If only I had a mirror,” his thoughts began to race, then I could align it in front of me - right between the Beanstalk and I - ah, beautiful syzygy...” As Yanz increased the distance between himself and the Hudson Woods, he began to near a small shack of sorts. Arms akimbo, Yanz stared at the building in utter bewilderment. After a short balancing of the mind, Yanz decided to enter this building whose name Yanz read aloud as “Rite-Aid”. As Yanz was at the threshold, he remembered that he was on a quest to reclaim his adored green tights. It was at this point that Yanz decided it would be more efficient and sagacious if he were to just send a Quaff strand slithering through the store in order to snag him a pocket mirror. Once this task was completed, Yanz flipped open the mirror, admired his sanguine lips and other patrician features, and proceeded on with the journey an hour later.

As the frtress loomed ever-nearer Yanz was frozen in his steps by the most bitter-sweet sound he had ever heard in his life. A mellifluous singing voice soon entrenched itself in Yanz’s ears, filling him with unceasing mirth and causing his sanguine lips to curl into a nefarious little grin. The words sang in a high pitched Asian tongue and accompanied by masterful piano playing, were easily understood by Yanzek.

Come to me... Let us dine... Let us meander over a myriad of topics... conversation shall thrive the entire time…

When the melody ceased Yanz was elated. He rubbed his hands together jovially and commenced running towards the castle, seemingly eradicated of his affliction from the previous skirmish with Wolfgang. The salubrious hymn had restored Yanz’s confidence, determination, and most of all, desire to strap on his sacred Tights of Green once more.

In no time Yanzek had reached another impediment. Flowing majestically before him was a placid body of cool, midnight blue water. Yanzek’s intuitive reasoning skills told him that this encumbrance was the Kill Van Kull. Yanzek relished the opportunity to change into his new argyle swimming tights and matching cap. Yanzek chuckled when his Quaff supplied him with goggles, for he could obviously see under water and was therefore not in need of them. However, in order to humor the Quaff, Yanzek proceeded to put them on whimper of pain, an orange ping pong ball with copious sharp teeth smashed into the goggle lens. The impact knocked Yanzek straight to the ground, right onto his toosh. Yanzek’s vision was now occulted in one eye due to the fractured plexi glass. In a fit of piratic rage Yanzek rose to his feet and bellowed a squawk of rage.

“Gardyloo!!” he exclaimed. Your dead meat Broseph! Show yourself you measly little toad! You moronic, half-witted - zang. another ping pong ball to the head. Upon falling back to the ground the ball began to chomp at the grass. Yanzek’s attention hastily turned from the ravenous ball to the moat, however, when a large whirlpool formed and out of the centre shot up one of another one of Yanzek’s enemies: Edward Finklestien. The ghostly, lanky villain carried a large snow-blower on his back at all times, but instead of blowing snow, this evil gadget shot ping pong balls at laser speeds. “TEST 2 SERVING 0!” shouted Finklestien.

“Test 2, Yanzek digressed, you mean... a-ha! This is the second test in my triumverate! A test of the mind. Well then sir, might I inform you that I will surely win. I’m Yanzek Hestal and I have a giant Quaf - boom. ball number three.”

“3 SERVING 0!” Finklestien the stentorian shrieked. His white head band had become yellow due to the profuse sweating, as had his knee-high athletic socks and corresponding tennis shoes. His sleeveless T-shirt also had two rims of yellow around the shoulder straps. Years of playing poing pong had taken its toll, as the only member of Finklestien’s wardrobe that was a yellowish-white hue were his much-too-small red athletic shorts, which sat was above his knees. Finklestien handled the gargantuan ping pong machine with such grace that all but Yanzek Hestal could admit he was quite the savant. As Finklestien’s concentration solidified, he become intent and the Rocky theme commenced playing obstreperously from the castle’s speakers. Hestal, ping pong paddle-less, began to dodge the balls as fast as they came. He began to do the Irish River Dance and began spewing limericks extemporaneously. After sundry athletic moves and many an expert dodges, another ball struck Yanzek square in the chest, causing him to fly backward.

“4 SERVING 0!” Finklestien roboticly bellowed. Still in his swimming tights, cap, and goggles, Yanz now rose his grass-covered, emaciated frame up to full stature and called out to Finklestien, “BOP! BOP! BOP! 1 SERVING 4!”. Yanzek had figured out the riddle. Finklestien could only speak Ponglish, and unfortunately for him, so could Yanzek Hestal. Up until now Finklestien had roamed Bayonne unchallenged, spiking freely and desecrating the spirits of thousands in the process. His uncanny, covert adaptation had even achieved him victory at the World Video Game Festival and Ping Pong Championships in Cairo the previous year. Finklestien had met his match. Unable to fathom that someone else was as ping pong-obsessed as he was, Finklestien began to cower and the game progressed dead even until the two were tied at 6 with the game point being decided at 7.

“6 SERVING 6!” Finklestien screamed frantically. The ball was pelted straight at Yanzek’s aureate countenance at a hypersonic speed. Just as it was about to hit him right in the mouth, Yanzek tragically opened his majestic lips and caught the ball inside his mouth. What happened next was a feat of true inhuman potential. Yanzek, like a ostrich about to strike, pulled his long, slender neck backwards, allowing for his chin to touch his lower throat/ bosom. Yanzek’s head then shot forward, as if propelled by a slingshot, and spat the ball. The ball flew directly at Finklestien’s upper head and skidded over the middle the top of his skull, thus causing a reverse Mohawk. Finklestien collapsed out of subsequent exhaustion, amazement, and embarrassment.

Yanzke mirthfully reached The Beanstalk’s cyclopean wooden doors and in one flashing motion kicked them to the ground. He felt as though nothing could stop him now. He skipped along inside the castle, past rooms 117 and 118 and up a moldy, winding staircase to the third floor. As Yanzek was heading for the bridge he heard the majestic, sultry singing voice once more.

Come to me... Let us dine... Let us meander over a myriad of topics... conversation shall thrive the entire time..

It was originating from the South Cafeteria. “I’m coming Yanz declared pensively. As Yanz sorted his way through a maze of tables he neared the kitchen, all the while the voice and a beautiful aroma becoming even stronger. As Yanzek rounded the entrance hall and lookd into the kitchen door he was met with perhaps the grandest and most aesthetically-pleasing sight he had ever seen before, except save his own reflection in the mirror. Before him stood a beautiful singing Asian maiden cooking diligently at a large wok. Thousands of white rice grains floated around the room like clouds of confetti.

“Welcome my love,” she spoke to him in a distant, recherché Asian dialogue. Yanz, understanding, responded “Yes! I want it all! The rice! The music! The thriving discourse!” She smiled at him soothingly. However! Trusting you right off the bat would be like going to college far away from my family and others - simply moronic and inconceivable. Alas, my beautiful maiden, I can allow myself to do no such thing.”

“Don’t be silly, you silly little man,” she tempted, “I am always right and never do no wrong. You will find comfort abound in my arms. Come sit...dine...converse.”

Yanzek, a little bit incredulous, sat down before her. He stared into her eyes. She was overtly green-eyed. “My tights! I am here to recover my tights that were stolen from me by the wretched Toasterhead! I must go! TIIIIIIGGGGHHHHHTTTTTSSSSSSS!!!! GREEEEEEENNNNNNN!”

“No, you must stay,” she whispered beautifully. As Yanz stared into her green eyes he noticed that they were getting increasingly more menacing. He shot up to his feet.

“Scoundrel! Liar! I know who you are! You are Yellow Fever and you represent my third test - the test of temptation! My loyal friends Maverick and Bertrando were right! You are back for more!”

“A foolish boy-“

”NO!” Yanzek boldly announced. “Not this time! My friends are right! YOU ARE WRONG! You are a festering pile of animal scat and I wash my hands clean of you and your wicked ways tonight! Farewell Lady of the Wok!” With that, Yanzek swept his purple cape with a gigantic metallic letter “J” emblazoned on it around his forefront and vanished form the room.

Once out of the café, Yanzek simply followed the toast crumbs. They eventually lead him to the Calculus Honors room 254. Yanzek flung open the door and found Toaster head, his arch nemesis, trying to combust his beloved tights of green into flames.

“Give them here Toaster head!” Yanzek demanded. Toaster head merely chuckled grimily. “Fine then,” Yanzek began, “I’ll come get them,” he threateningly concluded.

“One more step and your toast!” Toasterhead bombastically responded. As Yanz lifted one giant clown-sized foot into the air in preparation for his first step, Toaster head immediately plugged into action. Standing upright right he began to shoot a sundry of toasted goods at Yanzek., but to no avail. Toaster strudels, Pop-Tarts, and even toast were all consumed by the Quaff of Life.

“Your timer is up Toasty!” Yanzek chimed..Toaster head turned himself up to high heat and was just about to expel a burned bagel when the QoL began rumbling clumsily. Out of the Quaff plopped a large shiny piece of machinery. It fell to the floor with a resounding thud. “It’s a toaster oven! Yanz victoriously shouted. Not only does it toast all toaster-related products but it also cooks any other frozen foods consumers could desire. It is a mini-oven. And it has one final benefit! It’s stainless steel allows for the owner to see his or her reflection when ever they want! Ergo, your not needed any more Toasterhead! YOUR TOAST!!!”

Toaster head began to rattle, his head shaking maniacally. After a brief spasm and much awkwardness, Toasterhead fell to his knees and buckled his shoulders. Yanz watched with intrigue as Toasterhead’s head exploded right before his goggle-covered eyes. Millions of toasted bread slices were extricate for the confines of Toasterhead’s cranium and went flying to all corners of the world to feed the needy.

Yanz slowly made his way over to the humongous conglomeration of debris, toast, and flames, where in the middle resided his green tights. Yanz slipped them on with ease and began to dance off into the night.

Although now free of Toasterhead, Yanzek would always carry the mark of this courageous quest: The exploding of Toasterhead right in front of Yanz has left his cheeks with an enduring pinkish hue, and undying rosy glow.