The coach arrived in front of my house at promptly 6:45 pm, exactly 15 minutes after Sir Headolence said it would arrive. Like clock work. I bid my wife adieu with a double pat on the butt and kissed my children once each on the forehead.
The lavish coach, constructed of ebony and bronze with gold trim, was drawn by six red-eyed horses black as Sir Head's soul and rippling with steroid-enhanced muscles. The driver, a mass of unnatural muscle, barely restrained the horses when they spotted me. Every time they spotted me, they yearned to dismember and devour me.
"Oh, you guys!" I laughed and waved a dismissive hand at them. I climbed into the coach. The door closed itself behind me.
The Impostor sat across from me, his emaciated frame bowed beneath the weight of his age. I had long since given up asking the ancient man his name, and Sir Head only ever referred to him as "The Impostor."
"Hey, Imp, what's shakin'?" I asked.
The Impostor turned his blind eyes to mine and peered into the depths of my soul. "You," he wheezed, "hyperferrianism, man of no origin, must drink of this--" he held up a chalice filled with a black, steaming liquid "--if you are to enter the presence of the one called Sir Headolence the Dubious."
I was pretty sure the dented steel chalice was filled with hot tar, possibly mixed with LSD. "Sure, no problemo," I said, taking the filthy goblet and emptying it down my eager throat.
"Good," The Impostor hissed. "Goooooooood."
The last thing I remember was saying, "GRRRAAAAAAAAARGLE!" before passing out.
When I awoke, I was no longer in the coach. I was naked and dancing on the roof of a moving car. I had no way of knowing how long this had been going on. I waved as the car passed some gawking Jehovah's Witnesses. "Nice night," I said. In one, fluid motion I swung down from the roof and through the open window.
"Evening, Noah," I said to Sir Head. He answered with a solid punch to my left eye.
"Hey, Mike," he said. "I thought I told you never to call me by my peasant name again."
"You did," I replied. "I just like to keep things interesting. So, what do we have planned for tonight?"
Sir Head slammed on the brakes and leaped from the car as it screeched to a stop. I had long ago learned to react swiftly to this sort of thing and followed his lead by evacuating the car. After running several steps, the car exploded in a giant fireball. The shock wave propelled me forward. I landed and rolled, coming up on my feet. Somehow, Sir Head was standing next to me as I came to my feet.
"Here," Sir Head said as he removed his pants, revealing a second nearly identical pair of pants beneath them. "Wear these."
"Thanks," I said as I covered my shame.
"So I was thinking we just go watch a movie or something," Sir Headolence said. "Then maybe grab a burger later."
"Yeah, that sounds cool."
We ended up watching Kick-Ass. A couple of hours later, as we sat in Burger King, Sir Headolence approved audience for a supplicant.
"Please, Sir Headolence," the elderly woman pleaded. "Please, bless my grandson that he may vanquish his enemies."
"And who, dear woman, are his enemies?" Sir Headolence asked.
"The cast of the hit TV show M*A*S*H."
"Of course, of course." Sir Headolence placed his right hand over the woman's face. "Go," he said. "Go with my blessing."
The woman left with tears of joy in her eyes.
"Let's go mini-golfing next week," I said.