♫Sky rockets in flight. Afternoon delight. Afternoon delight.♫

Sir Bic quicky answers his phone.

“Look down, bitch,” the voice on the other end of the line says.

Sic Bic raises his visor and peers down his bulbous nose to see a tow-head boy standing 4 feet tall and holding a phone in one hand and a well-worn plush tiger in the other.

“So what you want, kid?”

“I want to compete.”

“Can you comment?”

" You got a big nose, and your banner looks like a retard drew it. How you like them apples?"

“I’ll try to squeeze you in.”

“That’s what she said.”

“Anyway, what’s your name?”

“lil Krully, Comté d’Fìcly.”

“You related to Krulltar?”

“No. I’m his doppleganger. Long story. Just point me to my caddie. oh, wait…we’re doing the medieval rena-nonsense crap…where’s my squire? "

“You have to provide your own.”

“FFUUUUUUCKKKK!”

The entire stadium stops to stare at the little one who dropped the F-Bomb.

“Sorry everyone…I’m ‘lil Krully, and I’ll just take my seat by the cute nomad gypsy chick.”