Sadly, he died. He was replaced by his son, also named Diphthong, which made it easier for the peasants to remember who the king was and kept the Royal Treasury from having to buy new bathrobes.
King Diphthong the Elder had had only one child, the aforementioned Diphthong the Younger, so there had been no real problem with providing dowries and such. King Diphthong the Younger, however, was quite fond of his queen, Marblehead, and was quite aware of his responsibilities as a fairy-tale father, so he had the standard seven daughters: Fondle, the oldest and a mighty huntress; Gorehammer, the quiet one; Aileron, who enjoyed petty theft and long walks on the beach with other girls; Toot, who played the horses; the twins, Shag-a-Donkey (who hadn’t) and Shag-a-Monkey (who unfortunately had); and the youngest, named Muck, who was by far the most beautiful, though that was, to be honest, a dubious honor at best, Central European women being what they are and all.
Diphtheria was not a wealthy kingdom, which was understandable given that its inhabitants were largely deaf-mute gamblers who traded prize goiters and married frequently within their own immediate families. As a result of this and Princess Toot’s jones for the ponies, King Diphthong the Younger was understandably concerned about providing dowries for his multitude of female progeny, and for the seven princesses as well. He frequently consulted his Royal Accountant, a slope-headed lad named Acetaminophen who had gotten the job by virtue of his large schlong. (That was what the palace staff assumed, anyway, since the boy could only count to two with both shoes off.) Many plans for raising money were tried, including selling the livers of the Royal Houndsman and the production of “adult” tapestries starring Acetaminophen and a stable-girl named Plug. Even renting out the nicer lots of Sparkling Goo (as the Royal Trailer Park was known) failed to secure the capital necessary to ensure the princesses wouldn’t have to marry pipe-fitters or crocodile-lunches[See Note 1].
Finally, in desperation, King Diphthong the Younger decided to sell a few of his daughters for medical experiments. He reasoned that with seven, he could sell half of them and still have three-and-a-half perfectly good princesses left. In fact, the Royal Accountant had informed him, he could sell them all and make enough to buy entirely new princesses, who he could then marry off to the people who had bought the first batch, thereby making enough money to buy Queen Marblehead a nice dinner at Nuttin’-But-Mutton’s Steak House and Adult Tapestry Outlet. Soon after this proclamation, the Royal Accountant was found floating face-down in a pool of his own warm beer[2].
Traditionally, the youngest daughters were sold first, since the laws of primogeniture leaned heavily in favor of first- and second-born children. In his wisdom, though, the king decided that Princess Toot should be the first to go, thus relieving the treasury of its second-largest single expense[3]. She was later seen shambling around parties on the fashionable Upper West Side of Diphtheria, her facial skin miraculously tighter and her lips pouty with collagen.
The twins soon followed, eventually finding their way to a private spa in Catalan that catered to monkeys of all kinds. King Diphthong the Younger was deciding how best to sell half of Princess Muck when an honest-to-God prince arrived, seeking the hand of Diphtheria’s fairest princess[4]. The prince was named Diphthing, and revealed that he was a distant cousin to the king and the Crown Prince of the neighboring kingdom of Dyspepsia.
After establishing that a) the prince wasn’t all that distant a cousin at all, and b) that he had a steady job selling children’s bed-sheets and wouldn’t be needing a dowry, the king invited him to stay for the night. He knew full well that Muck was the fairest of his daughters, and summoned her to his chambers to tell her the good news.
“Yer marryin’ Prince Diphthing,” he told her, his voice dripping with fatherly disinterest.
“What’s Mummy doing kneeling under your desk?” asked the innocent young princess, her diamonds sparkling like eyes.
“She ain’t under th’ desk!” retorted the king.
“I’m not!” her mother answered in a muffled voice.
“She is, Daddy! I see her feet!” shouted the princess, clasping her hands to her chest as her casava melons, which were as large and round as breasts, heaved fitfully.
“Never mind! Ferget yer mother!” The king was becoming angry, and stood suddenly.
“Ow!” his wife yelled.
“Sorry. Now, Muck, you listen here. Tomorra yer goin’ with Prince Diphthing back to Dyspepsia, so pack yer bags. And leave all yer dresses for the Royal Yard Sale next week. Th’ prince can buy ya new ones.”
“But I don’t like Prince Dickthing,” the princess whined. “He’s got Woden teeth.”
“What wooden teeth?”
“No, Daddy, Woden teeth. He’s got little pictures of Woden scrimshawed on them. It’s freaky.”
“Well...” the king sputtered, “just get used to it. An’ his name’s Diphthing.”
“That’s not what he told Fondle at supper. He said she should come to his room and find out why his people called him Prince Dickthing.”
“Well, never y’mind. He came fer the fairest princess in Diphteria, and by God, that’s what he’s gonna git. Now go on.” The princess left, slamming the door behind her, and he sat back down. “Now,” he said, “where were we?”
In the morning, Prince Diphthing had disappeared, which the king found somewhat unsettling until he realized that Princess Fondle, the might huntress, was similarly non-present. “Well,” he said to his wife, who was applying Chap-Stik to her lips with a paint roller, “That worked out well. He didn’t even ask for a dowry.” His wife nodded and did not mention that she had given the prince half the treasury to take her oldest and most pungent daughter back to Dyspepsia. Princess Fondle was a mighty hunter, but her bathing skills had never been up to that lofty standard[5].
Things continued normally in the tiny kingdom for another week, until the check for the king’s latest shipment of cocoa butter bounced. Outraged at the state of the Royal Treasury, he ordered the Royal Accountant executed by the Royal Headsman and eaten by the Royal Cannibal Wild-Man. Unfortunately, it turned out that all of these offices were held by Acetaminophen, who was showing disturbing lateral mobility for a midlevel government minister and son of a crocodile-lunch.
Later that day, though, a prince arrived at Sparkling Goo, with jewels simply falling off of him[6] and a horse caparisoned in gold and silver.
After allowing his mortally overburdened horse to die noisily and messily on the Royal Doorstep, the prince alighted and skipped neatly around a congealing pool of horse-squeezings to greet the astonished king.
“Hi, there, Your Majethty. Oh, you look thimply thtunning. Have you been working out?” The question was accompanied by a playful slap on the Royal Left Buttock.
King Diphthong the Younger stifled the involuntary grin that had risen on his face and demanded, somewhat sternly, “Who are you and why is your horse so noisily and messily dead and so richly caparisoned on my Royal Doorstep and will you be staying for dinner and maybe a drink afterwards?” His stony countenance was betrayed only by the shrill giggles that poured from him at the small prince’s slightest glance.
“You thee,” the prince began, taking the king’s arm and leading him into the Royal House Trailer, “I’m Printhe Daphthong, of Diarrhea, and I need to buy a wife.”
Prince Daphthong, a none-too-distant cousin of the Diphtherian King, was unable to inherit his late father’s throne until he had settled down and gotten married. The prince’s mother, Queen Regent Orangutan, had decreed this to be so, after finding her thirty-seven-year-old son applying some sort of salve to a scullery-boy’s buttocks. The fact hat he had been applying it with his lips convinced her that if there was to be a next generation of effeminate pretty boys in Diarrhea, drastic action was needed. She knew of Diphtheria’s princess surplus, so she’d sent the prince on over to purchase one.
Later that evening, the king summoned Princess Muck to his chambers to tell her the good news. “Yer marryin’ Prince Dampthong.”
“Daphthong!” cried a muffled voice from under the king’s desk.
“Daddy,” the princess asked ingenuously, the cream spreading pale as skin on her youthful face, “what’s Prince Dampthong doing under your desk?”
“Er, lookin’ fer his shoes,” replied the king.
“Daphthong!” cried the muffled voice.
“But I see them, Daddy.” Muck’s mouth-shaped bow twitched in amusement. “They’re sticking out from under this side.”
Diphthong the Younger decided to abandon lying to his beloved daughter and opted instead to simply ignore her. “G’bye.”
The next morning dawned, as mornings are wont to do in Diphtheria, over the carriage of a fleeing prince. The prince in question was Daphthong, and he had confiscated one of the king’s best dung-hauling carriages in order to make his escape from the Royal Youngest Daughter. With him was Princess Aileron, who wore roughly the same dress size and was much less likely to try and kiss him. She had agreed to accompany him after he told her of the many women’s sports teams in Diarrhea, each of which had their own showering facilities, each of which he had a key to that he wasn’t using.
King Diphthong the Younger was initially less upset about this than you might imagine, because the prince had left his caparisoned horse behind and the king figured that the gold and silver would by a heaping helping of cocoa butter. The armor turned out to be cursed, though, and the king was left with plovers’ eggs the size of boils on his eyelids.[7]
Nearly bankrupt, King Diphthong the Younger signed an edict reinstating the traditional sheet-making operations within the kingdom, and declaring open season on any and all princes. That night, a strapping barbarian prince known only as Melbatoast Transaxle Festering-Gob Potted-Meat-Suppository the Post-Modern and Ironic of The Really High Mountains Kind Of To The South Of Here, But A Little To The West As Well Where The Birds Are Like Bigger Than The Birds Anywhere Else And You’ve Got To Watch Out Or They’ll Steal Your Hat[8] rode briskly into the garrisoned confines of Sparkling Goo and made off with Princess Gorehammer and Prince Daphthong’s richly-caparisoned horse carcass, which he ate in three bites, oblivious to the curse, which didn’t affect people from The Really High Mountains Kind Of To The South Of Here, But A Little To The West As Well Where The Birds Are Like Bigger Than The Birds Anywhere Else And You’ve Got To Watch Out Or They’ll Steal Your Hat anyway. The king watched them ride off and promptly killed himself by ritual testicular self-exam.
He was succeeded by Acetaminophen, who seized power, married Princess Muck, took her mother as a mistress, and lived happily ever after
Notes
1. “Crocodile-lunches” were men who were paid to feed themselves to crocodiles. The better ones were quick enough to ensure that they were paid four or five times before they ran out of limbs.
2. Acetaminophen wasn’t dead; he just liked floating face-down in warm beer, that’s all. Look, what’s it matter to you anyway? Let the boy have his fun. It ain’t like you don’t do weird things from time to time, you perverts!
3. The largest expense was the maintenance of the king’s private stock of Dr. Smoothie’s Bahama MamaTM cocoa butter, which is better left undiscussed.
4. Princes were rare in Diphtheria because of the country’s tradition of boiling them alive and making children’s bed-sheets out of them. This practice had almost entirely died out by the reign of Diphthong the Younger. Almost.
5. Her nickname among the peasantry was “Stinkbiscuit”, which would have been insulting had it not also been the name of the kingdom’s finest dog barber.
6. The people were somewhat disappointed to find that they were falling off of him due to an excess of hair oil, not an excess of jewels. They still good-naturedly tried to mug him, though.
7. I know this is getting to be a very tired joke, but cut me some slack. I’ve stretched about three paragraphs of story into four pages so far, and that’s not easy. You’re almost done, so just hang in there.
8. But the other barbarian princes of The Really High Mountains Kind Of To The South Of Here, But A Little To The West As Well Where The Birds Are Like Bigger Than The Birds Anywhere Else And You’ve Got To Watch Out Or They’ll Steal Your Hat just called him Bill.