Hear ye, hear ye!
On April 2, in the second year of her majesty Sennifer Jobanet’s reign, the town crier hath announced a magnanimous duel between two of the kingdom’s most esteemed scribes.
Pro-dueling – Sir Grace Brajkovich the Bold
There is no greater spectacle than the art of dueling.
No such pride can be felt besides that of a lance jabbing the heart of an opponent. The brave meet the bold upon the field, not to fight with words, but with honorous spirit.
Men meet with steel in hand and fire in their hearts. There is no greater test of a man’s honor, nor a more thrilling sight to behold than the clash of two arms, each driven by the fierce desire to prove his worth.
Yestermorn, I dueled a foul fustilug and, obviously, was the successor. When I struck my lance through Sir Edmund the lubberwort’s chest, he fell to my feet, and the stadium erupted in cheer. It grew even louder after I shouted “Huzzah!” and twelve divine maidens clung to my armor.
Any man who does not take the opportunity to defend thy name in duel is a steaming fopdoodle. My opponent, Sir Tori, disagrees with the art of a good-natured duel, and for that, I must say that she is a baby.
She must not know of a dueler’s code of honor, which requires not death, but righteous upliftment and restored honor. Death may be never off the table, but revived pride is a guarantee.
Without a classic duel, how else will you claim dominance over the men in the ward? Or, perchance, restore honor when thy name is disgraced? Who wouldn’t want to defend their pride, their family name, against a challenger? You must have not ever won a duel, have you? I pity you, truly, for you are a loser.
With this, I challenge Sir Tori to a duel at high-noon of April 2. Meet me in the parking lot behind Sears, near the dumpsters. Don’t forget thy lance.
Anti-dueling – Sir Tori Smith the Honorable
There’s no clearer admission that your argument is wrong than suggesting a duel. What, you mammering clay-brained measle? Afraid to be challenged to a battle of wits?
Duels have been a tool to solve disputes since the fourteenth century. Clearly, the art of rhetoric meant nothing to those Middle Age meatheads. They’d much prefer to whack each other with their sticks than craft a veritable and incontestable expostulation.
What about killing a person entails the guilty party to the right to argumentative validation? Imagine I said the sky is red and then shot you in the face.
Dueling discredits the art of communication. Yea, one may have reduced the population of people who disagree with their stance, but what is there to be said about the quality of one’s argument after the deed hath been done? Verily, there’s nothing more rewarding than articulating your ideology in such a way that your opponent is reduced to nothing more than a blubbering buffoon. See below:
“My opponent Sir Grace may argue that dueling gives you an unparalleled feeling of freedom as you charge to your impending death. Well, Sir Grace, to that I say, ‘nuh-uh.’”
I shall take my intellectual victory in tickets to the mead hall. I also wish to see my opponent Sir Grace publicly tomatoed.
Editor’s Note: Scribble is the satirical section of the Scribe.
Grace Brajkovich slays Sir Edmund. Photo courtesy of Medievalists.