King Maroun

Name: Sarah Boutros

Name Of Main Character You Want And Gender: King Maroun

Genre: Humour and Legend

Character Description: Use your imagination

Special Info: Only speaks in rhymes.


NOTE: That well known genre humour and legend. Great. Thanks...


Once upon a time, in an age nobody cares about, there was a King called Maroun. His people called him noble, powerful, and shouted ‘I love you,’ when he neared. Well, they had to, otherwise he would fart in their mouths.

You see, Maroun was a horrible King, and he was so lazy he had a special hole cut in the bottom of his throne so he could go to the toilet without moving. It also enabled him to fart in the mouths of the insolent. He was a large King, the largest in history, and the kind of King who really took care of his belly. It wasn't his fault, as all Kings had to do was eat and shout at people, so he was actually very good at what he did. However, it meant those unfortunate enough to be condemned would receive a gassy, hellish ass meal.

His subjects thought he resembled a hairy flan. With each breath his belly would ripple and he hadn’t moved from the throne in eight years. His guards would carry it around the kingdom so he could spit orders at people and eat their food, and his servants had to shower him by hand. Maroun enjoyed his kingly life, but today, Maroun woke up with a problem.

He looked at one of his servants, Alain. “Hey, you’re lazy, you’re a disgrace, come wipe my hair out of my face.”

Maroun looked surprised by the sentence as it echoed around the great hall. Alain walked over and brushed his greasy dark hair off his flabby face. It always surprised Alain how hair grew out of every part of King Maroun’s body, even his eyes. Chickens clucked around Alain’s feet. The great hall really annoyed him. King Maroun insisted on it being filled with chickens in case he got hungry. Alain couldn’t take a step without getting chicken shit on his sandals.

“Are you OK, my King? You seem to be talking in rhymes.”

King Maroun huffed. “Why the hell am I talking like this? Something is wrong, something is amiss.”

Everyone thought he was losing his mind, finally.

“Do you mind if I?” Alain asked as he moved a hand towards King Maroun’s eighth belly roll.

“Put your hand anywhere in any roll, as long as you stop me rhyming, that’s the goal.”

Alain nodded. His arm disappeared, shoulder deep into sweaty beast. He pulled out an empty bottle of wine and showed King Maroun.

King Maroun’s eyes narrowed. “You think it’s the drink I got from the witch? I think it’s time we visit that bitch.”

The servants groaned and shook their heads at Alain, annoyed that they’d have to carry his throne.


They lugged King Maroun’s lazy ass down the hill towards the forest. The whole way he just huffed and complained when his throne dipped and wobbled as the servants struggled over bumps.

“Stop assholes, take me to that meat hut, I need to eat some cow to please my gut. It’s tired from this journey and the ride you made bumpy, and you can’t eat anything because you made me grumpy.”

Now they were grumpy. They carried King Maroun into the open doorway of one of the many meat huts he had built around the castle grounds. It was his only contribution since becoming King, to spend all of the coin on meat huts, strategically placed so he could eat wherever he travelled. This particular meat hut blocked a cave.

It was wall-to-wall meat. Servants had been assigned to live in these huts and keep meat ready for any time Maroun may appear. They watched Maroun devour fifteen cow legs. He ate so much it took ten seconds for him to take a single breath.

“Alain, you stupid little ugly bear, pick this hummus out of my chest hair.”

Alain’s shoulders slumped. He dragged his feet towards King Maroun and with his fingers, combed hummus out of his chest hair. He went to wipe it on a cloth but King Maroun shook his head. Alain sighed. He looked at the other servants who laughed at him. He moved his hand towards King Maroun’s mouth. He sucked the hummus off his hand so viciously that Alain’s skin nearly came off with it.

Alain smelled his hand and vomited in his own mouth.

They continued their journey. The servants wept from the pain in their shoulders. One of them retched when King Maroun released meaty hell from his bowels onto the muddy ground. It would slap and little pooplets would splash up onto their shins.

The servants set their lazy king down in front of the witch’s wooden hut. Alain entered to find the witch, Sarah. She cackled at two pigeons eating a rat.

“Witch,” Alain called.

“Shush,” she replied. “I’ve put a potion in this rat so these two little idiots are about to…”

The pigeons exploded. Their meat slapped Alain in the face. Sarah cackled.

“You have to come outside.” Alain wiped the pigeon death off his face.


‘The King wants to see you.”

“Well then he can drag his lazy ass in here.”

“We both know that’s impossible.”

Sarah laughed. “Well then we have an impasse.”

“He is sat on his throne outside, and he’s just eaten fifteen cow legs. He won’t move until you see him, so would you rather wait and hope he goes away, or have to clear what comes out of his ass from your doorstep.”

Sarah sighed. “Fine!”

King Maroun looked at her with rage when she showed her face.

“What do you want?” she said.

“Please speak to his majesty with respect,” Alain said.

Sarah spat at Alain’s feet.

King Maroun took a breath, preparing to speak. “You put some shit in that drink of mine, now I can’t talk without making a shitty rhyme.”

She laughed. “That potion worked better than I thought.”

“If you don’t fix my voice right now, I’ll feed you to my royal cow.”

Alain stepped in. “You can’t your highness. You ate it for breakfast.”

“You can’t do anything,” the witch said. “You can’t even get off your throne.”

“Please, witch,” Alain said. “We have the evil warlord, Eli, coming to broker peace in one hour. If King Maroun only speaks in rhymes he will think he is being mocked and there will be war.”

Sarah laughed. “Good. I made Warlord Eli his special helmet. He’s much nicer than you and he’ll enjoy chopping your belly up.”

Alain got on his knees. “Please. If not for him, for his people.”

She looked at his servants, exhausted. They were close to tears, wiping Kingly poop off their ankles. “Fine. But only if you take down that meat hut. It’s blocking my cave where I farm cockroaches. You see I like to squeeze their juice into my hair. It’s why it smells so nice.” She held a lock of her nasty red hair to Alain’s nose. The hell shot up his nostrils and straight into his brain. He felt dizzy.

“Ok, we’ll…”

“You have no right to make demands, fix my voice or I’ll sit on your hands.”

“Piss off.”

“Remove this curse from over me which you have hung, or I will fart on your wretched tongue.”

The servants looked apologetic, but they stood aggressively.

Sarah held in her anger. “Fine.” She stomped back into her hut. Alain looked at his King as the clanking of pots and angry muttering came from inside the hut.  

King Maroun made a noise. Alain scratched his nose for him. The witch returned with a potion.

“Now drink this. You won’t be able to talk for an hour, but then your voice will be fine.” She handed Alain the bottle. “Just in time for the peace talks.”

“Thank you,” Alain said.

“Now don’t mess with me any more, or I’ll feed you to my royal boar.” King Maroun drank the medicine Alain poured in his mouth.

“Again, your majesty, the boar...” Alain pointed to his belly.

King Maroun nodded an instruction to Alain.

“I’m really sorry,” Alain said.

“Why? He’s the idiot,” the witch said.

Alain took the medicine bottle and threw it at Sarah’s head. It smashed. “His orders.”

Sarah huffed and returned to her hut.

The servants looked at the ground with hatred, reflecting on their lives. They lifted Maroun and looked at the hill they’d have to carry him up.


Alain rubbed the King’s belly as Warlord Eli entered the great hall, which smelled of chicken shit. People marvelled at Eli’s black armour and menacing, spiked black helmet. He walked up to King Maroun and bowed his head.

“Greetings,” he said in his deep voice.

Everyone looked at King Maroun for a response. Warlord Eli puffed his chest out.

“He says greetings,” Alain replied.

“Can he not speak for himself?” Eli asked.

Alain looked at his King. Still no words. “Well yes, but…”

“It is OK,” Warlord Eli said. “I want peace. And to show how serious I am, I shall remove my helmet in a gesture of honesty.”

He did.

“This is me.” His voice was squeaky and childish. People of the kingdom stifled their laughs. “I had this made to change my voice. To give me more authority. But I present myself laid bare to make this peace a reality.” He got down on one knee. “Now speak to me of peace, brother.”

King Maroun nodded to Alain. His voice was returning. “Yes brother, let’s make peace.” Everyone looked shocked. His voice was childish and squeaky as well.

“Are you mocking me?” Eli rose to his feet. He placed his hand on his sword.

“No. I want peace too. I don’t mock you.”

Everyone laughed which didn’t help the situation.

Eli’s breathing quickened. “If you don’t start taking me seriously… peace will be replaced with suffering… Now. Do. You. Want. Peace?” His rage made his voice even squeakier.

King Maroun looked at Alain.

Eli lifted a hand. “I need to hear it from him.”

“Yes. I do my armoured friend!” Maroun couldn’t believe the sound coming out of his mouth. He’d been screwed.

“Enough!” Eli drew his sword and held it to one of Maroun’s chins. As the blade poked his flab, Maroun’s eyes watered. He realised that he needed to be nicer to people. That no matter how much power you have, people still have feelings and you shouldn’t exploit them. Only this lesson was worthless now, because it was too late.

“We surrender,” Alain said. “Please. Just let us live. There need not be war. You can just have the castle.”

Eli put his sword back in his sheath.


The witch watched happily as Warlord Eli demolished the last meat hut. He waved at her. She nodded approval back. She retreated towards her hut, but heard a noise inside. She took a dagger from inside her robe and walked in.

“Gah! Get out!”

King Maroun lay on her bed, insects crawled around in his stomach hair, some tangled in it. To them it was like a miniature forest.

Alain lay on the ground, totally exhausted.

“He insisted I bring him here. The servants dumped him on your bed and left to live under Warlord Eli’s rule.”

“Get. Out!”

King Maroun farted on the bed, making the foundations break. “You gave me this voice, and cost me my kingdom, now you will house me.”


She walked up to him and tried to move him, but it was like trying to move an oily, hairy mountain. “Help!” she said.

Alain couldn’t move. “I helped carry him down the hill. I need three days to recover.”

“Make me thin and sexy, or you’re stuck with me for life.”

Sarah screamed into the sky.