Fat Chance

By Phil Drake

Two long-feuding kingdoms Chubolia, a place where everyone is fat and
Thinsylvania, a country where everyone is thinfi nd themselves in the throes
of battle when the prime minister of Thinsylvania, looking for someone to marry
his prince, kidnaps the Chubolian princess. But Hamilton Fatz, the charmingly romantic
Chubolian captain of the guard, and Big Jim McBiggins, a roguish mountain man, are
in love with her and vow to bring her home. But fi rst they must cross the Belgies, an
intimidating mountain range that separates the two countries. The two men begin
an incredible adventure to rescue her and must overcome physical and psychological
obstacles along the way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 20, 2010
• ISBN: 9781456806965

Phil Drake

Phil Drake is Communications Manager for the Charlotte Observer in Charlotte, N. C. The Observer is a daily newspaper that serves readers throughout North and South Carolina. In addition to the newspaper, the Charlotte Observer produces specialty magazines, voice information, and Internet services. Phil is responsible for all aspects of communications at Observer operations in both Carolinas, including telephone and data communications, wireless systems, conventional and trunked two-way radio, and satellite systems. He is also responsible for business continuity and disaster response planning and related budgeting. He is responsible for providing emergency communications facilities for reporters and photographers covering breaking news stories. His background includes photojournalism, mainframe computer support, network management, telecommunications planning and management, and business continuity planning. Phil is a former chairman of the Contingency Planning Association of the Carolinas and currently serves as a Board Advisor of the organization. He is a Certified Business Continuity Professional with the Disaster Recovery Institute International. Phil speaks to public and private sector groups and has been interviewed by and written for a number of national publications on a wide range of emergency communication issues and business/homeland defense planning. He leads business continuity training seminars for both the public and private sectors. He also has provided project management in business continuity and has advised major national clients in emergency planning, workforce protection, threat assessment, and incident response. He enjoys backpacking, spending time in the outdoors, and has taught outdoor living skills to youth group leaders. He was appointed by the North Carolina Secretary of the Department of Environment and Natural Resources as a voting member of the NC Geological Survey Advisory Committee.

Book preview

Fat Chance

Phil Drake

Copyright © 2011 by Phil Drake.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2010918249

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4568-0695-8

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4568-0694-1

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4568-0696-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

Cover by Alicia Davis, Allegra Marketing, Helena, MT

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

89255

Contents

For Starters

Simmer, Then Boil

Party Favors

Not on the Menu

A Late-Night Snack

String Bean Surprise

An Order to Go

A Taste for Adventure

Early Bird Special

Sweet and Sour

A Delicious Blend

Who Wants Trail Mix?

Free Delivery

Soup of the Day

Dinner Guests

Trouble’s Brewing

Squirrely Seconds

Pizza to Go

Hatching a Recipe

Prefer Fat or Lean?

A Tasty Treat

Egg on His Face

Just Desserts

The Last Course

To Hamilton and Jim: ’twas a long and perilous journey,

but thanks for letting me tag along.

And to my father—and the other fat men—who made

me laugh and are no longer with us. You are missed.

For Starters

A long time ago, in a land that is closer than you think, lived two kingdoms that hated each other.

No one really knew how the hard feelings began, and the few who did weren’t talking. It could have been from a comment that someone thought was funny when it really wasn’t funny at all. Or it could have been from something that happened to someone that made them cry.

Whatever it was, the reason was not important anymore. The hatred had sunk in like a gravy stain on satin.

The people were divided and two kingdoms arose. One kingdom, Chubolia, was where all the fat people lived. These were the folks who thought of themselves as pleasantly plump. But they were fat, their children were fat, and their pets were fat. Some folks even believed the birds that flew over Chubolia were fatter, but that’s just silly.

The other kingdom was Thinsylvania, a land where everyone was skinny. Self-control ruled, and each day started with exercise. Dessert had been banned from Thinsylvania, and those caught sneaking a snack were disciplined with a heavy hand, which seems odd for a kingdom that prided itself on being thin.

It was soon after the two kingdoms came into being that the strangest thing happened: a mountain range grew between them, making it virtually impossible for each side to visit the other.

Some say the mountains grew from a molehill: a tiny little bump in the road that at one time could have been removed easily. But the molehill grew, nearly overnight, and became a spooky and spinely, foreboding range known as the Belgies. It was so intimidating that it caused those who thought of crossing to think again. As the hatred came to a boil, the Belgies pushed the two kingdoms further and further away from each other, making it even more impossible for them to become one again.

Years passed, and the people of the two kingdoms forgot about each other. Occasionally, the tale of Chubolia and Thinsylvania would surface, but it was a story mostly told to scare chubby and skinny children into bed. The Thinsylvanians thought little of the Chubolians, and the Chubolians thought even less of the Thinsylvanians.

By not getting along, both kingdoms learned to get along. But one day, something happened that would change their worlds forever.

Simmer, Then Boil

It was a festive day in Thinsylvania as banners hung about the kingdom, heralding the marriage of Prince Rodney to Princess Annie of Rexia.

Many thought this celebration would never come. Slimpson, the prime minister, had spent years searching for a princess who would have the proper regal bearing, meaning she had to be skinny, to marry the prince, who was expected to take over as king someday.

Many thought the prince was too weak to lead. He never barked or snapped at people, as those in power often do. Instead, unlike most of those around him, Prince Rodney was kind and slow to anger. He liked to read, play chess, ride about the kingdom, and visit its residents. Many mistook his shyness and easy manner for weakness. And there was little he could do, or try to do, to change their minds.

Slimpson, with his neatly trimmed mustache and waxed hair tucked behind his ears, was festooned in his Sunday best. As he scampered down the hallway, the long tails of his jacket merrily bobbed and jerked about as he took quick, giant strides. The medals on his jacket, many of which were not earned and merely for show, dangled and jingled—almost serving as an alarm to others that he was on his way. Slimpson dabbed a bit of sweat off his forehead with a huge handkerchief that he pulled from inside his jacket. He used his other hand to yank out a gold watch on a chain from his vest. He glanced at the watch and seemed even more panicked, if that was possible.

Hurry, you fools! he barked at the chambermaids as he burst through the door of the bride’s dressing room. The wedding is in five minutes.

One of the maids, dressed in a large white apron and puffy, cleaning bonnet, gingerly approached Slimspon. Her jaw was agape. She walked toward him as if whatever she was about to say would either bowl him over or have him pounce on her like a crazed banshee.

Your Lordship, I think she’s dead, the maid said as she pointed at the bride. Slimpson responded with a look that could cut through glass.

But there, propped up on a chair in front of the mirror, was Princess Annie of Rexia, looking something like a skeleton in a high school biology class. Her head was bowed down and she didn’t move. Slimpson slid a small hand mirror under her nose to see if her breath would fog the glass.

Nonsense, she looks fine to me, he said. And to think that last week she had only two more pounds to lose to fit into that dress.

He then turned, faced the gaggle of chambermaids, and waved at them to approach.

C’mon, places everyone! he said as he clapped his hands. We have to get her to the cathedral.

They walked toward the princess warily, as if the floor would break with each and every step. She could not stand up, and they had to think of a way to move her.

Someone then had an idea. But it was a case of one bad idea leading to another.

Slimpson ran down the hallway like a man on a mission. Behind him, a cadre of maids wheeled Princess Annie on a dolly. Her head bobbed as the cart jerked as it rolled along the floor. Sentries standing guard at the cathedral doors dropped their jaws as the entourage approached.

Open the doors, now! Slimpson barked as he again pulled out his watch and took a quick look. C’mon, hurry. The wedding is beginning!

They shot through the doors and abruptly halted, fearing had they not their momentum would have shot them up the aisle, past the priest, out onto the balcony, and into the moat below.

The huge wedding hall overflowed with thin people. Banners hung on every wall. Colorful ribbons and confetti danced in the air. A small orchestra sat to the side, playing toe-tapping tunes. But the murmur of all those chatting nonstop about the biggest day in years ground to halt, once they gazed upon the princess.

Annie was dead. And everyone but Slimpson seemed to know that.

Realizing everyone was looking at him made Slimpson even more nervous. He tugged at his waistcoat and motioned for the chambermaids to follow him up the aisle. Most unamused by all this was Prince Rodney’s father, King Slendall. He frowned and shook his head, making no attempt to hide his contempt as Slimpson and his unwilling cohorts clomped by.

To make matters worse, the orchestra began to play The Wedding March.

Rodney’s eyebrows arched as the group headed toward him. Slimpson gave him a wink and a thumbs up, as if everything was A-OK. But Rodney knew Slimpson, and he knew better. He wanted to walk toward the fools’ parade to see if he could help the woman he was about to marry, but it was too late. The bride had been delivered to the altar.

This is a happy day for Thinsylvania, the priest said as he clasped his hands over his Bible and lowered his arms below his waist. Our young prince has found himself a fitting bride, someone to sit at his side and to help pass on the royal bloodline.

The thought of a skeleton helping to pass on a royal bloodline made some in the audience giggle. Others wiggled about in their seats and coughed nervously. Slimpson had returned to the back of the hall to watch, and he could feel the king’s eyes burning through his soul.

And just as the giggling started to die down, so did the princess. Her skeleton collapsed into a huge pile of bones at the foot of the altar, forming a dust cloud of thick, musty air that snaked upward.

The royal doctor, who everyone called Doc, was sitting with the wedding guests. He scurried from his seat to the front of the hall. He picked up one of the bones from the pile, slid his bifocals to the end of his nose, and examined the bone as Rodney dabbed tears from his eyes.

How is she? Rodney asked.

I believe she is dead, Doc said, sounding almost as if he did not believe his own diagnosis.

And as the hall went deadly silent, the tap, tap, tap of shoes running on stone grew louder. Slimpson shot like a rocket from the back of the room.

Nonsense, she’s resting, he said as he knelt down by the pile of bones formerly known as Princess Annie.

No, dear brother, I am a doctor, and I know dead, Doc said as he wiped bone dust off his bifocals.

Oh no, take another look, Slimpson said, looking at Doc while grabbing bones in each hand. She’s just catching a few winks. Get up, Annie, you silly girl. Let’s see, the knee bone is connected to the thighbone. And the thighbone is connected to the . . . What am I doing this for? You’re the doctor, he said to Doc while handing him the bones. Have at it.

Doc placed his hand on Rodney’s shoulder. He could not think of words of comfort, just a simple I’m sorry, which is sometimes the most comforting thing a person can say.

King Slendall’s anger had boiled over by the time, and he wedged himself between Slimpson and Doc. Smoke heaved in and out of his nostrils as he glared at Slimpson and struggled to speak. Doc pulled a high blood-pressure testing kit from inside his jacket and slipped a sleeve on the king’s arm with little resistance. He pumped it once, only to have it pop loudly, startling the wedding guests.

You fool! Slendall hissed at his prime minister while pulling the remnants of the blood-pressure kit off his kingly cloak. This is another princess you’ve killed. I want to see you in my chambers.

The king stomped away, leaving Rodney, Doc, and Slimpson in his wake. An eerie silence filled the hall, prompting Slimpson to improvise.

Sorry, everybody, but may I take this opportunity to say how wonderful you all look today, he said while adjusting his suit jacket and tugging at his tie like a nervous comedian experiencing flop sweat. And mark my words, we’ll all get together soon. We will find a fitting bride for this prince, or my name isn’t . . .

Slimpson! the king roared from an adjoining room, knocking members of the orchestra from their chairs and nearly catapulting the Bible out of the hands of the priest. Get in here, now!

Slimpson spoke over his shoulder to the wedding guests as he raced toward the king.

Oh, his highness is calling. No doubt he wants to take me into his confidence, he said as Doc followed close behind. Coming, King Slendall.

Not only was King Slendall waiting to meet with his prime minister, but also Queen Pinya and Prince Rodney awaited him. This was a repeat performance. For one reason or another, Slimpson had yet to produce a suitable bride for the young prince. King Slendall was gazing at a map on the wall when Slimpson slithered into the room. The queen sat on a throne with a puckered scowl on her face that looked like she had just eaten a lemon. Prince Rodney had gotten over the initial shock of losing yet another bride and sat next to his mother, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair and staring at no one in particular. The king kept his eyes on the map, which showed his kingdom and adjoining lands.

Well, Slimpson, you’ve done it again, he said. This is the third princess you’ve lost for us. I would think you’re out of options. I know I am out of patience.

Slimpson pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead before approaching the king.

Your highness, this time it was not my fault. I swear! he said. She insisted on losing the weight. I told her she looked fine, but you know how vain some women are. I begged and pleaded . . .

You starved her, Doc said.

Two more pounds, that’s all I told her, Slimpson shot back at Doc.

Slimpson, I am beginning to have my doubts about you, Slendall said. First, you anger the peasants by forcing more fiber on them. Then you have me decree that aerobics are mandatory. Then, you banned frozen yogurt. Frozen yogurt, for Pete’s sake!

But, your majesty, even you said it tasted too good to be true, Slimpson said.

Don’t interrupt me, Slendall said. I need a prime minister I can rely on. Just look at poor Rodney there.

Rodney continued to look uninterested as he drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair.

"Slimpson, this is your last chance. Find him another