By Emi Gruender
It’s outrageous! Preposterous, if you request my opinion! Ever since that dreaded year of 2001, my name has been dragged through the proverbial mud of that ugly ogre’s swamp, soiled beyond recognition.
That ugly green wart with satellite dishes for ears somehow won over the audience, and I will not stand for it. Being an extremely tall man that does not shop in the baby aisle for his clothes, I command you to sit and listen to my tale of woe. You shall now hear the story that has always been rightfully mine– not Shrek (2001) but The Great Almighty and Very Tall Lord Farquaad (2023). Listen now, peasants.
Everyone in the land trembles when they hear my name. Even the scribe I have sitting in the corner chained by the leg to the wall trembles as he writes this. It’s most likely because he cannot believe his good fortune—the king’s own personal scribe. An honor, reallysomeonesendhelprightnowihaveafamily
The story starts at my birth, of course. A tremendous occasion filled with laughter and cheer, all planned just for me. Well, my mother expected 6 other brothers to birth alongside me, to be septuplets just like my father was. A horrid man, really. Lived with my mother and me until she died, then went off to live with his brothers, mining ho–hum all day long.
The point is, when not seven babies, but only one very large infant emerged, I was instantly recognized as perfect– with my pristinely trimmed bob and chiseled chin in perfect proportion. Clearly, I had absorbed my six other brothers in the womb, creating a mega Farquaad.
At least, that’s what Mummy said when I asked why I was so great and handsome. Mummy was a beautiful princess– she liked to sleep way up high, so Daddy built her a tall mattress, but he dropped a bit of his lunch onto the frame as he was building, so it was lopsided. At least, that’s what Daddy said when I saw Mummy fall from the tippy top and splat on the ground.
It was an honest shame, but at least I inherited a magic mirror with a funny man inside. I’m King now, and that’ll show Daddy. He always thought I was a failure. I wanted to prove him wrong by marrying a princess and becoming a real king, because my magic mirror tells me I’m wannabe and a fake if I don’t have a queen. So I’ll marry a queen that is not too tall– preferably not over 4 feet— but as my magic mirror was showing me my Tinder Matches, I stumbled upon Fiona.
Oh, Fiona! A ginger in a tower guarded by a ferocious dragon! How I long to marry her!
After my honorable project of ridding my kingdom of the magic folk, I gently convinced my staff to construct a large concrete wall around Duloc— not to compensate, or anything silly like that. I then held a marvelous contest to determine a knight to go and fetch my lovely Fiona from the clutches of that tower. Surely, she isn’t neurotic or a little batty from her time in her tower. I do hope she gets quirky after sunset, though.
The aforementioned infected toenail of a being with the company of an ass came knocking at my palace gates soon afterwards, demanding that I rid “his swamp” of the unsavory creatures I rightfully placed there. I couldn’t believe my ears. How dare he? I am the mighty Lord Farquaad of Duloc, and he is some hulking ogre. A hulking, dumb, undoubtedly muscular ogre…..
I decided right then and there that this ogre would be the perfect knight to schlep my fair Fiona from her tower. When her company changes from an ass and ugly ogre to a charming, extremely charming and handsome prince, she will simply swoon. This ogre’s stinky swamp is no matter.
Soon, I had the idiot ogre on his way. I passed the agonizing time in my zebra skin bed with a nice glass of wine and pills that my nanny says will make me grow even taller. My magic mirror was pulled up to the foot of my bed, graciously showing me as many images as I desired of Princess Fiona.
An agonizing several days passed before I heard anything of the ogre and his ass. On the third day, I finally heard from a messenger that the princess, ogre, and the ass laid in wait in a field just outside the borders of Duloc. Oh happy day!
I made the arduous journey of three whole miles with my horsey and a modest following of 100 knights to my darling Fiona, then subsequently dismissed the green toe without a second thought. At last, my Fiona and I, together at last!
I distinctly remember our first meeting and delightful conversation.
“So…. are you really Lord Farquaad? There’s not another…taller—?” she mumbled, awed by my presence.
“–Yes, of course, my darling. There is no taller castle than that of Duloc, sweet sugarplum,” I growled suavely. I didn’t see her reaction because I was busy guiding my majestic steed, but I’m sure she swooned. The wedding preparations sped by in a blur. The boy band was soon in place, (with their mandatory Duloc-style haircuts, of course!) and the chapel was ready.
My lovely Fiona strutted like a queen down that aisle, and I couldn’t wait
to finally be a real king to marry her because I just love her for her wonderful personality so much, but lo and behold! The walking petri dish of bacteria and mold burst dramatically through the doors, demanding that the ceremony be canceled at once. How dare he! He didn’t even have any flair or backup dancers!
The rest of what happened I must have blocked out— perhaps Fiona was simply turning green with disgust! All I knew was that my dearly beloved had left me at the aisle, and the official title of King was slipping through my fingers like butter. I majestically galloped to the pedestals in which my crowns rested, and placed the larger one atop my luscious locks.
“Look, all! I am King! I am the rightful king!” I shrieked, but the church would not listen. They were pointing at something behind me, covering their mouths and screaming.
Well, fine, I thought. If they will not respect me, they may as well fear me.
But as I turned around, there was an ugly beast behind the beautiful stained glass portrait of my likeness, and before I could demand it to leave, it rammed its great head into the window, shattering the glass and swallowing me whole.
I suppose it is a silver lining that my scribe remained faithfully chained to the wall throughout that whole disaster. My pure fury wrangled my soul back from the brink of purgatory, and now I float, still dashing even as a ghost, in my room. My scribe looks a little worse for wear, but who can blame him? I have been absent for a lengthy amount of time. Whatdididotodeservethis
I do miss my dear Fiona, and I know she is simply yearning for me, too. Perhaps this tragic tale will someday appear in the defecation of this wild beast. Perhaps someday my loyal followers will exact their revenge on that wretched ogre and his ass!