Sir Trevaricus 3: There and Jack Daniels Again

I have never wished more than I could drink and drive. Trevor won’t stop singing songs in some sort of stupid language that sounds like he’s strangling himself. He seems to think it’s beautiful but it makes me want to rip my ears off. He’s put in a CD that is nothing but stupid violins and pianos and all that sort of crap. I want to put on my AC/DC CD and put the pedal to the floor, but I’m trying to make this work and we’re stuck in damn traffic.

I think of the bottle of Jack Daniel’s that’s chilling nicely in the cooler on the backseat, and grit my teeth. I do my best to be civil to my stupid dwarfly elfy faggoty freak of an offspring.
“Trevor…”
“That’s Sir Trevaricus to you, my good man.” He stops singing to reply loftily.
“Yeah, whatever. Do you think you could keep that racket down?”
He seems to inflate like a balloon, as usual, and his face goes a strange shade of red. It seems like he is going to burst out of his armour. I’ve clearly upset him in some way, I stop gritting my teeth and think that this might be easier than I imagined.

“Racket?” He cries indignantly. “These sweet sounds coming from the magic music box of your noble carriage are the words and poems of the ancient Elven gods, how dare you call it as such?”

I throw back my head and laugh. The traffic starts moving and I notice the people in the lane opposite Trevor’s door point and laugh as they speed off.
“Why do you laugh? Do you think I jest?” he says gravely.
“I’m not sure what I think… Sir Trevaricus.” I say with as much scorn and sarcasm as I can manage, which is quite a lot, evidently.
“You’d best make your mind, or I shall cut you down where you stand.” His hand touches the hilt of his sword in its scabbard, and I remember that it is actually a real sword and for a moment worry about my son’s sanity rather than laughing at how fucking stupid he looks.

The moment doesn’t last very long, thankfully. I’m back to scorn soon enough.
“I’m not standing, I’m sitting.”
“Tis’ merely a figure of my speech, you cretin.” He’s going purple now. At least he inherited my temper, if nothing else.
“I know what that means, young man.” I love this. Maybe I can replace my alcohol dependency with snide comments.

“Young man!” He’s practically spitting with rage. “How bloody dare you, I am the noble knight errant, Sir Trevaricus.” I slowly push my foot to the accelerator, and the car climbs to double the speed limit. A grin spreads across my face as I have a great idea.
“Show your father the respect he demands, so long as you abide as a quest within my noble manor, you will defer to me and show me submission. I do not care how noble a knight you are.” I hold in a laugh so strong that it makes my body ache.

“But Dad…” He whines suddenly just plain old Trevor again, then quickly returns to his stupid pompous alter ego. “I mean, father, surely you jest!”
“Whatever that means, I’m pretty sure I aint doing it.” I was almost pretty sure.
“You will use noble speech when you address me father, as one of higher standing in this kingdom it is unwise for you to use such unrefined language.”
“I will address you however the fuck I want. As the passenger in this car and the one who is half my age and about as strong as a weak fart, it is unwise for you to argue.” I reply sternly, thoroughly enjoying spending some quality time with my son.

He looks at his feet for a while, probably realising that I am right, which is good because I always am. I ease up on the accelerator because we’re going over 100 miles an hour and I had a liquid breakfast.
“Agreed father, but when I come of age, I will challenge you to a duel that will shake the whole land. God’s will quake on their thrones, dragons will weep in fear, and the very mountains themselves will come asunder at my terrible fury, you best prepare yourself for certain and humiliating defeat at my hands. I swear upon my sword.” He says, with his eyes closed, his chin raised high, and his hand on the hilt of his blade again.

He probably thinks he looks and sounds noble and imposing. His sweaty face, glasses, chubby cheeks and greasy hair don’t really help him to achieve this effect.
“I am quaking in my boots Trevor.”
“Sir Trevaricus.”
“Yeah whatever, I’m shaking, look.” I start swerving the car all over the road, and the oncoming cars on the other lane all honk their horns as I swerve in and out of their paths. Trevor squeals like a stuck pig. Susie always loves it when I do this. Where did I go wrong with Trevor, and so right with her?

The rest of the trip passes without much incidence. Trevor stops singing after our conversation and I eventually pull his CD out of the player, Frisbee it out the window, and put some AC/DC instead. I nod my head and sing along, getting Trevor to pass me a few beers from the cooler as we drive. He does this silently, glaring at me, as if waiting for his opportunity to attack me. I’m going to take that sword off him and toss it into the lake tonight. I offer him a beer and he says that noble knights are not allowed to fall prey to the vices of alcohol or beautiful woman. I wonder if that’s his excuse for not getting laid or never being invited out to get shitfaced.

I drive better when I’m drunk, so we arrive at our destination about half an hour before I thought we would. We pull into a small car park and the side of the road and I get out of the car, stretching my legs. Trevor does the same, and I can see the sweat staining the clothes he’s wearing under his armour. I duck my head back inside the car and it smells like dirty socks and rotting meat. I wonder how I didn’t notice it before.
“When’s the last time you showered?” I ask, not really wanting to know.
“Noble knights such as myself have no time for feminine trivialities like washing!” he said indignantly, which seemed to be his favourite emotion at the moment. I guess this was another one of his excuses. I started to realise that maybe he was hiding behind this stupid Lord of The Rings thing so he didn’t have to act like a normal person.

“Surely noble knights such as yourself will find it hard to get a little action from any fair maidens when you smell like a bag of dead cats?” I sighed. I could punch myself in the face for talking like that. I hauled the cooler out of the car and passed it to Trevor, while I went around to the boot to get the rest of the stuff. He seemed lost for words and almost dropped the cooler while he fumbled for them.
“Well… surely… I… uhh…” He bumbled.
“That’s what I thought, here, take this too.” I said to him, and piled two rolled up sleeping bags and rucksack on top of the cooler. He groaned and wheezed from the weight and started sweating even more.
“Father, what are we doing out here?” he panted. I had kept it a secret and promised to tell him when we arrived, I convinced him to come by telling him we were leaving on an ‘epic quest’.

“Trevor.” I said, pulling an old and probably very dangerous hunting rifle out of the boot of my car, “I am going to teach you how to be a man.”

He looked afraid. Good, he was right to be scared. The gun was loaded and I was drunk.