Triumph

After a long day at the salt mines today, I headed back to Powell Manor for a restful evening, complete with a bottle of sherry, a bowl of figgy pudding, and a tape of homeless people fighting. Imagine my surprise then when I finally arrived at my palatial estate and discovered a large, aromatic bouquet of flowers in front of my door. "Hmm, have I accidentally bewitched a young lady recently?" I thought to myself. That is not a novel occurrence. As I examined the card, I realized that the flowers weren't from a comely young lass at all, but rather a member of my rapidly growing list of enemies: János Mohácsi, the person who stole my #1 Google ranking for Goulash.

I covered my face before I opened the card, anticipating a boxing glove that'd pop out and hit me in the nose. I was a little disappointed with what I found inside. Rather than hiding some sort of devious attack, the card was full of tear-stained Hungarian sentimentality. It read, "I find it hard to take it personally when I've been beaten by the best. Sincerely, János Mohácsi." I dropped the flowers in disgust and thought, "What the crap is this about? I've only been at war with him for four days and he's already sending me flowers and asking for a make-out party." I began to prepare a scathing response.

My mind was preoccupied with János's impending doom as I opened the door. I hurried through the East Wing of the compound before I stopped in my study, found the sturdiest quill in my collection, and got ready to write. It was only then that I noticed my home was overflowing with balloons, cakes, bottles of champagne, and Cuban hookers. Fearing a disturbing escalation in the mental warfare between myself and János, I readied my muzzleloader and pointed it at one of the hookers.

"What is the meaning of this?" I bellowed.

"Haven't you heard the news, Mr. Powell? You've triumphed!" she said.

"I did what now?"

"Google has relented; you're #1 again!"

Having learned the hard way not to trust any Cuban prostitutes, I fired up my computer and verified for myself. Ahh yes, there I was, back at the top where I belong. I struggled not to sob in front of the ladies.

Sensing my flood of emotions, a hooker with a glass eyeball dropped the bust of my face she was holding and came over to embrace me. Had I not been moved beyond words, I would've unleashed a string of celebratory profanity directed towards Hungary. The other girls looked down at the floor or cleared their throats, anything to evade the somewhat awkward scene in front of them.

"Look at this man," the one eyed woman said. "He is the #1 resource in the world for eastern european cuisine, and he has earned the right to cry. Tonight, he is a champion." She paused to let her words sink in. There was no longer a dry eye in the house. "Now, let's get naked and rub some of this cake on each other!" Ahh, victory.

Thanks to everyone who helped me get back to #1. And thanks to János, who put up a spirited fight for #1 before I utterly destroyed him. Only a few days left to enter the Goulash Haiku Contest!