"This is a bawdy tale. Herein you will find gratuitous
shagging, murder, spanking, maiming, treason, and heretofore
unexplored heights of vulgarity and profanity, as well as
nontraditional grammar, split infinitives, and the odd wank
. . . If that's the sort of thing you think you might enjoy,
then you have happened upon the perfect story!"
Verily speaks Christopher Moore, much beloved scrivener and
peerless literary jester, who hath writteneth much that is
of grand wit and belly-busting mirth, including such
laurelled bestsellers of the Times of Olde Newe Yorke as
Lamb, A Dirty Job, and You Suck (no offense). Now he takes
on no less than the legendary Bard himself (with the utmost
humility and respect) in a twisted and insanely funny tale
of a moronic monarch and his deceitful daughters—a rousing
story of plots, subplots, counterplots, betrayals, war,
revenge, bared bosoms, unbridled lust . . . and a ghost
(there's always a bloody ghost), as seen through the eyes of
a man wearing a codpiece and bells on his head.
Fool A man of infinite jest, Pocket has been Lear's
cherished fool for years, from the time the king's grown
daughters—selfish, scheming Goneril, sadistic (but
erotic-fantasy-grade-hot) Regan, and sweet, loyal
Cordelia—were mere girls. So naturally Pocket is at his
brainless, elderly liege's side when Lear—at the insidious
urging of Edmund, the bastard (in every way imaginable) son
of the Earl of Gloucester—demands that his kids swear their
undying love and devotion before a collection of assembled
guests. Of course Goneril and Regan are only too happy to
brownnose Dad. But Cordelia believes that her father's
request is kind of . . . well . . . stupid, and her blunt
honesty ends up costing her her rightful share of the
kingdom and earns her a banishment to boot.
Well, now the bangers and mash have really hit the fan. The
whole damn country's about to go to hell in a handbasket
because of a stubborn old fart's wounded pride. And the only
person who can possibly make things right . . . is Pocket, a
small and slight clown with a biting sense of humor. He's
already managed to sidestep catastrophe (and the vengeful
blades of many an offended nobleman) on numerous occasions,
using his razor-sharp mind, rapier wit . . . and the equally
well-honed daggers he keeps conveniently hidden behind his
back. Now he's going to have to do some very fancy
maneuvering—cast some spells, incite a few assassinations,
start a war or two (the usual stuff)—to get Cordelia back
into Daddy Lear's good graces, to derail the fiendish power
plays of Cordelia's twisted sisters, to rescue his gigantic,
gigantically dim, and always randy friend and apprentice
fool, Drool, from repeated beatings . . . and to shag every
lusciously shaggable wench who's amenable to shagging along
the way. Pocket may be a fool . . . but he's definitely not
an idiot.
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