Having narrowly survived his battle with the Spoon Gnome and successfully returning the sacred spoon, Sir Wrongalot was ready for his next great challenge. Little did he know, destiny had brewed something far more ridiculous than he could have imagined.
An Invitation Arrives
Sir Wrongalot was polishing his pool noodle (which was now slightly bent from all the abuse) when a messenger pigeon flew into his face. "Agh! Foul bird! I'll smite thee!" he shouted, only to realize the bird was holding a tiny scroll tied to its leg.
The scroll read:
Dearest Sir Wrongalot,
You are cordially invited to the Annual British Tea Party of Utmost Sophistication and Absolutely No Funny Business. Attendance is mandatory, or else we'll be cross with you. Dress code: fancy. Bring your own biscuits.
Sincerely,
Lord Crumpet III, Earl of Sconeshire
Sir Wrongalot scratched his head. "What's a tea party?"
Princess Facepalm, who was nearby trying to teach Buttercup not to eat the royal curtains, groaned. "It's where people drink tea and pretend they're smarter than they actually are. Don't mess this up, Wrongalot. The last knight they invited accidentally used a teapot as a helmet, and they've never forgiven us."
"I'll make the kingdom proud!" Sir Wrongalot declared, pulling on a moth-eaten tuxedo he found in the laundry basket. Buttercup, now wearing a bowtie made of spaghetti, bleated her approval.
Arriving at the Tea Party
The tea party was being held in the fanciest location Sir Wrongalot had ever seen: a gazebo made entirely of biscuits. Upon entering, he was immediately greeted by Lord Crumpet III, a man with a monocle so large it looked like a dinner plate.
"Welcome, good sir," said Lord Crumpet, his voice dripping with pretension. "Do remove your helmet—it's terribly gauche."
Sir Wrongalot obediently removed his colander, only for a handful of noodles to fall out. "Apologies, m'lord. Leftovers," he said, shoving them back in his pocket.
Around the gazebo, other esteemed guests sipped tea from porcelain cups so fragile that a light sneeze could destroy them. Buttercup, meanwhile, had wandered over to the biscuit walls and was eating her way through them like a wrecking ball.
"Now then," Lord Crumpet continued, eyeing Sir Wrongalot's bent pool noodle. "We have certain... expectations at these gatherings. First, can you demonstrate proper tea etiquette?"
"Of course!" Sir Wrongalot said confidently, though he had no idea what "etiquette" meant. He grabbed a teapot, poured the tea directly into his helmet, and drank from it like a trough.
The crowd gasped in horror. One lady fainted into a pile of crumpets.
The Biscuit Duel
"Sir!" boomed Lord Crumpet, turning a shade of purple that closely resembled an overripe plum. "You have insulted the sanctity of the tea party! I demand satisfaction!"
"Oh, uh, sure. I can give you some satisfaction," Sir Wrongalot said, pulling a half-eaten sandwich out of his pocket.
"No, you buffoon!" Lord Crumpet snapped. "I challenge you to a duel! A duel of biscuits!"
The crowd cheered wildly. "Biscuit duel! Biscuit duel!"
"What are the rules?" Sir Wrongalot asked, tilting his colander helmet back onto his head.
"Simple," said Lord Crumpet, brandishing a biscuit like a weapon. "We each take a biscuit, dip it in tea, and see who can hold it the longest without it crumbling!"
Sir Wrongalot stared blankly. "That's it?"
"Yes, and it's the highest form of combat!"
The Battle Commences
Both men chose their biscuits: Lord Crumpet selected a posh shortbread, while Sir Wrongalot grabbed a cookie he found in Buttercup's mouth. They dipped their biscuits into the tea, the tension in the gazebo rising to unbearable levels.
Lord Crumpet's monocle gleamed with determination. "Prepare to be humiliated, Sir Wrongalot!"
"Your biscuit looks weird," Sir Wrongalot replied, because he was incapable of witty banter.
The crowd watched in silence as the biscuits began to soften in the tea. Sweat dripped down Lord Crumpet's face. Sir Wrongalot, oblivious to the stakes, started humming the wrong tune to God Save the Queen.
Finally, with a loud plop, Lord Crumpet's biscuit crumbled into the tea. "Nooooo!" he cried, dropping to his knees. "I have been defeated!"
"Did I win?" Sir Wrongalot asked, holding up his cookie, which had somehow grown sturdier in the tea instead of softer.
"Yes, you won," Princess Facepalm muttered from the back of the crowd, wishing she were literally anywhere else.
The Aftermath
The victory did not sit well with the other tea party guests. "This is an outrage!" shouted Lady Teaspoon. "A buffoon has bested our Earl! He must be stopped!"
"What's going on?" Sir Wrongalot whispered to Buttercup, who was now wearing a teapot as a hat.
Before he could get an answer, the crowd began pelting him with stale scones. Buttercup, ever the opportunist, started eating the projectiles mid-air.
"Run, Buttercup!" Sir Wrongalot yelled, hopping onto her back. The goat bolted, skidding across the gazebo floor like a caffeinated ice skater. They crashed through what was left of the biscuit wall and disappeared into the countryside.
Back at the Castle
When Sir Wrongalot returned to the castle, he was covered in crumbs, tea stains, and shame. Buttercup was happily chewing on the remnants of a crumpet.
The king clapped him on the back. "Well done, Sir Wrongalot! I heard you single-handedly destroyed their tea party!"
"That wasn't really my intention," Sir Wrongalot admitted.
"Nonsense!" the king declared. "You've brought great honor to Blundertopia! From now on, all tea parties shall be held in your name!"
Princess Facepalm sighed so hard it knocked over a chair.
"Another successful quest!" Sir Wrongalot proclaimed, holding up his bent pool noodle like it was Excalibur. Buttercup bleated in agreement, a teacup still perched on her head.
To be continued… because why not?