Wrongalot and his trusty goat wandered into a strange land. The signs read "Rome," but everything seemed suspiciously fake. The cobblestones were made of rubber, the coliseum was just a poorly painted cardboard cutout, and a man selling "authentic Roman helmets" had clearly repurposed some salad bowls.
"This doesn't look like Rome," Wrongalot muttered.
The goat bleated in agreement, although it was mostly distracted by a stall selling mushroom-flavored chewing gum.
Suddenly, a man in a toga ran up to them. "Halt! Who dares enter the Great and Totally Real Roman Empire?"
"I, Sir Wrongalot, and my magnificent goat, Mushroom Majesty the Third, are here to... uh... explore your fine city!"
The man squinted. "City? This is an empire! A glorious one at that! I am Caesar Saladicus, the ruler of this domain." He twirled his fake mustache dramatically.
Wrongalot raised an eyebrow. "Caesar Saladicus? That's... very Roman of you."
"Indeed!" Caesar Saladicus boomed. "And you must pay tribute if you wish to stay. Hand over your finest... bo'ele of woter!"
Wrongalot blinked. "My what?"
"Your bo'ele of woter!" Caesar snapped. "We Romans have high standards for hydration, you know."
Wrongalot rummaged through his bag and pulled out an empty bottle. "Does this count?"
Caesar examined it closely, sniffed it, and then declared, "Perfect! Now, to the coliseum! You must prove your worth in gladiatorial combat!"
The "coliseum" turned out to be an inflatable kiddie pool with a couple of pool noodles thrown in for ambiance.
"Your opponent!" Caesar announced dramatically, "is none other than... Gladiator Gluteus Maximus!"
Out waddled a large man in a toga that didn't quite fit. His helmet was a literal bucket with eyeholes, and his weapon of choice was a rubber chicken.
"Prepare to be defeated!" Gluteus Maximus shouted, flexing his biceps, which looked more like sacks of pudding.
Wrongalot stepped into the "arena," armed with his trusty pool noodle. The goat, wisely, stayed on the sidelines, munching on a leftover baguette from the last chapter.
The battle began, and it was... embarrassing.
Gluteus swung the rubber chicken with all his might, but it slipped out of his hand and hit Caesar Saladicus in the face. Wrongalot seized the opportunity to lightly bop Gluteus on the head with his noodle.
"Ow!" Gluteus yelped, dropping to the ground dramatically. "I am defeated!"
The crowd of three people cheered wildly. Caesar, rubbing his chicken-smacked face, begrudgingly declared, "Sir Wrongalot, you are victorious. You shall be given the finest prize in the empire—a lifetime supply of... pasta-shaped clouds!"
Wrongalot frowned. "What am I supposed to do with pasta-shaped clouds?"
"Eat them, of course!" Caesar huffed. "They're low-carb and gluten-free!"
Before Wrongalot could argue, a loud rumbling shook the ground. Out from behind the cardboard coliseum emerged a monstrous... chariot?
It had wheels made of pizza, a body of lasagna, and was pulled by two angry-looking turkeys.
"Behold!" Caesar cried. "The War Chariot of Raviolus Maximus! If you can tame it, you shall become a true Roman hero!"
Wrongalot sighed. "Why is everything here food-themed?"
"Because Rome wasn't built in a day," Caesar said, winking. "But it was built by hungry people!"
With a deep breath, Wrongalot approached the chariot. The turkeys gobbled menacingly, their eyes full of rage.
"Easy, uh... turkeys," Wrongalot said, holding out a piece of bread as a peace offering.
The turkeys, unimpressed, charged at him. Wrongalot yelped and dove out of the way, landing face-first in a pile of spaghetti.
The goat, watching this unfold, decided enough was enough. With a mighty bleat, it headbutted one of the turkeys, causing it to tumble over dramatically. The other turkey, realizing it was outmatched, flapped its wings and fled.
The crowd (still just three people) erupted into cheers.
"Bravo!" Caesar shouted. "You have tamed the War Chariot of Raviolus Maximus!"
Wrongalot climbed onto the lasagna chariot, his goat standing proudly beside him. "This... is the weirdest day of my life."
"Welcome to Rome!" Caesar declared.
As Wrongalot rode off into the distance, lasagna wheels squeaking and goat munching on the leftover pizza spokes, he couldn't help but wonder what other ridiculous adventures awaited him.
One thing was certain: if this was Rome, he couldn't wait to see Greece.
WELCOME TO GREECE
Wrongalot and his goat, Mushroom Majesty the Third, made their way out of "Totally Real Rome" on the squeaky lasagna chariot. As they crossed a suspiciously inflatable-looking bridge, a sign greeted them:
"Welcome to Greece: The Land of Questionable Wisdom and Excessive Olive Oil!"
"Finally," Wrongalot said, adjusting his bent pool noodle sword. "A place of great philosophers, democracy, and—"
Before he could finish, a man in a toga ran up to him. The toga had been tied in a way that made it look more like a giant diaper, and the man was eating a stick of butter.
"STOP RIGHT THERE!" the man shouted. "Who dares enter Greece without an offering for the gods?!"
Wrongalot scratched his head. "I, uh, didn't realize I needed one."
"Then you shall face ZEUS!" the man bellowed, throwing his butter stick on the ground dramatically.
Suddenly, a cloud of smoke appeared, and from it emerged Zeus—or at least someone who really wanted to be Zeus. He wore a toga made of aluminum foil, held a lightning bolt-shaped pool toy, and had a beard that was clearly made of spaghetti.
"I am Zeus, King of the Gods!" he proclaimed, striking a pose. The spaghetti beard swayed in the wind.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Zeus," Wrongalot said. "Can I just pass through? I'm kind of in the middle of an adventure."
"Pass through?!" Zeus roared, his pool toy wobbling in the air. "You dare insult the gods by not bringing a proper sacrifice?!"
"I don't have much," Wrongalot said, rummaging through his bag. He pulled out a half-eaten biscuit and offered it.
Zeus examined the biscuit closely. "Hmm... this biscuit is clearly... NOT OLIVE FLAVORED!"
The crowd that had mysteriously appeared gasped in horror.
"Well, I don't have any olives," Wrongalot muttered.
"Then you must face the Labyrinth of Eternal Confusion!" Zeus declared, pointing toward a nearby hedge maze. It was comically small, with walls no higher than Wrongalot's knees.
"Uh... that doesn't look very eternal," Wrongalot said.
Zeus ignored him. "Enter, mortal, and prove your worth!"
With a shrug, Wrongalot stepped into the labyrinth, his goat following behind. The "maze" was hilariously simple, consisting of about three turns and a suspiciously obvious exit. But as they walked, a Minotaur suddenly appeared.
Well, kind of. The "Minotaur" was just a guy wearing a cow onesie and holding a broom.
"RAWR!" the Minotaur bellowed, waving the broom threateningly.
Wrongalot blinked. "Are you serious right now?"
"SUPER SERIOUS!" the Minotaur shouted, charging at him.
Wrongalot simply stepped to the side, and the Minotaur tripped over a rock, landing face-first in the dirt.
"That... was underwhelming," Wrongalot said, stepping over the wannabe Minotaur and exiting the labyrinth.
Zeus was waiting outside, looking disappointed. "How did you solve the labyrinth so quickly?!"
"It wasn't hard," Wrongalot replied.
"Fine!" Zeus said, stroking his spaghetti beard. "Then you must face our final challenge: the Olympic Games of Doom!"
The "Olympic Arena" turned out to be a field with random activities like hopscotch, sack races, and an oversized teeter-totter.
"First event!" Zeus announced. "The Javelin Toss!"
A man stepped forward, handing Wrongalot what looked like a broomstick wrapped in duct tape.
"Throw this as far as you can!" the man instructed.
Wrongalot tossed it with all his might, but it barely went three feet.
"HA!" Zeus laughed. "Is that all you've got?"
Mushroom Majesty, the goat, suddenly grabbed the javelin in its mouth and flung it with surprising strength. It sailed through the air and landed... somewhere in Rome.
The crowd erupted into cheers.
"Next event!" Zeus shouted. "The Chariot Race!"
Wrongalot rolled his eyes as he climbed back onto his lasagna chariot. The competition consisted of two other racers: one on a unicycle and the other in a wagon pulled by ducks.
The race began, and chaos ensued. The unicycle racer immediately fell over, and the ducks pulling the wagon decided to stage a rebellion, attacking their driver.
Wrongalot and his goat cruised to an easy victory, the lasagna wheels leaving a trail of marinara sauce behind them.
Zeus looked flabbergasted. "Fine! You win the games. But you still need a prize to leave Greece."
"What kind of prize?" Wrongalot asked.
"A prize... of KNOWLEDGE!" Zeus proclaimed, handing him a scroll.
Wrongalot unrolled it, revealing a single sentence: "Life is like a gyro—you never know if it's lamb or mystery meat."
"That's... profound?" Wrongalot said, trying to be polite.
"Indeed!" Zeus said, striking another dramatic pose. "Now go, mortal, and tell the world of Greece's wisdom!"
As Wrongalot and his goat left Greece, lasagna wheels squeaking once more, he couldn't help but laugh.
"This has to be the weirdest day of my life," he muttered.
The goat bleated in agreement, though it was mostly thinking about olives.