The Holy Hand Grenade

[The knights rush in­to a cave, huff­ing and puff­ing, to take cov­er from the vi­cious on­slaught of the Killer Rab­bit.] away! run away!!

Be­de­vere. Okay, how many did we lose?

Arthur. Well . . . Gawain . . . Ec­tor . . . and Bors. That’s five.

Be­de­vere. Three, Sire!

Arthur. Three. And we can’t risk an­oth­er try, that rab­bit’s dy­na­mite!

All. Hm­m­mm . . .

Robin. Maybe if we at­tack it, it will get con­fused, and make a mis­take!


Arthur. Like what?

[longer pause]

Robin. Um­m­mm . . .

Lancelot. Have we got birds?

Arthur. [quick­ly] No.

Gala­had. [bright­ly] We have the Holy Hand Grenade, Sir!

Arthur. Of course! ’Tis one of the sa­cred relics that Broth­er May­nard car­ries with him! Broth­er May­nard! Bring out the Holy Hand Grenade!

Monks. [Chant]
Die Je­su domine,
Dona eis re­quiem.
Die Je­su domine,
Dona eis re­quiem.

[Pause. Arthur ex­am­ines the hand grenade, turn­ing it over in his hands.]

Arthur. How does it . . . How does it work?

High Priest. I know not, my leige.

Arthur. Con­sult the book of Ar­ma­ments!

High Priest. Ar­ma­ments Chap­ter One, vers­es nine through twen­ty‐​sev­en:

Broth­er May­nard. And Saint At­ti­la raised the Holy Hand Grenade up on high say­ing, “Oh Lord, Bless us this Holy Hand Grenade, and with it smash our en­e­mies to tiny bits.”
And the Lord did grin, and the peo­ple did feast up­on the lambs, and stoats, and orang­utans, and break­fast ce­re­als, and li­ma bean⁠—​

High Priest. Skip a bit, broth­er.

Broth­er May­nard. And then the Lord spake, say­ing:
“First, shalt thou take out the holy pin.
Then shalt thou count to three. No more, no less.
Three shall be the num­ber of the count­ing, and the num­ber of the count­ing shall be three.
Four shalt thou not count, and nei­ther count thou two, ex­cept­ing that thou then goest on to three.
Five is right out. Once the num­ber three, be­ing the third num­ber be reached, then lobbest thou thy Holy Hand Grenade to‐​wards thy foe, who, be­ing naughty in my sight, shall snuff it. Amen.”

All. Amen.

Arthur. Right! [pulls pin]

Be­de­vere. Three, Sire!!

Arthur. Three! [throws hand grenade at the Killer Rab­bit]

[holy mu­sic]