Once upon a time, in a far away land, perhaps even in a far away time, there lived a King. Now this King wasn’t the most important King, but neither was he the least important. He wasn’t the wisest King either, nor was he the most unwise. And, as far as Kings went, he wasn’t the most handsome, or the most royal, or the most kind, but he was not the least of these things either. In fact, this King was probably the most average King… ever. He even had an average name; King Smith. King George Smith, with out even an “esquire” or a “the third” to follow it.

On the average day, King George sat on his average throne and listened to average problems of his average subjects and gave average advice and proclaimed average proclamations.

“Divide the field evenly down the middle and each of you will take half.” The King advised in his average voice. The two farmers bowed and left the royal throne room.

But today King Smith did not feel his average self. He had awoken this morning with an odd feeling of....well....unease. “What, “ he thought, “is different about today?”

“Why,” he thought as he ate his average breakfast, “does everything seem so...well...average today?”

All day as the King went about his normal average routine, he thought long and hard about what seemed different today.

“Does anything seem different today?” he asked his Royal Adviser.

“No, Your Highness, “ replied the Royal Adviser in his Somewhat Pompous Voice. “Everything seems normal to me.”

“Is there something weird about today that I don’t know about?” King Smith asked his Captain of the Guard.

“No Sire. All is as it should be.” Said the Captain of the Guard in his Commanding Soldiers Voice.

“Something is not right about today, “ the King told his Royal Maid as she set about making his room ready for his Royal Afternoon Nap.

Then it hit him, like a dirt clod against the side of a barn; the reason came to him...King Smith was tired of being average.

“I,” proclaimed the King “am no longer going to be average! Bring me the Royal Adviser! Convene the Royal Guard! Today, I will excel at...well...Something!”

The Royal Maid dropped the Royal Pillows on the floor and dashed out of the room.

And so, King George Smith set out to excel at...well...something!

“Your Highness, “ the Royal Adviser said in his Somewhat Pompous Voice, “you do not need to excel. You are the King! You can proclaim yourself the best at anything you like!”

“But that would be cheating! I want to be the best, not just say I am the best! And I have decided that I will be the best King Wrestler in the nations! Bring me the best wrestlers in my Kingdom.”

But alas, the King was not the best wrestler in the Kingdom. In fact, he lost every round. Even the Court Jester out wrestled the King.

This did not discourage King Smith, not in the least. “Kings are supposed to be brave, and lead great battles, so, I will be the best sword fighter in the Kingdom!” he proclaimed. “Bring me the best sword fighters in the Kingdom!”

“Sire, “ boomed the Captain of the Guard, “you have never used a sword. Perhaps this is not such a good idea.”

“Nonsense, “ Laughed King Smith, “you can teach me, then I will become the best in the land!” And the King rushed to his Royal Arms Room, climbed on to a chair, reached up on the wall and pulled down the Royal Sword from where it had hung for as long as anyone could remember.

The King leaped down from the chair, grasped the handle of the sword in his right hand and the sheath in his left hand and pulled. The sword slid smoothly from the sheath and cut the King’s thumb.

“OW!!” shouted King Smith. “This thing is sharp!” He sucked on his injured thumb and frowned at the Captain of the Guard. “Why is this thing so sharp?” The King did not know about swords.

“Swords are supposed to be sharp, “ said the Captain of the Guard, in his Soldier Instructing Voice. “We do not use real swords to practice with. You will use a wooden sword so no one gets hurt.” And the Captain of the Guard led the King out of the Royal Arms Room and down to the Royal Infirmary. Then, when the King’s thumb was washed and disinfected and wrapped and kissed by the Queen Mother, the Captain of the Guard led the King out into the Royal Guard’s Royal Practice Ground. The line of soldiers snapped to attention.

“Sire,” spoke the Captain of the Guard, “here is your practice sword.” He handed a wooden sword to the King. “First, I will teach you how to fence, then you can practice. But, perhaps you will reconsider. Sword play is dangerous and to be good you must practice and practice for years.”

“I will be fine,” said the King. “Now teach!”

And the King proceeded to get bashed. Days and weeks of lessons went by, and, no matter how hard he tried, still the King got no better than average at swordplay.

Every night the King soaked his tired, bruised, average body in a hot bath in the Royal Bathroom. And every night after his hot bath, to take his mind off of his tired, aching, bruised, average body, the King cooked.

King Smith loved to cook. He cooked lasagna, he cooked macaroni, he cooked chicken, he cooked turkey. But most of all, the King loved to cook spaghetti. The King loved to cook spaghetti so much that he had invented ten different ways to make spaghetti. One he made with green noodles and mushrooms in the sauce, one he made with big chunks of tomato and green pepper, one he made with ground beef in the sauce, one he made with meatballs, one he made with thin noodles, one he made with thick noodles, one he made with spicy sausage, one he made with shrimp, one he made with nothing in the sauce but tomato sauce and spices, and one, his favorite, he made with everything. And the King cooked, then he served the Royal Castle Servants and the Royal Guard and the Royal Family and the Royal Gardeners and anyone else who was willing to sit still long enough to eat a plate of Royal Spaghetti.

And day by day, week after week, it seemed that it was becoming easier and easier to find people to sit and eat. Soon there was not enough room at the Royal Kitchen Table for all the people to sit and so the dinner was moved to the Royal Dining Room. And the Royal Cooking Pots were to small to cook enough spaghetti for all the people, so the King sent for bigger pots. And the news spread far and wide that the King accepted all people, young and old, rich or poor, common or noble, to his dinner.

And week after week the numbers grew. People came from far and near to eat at the Royal Spaghetti Factory. Now the King did not know that this is what his dinner was called, he just enjoyed cooking, and the more he needed to cook, the happier he was. In fact, when he was cooking was the only time he was happy any more. His days were filled with practicing the sword, or practicing anything else that he might be able to excel at. And the King grew more and more unhappy with trying to become the best at...well.... something.

Then one day a Royal Procession arrived at the Front Gate. Seventeen horses, five carriages, three wagons and two elephants pulled up at the Front Gate and a small man jumped out of the lead carriage, rushed up to the gate and said to the Captain of the Guard, “Greetings. On behalf of my King, King Eumeritus Fractous Gugneheimer The Third, I request an audience with King George Smith.”

And, of course, the Captain of the Guard snapped smartly to attention, snapped off a crisp salute, and replied, “I will inform His Highness of your arrival.” And off he dashed, in a hurry because everyone knew who King Eumeritus Fractous Gugenheimer The Third was. He was the bravest, wisest, most kind and generous King in all the Lands. To have him visit was indeed an honor.

The Captain of the Guard arrived at the Royal Advisors office in no time at all and reported the news. “King Eumeritus Fractous Gugenheimer The Third is here to see King Smith,” said the Captain of the Guard not a wit out of breath from his run.

The Royal Adviser jumped to his feet and exclaimed in a Somewhat Excited, Somewhat Pompous voice, “King Eumeritus Fractous Gugenheimer The Third!” Then he regained his Royal Composure and said in a Somewhat Calmer, Somewhat Pompous Voice, “I shall inform King Smith. Please inform King Gugenheimer that King Smith will receive him in the Royal Throne Room.”

The Royal Adviser stepped calmly out into the hall and began walking at a stately, dignified pace towards the Royal Guard’s Royal Practice Grounds, until he rounded the corner out of site of the Captain of the Guard, then he hiked up his Royal Robes and ran flat out.

“You Highness!” panted the Royal Adviser in a Somewhat Breathless Voice. “King Eumeritus Fractous Gugenheimer The Third has arrived for a visit and requests an audience!” The Royal Adviser skidded to a halt against a rack of wooden practice swords, sending the whole thing crashing to the ground in an awful racket.

“Oh my,” said King Smith. “What could bring him here? Perhaps he has heard of my skill with the sword?” He looked hopefully towards the Royal Master at Arms. The Royal Master at Arms shook his head. “Perhaps not,” King Smith said.

“Very well. I will receive him in the Royal Throne Room as soon as I can get cleaned up.” And King Smith dropped his practice sword upon the ground and went to the Royal Bathroom to clean up.

And so, King Smith, dressed in his best, though still average, Royal Purple Tights and Cape took his seat on his average throne and motioned for the Royal Adviser to motion to the Royal Announcer to announce the Royal Visitor, King Eumeritus Fractous Gugenheimer The Third.

“Attention!” intoned the Royal Announcer in a Loud, Official Sounding Voice. “Announcing the Royal Visitor, King Eumeritus Fractous Gugenheimer The Third. King Gugenheimer, I present King George Smith,” and the Royal Announcer bowed toward King Gugenheimer and swept his arm in the direction of King Smith.

King Smith rose from his throne and walked in a Kingly Manner towards King Gugenheimer. King Gugenheimer walked in a Kingly Manner towards King Smith.

“Ah, King Smith, how good it is to see you,” spoke King Gugenheimer in a Very Wise and Kingly Voice. “I do not get to visit my dearest and nearest neighbor as often as I should. I just don’t have the time because so many of the other nearby Kings are always requesting my presence to solve some awful problem, or to slay some awful dragon, or bring peace to some awful war. How are you?”

King Smith swallowed hard, extended his hand for a hand shake and said, in his Most Kingly, Sophisticated Voice, “I’m fine. And you?” His Most Kingly, Sophisticated Voice came out more of a squeak, and that was not at all what King Smith had wanted to say. “Want to sword fight?” The Royal Throne Room was completely silent, then King Eumeritus Fractous Gugenheimer The Third threw back his head and laughed. “Oh my, no!” laughed King Gugenheimer. “That is not why I came here at all!” Tears started to roll down his cheeks. “I am sorry,” he gasped. “I am not laughing at you! I am sure you are a fine sword fighter, but that is not at all why I came to see you!”

King Smith smiled shyly. “Then why?” He could not imagine why King Gugenheimer would want to come see him.

“My good Fellow King,” laughed King Gugenheimer, “I thought you knew. We have come all this way, my entire Royal Family and I, to sample your Famous Royal Spaghetti, from your Royal Spaghetti Factory!” And he clapped King smith on the back in a Very Friendly Manner.

“Famous Royal Spaghetti?” stammered King Smith. “What Famous Royal Spaghetti? Do you mean my spaghetti dinner? And what Royal Spaghetti Factory? It’s just me, cooking to relax after a day of trying to excel at… well… something.” King Smith stared at King Gugenheimer.

“Oh come now Fellow King. Surely you are aware that your spaghetti is famous far and wide? Travelers both far and near spread stories of the most delicious spaghetti ever coming from your Royal Spaghetti Factory. They say it is the best in this part of the world, perhaps in all the world. And when I heard these tales, I had to come and see for myself,” said King Gugenheimer.

“You must have misunderstood,” muttered King Smith. “My spaghetti is just a little something I cook to relax. The more I cook the better I feel. It’s nothing special.”

“Well, why don’t you let me and my Royal Family be the judges of that? Let us dine at your Royal Spaghetti Factory tonight and then we shall see.” King Gugenheimer raised one eyebrow and waited.

“Very well,” King Smith agreed reluctantly. “You shall be shown to the Royal Ball Room, and I shall begin dinner.”

And King Smith cooked. And King Gugenheimer and his Royal Family ate. And ate. And ate.

And that is how King George Smith, the most average King ever, became the most outstanding Spaghetti King, ever!