“Curse thee, Menelaus!” Punctuated by a slamming Frigidaire refrigerator door, “I will live with thee no more!”
Menelaus turned up the volume of the boxing match.
“Thou hast mocked me, starved me!”
“Jiminy H. Christmas. The fight’s on!”
“All I ask is that you at least let me know if you’re gonna drink all the milk.”
Somewhere, via LIVE Telecast, a person punched another to the roar of a crowd.

“Maybe I should ring your beard out. There’s at least a glassful there! I could make a meal of the crust and crumbs you leave in bed. Godesses only know that if I did, I’d be well fed.” 
Helen marched back into the kitchen and slammed things around as a form of punishment. Cheers as the round came to a RING-DING close.

Love had gone and left her and the days, though few, are all alike; eating had become a chore to her gnarled and twisted entrails. With a snarl she decided to skip another meal and help herself to another glass of wine. “Drink I must, and sleep I will,—and would that night were here!” she whispered to her pinot.

She returned to the patio where the sun’s last slants were eliciting evening songs from hidden birds.
Their honeymoon was ending up to not be a honeymoon period. The four days since their shotgun wedding at the NRA convention had been filled with the kind of decline in wil- to-live that most couples require years to achieve.
The evening turned to night and she corked another bottle.

“But ah!—to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike!
Would that it were day again!—with twilight near!”

She would have liked to say that love had gone but in her current quiet and drunken illumination, she could admit that perhaps she was never in love at all. She reflected on their whirlwind romance that took place over the course of 14 minutes in the middle of a Kansas tornado and with the clarity of 20/20 hindsight saw that perhaps she didn’t really travel to a far away land but most likely just got bumped on the head and had a concussion-dream where Menelaus helped her defeat an evil witch. 
“This is no life for the most beautiful person in the world. Even for the most ugly person in the world!” She nodded in the direction of Pierre, her bodyguard standing nearby. “No offense, Steve.” “No madam.”
“I shoulda never got married, Pierre. I can tell you this in strict confidence, right Pierre?”
“Yes madam.” Pierre scratched at his beard quickly and pushed his crumbling nose back into place.
“I…I married Menny in part because….well, because I pitied him. It sounds horrible, I know. Its just that he was so sweet. He gave me a collectible handgun on our first date. That was either very sweet or threatening of him. In any case, I felt sorry for him. He was so alone. He was like a child and…I do trust that you’ll never whisper a word of this to Menny.”
“Yes madam.”

Fifteen minutes later, Pierre was at Menelaus’ bedchamber door.
“Psst! Its me!”
“Pierre? What is it?”
Pierre cracked open the door to find Menelaus playing Halo Live. “Can I come in, sire?”
“Whatever man–what’s up?”
“Remember how when everybody wanted to marry Helen and all the kings, queens, princes, and princesses across the land came to propose marriage?”
“And remember how everybody was getting in fights about who Helen should pick to marry? And remember how the brilliant and genius Ulysses S. Groan came up with the great idea that whoever Helen chose to marry everyone else must commit to serve and aid forever?”
“I remember that, yes. But I wouldn’t call Ulysses ‘smart’ by any means. I guess he’s just more tricky than anything.”
Just then Pierre stood in front of the TV blocking Menny’s view, causing him to get killed with a plasma grenade.
“Dammit Pierre!” As he threw down his controller.
Pierre ripped off his face revealing a slightly less ugly face but much more tricky face.
“Uly. Oh. What?!”
Ulysses told Menelaus how after their wedding he’d taken on the Pierre disguise to become bodyguard to Helen to keep an eye on the newlyweds, protecting them from harm.
“Well, I guess I appreciate you caring about us so much but…that means that its been you who’s been ‘standing guard’ at the foot of our marriage bed this whole time? Watching our every intimate moment?”
“Nothing I haven’t seen before, Menny. Except that one move you did last Tuesday. What do you call that?”
“That’s the Well Digger. But nevermind all that! Why’s the gig up now?”
Uly explained to his friend, the King of Sparta, that his beaming bride was less than pleased with their honeymoon.
“Maybe you could stop playing video games for like five minutes and spend some time with her. You’re throwing your marriage away man!”
“Ahhh, there’s nothing to worry about Uly. We’re married. We said ’til death do us part’. That’s the beauty of marriage: Not having to try to impress anyone anymore!”

As the two kings spoke, far below on the castle wall, Helen was looking out over the Spartan fields.
“Helen!” A voice came from the darkness below.
“Who’s there?”
“A simple water farmer and but a prince of a faraway land. I long to have a word with you.”
“I can’t see you. Step into the light.”
“Why not speak face to face?”
“Alright then. Here, I’ll lower my hair down and you can climb up it.”
“Uh….I’d be happy to come to the front door.”
“No, no. I insist. Please climb on up my hair.” She untied her hair and lowered all 75 feet of it to the ground.
Finally, the grunting climber reached the top and collapsed gasping. “I’ll take the stairs next time.”

Helen looked upon Paris and, as the boon given to him by Aphrodite promised, fell in love with him.
She tied the end of her hair to a gargoyle and lowered the both of them down by her hair. When they reached the ground, she took his lightsaber from him and cut her hair off at the roots. “Let’s leave this Spartan dump and never look back.” Helen said as they mounted Paris’ horse and galloped into the moonset.