The once and future king, the heroic and romantic Arthur Rex has finally returned—in a future century that, who knows, may be a return of a distant, mixed-tech past. But this Arthur toddles out of the fiery surf riding a rough oak slab, into Merlin’s arms…and joins Sir Ector’s family of Harley riders, wearing club colors stitched with ancient runes and skull-and-bone patches—of questionable HR compliance. Pulling the paddleboard oar out of the ancient Triumph engine block, he becomes the founder, CEO, and occasionally bewildered spiritual mascot of a corporate-biker surf empire nobody asked for but everyone seems to fear. 

Camelot, once a beacon of chivalry, has become Clamlot, a beachfront headquarters where board meetings are held around a bloated, overburdened Rotund Table—an artifact sagging under the weight of feasts, feet, and the questionable decisions of errant knights who quest upon Harleyback and joust with paddleboard oars and wallet-chain grapples. Arthur’s mission is simple: unite the kingdom, dominate the highways, and keep the clubhouse solvent long enough to avoid another hostile takeover by the Heathon Saxon Horde, a rival Motorcycle Club. But between mystical HR violations, enchanted performance reviews, and a prophecy that sounds suspiciously like a marketing slogan, Arthur finds himself battling forces far stranger than dragons—namely, corporate culture, middle management, and the eternal struggle to look cool on a board he’s too tired to wax. 

Merlin, of course, brings sage wisdom and vaguely magical assistance. Does he age backwards? Perhaps. Born in the ZootSuit-era ‘30s, he talks in a Jive argot that barely rises above incomprehensible, yet…it’s got a good beat, and yeah baby, it swings! When the Savage Goatlike Picts threaten Camelot’s turf, Arthur must rally his misfit Round Table—sorry, Rotund Table—of overfed, overconfident, and occasionally overamplified and overproduced warriors. Their quests will take them across beaches, boardrooms, and back alleys where destiny smells faintly of seaweed and gasoline. The townsmen tend to be corporate-speak middle-management cliché spinners, weaving webs of inarticulation that befuddles. And have we mentioned that the women, Guinevere included, somehow all manage to be Valley Girls? Part satire, part surf saga, part medieval fever dream, King Arthur, Jive Corporate Surf Biker is a riotous collision of myth and modernity. It’s a tale of loyalty, absurdity, and the eternal hope that even the most dysfunctional fellowship can still catch one perfect wave. Perfect for fans of surreal humor, genre mashups, and anyone who’s ever suspected their boss might secretly be a wizard.