Sympathy for the Peasants
King Lux drummed his ruby ring encrusted fingers
On the side of his golden throne.
He had grown weary of the tiresome bleating of the petitioners
Who queued outside the glittering excess of his Royal Palace.
An awestruck small business serf stumbled forward.
“O King,” beseeched the ardent subject.
“Please help your loyal small business serfs to
Survive another harsh winter! We want to believe!”
The King raised his ruby ring encrusted finger to his lips
And quietened the bleating small business serf.
“Your lack of faith disturbs me,” said the King.
“In my time as a Young Baron managing the Royal Fleet of Hot Air Balloons,
I just got on with the job without any help whatsoever!
Have you considered using the Dark Arts of Necromancy
To pivot your motels and disrupt your corner dairies?”
The small business serfs wail and gnash at the King’s corporate gibberish.
This is not the pastoral care and support they had hoped for.
A Royal Communications Advisor whispers urgently in Lux’s ear.
Lux frowns.
“All right, all right,” he says with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”
The small business serfs pause their wailing and gnashing.
Their dewy eyes glimmer with hope.
Has their Mighty Regent heard their pleas?
King Lux stands to his full height in his luxuriant gown of purple silk
And pokes his ruby ring encrusted finger at the cowering wretches.
“I’m sorry that I have waited so long to tell you layabouts
To return to your muddy hovels and toil harder!
OUT OF MY PALACE!!”
