In 18th-century Medieval Europe, no royal palace was finer than that of His Highness, King Donald, Monarch of Monomania, commonly referred to by academic historians as the “Orange Pretender”. The ornate Royal Palace, constructed with gold and Carrara marble, had been rebuilt by the Monarch from the historic stone castle, which, years past, was occupied by the Nation’s former Royal Family, centuries ago, in the ancient days of the”Arch King,” Sir Ronald MacDonald.
At the time of this writing, three thousand of the surviving citizens of Monomania (some of whom were still wearing prophylactic masks against the recent pandemic) were dutifully assembled at the Royal Arena, located in close proximity to the golden drawbridge, in compliance with the King’s hand-written Executive Order. The official proceedings were convened to honor the orange Monarch’s success in the total banishment of all known scholars and intellectuals from the realm. The latter had also been decreed, on pain of summary imprisonment and torture, the surrender of all books and papers, thus eliminating from the realm a seditious disagreement with the defibitially wise decrees and policies of the Orange Monarch.
The King’s Official Chamber of Advisers were seated next to the motionless, lovely Mannequin Queen, dressed in a 14-carat gold-spun gown, and dutifully looking straight ahead but, sporadically and loyally, flashing a fixed, comatose-like smile. Other notables on the dais, were the Royal Ministers including, the Royal Military Chief, easily identifiable by his upraised wine jug, held open to his open mouth, the Chief Law Counselor, identifiable by her show-girl blonde hair and heavy makeup, the private security advisor, conspicuously dangling from her left hand a dead puppy, and the Royal Alchemist and healer, identifiable by his gravelly voice and proclivity for magic brews, and in opposition to the realm’s traditional medecine.
Notably, in the second row of the military-guarded Monomania audience, stood our brave protagonist, Selwin T. Snarl, a lanky, tow-headed young scrivener and part-time schoolteacher. While the multitude of citizens looked on and listened intently (or pretended to listen intently) to the precious words of the orange Monarch, Selwin frequently sighed and, intermittingly, looked away, uncontrollably hiccoughing.
The King proudly boasted of his singularly successful achievements in improving the lives of the citizens of Monomania, economically and in all other respects, smiled proudly and beneficently at such proud declarations of accomplishment. The dignitaries seated at the podium thought they heard a responsive exclamation, “piffle,” apparently emanating from the second row.
The Monarch then proudly went on to boast of his salutory policies, resulting in a more affordable way of life for the commoners of the realm. The repeated, loudly broadcast response, “piffle,” was again heard; this time, identifiably coming from the second row, specifically, the seat occupied by our protagonist, Selwin T. Snarl. Three further declarations of Monarchial success by the Orange Monarch were followed by similar exclamations of “piffle,” loudly shouted, emanating from the same source; which resulted in the arrest of our indignant proteter, Selwin Snark, by masked palace guards and his punitive removal, to which actions the arrested party spat out s the loud exclamation, “piffle.’
As luck would have it, a dark cloud appeared and a virtual torrent of rain, accompanied by loud thunder and bright streaks of lightning, allowing our hero to slip away and escape to his modest home. As soon as he opened his front door, Selwin frustratingly noticed a pile of feces deposited by his pet terrier, Tucker
Not another “pifle,” exclaimed the frustrated householder.
-p.
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