As mentioned in the previous post, the mo’nark of His-pain has been having what pedants call an annus horribilis, which is latin for “mangled anus” and/or “bad year”. According to recent public opinion polls the kingo weighs in at a whopping -11 approval points. Yes, that’s minus eleven, ten plus one units below zero, with 100 being “godlike in every attribute” and zero being “borkation personified”.
Three months ago the same poll gave the kingo a rating of +21, so the overall drop has been of 32 opinion points. For those in the under-35 demographic, the kingo’s rating is of -49. Indeed, even tax inspectors have higher popularity ratings than the mo’nark, which only comes to show how folks are starting to regret that last gulp of cheap bourbon. Oh, the hangover, the hangover…
Unconfirmed rumors from the palace paint a stark portrait somewhere between Macbeth and Farty Towels, with kingo pacing the halls muttering about a pox and ranting at the portraits of his illustrious boubonic ancestors looking down on him in disapproval for squandering the family jewels on cheap floozies and marching soldiers. At times he is haunted by a dream in which he is gang banged by wild-eyed bull elephants high on fermented cassava; at others he stares in horror at his upheld palms, wailing “who would have said the old tusker had so much blood in it?”
They say it’s gotten so that his handlers have to take him down with tranquilizer darts when he goes roaming the garden at night in his birthday suit, although I have my doubts about that particular rumor. I mean, one’s credulity only stretches so far… I think it’s more likely they lure him back into the palace by placing a trail of lil’ blue pills all the way to the royal quarters.
Meanwhile, heir prince Flip awaits in the wings chewing his nails right down to the fingerbone as his chances of succession slide into a shallow grave. Flip has his pros and cons just like any man, with his most outstanding qualities being 1) he is not the old goat, and 2) his better half, sweet Leti the Furst. These two factors alone put him at a solid +28 point approval rate, which is not too shabby considering the PR shitstorm not only of the old goat but of his sneaky brother-in-law, the dukester of palm a-greasin’.
Flippance aside, we speak of the royals but never forget that the real issue is the crown corporation, not its sitting CEO (Crazy Evil Overlord). It matters not who issues the orders, but how the orders are enforced. The control system was built from top down, and must be dismantled from bottom up. Without the means to move humans against humans, the POWers To Be can give orders until they’re blue in the face and listen to the echo of their own voice in the emptiness.
That said, if the PTB choose to hang themselves with the rope of their own greed and insanity, I for one won’t be dialing the suicide hotline for them. As future Prisoners of War under international law, however, they will not have access to belts, shoelaces, sheets, dental floss or anything that could be used to take the easy way out. Nuh uh.
Mr. A sez it’s time to clear the scum off the surface and let the light shine through. Now it’s all floating to the top to meet that big skimmer in the sky. Sometimes being in high places ain’t so great after all. Keep humble, inherit the Earth.