King Me

I’ve given it some thought. A lot of thought. A very lot of thought. A box full, you might say. And I have finally decided. It was not an easy decision, but I have come to the conclusion that it is the right one.

Ladies and gentleman. Nerds. Nature enthusiasts. Amateur horologists. And everyone else, I have decided that I would like to be the King. Of somewhere.

It just seems nifty. You get a great big crown, people bow to you all the time, and if you decide you want a large hot fudge sundae at 2 am, by George, you get a large hot fudge sundae!

I think I would make a fantastic king. I’m rather odd to look at, so the stamps bearing my profile would be distinctive. I know the difference between a ranseur, spetum, and partisan, which I’m sure kings need to know. I’m a great listener, as I can sleep with my eyes open and most of all, I have a kind of baffling stupidity that’s just close enough to intelligence to confuse people (it’s how I graduated from high school).

Now I realize that there aren’t a lot of openings for Kings and when there is one, there’s already a long line of people clamoring for the job. I could, of course, start a bloody, protracted war like they did in the old days, but frankly, I don’t have that kind of time.

My only recourse, obviously, is to then find someplace that lacks a King and declare myself their monarch. Ideally, it would be a small-island somewhere with an abundance of natural resources, good internet connectivity, and a large supply of gorgeous women.

Alas, I have yet to find such a place. The closest I’ve come so far was a tiny dot of an island with a (barely) working telephone and a couple of old Playboy centerfolds tacked up in a lean-to.

So, my request to you, my faithful readers, is to find someplace for me to become King of. The person that finds me the best spot will get to be my Vizier. Honestly, I don’t know what a ‘vizier’ does, but they’re usually evil, so that should be fun.

Cheers,
-Jason