HowTo:Be a king

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Awake, Prince Akabazraban! Awake, For it's with blessed news I hath come; thy father hath died! And now, thou art king. All hail King Akabazraban of Ffenglloria!

Cry not, my lord

Only a king as mighty as thy father couldst see his balls drop twice.

And mourn not the death of thy father, for he hath been a great king. His memory dwelleth in our hearts and in the colossal statue two hundred peasants willingly gave their lives to erect. For the memory of thy father's left testicle, carved in purest marble, falling from the statue to crush their heads shall long dwell in our memories, making us to laugh for ages yet unseen. Verily, 'twas some funny shite.

O sire, didst I tell thee how thy father hath died? He too wast crushed, under the feet of the royal elephant, Tiny. Verily, 'twas some hilarious shite, too.

Also, thy mother died of the Bloody Flux last night, I thought I might tell thee. Though, forsooth, 'twas nought but slightly amusing.

At thy service, my lord

I be Golgath, thy new royal advisor, sire. Thy former advisor's neck hath been crushed under the executioner's axe. That wast shite of the funniest sort, though thou wouldst be well advised to hire an executioner who sharpens his axe shouldst thou decide to dispatch a wife who cannot bear thy children.

Now, my lord, we shall begin. First and foremost, thou shouldst change thy way of life from that of a spoiled prince to that of a king. Thou shouldst look like a king, eat like a king and rut like a king.

Look like a king

This is how thou must look, sire, for thy people shalt measure their king by his girth.

First, my lord, thou ought to grow a beard of epic proportions; one worthy of a king. Wisps of fluff such as those which grow on the arses of badgers dost dignify not the face of a mighty lord.

Also, sire, thou shalt henceforth wear thy father's robe and crown and bear his sword and sceptre. Thou shalt wear Adidas no more. It matters not if the robe is 8 sizes too big, my lord, for the maidens like it big.

Eat like a king

Id est, eat like a pig, my lord. Lo, behold those creatures eating; that be the way a king eateth, sire. Though, thou shalt not eat from what pigs eat, nor shalt thou eat amongst them, for they have the manners of swine. Instead, thou shalt eat the most exotic of game, flavoured with the most exotic of Oriental spice. Thou shalt eat on a table of kingly proportions, but thou shalt eat alone, and throw the remains to the dogs, lest they join thee on thy table, and defecate on their chairs. Verily, dog feces needeth some mighty Oriental incense to cover up.

And, sire, eateth not of the things which goeth not moo, bleat or oink, for vegetables are the food of the common sort who grubbeth amongst the mud for their sustenance. And think not of the likely constipation for I have engaged a Groom of the Stool for thee with a most flexible finger.

Rut like a king

Verily, sire, she is most certainly comely but let not the fluttering eyelashes nor the come-to-bed beard tempt thee.

Thou art in need of a Queen, my lord. Therefore thou shouldst send heralds to the four corners of thy kingdom demanding the presence all unwed girls at thy castle. Mayhap not all girls, sire, but those who have retained several of their teeth and boast their own hair and are of the age of fourteen or more - for doth not the sage say, "If there be grass on the pitch, thou mayest play."

Choose from amongst these fair maidens, sire, and confine the others in the east wing. Thy subjects require that thou shouldst have the appetites of a lion. And it will serve as a "strategic reserve" shouldst thy queen be unable to produce a boy child.

Breed prodigiously, my lord, for thy virility on the field of battle is reflected in thy virility between the legs of fair maidens. Rut like a king, sire, and rut often for it pleaseth thy people and thyself. But do not rut with the boys of the kingdom for they do not like it up 'em, nor yet with the beasts of the fields, not e'en that goat with which thou hath been so close as a child.

Now thou art a king

Fart not and burp not in court, me lord, for such eructations art not the deeds of a rightful king. Those art the deeds of a Jester. Thou shouldst have one, my lord, who hath the skill to fart thine anthem. Verily, Jesters art retarded but yet they art most wittily flatulent.

Also, my lord, thou ought to kill the lone adventurers who swear allegiance to no man. Thou shouldst recruit them with the promises of great riches never before seen if they wouldst kill the Great Green Dragon that guardeth the realms of the Dark Sorcerer Bulboragthé, King of Belgium. Thou shalt send them in singles, and thou shalt equip them with nought but bamboo sticks, and thou shalt utter not words of knowledge unto them lest one succeedeth, for he wilt ask thee for great the rewards that thou hast promised, and thou wanteth not to give away the riches in thy treasury to a man who goeth by the name of BUTT, my lord, dost thou?

Slay the dragon

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Now that thou hath rid the lands of its lone warriors, thou shouldst rid the lands also of the mighty Green Dragon, my lord. The warriors thou hath recruited hath most certainly worn its HITPOINTS down, my lord, therefore it ought to be a piece of white bread. Thou shouldst toast it.

Need I tell thee about the epics the troubadours wilt sing to thy memories for ages to come unforeseen? Thy name shalt be rememberèd in the four corners of the world as King Akabazraban the Dragonslayer. Also, my lord, think ye of its teeth, they be more precious than gold and diamond. Think ye of its scale, for it maketh the mightiest armour known to man. Think ye of its meat, my lord, for it is the most delicious meat that lieth in a beast that walks on the land, and thou canst call forth all kings of the world to feast upon the dragon's meat, then stab them in their backs whilst they eat like pigs, then usurp their kingdoms. Thou canst rule the four corners of the world, my lord.

So, my lord, I hath prepared a quiver for thee. A quiver with twenty arrows poisoned with the deadliest of African venoms. Bend this bow and bring down the wretched dragon before it waketh, my lord. Glory awaiteth the man prepared to cast chivalry aside and shoot a noble beast while it sleepeth.

The art of Warfare

Full coffers confer greatness on a nation and its starving people and offer a unique sleeping experience.

And sire, a mighty king a mighty warrior must be. Therefore, thou must raise an army of fearful proportions to smite thine enemies and give glory to thy name. For this is how thy wilt be remembered in the ballads of troubadours as yet unborn. Dost thou wish thine grandchildren to hear their peasants sing of Prince Akabazraban the Pussy? Future generations wilt recall not King Akabazraban the Chicken. War be the one aspect of thine sovereignty which mayhap allow thy name to live forever.

First, sire, pick thine enemy carefully for posterity is kind to kings who defeat a worthy enemy. Therefore shouldst thou chose an enemy great in number and well armed but yet one likely to yield before thy lance and run from the field like little girls. Thy people also wilt wish to fight foes objectionable to their eyes and noses. Therefore, on all counts, mayest I recommend the French.

But, sire, even a French king wilt not flee from thee unless thine army be mighty. But mighty armies will empty thy treasury. Therefore thou must raise taxes from thy peasants. Worry not, for peasants art thy property. If thou taxeth them enough they wilt be glad to serve in thine army for where else shouldst they be fed three times a week and given a warm castle in which to lay their heads? And if their womenfolk and whelps shouldst perish while thou art conquering Aquitaine, fear not, for thou willst have many more peasants from thy conquered territories and may use them most cruelly for they shalt also be French.

Therefore tax the wood that thy peasants gather and the axes with which it is cut, tax the chimneys from which the smoke wilt pour and the hearth in which the fire wilt burn. Tax the cows that graze upon their land and the fodder that they consume. And tax also the cud upon which they chew. Verily, many a stomach dost a cow have, it shouldst be taxed separately on each.

Tax the air that thy peasants breathe, my lord, for doth it not stand on thy territory? Tax the clothes they weareth and the roads upon which they walk. Tax their food, me lord, and their drink and neglecteth not a discretionary charge on cutlery and plates. Tax the very pain etched into their bovine faces and, finally, my lord, tax the graves into which you speed them and the spades with which they are dug and watch as thine counting house is filled. For 'tis better to be rememberèd as King Akabazraban the Bastard than be rememberèd not at all.

Crush the rebellion

Fear not my lord, the rebellion cannot last for thy peasants hath eaten nothing this last sixmonth.

Worry ye not, my lord, for though there be peasants with torches surrounding this great citadel yet they wilt not breach its mighty walls. Heed not the calls of Duke Quagmire the Sensible, seek not the counsel of Earl Tarragon the Politically-Astute for they wilt have thou surrender to the will of thy people.

I tell thee, sire, the more boiling oil ye pour on them, the more boulders thou dost drop on them, the more thy peasants wilt respect thee. Give in to their heretical demands for universal suffrage and equitable taxation in return for democratic representation and thou art doomed and thy progeny wilt be forced to shake the hands of the most meagre subject and kiss their pestilent children. Dost thou want thine heirs to open supershoppes in return for the the charity of his own peasantry?

Nay, sire. Let loose the mercenaries from thine keep and slay the verminous rebels. Kill those who have taken up arms against you, and kill those who support them, and those who did not oppose them and those who considered opposing them before deciding to see which way the wind shouldst blow. Kill also the wives and children of those who wished to slay their lord and usurp the throne bestowed upon him by God himself for they wilt surely breed more rebels. And kill also their pets, for in these troubled times we couldst all do with a laugh.

The end

Heed ye not to those who sayest that thou art crazy for thine is still a regal and majestic visage.

And now, sire, thou art old. And though thy adventures in France at last came to nought, still thou didst slay many Frenchmen - History wilt surely look upon thee kindly. Thy life, it seemeth, draws to a close. Reflect on the success of thy reign.

Thou didst take the throne no more than a boy, scarce breeched. Thou art now rightly fat and the father of uncountable illegitimates, each of them plotting to poison both thyself and their brothers. Thou canst be justly proud.

Thy people wilt never forget thee, sire. For there art castles across this mighty nation bearing your name, thy visage is carved into every mountainside and each town is similarly and confusingly named Akabazrabanville. Though there art fewer roads than in thine father's time, there art fewer peasants to tread them and their poor repair wilt stop them escaping. Thy treasury may once again be empty but thy stomach hast been always full, despite its kingly proportion. Thou may never have found the love of which the minstrels sing, but thou hast surely and repeatedly ravished every female within thine borders in search of it.

Thine, my lord, hath been the life of a king. So make thy peace with God, my lord, in the sure knowledge that he wilt forgive thy break with the mother church. Surely God wilt punish the Pope for his refusal to grant thine eighth divorce. The death of Queen Chlamydia at the hands of thy pet polar bear rests on the conscience of Pope Pious , and is not on thy hands ... though thou didst use them to push her into its enclosure.

And fear not, sire, for God is merciful and wilt understand that thou hast no choice but to found a church of thine own. Mayhap, sire, it wilt amuse Him that thy few remaining people now worship a turnip named George.

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