[4 Min Read]
A flamboyantly robed man with a long crooked nose slams his tome shut in his surprise.
“Y-Yes? Come in!” He chirped hallowly in his squeaky little voice
A large bearded man burst through the door with a sparkling diamond incrested crown sat upon his head. “Baltazar, my most trusted adviser, I want to thank you once again for your wisdom!”
“Wisdom, your Highness?” Baltazar scratched his thinning hairline
“Don’t be modest, old friend!” The King chuckled heartfully “Your advice to use that oversized chef’s knife to get the splinter out of my thumb. Worked like a charm and without a drop of royal blood spilled! Only someone as witty as you could have thought of such a method.”
“Oh yes, of course, the incredibly sharp knife cut only the thorn plaguing his Highness…” Baltazar’s voice trailed
“Well, don’t let me keep you!” The King shot him duel finger-guns and exited out the door he entered.
Baltazar sighed and creaked his tome back open to resume his scribblings.
‘July 8th, 10xx
Attempt five hundred and seventeen has gone without success. The baffling conundrum continues. Why does this fool yet live? I’ve tried everything from poison to witchcraft to gentrification, and nothing works! What ‘advice’ will put this blubbering fool in the ground? Why do the gods mock me so!
Well, as my grandmother used to tell me, ‘if you don’t kill them the first time, try and try again.’ Bless that woman’s, cold dead heart.
Here to attempt five hundred and eighteen tomorrow.