Tuesday, April 25, 2006

War of the Kings, pt. 1

NOTE: This is the first part of a fictionalized serial sure to delight the bored or sweetly retarded.

Crazy Carl the Carpet King was enraged. He sat seething on his plush throne, lamenting the loss of control over his kingdom. Time was his word was unquestioned across the land. Years prior he had seized power in a bloody coup, slaying the older and ineffectual previous Carpet King due to widespread public outcry over his shrill and shoddy late-night television commercials, and declared himself sovereign leader.

In the years since he ruled his kingdom with a firm but fair hand. And his subjects prospered; indeed, even the most squalid of their huts was ensconced in quality, low-cost flooring that resisted staining while appealing to the eye.

But as of late things had not been so prosperous. Other nascent kings had sprung up across the land, each laying a noble claim to a variety of sundries and notions. Suddenly burritos, mattresses, bicycles, burgers, and perhaps most audaciously, even home electronics were all touted as royal contrivances. The title of "King" was in danger of being rendered meaningless and cheap. It was extremely vexing.

“Who is this Audio King?” the Carpet King cried out to no one in particular. “Where did he come from? Is he operating in concert with the Mattress King, or mayhap even the hated Muffler King? And how does he offer such low prices on name brands?”

“Volume!” croaked a lackey in reply from a dark corner of the throne / showroom.

This enraged the Carpet King, for he intended his question to be rhetorical in nature. As a bulk supplier of a wide-variety of quality floor coverings, he knew full well that the key to retail success was buying a lot for a little and subsequently marking the product up for profit, so that even a “huge sale” yielded large profits. He did not need some serf who saw himself as a potential court jester telling him thus. Therefore, he had the man drug from the soft, inviting room and drawn and quartered.

He then sat back on his throne and began to brood. A plan was forming in his mind, and he needed to time to mull it over, much as one would delicately turn a goose over a spit.


1 comment:

Mister Tan said...
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