My Cardboard Balcony

Cruelty, Thy Name Is Royalty by Belinda Roddie The prince demands an audience at a certain quarter past. He wishes to see dancers and have jesters make him laugh. He wants cold wine and hot biscuits with butter streaming down their sides. Then he'll suck the grease off his dirty fingers and sentence nine men to die. They'll be lined up in the barley fields outside the castle town, and they'll pray to a god that doesn't exist while the knives are passed around. One will scream, "I plead for Heaven!" but the heaven is inside, where the monarch grows fat on grapes and dough and reveals a portly smile.

"Well," remarked Sadie. "That was...eventful." "You're telling me?" I scoffed, refilling my glass. Whiskey never tasted so good to me. And normally, I hated the stuff. "Yeah, I'm telling you," replied my wife with a sly smile. "First, your mother decides the best birthday present for me is a King James version of the Bible. Next, your brother gets himself a broken toe from kicking the table in his anger. After that, the stereotypical uncle showed up..."