These are certainly glorious days for the Holy Roman Empire (which is neither holy, Roman nor an empire). One could almost declare that they're dog days – where the term 'dog' refers to an odious, noisy, malodorous, halitosis-ridden, flea-bitten creature with the refinement of a cowpat.
With the escalating financial problems encouraged by King of the Midden Emperor Jose Borracho, his faithful half-witted accomplice Hermit the Rumphole – along with their myriads of courtiers, lickspittles, camp followers and hangers-on, the Evil Intergalactic Empire is experiencing some hiccups – if not a severe dose of acid reflux; the Kingdom of the Hellenes is in a state of turmoil, as they're unable to select a monarch to lead them, and the ordinary Greek citizens are getting cheesed off with being driven into grinding and spiralling poverty, debt and rhubarb by the Holy Public Expenditure Cuts imposed by the Empire, and are threatening to abandon the cherished but worthless Holy Roman Empire Ducat in favour of their ancient currency, the drachma.
However, there's a silver lining to this dark and foreboding cloud. In every tragedy there's an element of comedy and sparkling irony. Yesterday, the new Frankish monarch Frankus of Holland was anointed, appointed, sworn in (as well as at), accompanied by great pomp, splendor and malarkey. How the people cheered! But the attending Northumbrian emissaries sadly couldn't understand the loud acclamation of the new King, since the crowds insisted on cheering in the Frankish tongue. Quel dommage, hein?
In his enthronement address, the new monarch stated that he would be concentrating on growth in the Kingdom rather than the despised austerity measures recommended by the Westphalian Empress Murk, who was a great confidante and knitting companion of the previous diminutive King Sarcus.
I'm sure that the growth to which this new potentate refers won't be even sniffed at by his adoring subjects. It'll all go to his pocket – and, of course, his waistline…