The former King of the Realm, a convicted felon, held a press conference at his private castle. The Capitol Clarion covered it. 

 “I came down the marble stairway—they couldn’t lower me in the basket—with one word about my trial. Rigged! A jury of my peers? Not one has as many sacks of gold. Sick people. The judge? A devil. The prosecution’s witnesses? All sucked. One literally. Can’t remember. So many wenches. “Eight years ago, peasants—maybe some rich nobles—put me in the official king’s castle. I made the sacrifice. The capital—so corrupt. Four years later, traitors stole my government crown. Eh. Gold-plated. I own a dozen. Twenty-four karat. “I give this kingdom class. You love my marble entry floor, right? The crystal chandeliers? Imported. I save the gold for my toilets upstairs. No shit, my castle’s way glitzier than the one with the fake king, What’s-His-Name. “The judge might stick me in a dungeon? Bring it on. All I care about is serving my loyal peasants. The good ones. The ones born here. With the right blood. Everyone loves blonde hair and blue eyes.  “What counts—I have people, they count my gold—is Jesus Christ wants me to be king. Otherwise, why’d he die on the cross? He did die on the cross, right? Now they want to crucify me! Then my peasants. “The deep realm knows my peasants can’t afford my legal team. Hell, I can’t afford them. And they suck! One of my lawyers bitches I should write a check? I’ll get new lawyers and take that loser to court. “Truth—my truth—is: God-fearing—Christian, right?—citizens, not those dark border-breakers, want me back on the throne. Everyone knows the capital’s filled with fascists. Our fake king? Fascist first-class. Locked up as soon as I take over. But don’t get me wrong. There also are good fascists.  “So, stand back and stand by. We’ll appeal this scam verdict. But not on my account. The king thing is bigger than me. The peasants don’t want a senile fascist fake king. And I won’t back down. They want to chain me up in this castle? One of my others? I can get Big Micks delivered anywhere.  “But won’t happen. The fascists—the bad ones—don’t have my gut. The guts. My peasants will storm the capital with torches and pitchforks. Been done. Then the fascists, they’ll get theirs. Human scum always do.  “Although, why even have an election? I’m God’s chosen king. But the fascist magistrates say an election’s spelled out in the Charter. The Charter? Not worth the parchment it’s written on! “Jesus will put me back in the octagonal office. What’s that? Four walls? Seven? Doesn’t matter. I have people who count for me. I’ll wear a classy crown some sultan rolling in it will give me out of friendship. Another word for doing business.  “I’ll squat on the throne another four years. Or eight. Maybe twelve. Because I am God’s retribution. The peasants’ revenge. My enemies better run. But they can’t hide. Ever read the Book of Revelation? Not me, but I have people. They say, Wow!   “So all you corrupt media perverts, write this in your crooked scrolls: The crown is God’s. Which means it’s mine. Same thing.” Please pass on this post.  Order my new novel, TAKING STOCK (Kirkus Reviews starred selection) in softcover or e-book from or Or from your favorite bookstore.


  1. Ronald Eaton on June 7, 2024 at 12:28 pm

    A bit over-wrought, David. Where’s perspective; where’s grace; where’s Valium? RWE

    • David Perlstein on June 7, 2024 at 1:11 pm

      Ask the Con King, Ron.

  2. David Newman on June 8, 2024 at 4:26 pm

    So much more coherent than the orange guy.

    • David Perlstein on June 8, 2024 at 9:59 pm

      Embarrassingly easy, David. And no Big Macs were injured in the writing of that post.

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