For the convenience of our guests, and mostly to cut down on our own repair bills, all of the Castle Toilets have been Puterized for safety. A picture is shown to the right of what gets hidden behind the wet wall in each of the guest rooms.
While strolling through the Castle lounge, the Czar found himself the recipient of a warm handshake from one of our beloved minions, ScottO, whose primary function is a subtle puppetry of contemporary politics into directions we find desirable or, in the case of Elizabeth Pocahontas Warren, amusing. As he shook our hand, ScottO said:
Your Excellent Majesty,
That was a marvelous piece of Mr. Carney’s work you selected. I had thoughts on the question from which it sprang.
Were I in the position of answering that question, it would go something like this:
“Well, the difference is, you see, that when the companies Bain invested in went under, it was Bain and its rich, white, fat-cat investors who lost the money. When Solyndra went belly-up, the people who got soaked were, well, you. And me. And all the poor saps who read your paper or see me on the tee-vee. That’s the difference that really matters, right there.”
Which is likely why they didn’t call me when Gibbsy called it quits.
We replied that, although verily he is dread and awful, the Czar nevertheless is capable of a deep pity. And pity is what he might have for Mr. Carney. How difficult it must be to be confronted with terrible paradoxes, and your boss simply waves you away with Oh, go and make something up.
Божію Поспѣшествующею Милостію Мы, Дима Грозный Императоръ и Самодержецъ Всероссiйскiй, цѣсарь Московскiй. The Czar was born in the steppes of Russia in 1267, and was cheated out of total control of all Russia upon the death of Boris Mikhailovich, who replaced Alexander Yaroslav Nevsky in 1263. However, in 1283, our Czar was passed over due to a clerical error and the rule of all Russia went to his second cousin Daniil (Даниил Александрович), whom Czar still resents. As a half-hearted apology, the Czar was awarded control over Muscovy, inconveniently located 5,000 miles away just outside Chicago. He now spends his time seething about this and writing about other stuff that bothers him.