On one fateful blue moon, a superstitious King was looking to take his
mind off the bloodletting protection ritual he just performed, and called in his jester for a night of raucous entertainment.
The King claimed to all his foreign ambassadors that his jester was the best in all the land. Any marked dispute that rose from this boisterous claim quickly disappeared when the jester took the stage.
Tonight would be no different and this jester surely had a show lined up to please Kings with even less blood. After taking 12 pies to the face, slipping on 344 banana peels consecutively, and somehow kicking himself in the crotch, the King was in stitches on the floor. Yet tonight due to the King's altered physical and mental state, he crossed the invisible boundary between a noble and a professional jackass, and asked a question:
"Jester, you entertain me so, yet you look like you're in horrifying pain. Why do you degrade yourself for me?"
The Jester's reply was simple:
"Well King, have you left your castle lately? People sleep in their own shit out there. There are so many diseases that your medical counsel stopped assigning them latin names and instead just numbers. I've got the life in here. I have my bedpan's contents heaved out the window for me, the food is absolutely amazing, and best of all I get mad bitches."
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