I am Figbert—
King of my Nation.
Ruler of all within its expansive borders.
I can change anything and everything on a frivolous whim.
If I come across any unpleasant task needing to be done, I don't do it, setting aside duties that may very well be for the betterment of all, including myself, for my own selfish indulgences.
While others toil, I play.
I am looked upon with envious eyes as I wield my terrible power over all, shamelessly.
Yet, at the moment of truth, I, Figbert, King of this great Nation, somehow, and against every perceivable odd, am able to achieve what some may deem minor miracles, and have in fact completed the loathsome, tedious task which had been set before me; for as unsavory as any undertaking may be, it is never far from thought, but always just under the surface of all I do, like an insatiable itch I mindfully refrain from scratching.
I am able to achieve such feats with apparent effortlessness because I am Figbert, King of this great Nation.
Loyal, disloyal subjects, all: bow to your irreverent king, for I have deceived you all with my cunning and oft reluctant reverence.
Bow to your mighty King, Figbert—
Lord and Master of Procrasti Nation.
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