You are the Party King. While you sit in the comfiest chair at the party, feasting on pigs in blankets, mini puff pastries, and microbrews, the rest of the guests at the party are forced to get by on scraps.
“There’s been talk of the guests conspiring to commit regicide,” the host of tonight’s birthday party will tell you as you lounge in your chair pouring a large bowl of Fritos down your throat.
“Let them eat cake,” you’ll say.
“Really?” the host will ask, excited that his guests will be allowed to eat the birthday cake his wife cooked for him.
“Figure of speech,” tell the host. “Tell them if they wish to attend a party, they must submit to the whim of their king.”
Just then two of the guests will grab fondue forks and stab you fifty times in the chest and stomach. The death of the Party King will launch a party revolution as various revelers lay claim to your throne. Parties will take to the battlefield as anniversary gatherings lay siege upon birthday parties and retirement parties will attempt to overtake December holiday open houses. Thousands will die. Event halls will become awash in a sea of blood before finally one man ascends to be recognized across the land as the new and rightful Party King. His name’s Lance and he’s a really good dancer.
Happy Party King Day!
