Inquiries from the Rabble

'Tis no darkness, but the best sorcery. Everyone agrees. We have captured a Spirit of Logic in a box of lightning. This Spirit gazes into the ether, watching for the Mad King's latest "Truths" (which are perfect, beautiful truths, the likes of which nobody has ever seen).

The Spirit then translates the King's ramblings into proper King's English, so that even the lowliest peasant might grasp the sheer magnitude of his Yuge Intellect.

The Spirit detects the King’s humours, which shift like the wind upon a bad combover:

• Town Crier: When the King boasts of crowds (billions of people, maybe trillions).
• Royal Edict: When he commands loyalty or declares himself the favorite of God.
• Court Jester: When he hurls insults at "Horseface" enemies or "Sleepy" dukes.
• Witchfinder: When he claims the Deep State Inquisition is hunting him (very unfair!).
• Monk’s Chronicle: When he weeps that the Kingdom is failing and only He can fix it.

Nay! 'Tis a tribute! Big, strong knights come to us, tears streaming down their helms, saying, "Sir, this is the most beautiful scroll archive we have ever seen."

We merely translate the King's Covfefe into a dialect the history books will understand.

The King often repeats himself. He has the best words, but he uses them many, many times. To prevent our Scribes from dying of boredom, we sprinkle the scrolls with medieval garnish.

If the King claims the election was "Stolen by Thugs," our Scribes might write that his "Prize Goose was stolen by Highwaymen." It changes not the meaning, but adds flavor to the stew.

If thou art angered by these scrolls, thou mayest write thy complaint upon a piece of fresh parchment, wrap it around a heavy stone, and cast it vigorously into the nearest moat.

We shall send a diver to retrieve it... eventually. (In two weeks. The best two weeks.)