Today at work they held their annual Mardi Gras party. Of course there was cake and other sweets so I was there. Anyway, the tradition at these parties is to crown a king. The process is simple: find the gold coin (well, nowadays it’s a tiny plastic baby) in your slice of the cake and you’re it. Guess who found the baby?

Yours truly.

So now that I am king, I have a few rules. They are as follows:

1.) I will now be referred to as King WCH (or King Hero, if you prefer)
2.) My wife is Queen Noor, and will be referred to as such
3.) No more stupid plastic babies in the cake. I want gold: real gold.
4.) Global warming is real and all those before me will acknowledge this truth

5.) Chocolate is good for you. The debate is over.

Being king comes with a catch: I need to host the party next year. I had better start planning!

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