The Emperor’s New Toast

But every time they’d point to their cheek & say, “Lord, there’s–”

The Lord raised a hand straight up into the air. “¡Don’t call me crazy! Off to the whips.”

This happened a dozen times, & still the Lord ne’er learned that he still had blueberry jam on his cheek, sticky from the sun.

That was when the flies came, their fingerlike legs clamping & unclamping gainst his hairy skin like suction cups.

“¡Somebody get these flies off me!” he shouted.

But nobody dares to go near such a freakish mutation as he was now & ‘ventually a fly flew into his throat & choked him to death.


Cheek, Jam, Sultan.