On most days, I move in the manner of an aborted fetus--which is to say, not at all. But my physical inaction is easily eclipsed by my mental immobility. I'm mostly an idiot, though I have certain areas of expertise: wildflowers, potato leek soup, sitcoms centered around a goofy but loving family. These are my points of pride, but as it turns out, they're not the sort of thing people tend to admire. Maybe my soup, though…I think I could woo a beautiful woman with nothing but my potato leek soup. We'd get married, of course. She would take my last name, of course. My mother named me Solomon so I, in her words, would "grow to be wise"; but also because our last name is King, and she thought it'd be funny. King Solomon was the wisest of them all, yes--but I am Solomon King, and that, I think, is what makes me the moron I am. But anyways, my wife would take the name King, so that the royal family (at times I, too, can be clever) might continue. I'm sure she wouldn't mind. She'll be beautiful. When I wake up in the morning, she'll be there, drawing aside the curtains (I don't mean that sexually. I don't like having sex in the morning anyways. That's when I feel most fetus-like.) as she sings, "Good morning, my love!" and I will say, "Good morning, my sweet!", and I will smile. And unto me, the miracle of morning light will shine, and everything will be glorious. Where to find this wife of mine? To whom shall I feed my soup? I will go to the park. There are many ladies in the park, walking hither and thither and yon with those tiny little steps of theirs. I will find the loveliest lady of all, and I will stride up to her and say, "O lovely lady, you are the most loveliest of ladies. Take my humble hand, let's walk together, side by lovely side, hither and thither and yon." And she will, and we will, and I will take her home. I will take her to my kitchen and feed her potato leek soup, and she will swoon over it and love me and love me. And when I ask her to become Mrs. Solomon King, she will cry, great big rivers of tears, of pure joy, and she will take her place as my wife. For I am stupid Solomon King, and I will have my day.
baratheonpilled
titsay
2087
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