The king's tax

He was King Carl of Camelot, or, as his people called it, the C Train. In robes and a crown, he’d walk between the cars, announcing his arrival with a fanfare of electronic trumpets.

“Here ye, here ye, the King has arrived for the daily tax collection!” And he’d walk along with his golden basket, taking what was rightfully his.

One day, a particularly unruly peasant wearing blue would not turn over his silver badge.

“Humble yourself before the King!”

“Sir, have you been drinking?”

“The King’s Wine is his own!”   And His Majesty was locked up in the dungeons.

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