Bards in every tavern are whispering rumors that Lord Biden is set to oust King Trump a date long-awaited by many citizens near and far throughout the land—though if one of the King’s men ask, I didn’t say such a thing, no sir—not that the good Lord Biden is anything to praise God about, the hope’s just that he’ll keep things like the wars and the famines from becoming actively worse. In any case, I’ve always felt it the duty of each, from the lowliest serf to the mightiest knight, to be active in realms politick within their respective means. So it comes that I, a humble merchant of spices, wines, and most of all information, find myself in my hometown’s brothel to discuss the latest feudal news with the Three Wise Wenches.
These maidens three are women I have known since I was a mere boy, and they seem to me eternal in their disposition and inclination—Eudeline the Fair, who loves the donkey, Lord Biden’s pennant; Gisellee the Cunning, who honors Trump’s elephant; and Bessy the Leprous, who is a centrist. For many long years these doxies have labored in Princess Phoebe’s Palace, it is called, seeing to the needs of customers both bodily and cerebral. “Gisellee,” I might say, my breathing returning to its usual tempo after a thunderous climax, “what say you about Lord Biden’s promise to end the plague?” Or, “Eudeline,” who has just impressed upon me a new technique involving her tongue, a pot of honey, and a hollowed grapefruit, “think you these foreign invaders so great a threat as King Trump says they are?” Or, “Bessy, the largest strapon, please.”
At the time of my scribing, the outcome of the contest between Lord and King is yet uncertain, and it seems that neither side is eschewing any tactic at their disposal—sowing fear and chaos, appointing wömen to the Church’s high judiciary, or acting like utter fopdoodles to avoid appearing senile. Alas, as us rabble recognize we have such little influence in such lofty matters, we have moved on to deal with more pressing matters, such as the local enchantress turning uncouth men into salamanders and the neighbording town demolished by a roaming dragon. Politics may be a fickle mistress, but it is nothing the Three Wise Wenches cannot tame.