By King Mihirakula
Special to YNOT
LOS ANGELES – Back in my day, if you wanted to be king, you had to murder someone — unless your daddy was already the king and he was willing to die immediately by some means other than you stabbing him in the neck.
Staying the king was no picnic back then either, even when one did feast on the corpses of his vanquished enemies. In my case, in order to maintain my position at the helm of the Hephthalites, I had to conquer what seemed like half the fucking world — including a little patch of mountainous hell you modern folk call “Afghanistan.” That ought to tell you everything you need to know about what an ass-kicking, name-taking 6th Century monarch I was.
You can only imagine the dismay and shock experienced by us proper, old-school kings when we read about a runt of a sovereign named Jason Galanis, who apparently ascended to the porn industry throne in 2002 while nobody but Forbes magazine was paying attention.
So, how does one become a porn king? Apparently, all you need is a substantial treasury, because all this so-called “king” did was buy into a couple lousy adult-related brands and — voila! — suddenly, he’s the King of Porn.
The best part? It doesn’t even sound like the little shit wanted to be the King of Porn. Just look at how he described his role in the purchases of iBill and Penthouse:
“My role has been a central one in making the transaction come together… It is possible that peripheral parties could form the wrong impression.”
Look, motherfucker, if you don’t want to be the king, keep your grubby little hands off the scepter. It’s as simple as that.
Making matters worse, this King Jason guy clearly has no idea how to exert his kingly authority. If he did, there’s no way he’d allow himself to be taken into custody by a petty little agency like the FBI. When you’re the king, nobody can arrest your ass — that’s the whole fucking point of being the king.
You don’t think Buddhists wanted to have me arrested back when I was actively wiping those miserable, lazy bastards off the face of the earth like the spiritual lint they are? Shit, half of them probably gladly would have stepped off that “noble eightfold path” of theirs if it had meant getting the chance to sink a scythe blade into my skull.
The Buddhists couldn’t sink a blade into my skull not only because they were a bunch of pacifistic, bald-headed pussies, but because I was a real damn king — and nobody fucks with a real king, no matter what he does.
I don’t care if it’s King Leopold II or Basil the Bulgar-Slayer, when a real king kills some motherfuckers, all the “consequences” are squarely on the dead motherfucker side of the ledger. Shit, if the FBI had rolled up with an arrest warrant to my palatial crib back in 510 CE or 515 CE, all those motherfuckers would have gotten was decapitated.
And what kind of bullshit charge is “financial fraud” anyway? All King Jason did was steal some money from a bunch of Indians. (How, when and why did them motherfuckers move all the way from India to South Dakota of all places, by the way?). Traditionally this is something every king has been allowed to do.
Hell, if we kings don’t steal money from the peons, peasants and the other rabble that compose “the masses,” where the hell are we supposed to get our money from? What do you think taxes are all about — paying for roads and shit? Hell no! Taxes are how we kings can afford to dress all clean and roll around in our fancy rides and look good when we’re doing all the important shit we do, like invading neighboring countries or commissioning official statues of ourselves.
I guess the good news is now that the feds have busted King Jason, the position of Porn King is open to anybody who has the balls to snatch it. (I’d be a good candidate, except as a long-dead ruler, my balls are strictly historical at this point.)
As an industry, one thing you porno people can’t do, no matter what, is try to vote in a king. Voting would mean the divine right to rule is subject to democratic process, and there ain’t no real kings in a democracy — just those English-style monarchs, who ain’t killed nobody, don’t have no army, can’t tell nobody what to do and probably couldn’t stab anything that offered more resistance than a lump of cauliflower sitting on a fancy little plate.
At this point you’ve got to just sit back and see who seizes the mantle, and hope it isn’t some fake-ass white-collar criminal bitch with a few dollars in his pocket who seems like he’s following in his father’s footsteps — straight into a federal prison.
King Mihirakula, Son of Toramana, is a former Hephthalite emperor who ruled from 502-530 CE. His hobbies include conquering, pillaging, table tennis and designing sexually explicit Macrame’ skull-baskets.
