Chapter 13: A Little to the Left.

Freshly arrived in West Belgium, Coronado watched as his workers hastily assembled the framework for his masterpiece, a crushed-velvet portrait of Stevie Nicks, visible from outer-space. Asides from beckoning to whatever intelligent observers may gaze upon it, it also served to advertise his arrival among the populace. Few would miss the complete blockage of the sun by the enormous canvas, and Coronado felt they would appreciate his fine taste as much as they would come to swoon over his masculine ardor.

"A little to the left!" he yelled, gesturing to his left, which was their right. "There! That's perfect! Start blasting!" The workers looked at each other in confusion, for no explosives were required, and the painting's frame was now crooked, with a corner smashed through the bedroom window of the Royal Palace to boot. Coronado smiled with satisfaction at his skills as a foreman, then retired to his chambers for the day, where he was thwarted in his effort to close the shades. This was likely due to the large portion of picture framing intruding through his window. Regardless of the problem's source, it foiled his furious masturbation plans for the afternoon.

. . .

Back in what I later determined to be Florida, I found myself penniless, soggy, and utterly unsexed. Even worse, I was sober, against the Surgeon General of West Belgium's recommendation of constant intoxication. I consulted the "Booze Pyramid" pamphlet he had given me prior to his departing to tour with Phish. I had missed more than one serving of crank, the core basis of the Pills Group! This being a capitalist nation, only by finding a dedicated charity could I hope to be given free alcohol.

It was clear that if I was to return to West Belgium and regain my rightful crown, I would be paying my own way. A glowing sign marked "Girls Girls Girls" caught my eye as I wandered the streets of Miami. "What a coincidence! I'm a girl!" I thought to myself aloud, so loudly so that it was really probably spoken, or even screamed. I ambled in to inquire about employment opportunities. I was also interested in healthcare benefits, for I desperately needed any number of random prescription drugs covered immediately, and West Belgium was quite stingy with its paid medical leave.

The proprietress informed me, rudely, that as an illegal alien, I was unqualified to take off my clothing for money here. I would instead be relegated to taking off my clothing for cash in the alley outback, and I would be forced to keep everything I earned instead of giving part of it over to the American government. Such is the travesty of the nationless refugee. I thanked the woman for her time, and proceeded to kick her in the balls, which she surprisingly possessed.

. . .

My rival for the crown, Francezka, was meanwhile scheming to rob Coronado of his illegitimate title. She would raise an army and launch a coup, marching any and all forces she could recruit against him. Unfortunately, she could only muster one soldier, her loyal manservant Javier. It was an excellent chance to practice her newfangled neoconservative military stratagem, which held that the nation could be taken and occupied by a single soldier armed with a butter-knife and a Brillo pad. The grateful natives would surrender on the spot and elevate her to a goddess in thanks for their liberation! She had to call her college pal Condi and thank her for letting her borrow her notes.

. . .

At that moment, Coronado gave up trying to close the damn window and resigned himself to doing his business in the bathroom. The next day, he ordered the Stevie Nicks Project, or "Velvetron," moved six feet west and called Home Depot. It would take six weeks for the West Belgian Antiquity Society to approve the historically-accurate replacement panes, and he wanted to start the process as soon as possible. He sat down to watch television, but the knob broke off. "Well, that settles it," he thought aloud. "Spankings all around!" A program of statewide caning would shape the country up! Or at least be profitable when filmed and sold on pay-per-view.