The democratic king

The other night, while heading home in the machine (that's what the Italians call the car), I started arguing with Rocamadour's uncle. I told him that the only difference between monarchy and democracy was that now, we choose the idiot in charge, and not God.

He said that I had no idea about European history and that democracy was the best thing that had happened to the continent. My argument was that kings didn't have the power history attributes to them; in the end, if they started messing up, they got poisoned or a battle-axe struck them in the back during a fight.

He said I could bash democracy all I wanted, but it was clearly the best among the worst. Before we could agree or start throwing punches, a fly smacked into the window. The windshield was cracked, and at that speed, it wasn't getting any better.

We called all the local glass repairmen, which were two, and neither of them was awake. The next day, the insurance took care of everything. "Surely your king wouldn't fix this," he said. I managed to tell him that his president wasn't much help either.

We might as well throw punches, and neither the king nor the president would find out.