The other day, a peasant begged audience with me to plead for a boon. As he knelt trembling before the throne, I noticed his mouth was in a sorry state.
Many of his teeth were broken, and a great many more were missing altogether. He explained, via his decimated grill, that he has a deep love for chocolate-dipped frozen bananas, and has been eating them by the wheelbarrowful for most of his life, despite the horrendous damage the rock-hard treats were doing to his teeth.
“Resist the urge to add walnuts, for safety’s sake,” I cautioned.
He thanked me and bowed deeply, praising my magnanimity with what was left of his jacked-up face-hole. He swore to use the recipe to bake me a loaf large enough to use as a mattress.
“A kingly gift,” I said, “but again…the walnuts.”