Congratulations Grim Figurehead!

Today you're the grim figurehead of a government that isn't doing too well.

"The future is grim," you'll announce to the crowd while, behind you, one of the people actually responsible for making decisions in your country slaps his hand to his face and shakes his head.  When you turn around to look at him for input and he shrugs at you in a manner that clearly denotes you've done something wrong, you'll turn back to the microphone and, in your grimmest voice, elaborate. 

"But perhaps not that grim.  Although we'll all have to sacrifice..."  After that bit you'll turn around and look at the showrunner behind you, who will give you the thumbs up, prompting you to continue.

"And, through our sacrifice, usher in a new era of austerity that will plague our nation..." you'll turn to look at the figurehead one last time.  He'll be waving his hands at you to stop, indicating that you need to ease off on the grim.  You'll give him a quick nod in acknowledgment.

"With prosperity for years to come.  Thank you all and goodnight."

With that you'll wander back to the greenroom with your handler's arm around your back.  He'll whisper veiled threats in your ear, murmur the lyrics of songs he's composed to eulogize you after you're assassinated.  He'll tell you that if you ever let your grimness interfere with the message again, he'll give that order, and when you die, you'll walk to the podium, knowing you'll die, knowing that the people of your easily controlled nation will remember your name with tears for two weeks, then lose your face to history for generations to come.  Then he'll leave you in the greenroom with your wife who, trembling, will hold you in her arms as the two of you cry together, cursing your natural moribundity.  When you return to your palatial estate, you'll be unable to sleep as you wonder when your grimness will surface again, when it will finally seal your fate in an appropriately ironic manner.

Congratulations Grim Figurehead!