The croissant stalls you see in every city from Berlin to New York? They’re not disorganized little shit factories run by cold heartlessly slum lords who calmly disabuse the dreams of their employees by forcing them to serve croissants day in day out to people who would literally spit on their graves given a chance. No, they’re actually all members of an agent and obscure organization structured under a hereditary king who they believe has within his blood the capacity to make all croissants holy. You are this king and you live in a sewer.
Today is going to be a particularly difficult day in your court. One of your salesmen wants to start selling chocolate croissants, but he’s only licensed to sell savory croissants. The sweet croissant business is cornered by another croissant cart five blocks away. The sweet croissantman won’t want to let this young turk horn in on his business.
You’ll listen to both their stories and then order that they both be cut in half and sewn together so that everyone may sell every kind of croissant and get to know each other a little better at the same time. Then you’ll laugh like a crazy person because holy shit, are you ever crazy. Everyone will clap because they’ll be horrified of being murdered by you, and you’ll giggle and play with yourself because you’re a crazy inbred pastry king and you don’t know any better than to do that in public.
Congratulations Croissant King!
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