How to Party so Hard That Thou Defaults on Thy Sovereign Debt
A Lord must have priorities
There are many pressing matters one must attend to as a Lord or Lady, chief amongst them being banquets, feasts, festivities, fêtes, balls, ballyhoos, and ostentatious gilded scepters. But oft tymes — much to one’s noble chagrin — common matters like governing and fiduciary responsibilities try to ruin the fun.
Lucky for thee, the hoary burdens of accountability need not spoil thy mirth. In fact, the more the peasants clamour for integrity, the harder thou shouldst party lavishly just to shove it in their loam-befouled faces. Herein be some tips on how to party so hard that thy dominion defaults on its sovereign debt.
Raiseth the debt ceiling, then teareth that bytch down
There be no better way to get this ball started than by cranking up the dulcimer and raising the debt ceiling, then totally burning to the ground the debt ceiling, debt walls, debt towers, and all the debt people contained therein.
Appoint thy court jester as exchequer
‘Tis about tyme someone breathed lyfe into this boring business of paying the bills. The Archchairsitters of the Exchequer are fools one and all, and thy court jester is fool enough for the job as the silliest amongst them. Plus, his fart jokes are far more entertaining than those of the previous exchequer, who just suffered from regular flatulence.
Get thy creditors drunk and/or murder them
Mead, wine, and a hearty flagon of port should be enough to besot thy creditors into a stupor from which they shall ne’er recover. If done correctly, all memory of thy debts will be erased from their minds by morningtide. To ensure they shan’t regain their wits come dayspring, remember to poison the port.
Host the feast in one of thy lavish foreign estates
When the angry rabble of peasants inevitably comes for thy head, demanding more responsible management of thy coffers, ‘tis best to be safely tucked away at one of thy foreign estates. Preferably an island one. (Peasants can’t swim.)
Late night tax collection run
Have the soberest coachman at the party drive the fellows and thee around the fief, collecting taxes from whatever random vassal thou chances across. Then use said taxes to buy more ale.
If thou art unsuccessful in wooing thy creditors to a drunken grave, thou may be left with no option but to declare war and defeat them on the field of battle. There’s no party quite like a war. They can’t make you pay if their kingdom is a smouldering wreck and their head is on a pike!
Remember, the peasants don’t matter
If you find yourself — draped in fineries and belly stuffed with sweet-spiced plover and lambshank pie — pondering whether ‘tis best to get thine affairs in order and payoff thy debts: slap thyself upside thy sumptuous chin and get thy head straight. The only ones who shall be harmed by thy debts are the peasants, and they do not matter in the slightest.
So take another swig of port (not from the poisoned flagon), swallow some gold, and get back to the party.
In other news:
A collaboration meme with the exceptional Sara Santos, whomst thou shouldst follow on Instagram [at] the_art_alive_sara_santos.
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