Artists Do Not Taste Good

   “Magnifico!” the King cried, darting around the canvas like a hummingbird. He even looked the part, with his golden crown and red cloak, and the splatters of paint across his face. “Look, my dears, look at this piece of art!”

   “Your Majesty, this is a council meeting. Surely you can pursue this at another time?” Lord Gold, in charge of coin, looked towards the other council members desperately. They shook their heads helplessly. The King paid him no mind, instead muttering to himself in his mother tongue as he beamed at the painting.

   “Your Majesty!” a knight shouted as he burst into the council room. His uniform was in disarray, his eyes wild. “Your Majesty, a dragon!”

   The King spun around with a bright smile. “Yes! That is a fantastic idea!” He produced a paint brush and a fresh canvas from thin air (although he’d probably had them stashed in his robes) and proceeded to paint.

   “No,” the knight said, glancing at the council members in confusion. “There’s a dragon attacking the southern border, your Majesty.”

   The King froze, and for a moment everyone relaxed. Their King had regained his senses, and the kingdom would be saved. They waited expectantly for the plan of attack.

   Instead, the King let out a scream and, grabbing his paintings, bolted from the council room. His crown wobbled dangerously on his head as he raced passed the stunned council members and the knight.

   “I am an artist!” the King could be heard yelling. “I do not taste good!”