“Hey Matt,” you might say. “We don’t have Kings in America and you’ll never be one” to which I say: try saying that again, this time from the DUNGEONS.

 

OF MY CASTLE.

Anyways, here are the new rules for America. Sorry! You made a cartoonist the king. I can’t draw these things and now they’re dead to me.

Hair is illegal. I know you like that new summer ‘do, but drawing all those strands is a real pain in the ass and time is money. Shave it off. Blammo.

Horses are but a memory of a memory. Never existed. What’s a horse? Do not speak of the horses, which is a nonsense word with no meaning. Horses. What are those?

Fancy Desk chairs? Nope, sorry. You get a standard-issue metal folding chair like everyone else, Mr. or Ms. Big-Shot.

Throw your smartphone and flatscreen television in the TRASH because they don’t read very well visually. Them’s the breaks, nobody wants to look at a bunch of drawings of rectangular prisms. Enjoy your giant rotary phone and old set with rabbit ears, though. You’re welcome.

You know what? Trash is no picnic either, there’s a lot of little bits in there. Everything goes in the incinerator.

Gatherings of more than 3 are OUT. Want to meet up with friends? I hope there are not more than 2 of them because I’m not drawing another crowd scene, buster.

The only food options are “deli sandwich” or “roast chicken.” That’s the way it’s gotta be. The meat on the deli sandwich is “brown and pink slices.” Yum!

I hope you don’t like your bicycle or car because neither are a thing you can buy anymore.

All the trees have been set on fire and we don’t have ‘em anymore. What’re you gonna do about it? Nothin’.

Feet are not welcome in my kingdom. I understand their necessity for getting around, but you should probably hide them behind some rocks if you can, as often as possible. Chop off your hands, though.