James Starvoice
1.2K posts
@JStarvoice
American author of epics, historical fiction, and comedies. I check regularly (｀∇´) ψ You don't follow me, I don't follow you (⩺_⩹)
『何が起きたの？』 一晩でフォロワーさん300人以上増加 夜中に通知音が止まらず 「え！？なにごと！？」😂 @effect_motion_x さんが私のポストを引用してくれたおかげ。嬉し泣く😭 Xで一番大事なのは交流と思う。 今回一番嬉しいのは 「交流する相手が増えたこと」 本当に、大感謝です❣️ #japan
え！！ フォロワーさん4000人いってる❣️今気づいた！！！w 好き！皆大好き！！！ ずっと仲良しでいてね🫶！！！ あなたに愛と感謝が届きますように🥰✨ #japan
ちょっとお怒りのメッセージいただいてて… 何度かお伝えしてますが、 ・フォローバックはすぐ制限かかるんでお時間ください😭 ・DMはあまり見れないのでもっとお時間ください😭 本当にごめんなさい😢 でも、本当に嬉しいし、仲良くしたいと思ってます！ 優しく平和な世界が大好きです✨ #japan
海外の人に聞きたい！ リプライ(返信)にGIFや絵文字を使ったらアカウントはロックされないんですか？
Será que realmente as traduções estão certas?? Como é possível postar isso e viver uma vida normal aqui??? 😅 Cadê os palavrões??? Cadê as brigas??? Cadê xingando político??? 🤣🤣🤣
Chapter 27 Alicia & Income Equality After Alicia and Paris left the dining hall, they decided to enjoy their tea in a more refreshing environment. They retired to Alicia’s rose gardens. Two maids, holding fancy seats in their hands, saw the princesses laughing and chattering as they made their way through the garden. The maids whispered something to one another then approached their mistress, intending to ask her something. The first maid said, “My lady, sorry to bother you, but since Princess Paris will be joining you at the theater tonight, we thought we should ask how you want the seating arrangements made?” Paris entwined Alicia’s arm with hers and said, smiling, “Alicia and I will be sitting next to each other, of course. She’s my dearest friend.” Alicia affirmed, “Exactly. How is that even a question?” The maid said, “Yes, of course, but—” “Oh! Before I forget,” Alicia interrupted, “do inform the Ringmaster that we decided to change the theme to a fright-night.” Paris added, “I love a good horror show. But I must warn you, I’m not easily spooked. If he can’t get a scream from either of us, he won’t get paid.” The maid said, “Um, yes, of course. I’ll let him know.” Her friend asked, “But about the seating arrangements—we need to know how close do you want the seats to be?” The princesses were upset with how dense the maids were. “How close?” Paris spat. “As close as the Holy Ghost to the Virgin Mary,” Alicia scolded them, “write that down.” The princesses continued their way toward a pavilion. The maids were left clueless. One of them whispered, “Is that really close, or polite-close?” “I’m not sure.” “Shall we flip a coin?” *** Looking at the fine he’d received for his questionable use of the mail, Mr. Weber sighed, “Great! There goes my salary for the rest of the month.” Someone knocked on the door. Mr. Weber raised his voice, announcing: “Come in.” His servant entered. “Sir.” “What is it? I’m busy right now.” “Yes, but I thought you should know—” He approached Mr. Weber and whispered the news. Mr. Weber’s face reddened with rage. “Why, that sneaky rat!” He rushed to his office shelves, muttering to himself as he searched for something, “What is it with rats these days? As soon as I get rid of one, another sticks its head out.” Mr. Weber located the document he needed to handle the situation. “If Mr. Meyer wants to play it that way, then so be it. I am fully prepared!” With not a moment to spare, he rushed out of the office. He ran through one corridor to the next. Finally, Mr. Weber found Mr. Meyer, who was approaching the entrance leading to Alicia’s rose gardens with a document in his hand. “Aha!” Mr. Weber loudly announced. Mr. Meyer was caught by surprise and he attempted to hurry into the garden, but Mr. Weber raced toward him and grabbed his arm before he could escape. “And where do you think you’re going?” Mr. Meyer feigned ignorance. “Oh! Mr. Weber? How wonderful of you to join me so quickly. I was on my way to inform Alicia about the emissaries’ meeting, as we agreed.” “A most spectacular coherence of you, sir. And, if I may ask, what is that document you hold in your hand, my good and trustworthy friend?” “Dessert list.” “Dessert list?” “Yes,” Mr. Meyer affirmed, “I thought I’d ask the ladies what their preference might be for, um, desserts, later this evening.” “What a magnificent consideration!” Mr. Weber said, “I must say, your heedful self never ceases to surprise me. Well, luckily, it just so happens that I am an expert in desserts, myself. Mind me having a look?” Mr. Meyer hid the document behind his back. “No need. It is but a trivial matter that does not warrant the kind concern of a person of your prestige. But I see that you have a document of your own. Care to tell me what it is?” “Goldfish list.” “Goldfish list?” “Yes,” Mr. Weber affirmed. “I thought it would delight the ladies to pick their preference of, um, goldfishes, for Lady Alicia’s new aquarium.” “Really? What a spectacular insight. Luckily, it just so happens that I’m a goldfishes expert, myself. Mind if I have a look?” “Not before you show me your list first.” Mr. Meyer feigned insult. “Mr. Weber, are you implying that you don’t trust me?” “I trust you as much as I trust a cat on a piece of fatty ham!” “Most preposterous,” said Mr. Meyer. “I must say I am deeply offended.” “In which case, allow me to offer a half-assed apology that I don’t really mean from the core of my unapologetic heart, for my incredibly accurate comparison. It wasn’t even ten minutes ago that we were plotting schemes together, but you’re already trying to pull a quick, selfish scheme of your own.” “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “You don’t, eh?” asked Mr. Weber. “Then what was it that I’ve heard about you preparing an Adjusted Income and Property Tax Bill, when you are not even part of the treasury?” Mr. Meyer responded coldly, “Oh! That is but an irrelevant topic. It is a mere suggested breakdown of a taxable item or two that are long out of use, for the purpose of simplifying and eliminating unnecessary tax regulations, that’s all. It is nothing that can possibly warrant your concern—hey!” Mr. Weber stole the document. “Let me see that.” “Mr. Weber!” Mr. Meyer attempted to take it back. His back to Mr. Meyer, Mr. Weber quickly scanned the document with his eyes. “What is this? Property tax cut in half? Income tax eliminated entirely? And a ninety percent reduction of the ROAD TAX?” Mr. Weber then spun around and waved the document in the air. “These items are the treasury’s main revenue! Such tax cuts will bankrupt the court in under a month!” “Nonsense. I did a very careful calculation. The impact is neutral, at worst.” “Neutral my foot!” Mr. Weber shouted. “You, sir, are trying to use Alicia’s last hours of freedom to get her to sign a bill that will gain you public ‘popularity’ at the expense of the treasury, in preparation for what may happen once Alicia loses her grip on power upon executing our plot and restoring her father to the throne. You are shielding yourself with popularity while leaving the rest of us open to possible subsequent consequences.” “What a fictitious interpretation and undisputedly untrue baseless accusation. Where is the proof?” Mr. Weber waved the document in front of Mr. Meyer’s face, “It’s called: THE MEYER REFORM!” Mr. Meyer stole the document back. “So what if I put my name on it? It is none of your concern. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to present my suggestion to Lady Alicia.” “Not if I stop you.” “Oh, look—Alicia’s flying-maids!” “Her what?” Mr. Weber spun on his heel. He realized a heartbeat too late that Mr. Meyer had escaped into the rose garden. “Hey!” *** Mr. Meyer ran through the rose gardens, maneuvering around vases, water fountains, and relaxation-maids while stealing looks over his shoulder at Mr. Weber, who followed closely behind him. He located Alicia and Paris in a pavilion, surrounded by half-a-dozen maids and guarded by Iven. Mr. Meyer quickly made his way toward them and bellowed, out of breath, “Ah, Princess Alicia, Princess Paris: what–huff–what a wonderful morning it is.” “Mr. Meyer?” Alicia commented. “Oh, and Mr. Weber.” Exhausted, Mr. Weber climbed the stairs of the pavilion. “My–my–huff–my ladies.” Mr. Meyer glared at his colleague and feigned offense. “Mr. Weber, I must say we are disturbed by your behavior. I know that you’re trying to lose weight, but our lady’s rose gardens is not the place for that.” “No. I was only—” Mr. Meyer pretended to pat Mr. Weber’s back. “There, there, now. Catch your breath!” Mr. Meyer discretely delivered a blow that left Mr. Weber breathless. Mr. Meyer turned to the princesses, intending to wrap up his scheme quickly. “Princess Alicia, what a wonderful coincidence to meet you here. I was on my way to see you just now.” “Hm. Did you need something?” asked Alicia. “Oh, well, it’s not something for myself, of course. Rather, it’s just a small matter that needs your signature. I do hope I’m not disturbing this lovely tea time of yours.” Breathless and his back hunched, Mr. Weber attempted to stop him, “I think we are, and we should come back later.” He tried to steal the document, but Mr. Meyer secretly stomped on his foot. “This will only take a moment.” Mr. Meyer put the document on the table and offered Alicia a quill pen and ink bottle. “If you’d please sign here, then Mr. Weber and I can be on our way so as not to cause you any further inconvenience.” “Mm? Sure,” said Alicia. “But what is it?” “A small gesture that’s been on my mind for a while, and one which can only improve our lady’s already high popularity among her subjects through an insignificant tax cut that will promote ‘income equality’.” “Which is totally unnecessary and with no guaranteed results,” Mr. Weber interjected. He attempted to take the quill pen from Mr. Meyer’s hand as sneakily as possible. Alicia said, “Oh, on the contrary. I think it’s a wonderful idea—I mean, if it will bring more income equality and make my people happier, I don’t see why not.” “But, but, my lady—” Mr. Weber panicked. “Exactly, Princess Alicia. Now, if you please,” and Mr. Meyer guided her to sign the document. “Oh, don’t bother.” Paris suddenly advised, just before Alicia began her signature. “I’ve already tried that ‘income equality’ thingy once before. It doesn’t work. A total waste of time.” Mr. Meyer objected, “With all due respect to your highness’s opinion, I’m pretty sure these measures will—” Alicia asked Paris, “How so?” “Well, if you must know—” Paris signaled her hands-maid, who rushed to powder her lady’s hand. Paris then resumed her explanation. “First of all, I don’t need such a gesture to improve my popularity. These things come naturally to me.” A Russian advisor stepped forward. He opened a book, and declared, “According to the latest popularity poll, which surveyed a random sample of ten thousand Moscow residents from all classes and backgrounds, Her Royal Highness received a five-star rating—with red ribbons—from 9,999 subjects.” Paris shot him a vicious glare. “And the one in ten thousand?” “We are still looking for him, Your Highness.” “Mm, excellent.” The advisor bowed his head and retreated, as Paris resumed. “So you see, who needs such a thing? Yet, out of the goodness of my heart, I do listen to the voices of my people from time to time. One day, I realized there were those two nerd-merchants back in Moscow—Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk—who hoarded fortunes over fortunes, until they became so rich that people began to complain and demand income equality. So, I taxed their businesses at a rate of fifty percent of their income. But they just kept getting richer.” Mr. Weber asked, eyes wide, “Fifty percent? And they kept getting richer?” “Yes. Weird, isn’t it? So, I fined everyone who earns exactly what those two make every day—yet insist on carrying cheap pocket-watches—a hundred and fifty million rubles. But they just kept getting richer.” Mr. Weber yelped, “A hundred and fifty million-ruble fine?” “Per day,” Paris corrected. “Per—and they kept getting richer?” “Yes. So, I raised their property tax to a hundred and fifty percent of its value. But they just kept getting richer.” “They kept getting richer?” “Yes. So I ordered a new five-thousand percent income tax on all bald men married to novelists, and all men with tiny eyes married to actresses, and I made it retroactive to the day they were born. But—” “They kept getting richer?” “They kept getting richer.” “They kept getting richer until what?” Paris snapped, “Until GOD implemented income equality the only way he knows how! Geeze.” “Ah, yes,” said Mr. Weber. “The good old way. It never fails.” Mr. Meyer said, “Yes, um, that aside, I am sure our lady still wishes to—” “I think that’s a great idea.” Alicia ordered, “Mr. Meyer, do scrap this useless resolution and let us leave income equality to God.” “But, my lady—” Alicia shrugged. “Well if it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. But while we’re on the subject, I did want to clarify the matter of wealth sharing for quite a while now. So, we might as well get it out of the way.” “Wealth sharing?” asked Mr. Meyer. “Of natural resources.” Alicia explained: “How the fruit of our beloved land is shared between the administration and its people. You know, just so that we’re all on the same page. I noticed that the current law is a bit vague on some points. So, go ahead and write the new one down.” “Uh, um,” Mr. Meyer grabbed a paper and the quill pen. “Yes?” Alicia said, “I wish to keep the matter of wealth sharing fair and very simple. So, from this day onward: Everything above the ground is mine. And everything below the ground is for the people.” He wrote it down. “And everything.. below—” “Minus the silver, gold, diamonds, copper and other valuables. You know, the usual. Those are also mine.” Alicia finished. Mr. Weber asked, “But then what’s left for the people?” Alicia shot him a glare. “Potatoes.” Paris was curious: “What’s a potato?” Alicia placed her hand between herself and Paris. She whispered, “Roots gone fat.” The princesses cracked themselves up, laughing. Mr. Weber whispered, “Mr. Meyer, you remember the stories where the good old king used to lock up the princess in a tower and guard it with a dragon?” “Yes?” Mr. Weber nodded, “It took me a while to figure it out, but it all makes sense now.” “Oh! I almost forgot,” Alicia said. “I also want you to issue a new Fufi tax.” “What’s a Fufi tax?” asked Mr. Meyer. “Fufi, my new pet.” “Ah!” Mr. Weber joined his hands behind his back. “Yes, I was honestly wondering where the adorable little thing might be. I haven’t seen him today.” “He’s out to explore the place. But he’ll be back,” said Alicia. “And when he arrives, I want to surprise him with his new pool.” “His pool?” Mr. Meyer asked, “So, what you’re saying is that you want us to tax people to fund a pool for Fufi?” “Well, yes. You see, yesterday, I took Fufi for a walk, and he saw Mitchy playing in his pool—” “Mitchy?” Mr. Meyer inquired. “Mitchy, my Wednesday-morning turtle.” “Ah, of course. That Mitchy.” Alicia hopped on her seat, clapping her hands with excitement. “It’s short for Mitch McConnell.” Mr. Weber leaned in toward Mr. Meyer to whisper, “Mr. Meyer, I’m a bit confused. You mean to tell me the Mitch McConnell we see every Wednesday morning is a real turtle?” “You didn’t know?” asked Mr. Meyer. “I be placed in a bewilderment: I thought it was a person who just so happens to look like one.” “He has been successfully destroying the environment and racking up bribes in office in the face of severe negative publicity and relentless hold-accountability attempts for over fifty years. Mr. Weber, had you honestly thought a mere human being with a shred of decency capable of such achievement?” “This is a most confusing and disturbing topic. Well, I suppose so long as he doesn’t filibuster this book’s release, I don’t really care to what species he belongs.” Alicia frowned. “You want to hear the story or not?” Mr. Meyer assured her, “Of course. We’d love nothing more than to hear all about Fufi and Mitch McConnell.” “It’s a match made in heaven,” Mr. Weber agreed. He pleaded with genuine interest, “Please, do continue.” Alicia resumed her tale. “Well, what happened was that Mitchy got jealous because Fufi was getting all the attention and refused to share his pool with Fufi. Now, I suspect Fufi is upset about it and will try to use Mitchy’s pool anyway. So, I thought it only stands to reason that Fufi should have his own pool.” Mr. Weber asked, “So, just for the sake of clarity, Mitchy the Wednesday-morning turtle has his own pool?” “And his own abacus,” Alicia confirmed. “He’s very good at predicting numbers.” Mr. Meyer said softly, “My lady, we understand how you feel. But still, to tax the poor people for the sole purpose of building Fufi a pool is—” “A brilliant idea!” Mr. Weber interrupted. To Mr. Meyer’s surprise, Mr. Weber snatched the document off the table and wrote on it. “Yes, that will certainly make Fufi happy and solve all our problems. I imagine that our beloved taxpayers will gladly give their hard-earned money once we explain the situation for them in detail.” Mr. Meyer asked, “Why are you writing on my document?” “I knew you’d agree,” said Alicia. While still writing, Mr. Weber asked, “So, about Fufi’s pool: marble flooring, I presume? With cute little sculptures pouring water?” “And a jump-board,” Alicia added. “Fufi is a great jumper.” “Of course. Let’s make that a triple jump-board then, with a golden ladder, and let us hire a full-time lifeguard for the pool while we’re at it. Anything for dear Fufi.” He offered her the document. “Sign here, please.” Once Alicia signed, Mr. Weber waved the document before Mr. Meyer and said, “And I will make sure the people know exactly who to thank for this wonderful and most humane act, this—MEYER REFORM!” Mr. Meyer’s jaw hung open. #books #bookstoread #Kindle #Comedy #Funny #HistoricalFiction #AmWriting #BookMarketing #IndieAuthor #Novel #MustRead #Writing #AiArt #SpoiledAlicia
Chapter 34 Alicia & Gender The princesses were on their way to enjoy a serene time at Alicia’s Hall of Poetry when they heard angry voices coming from behind a door. “Someone is being loud,” Paris noted. “It’s coming from the Education Committee’s room.” “Do you want to check it out?” Alicia shrugged. “Well, if they’re going to be so noisy, I suppose we should.” *** “Absolutely not!” Mr. Bauer, head of the Education Committee, held steadfast to his beliefs. “I don’t care what they identify as; a ladies’ bathroom is no place for boys.” “Transgender students,” the woman insisted. “Whichever, no means ‘no’.” “They are just as feminine as any other female student. If only you’d let me explain the situation to Princess Alicia.” “Ridiculous and utterly disrespectful. Wasn’t last time impudent enough?” Mr. Bauer decried. “Now you listen to me: despite her kindness and remarkable patience in listening to your nonsense, at the end of the day, Lady Alicia is only twelve years old; such a topic is off-limits.” “What topic?” Alicia interjected as she and Paris walked in on the conversation. The woman seized the rare opportunity. “Princess Alicia! Thank goodness you’re here.” “Oh, Miss McBride?” At first surprised, Alicia’s face brightened like a little girl expecting to be introduced to a new game. She nudged Paris and whispered, “Perfect timing. This is our crazy lady.” “The one you told me about earlier—who ruined a hundred and sixty million households’ stimulus checks?” “Nooo, that was our crazy lady—Nancy Pelosi. This is our crazy-crazy lady—Sarah McBride.” “Well, uh, what’s this one all about?” Alicia whispered through giggles, “She doesn’t know her own gender.” Paris stiffly turned to Alicia, her eyes were wide and her lips pressed into a straight line, trying not to laugh. “And she thinks people have seventy two genders.” “Goodness! All at once?” “Not yet, but she’s getting there. Last time, she told me that some men want to dress as women and some women want to dress as men, and that she wants to loosen certain regulations to help them do so, and I said: ‘yes, sure. Why not? Let’s codify it into a law’.” Paris spun on her heel, clasping her hands over her mouth, as she barely contained her laughter. “Now, uhm,” Alicia feigned seriousness, “as royalty, we must be considerate of less fortunate, mentally challenged individuals.” “Of course.” “As such, we will listen to her imaginary problems with open hearts and propose equally make-believe solutions to soothe her troubled mind.” “No sarcasm whatsoever. We’ll keep it real.” Alicia deviously added, “That doesn’t mean it won’t be fun.” “That goes without saying.” With the princesses’ scheme in place, Alicia walked forward to address the woman. “Miss McBride, I believe I heard you and Mr. Bauer arguing again. Would you like to share what this is about?” “Perhaps we can be of assistance,” Paris added. “Princess Alicia, I’m sure you recall our previous meeting about the issue of transgender women and the terrible discrimination they face in school.” “How could I forget?” She playfully bit her lip—signaling to Paris. “I believe we addressed the dress code matter, and everything is fine now.” “Yes well, unfortunatelyyy the discrimination did not end there,” she said, casting a sidelong glare at Mr. Bauer, who rolled his eyes. “The Education Committee refused to extend common-sense gender rights beyond the ‘specifics’ outlined in your earlier order. I’m here today to address the issue of transgender women’s right to access the schools’ public bathrooms.” Paris asked, “What’s a public bathroom?” The woman was taken aback. “Well it’s, um..” “Excellent point, my good lady.” Mr. Bauer interjected. “A truly excellent point. I completely agree with you; there is nothing better than diving straight into the core of the matter in question.” He took a book from his desk and said to Paris, “Please allow me to educate the ignorant on your behalf.” “Uh.. yes, sure,” Paris said, clueless. She looked at Alicia, and they both exchanged a small shrug. Mr. Bauer read aloud, facing Miss McBride. “As defined in the Education Committee’s Rules of Order: a public bathroom is a commonly shared lavatory for the convenience of the masses in schools, public places, and similar settings. For example: students of the same genderrr,” he insisted, “can take turns using the toilet, share adjacent locker room space to change clothes, and engage in other related activities; so you see, the matter at hand is—” “WHAT?” Paris yelped. “Hush,” Alicia nudged her friend, urging her to be quiet. But Paris continued: “This is beyond incomprehensible—this is madness. Why in the world would people share the same toilet? I’ve never heard of something so ridiculous in my life—” “Hush-hush-hushhh!” Alicia shushed her friend, her voice rising to drown out Paris’s words; she feigned a laugh as she pulled Paris aside. “Excuse us for a moment.” “Of course.” Once the princesses were in a private corner of the room, Alicia looked over her shoulder and then back at Paris. “Cognitive disability,” she whispered—poking her own head while pointing out Miss McBride with her eyes. “Oh, right! I forgot,” Paris said. “So, what they were saying about public bathrooms was—” Alicia rolled her eyes. “Of course it’s not real. There is nooo such thing as a public bathroom. It’s all in her head.” “Oh my God, her condition is worse than I thought.” “That’s why I told you we need to humor the poor thing. You see how Mr. Bauer plays along? You almost ruined it.” “Well, I must admit he’s a very good actor. It sounded so much like a real conversation that I lost myself in it.” “I know, right? Now, follow my lead and try to keep up.” As the princesses returned, Alicia said, “So, uhm, Miss McBride, about these public bathrooms—wonderful invention, isn’t it?” she winked at Paris. “It’s a true melting pot for all genders,” Paris chimed in, winking back at Alicia. “That’s the end goal, my ladies. I swear, I knew from the first glance that we’re on the same page,” she said. “However, the Education Committee won’t allow students who self-identify as female to use the ladies’ bathroom.” “Tsk, tsk, tsk—Mr. Bauer, why won’t you let Miss McBride use the ladies’ bathroom?” “Shame on you.” Paris noted. He said, “Princess, I’m sure you must have realized that’s an unreasonable request.” “How is that unreasonable? I identify as a woman!” Miss McBride raised her voice. Mr. Bauer yelled, “It’s unreasonable because it will cause much inconvenience and an invasion of PRIVACY.” He then explained to the princesses softly, “Your Highnesses, according to the law, one can identify as female, for example, and still be attracted to females. There is no incongruity between the two concepts, so, how will that work? It’s inhospitable. We absolutely cannot sacrifice the legitimate privacy rights of so many good people for the convenience of a few. The issue here is ‘attraction’.” “That’s just an excuse,” Miss McBride interrupted. “But guess what? Ridiculous as your argument may be, I came prepared.” She pulled a large sheet of paper from her bag with hand-drawn gender signs and showed it to them. “Look here, Highness. If the issue is ‘attraction’ then all we need to do is build more bathrooms.” Mr. Bauer yelped, “You expect us to build a bathroom for every gender? Where will schools find the budget for that?” She ignored him. “This is the bathroom sign for Agenders who identify as Agender, and are not attracted to anyone—” “Oh?” “How lonely.” “Indeed; and this one is for females who identify as females but are attracted to Bigenders. And this one is for nonbinary who identify as Demigender who are attracted to Pangender who identify as Agenders, and this one is for Omnigenders who identify as female but are attracted to Bigenders; I’ve got it all covered right here. I spent all night working on it.” Paris asked, “What’s this one for?” “Oh—females who are attracted to ghosts.” “Mother of God!” Her hand flew to her chest. “There are women like that?” “Well, uh, so far I’ve only got Demi Moore on the list—the town’s debt collector. But.. there could be others. You never know. And.. and.. even if there aren’t, she is entitled to a bathroom of her choice just like everyone else.” Alicia patted Miss McBride’s hand with both of hers. “Of courseee she is, Miss McBride. Of course she is.” Paris played ‘considerate’. “There is no wish more sincere in our hearts than to see Demi Moore trapped in a bathroom with a ghost.” “I knew you would understand. So now, if I could just have your signature here.” “No, absolutely not!” Mr. Bauer jumped between them. “Your Highness, there is no way we can build seventy-two bathrooms. The lavatories will end up being larger than the school building.” “Wrong,” Miss McBride said. “It’s not seventy-two bathrooms. Seventy-two is only the initial number of genders; we also have those who may or may not identify as other genders, which means that’s seventy-two multiplied by itself.” “WHAT?” he yelled. “That’s ridiculous.” “Then,” she continued, “there’s the issue of attraction. Any of the seventy-two genders multiplied by seventy-two different identifications could, or could not, be attracted to any of the other seventy-two genders, which may, in turn, identify as something else, now, the author didn’t want to put in the effort to figure out the math for this absolutely pointless chapter, which he added on a whim, so he dumped it on Artificial Intelligence, to which Grok AI replied: ‘the heck kind of a question is that?’ so, it seemed like a dead end. But luckily, I am well-versed in mathematics, so I know the correct formula is: N . N= N² (N²)2 = N² . N² = N4 If N = 72, then the answer is that we need 26,873,856 bathrooms for every school.” “WHERE will you get all these bathrooms?!” Mr. Bauer felt as if he were going out of his mind. “Then we must build 1,524,385 bathrooms for every new gender discovered, and subtract 1,462,175 for every gender that goes extinct.” “Extinct? They are NOT species!” “o-oh, I hope it’s not Demi Moore,” Paris whined. Alicia shared her friend’s concern. “As the last surviving member of her kind, she is at the top of the endangered genders list.” “Oh, no!” her hand flew to her mouth. “Alicia—Alicia, what do we do if Demi Moore goes extinct?” “We get a new one.” Mr. Bauer begged, “Your Highness, you can’t possibly consider signing something like this. There aren’t enough bathrooms in the world to entertain this weird person’s silliness.” “We absolutely need more bathrooms. It’s the answer to all of humanity’s problems!” Miss McBride yelled. “No it’s not! And even if it were, we don’t have the space, we don’t have the budget, we don’t even have enough forests to build this Bathrooms Armada—” “More bathrooms! More genders! More genders into the bathrooms! It’s the only way to save humanityyy—” With a faint smile, Alicia raised her hand for them to stop. “Thank you, Mr. Bauer, for your legitimate concern over the budget,” she said calmly. “And thank you, Miss McBride, for.. everything else.” Alicia folded the paper Miss McBride had given her. “And while I do highly value the thought and creativity you put into this,” she said, handing the paper back, “I believe I have the perfect solution.” *** Before the school day was over, carpenters from all across town were busily constructing a new set of bathrooms; Mr. Weber and Mr. Meyer stood behind two tables where a line of students had formed. Mr. Weber handed a set of keys to a student. “You have the right to use one bathroom. Any other bathroom you use can and will be held against you.” Mr. Meyer handed the student a form. “You have the right to share your designated bathroom with up to ten classmates, but no fewer than four. If you can’t afford enough classmates, the school will assign them for you.” Mr. Weber asked, still tapping away at his work, “Mr. Meyer, please remind me again what we’re doing?” “To the best of my knowledge, we are assigning bathroom keys to students.” “Yes, I can see that. But how exactly did we end up here in the first place?” “From what I’ve heard, their Royal Highnesses happened to come across Miss McBride earlier today.” Mr. Weber stiffly turned toward his colleague. “No, it’s true,” Mr. Meyer assured him. “She even talked Princess Alicia and Princess Paris to fill out the gender identification form she’s so proud of.” “Good Lord, no!” Mr. Weber snatched the paper from Mr. Meyer’s hand in a panic. He read: “Race: Illuminary; Gender: Extremely Royal.” Mr. Weber gave it a thought. He returned the cards. “Yes, that sounds just about right.” “Agreed.” “So, what happened next?” “I’m not entirely sure, but she managed to introduce Alicia to the longstanding gender-sharing bathroom problem, which prompted Alicia to decree a law allowing people to form groups of up to ten bathroom-buddies, so everyone can share a bathroom ‘only’ with individuals they’re comfortable with.” Mr. Weber threw his head back in disbelief. “You see, this is exactly why we need to keep Alicia out of reach. Just look at what’s happened—this is the worst outcome possible.” Mr. Meyer looked at him. “While I do agree with the first part of your speech, I must say I disagree with the latter. Personally, I think it’s one feasible solution to a problem that has gone unanswered for decades. Whether it’s ideal or not, only time will tell.” Mr. Weber glared at him. “What?” “Have you lost your mind?” Mr. Weber snapped. “A social problem that has absolutely no effect on taxation, legislation, trade, or even foreign affairs, yet it’s so irritating—like an itch on the back—that people can’t help but voice their opinions about it. That’s a bureaucrats’ gold mine! we shouldn’t solve such a problem; we should inflame it with empty rhetoric, inaction, dig our heels in on opposite sides, and keep those lobbyists’ coins pouring into our pouches in perpetuity. The hell is wrong with you?” “Mr. Weber, your dedication to bureaucratic piracy is no longer something to simply marvel at—it has reached a mythical level.” Mr. Weber turned bashful. “Well, not that it isn’t mere common sense, but thank you nevertheless.” Not far from where the two councilors were working, Father Gianni was pitching his bathroom scheme to a beautiful single mother. “Now, not that I’m saying there’s a difference between all of God’s bathrooms—” “Father Gianni—” “but the lingering incense, the scent of aged pine, and the east-oriented toilet—” “Father Gianni, I really need to go home. I’ve still got laundry to do.” He wasn’t listening. “the toilet seat—a warm, utterly smooth blackwood—oh, the mystical shudder it gives at first touch is beyond description. It elevates the experience to an almost spiritual peak—” The woman buried her face in her hands with a sigh. Mr. Weber frowned as he noticed something unexpected. “What are you doing?” “What?” Mr. Meyer replied. “Why aren’t you handing out gender identification cards with the forms?” “Oh, that’s not really necessary. The students can manage without them.” “Not necessary?” he raised his voice. “What is this, a California voting center? This is a Bavarian school bathroom at the heart of the German Holy Roman Empire! Students need both a ‘key’ and an official gender identification ‘card’ to enter.” he said, holding the card and key in Mr. Meyer’s face. “Not at all.” Mr. Meyer insisted. “I’d have you know that I’ve thoroughly read the new bathroom law and noticed that Alicia left the Credentials section severely lacking detail—it’s almost as if she never took it seriously; thus, as a member of the Education Committee myself—which you are ‘not’—I decided that having a bathroom key is sufficient identification in and of itself, while the card is optional, so as not to cause unnecessary complications.” “What a barefaced conclusion and utterly misguided effort, sir.” Mr. Weber blurted. “What if an illegal transgender got their hands on a key for a bathroom other than their own—have you considered the consequences and public backlash of such regulatory shortsightedness?” “Mere rubbish and flawed oversight. Mr. Weber, I’m afraid you’re deplorably misinformed.” “Oh, I’m misinformed?” “You’re so misinformed that your vote will lean to the Right of the Center-Left’s Right before you know it.” Mr. Weber exploded. “Okay, you know what? I don’t want to be bathroom buddies with you anymore.” “Fine, I don’t want to be bathroom buddies with you, either.” “Give me the key.” “You give me the key.” Weber slapped the bathroom key into Mr. Meyer’s palm. “There! Good luck finding a bathroom partner of my superior stature and mindfulness.” Mr. Meyer sneered, “Oh, I think we can easily find a prominent name to replace you for the sixth floor left corner bathroom, where the view is phenomenal.” Mr. Weber turned his back on his colleague and stormed off, grunting in rage. “The ventilation system, a marvel to behold, where the spiraling breeze swirls upwards, upwards in harmony, upwards with the bad—you can hardly tell it was ever there.” The woman had just about had it with Father Gianni’s persistent approach. She grabbed his hand with both of hers and played her drama, complete with exaggerated theatrics— looking and sounding like a top-class actress in a Shakespearean play. “Father Gianni, I know this is going to be hard, but please try to understand—the church bathroom is just too ‘far’; a woman cannot delay nature’s call,” she backed away in tears, arm raised in the air, the other shielded her face, “I’m sorry, and farewell.” “But-but-but the incense, and the aged pine—” “I’m sorry. I’m sorry Wilson, I’m sorry; Wilsoonnn!” He stared in a daze at the woman leaving, unsure of what had just happened. “Who’s Wilson?” Mr. Weber spotted him, he rushed over. “Father Gianni, let me in on your bathroom team.” “WE’RE AT CAPACITY!” #books #bookstoread #Kindle #Comedy #Funny #HistoricalFiction #AmWriting #BookMarketing #IndieAuthor #Novel #MustRead #Writing #AiArt #SpoiledAlicia #GenderEquality #Gender
