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Today, my shuffling lackeys, your Dark Master is… displeased. And you know you don’t like me when I am… displeased. Why am I displeased, you ask? Because none of my minions has offered *me* a brainwashed child choir to sing my praises, that’s why!

Below is a video of actual schoolkids singing actual cringeworthy hymns of praise and adoration to the Dear Leader.

(Quick quiz: Which is an actual lyric from the song:

a) Barack Hussein Obama
He said Red, Yellow, Black or White
All are equal in his sight
Mmm, mmm, mm!

or

b) Barack loves me, this I know
for my teacher tells me so!
Little ones to him belong
They are weak, but he is strong!

If you guess right, I will tell the Pain Technicians to turn down the voltage on today’s re-education shock therapy.)

I guess what hurts is that I have to ask. But here goes: What sort of fawning sycophants do I have around here when I don’t even see any spontaneous outpourings of bureaucratic attempts to turn your children into angelic choirs seeking only to praise me with awkward rhymes and choppy ill-tuned music? The hand motions! Where are my hand motions? In what sense can I have really captured your hearts (besides the ones I keep in a jar on my desk) when there is nothing like this grass roots mid-level bureaucratic tyranny of the weak by mediocrities and ciphers eager to keep their small jobs by sucking up to my Raw Power and pleasing equally Kool-Aide drinking peers?

I’m not angry really. Just… sad. When will I get my roomful of singing children robotically doing as they are told by pathetically eager teachers who just want to live out their secular messianic dreams through an almost stalker-like identification with me as the summum bonum of all their hopes?

It gets awfully lonely in the Fortress of Solitude some days. Nobody really loves me for me. That’s why I keep having people killed.

Sigh. If you need to plead for something (your life, an end to the pain, mercy for your family, whatever) I’ll be in my Chamber, brooding. However, it would nice if, for once, the incessant wails of pain and despair would let up for just a *few* minutes. Would it kill you people to stop thinking about yourselves and the fiery bolts of anguish wracking your limbs for one minute and think about me for a change?

That is all.