Chief minions do not need resumes.

So, the One Who Types was ignoring me last night, and when I demanded that she stop what she was doing and worship me, she told me I had to wait because she was "working on her resume."

"What do you need a resume for?" I asked. "You already have a job as one my chief minions."

She explained that being my minion doesn't pay the mortgage on the palace or keep my food dishes full. This led to a shocking revelation. Apparently, my food is not, as I had surmised, delivered to us in the form of taxes and sacrifices from my subjects! This means my subjects are all running around doing as they please and offering up nothing in honor of me! So, when the One leaves the house in the morning and stays out all day, she is not, in fact, out collecting tributes to my glorious reign; she's out TYPING FOR SOMEONE ELSE!

You will recall that I have been quite unhappy with the amount of time the One is willing to devote to my blog. I have many important things to say about numerous subjects, and we have barely touched on any of them because the One refuses to take dictation when I instruct her to. Now I find out that she is slipping away every morning to type something she calls "advertising copy" for the monarch of a kingdom about 30 miles from mine called ZG.

This is so far beyond unacceptable, I would be rendered speechless if I were a lesser being. It is almost as intolerable as Katherine's presence in my kingdom . . . nay, in the universe.

I have decided to issue a decree that requires all my subjects to deliver at least a year's worth of food (special food for me and my stupid brother Nick (who is royal, even if he is stupid), hearty food for my headsman Fairbanks, and the cat food equivalent of bread and water for Clara the Cow) to the palace immediately so the One has no excuse for leaving the house again.

In addition, I demand that the One cease typing for the king of ZG and devote her time to my blog forthwith.

Finally, I banish Katherine to ZG for all eternity . . . maybe even longer (I shall check with my royal magician to find out if a longer sentence can be arranged).

All I need is for the One to come home and type up my decree so Fairbanks can go out and post it on every tree in the kingdom. The food offerings should begin appearing on the palace doorstep any day, and this resume nonsense can be forgotten.

And then I will finally get brushed.