I’m not dropping the ball(s)
The Jester’s clothes fit snugly to his body. He felt this accutely as he tried not to look at the Emperor, for if he looked too long he would surely be beheaded.
He felt the pull of his collar against his throat and the tightness of his pants against his crotch. He longed to tug at the fabric. He thought that if he could just drop the balls he was juggling he could bend down to pick them up… but that again would be a risk to his neck, or perhaps his own balls.
Backwards he walked at the head of the parade. The crowd lining the streets cheered, free to gawk.
The Jester wished he could shed his clothes, but to do so would draw the attention of the Emperor to his own state.
Then the unthinkable happened.
“But the Emperor’s not wearing anything!” yelled a snotty brat from…
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