I Have Discovered Thy “King Arthur Flour” and I Will Tolerate It No Longer: by King Arthur

Surely, thine enlightened souls of Dartmouth did not believe that the ruse could last forever, did thee? That I, King Arthur, defender of Britain and slayer of the Saxons, would never notice your once-holy institution sheltering a blasphemous party of heathen merchants conducting business under my name? If nothing more, I hope thine instincts did not foresee that I would condone the use of my image in the crest of a filthy coffee beanery catering to the work-burdened peasantry. Yes, I speak of thy beloved “King Arthur Flour,” and I pray thine ears capture my decree. Listen closely, serfs: I have a message for thee.

Before I fully decry thy wretched coffee hawkers, I must first admit, in judging thy brand name alone, I harbor no qualms with “King Arthur Flour”, for this title does disservice to no member of the Arthur clan. Still, I take great offense at the low quality of the goods to which thou hath attached my name. With the noble Lord as my witness, I do swear each and every item on thy list of rations to be of the poorest quality in all the realm — fit neither for a servant nor a swine. Where shall I begin? Thy coffee tastes as the stables for my thoroughbreds smell — harsh and bitter like the cold earth below, with particularly prominent aromas of horse crap. That inhabitants of this kingdom waste precious hours of the working day waiting in a queue to taste thy pitiful brew offends my sensibilities on its own; that thou hast chosen to affix my name and my family shield to such a dastardly concoction rattles every ounce of my being. In regards to your “fresh baked goods,” I do ask: where are the wheat fields in this province? The dairy farm? The fruit orchards? I have trodden over each inch of land in the Hanover kingdom and found nary an apprentice churning butter for your cakes. The peasant boys kneading dough are nowhere to be found. What say thee about thy claim of “fresh baked goods?” Residents of my domain with the boldness to adopt such deceitful ways would find their heads separated from their shoulders!

And thy quiche! Oh, how thy quiche jolts me from my nightly slumbers with terrifying visions of wilted spinach and sulfur-tinged eggs! How my royal palette has been defiled with the clashing flavors of cheddar and havarti cheeses! Let it be known to the lowly workers of thy venerated “King Arthur Flour” and all of its penniless patrons that thy quiche is shit. Thy “flaky crust” possesses the texture of the very same shoe leather upon which the vassals of the Holy Roman Empire dined while under siege at the hands my ever-feared battalion. I presume thou art familiar with my blood-soaked sword, Excalibur, which I extracted from stone with a strength reserved for kings and kings alone, yes? Indeed, just one crumb of thy quiche would lead I, King Arthur, the noblest of men in this and all realms, to drive the mighty Excalibur through my heart!

Finally, what is this I hear of a restriction on the number of straws a young squire may acquire in exchange for his hard-earned nickel? Do my ears deceive me when I hear a “King Arthur Flour” serf tell me he wishes to conserve the current state of this Earth, when he could instead conquer it? I care not of the purity of our air, our soil, our rivers, so long as they remain under my iron fist. Any land under my control must be a land of bountiful wealth and prosperity, and I would expect any business bearing my family crest to be a business of extravagance and luxury — or, if nothing more, a business of unlimited straws.

Ye people of Dartmouth, let it be known that I plan not to return to this realm anytime soon, for your serene place of study offers none of the gory thrills that enliven me on the battlefield. However, I do pray to our Lord that you and your rulers hear me when I tell you this:  when I do someday return to your dominion, thy “King Arthur Flour” must not be more than a distant memory, a vestige of worlds past. Not an enlightened soul could possibly deny that thine beverages belittle my family name, thy sandwiches bring dishonor to my ancestors, and thy cakes taste of elderberries and hot garbage.

Thou art warned.

– SB ’20