It's like an old school emperor who refuses to walk unless flowers are thrown in his path... What an asshole.
And Mel just glaring at him... Volumes.
Perfectly encapsulates the useless incompetence of the children of opulence.

I mean... The complete lack of comprehension of what was happening, the confusion, the dumbfounded look, the sense of entitlement when he realized he'd actually have to *walk a flight of stairs*... It was hilarious.

When I read “The Second Coming” by William Butler Yeats, I feel in my chest the foreboding essence embedded in his words. Every time I read that terse poem, I wear it like a cloak against the zeitgeist winds. The gyre can widen, but as long as I am in the center, I can hold.

Words imposed top-down are just hammering sounds that drive us into the ground. Words wrapped around the murmurings of the heart are far more nourishing.