Heavy lies the crown of the Boy-King, Justin the Supple, The Twink in the North.

*HONK HONK*

Courtiers cooed and fluttered around him as he brooded, ministers made plans in hoarse whispers, courtesans swooned. Justin ran a jeweled fist under his chin.

*HONK HONK*

“Were they not told a court has ruled that they shall no longer…” Justin swallowed forcefully, “Honk?” He wanted to spit the taste of the word from his mouth.

*HONK HONK*

“They were, Most Gracious,” his Grand Vizier said, eyes downcast. His bald pate was sheened in sweat.

*HONK HONK*

“And, yet,” Justin mumbled. He sighed heavily and waved toward the Mounties guarding the door. “Let them in,” he told them.

*HONK HONK*

The reporter rushed into the room like excited puppies, clambering over one another to reach the King. “Justin! Justin! What are you going to do about the honking? The honking, Justin!” one yelled. “Why aren’t they being towed, Justin?” another asked. “Where is the military? Call in the military! Does Canada have no missiles, no bombs?!?” shouted another.

*HONK HONK*

“Please, my pets, calm yourselves,” Justin said. “I have done what I can to this point. I have called these men Russian spies, American spies, and Americans, and racist Nazis and homophobes, transphobes, biphobes, bigots, sexists, misogynists, xenophobes, incels, and unmutual nogoodniks. If I, the proud product of a druggie whore and the Hero of Cuba cannot sway them, who can?”

*HONK HONK*

“Cut off their fuel supplies!” “TOW THEM! TOW THEM!” “Pull their licenses to operate! End all commercial trucking!” “TRUMP!” they screamed.

*HONK HONK*

“Have you given any consideration to ending the mandates and restrictions?” one reporter asked.

*HONK HONK*

Justin squinted. In their obsequiousness, they all looked the same. Ah, that one, he thought. He motioned to his headsman to take the fool away.