Sanctimonia Binocs, Bhubaneswar, 2 October 2025
Hark, ye perpetually gridlocked and spiritually starved citizens of Sanctimonia! The kingdom is steeped in the festive mood, and what does this mean for our King? It means he must celebrate by making life utterly unbearable for his subjects. Our King made it a point to tour the Silver City—Cuttack—to admire the magnificent medhas (decorations).
But he couldn’t possibly travel modestly. No. The King arrived with a majestic chariot convoy of around thirty-five vehicles, including the obligatory fleet of police vans, a fire brigade, and the ICU-equipped ambulance. He entered the city around two in the afternoon, plunging the already cramped city into immediate, horrific standstill.
The King’s tour was not a quick drive-by; it was a full-scale culinary marathon. For each of the thirty-four pandals he visited, he graciously accepted the savoury offerings. Each stop lasted a full thirty minutes. Do the math, ye weary citizens! That’s seventeen hours of royal feasting, with the entire city paralyzed in tribute.
Imagine the trapped netizen, unable to go for a festive outing; the desperate elder stopped mid-journey; the patient stuck in the ambulance chariot that couldn’t move due to the other royal chariots. The city’s narrow streets, already struggling for space, became a horrific testament to the King’s self-indulgence.
The Stalled Kingdom
The police, who should have been controlling rising crime, were instead on their toes, directing this absurd parade. They were not in a festive mood; they couldn’t take their own families out, their sacrifice ensuring the King’s photo opportunities went smoothly. The King’s party and the King-maker were busy shooting every single royal gimmick for the Super King and the media, proving that documentation of chaos is the highest form of governance.
Meanwhile, back in the capital, the roads are still unrepaired, and the waterlogging remains. The Urban Minister is still in hiding, unable to face the netizens about the perpetual potholes. The Law Minister and the Deputy CM, along with Brutus, are still huddled together in the ex-coal minister’s backyard, conspiring under the moonlight.
The citizens, trapped between celestial politics and earthly puddles, only look to the sky. They pray for the rain to stop so they can finally dry their clothes, their hopes for earthly governance long since transferred to the Holy Triad. God save the kingdom, indeed
