Revolution is come to the gates of the estate!
The gatekeeper, simple tool, spreads her arms wide before the wrought iron. “Was it not enough,” she asks, “to look upon these well-kept lawns? To attend these gracious open houses which raised money for worthy charities?”
“No!” shout the revolutionaries, and cover her with eggs.
The housekeeper, well-paid quisling, stands glaring on the stairs. “Did you not love the stories we so carefully nurtured and released into the wild? Did you not read them in their hundreds in checkout lines?”
“Not us!” they holler, and draw boners on his face.
They storm into the master bedroom and pull the Master from his jeweled slumber. “What’s your problem, guys? You got to see my most excellent horse on TV and sometimes I had breakfast with some of you. Due diligence. Come on now.”
“Off with his head,” the crowd roars, so that’s what happens.
“I don’t get it,” the head growls, “I just don’t get it.”