His Majesty was in a happy mood this morning.
His Majesty got back from a long campaign tour last night.
His Majesty was playing marbles with the cats this morning.
His Majesty was snorting at his newspaper when I brought him his pancake this morning.
Snip. Snip. … Snip-snip.
His Majesty has been somewhat sullen at breakfast lately. Part of it was the widespread perception in the media that Cthulu did better than His Majesty in the last debate. Part of it was the season of the year: I think His Majesty suffers from a touch of SAD (Sith Affective Disorder), which flares up around this time of year, but usually passes around early January. And I figured part of it was that the Imperial tummy has been unhappy. For several days, His Majesty could hardly choke down his meals, which left him feeling bloated and suffering with heartburn for hours afterwards. He convinced himself that it was gastroparesis, which he knows has been making life miserable for a young friend of mine.
There is always a certain meanness in the argument of pure evil, joined with a certain superiority in its fact.
— Darth Waldo Emerson
His Majesty is somewhat particular.
His Majesty has continued to ruminate on crime and punishment.
I must obey my master.
I woke to the sound of His Majesty cackling happily. He was up early and feeding nips to the cats.