Smaug Asborde was feeling despondent again. Sixty years as ruler of sixty star systems had taken its toll and all he wanted to do these days was sit about the house and occasionally lift a leg to release some flatulence. His daily snacks of large worms farmed from the planet Earth seemed to have that effect on him. Every day he would swear to leave them alone forever but then his son and daughter would appear and offer their daddy a well-deserved treat for the day. And he would commence to sit about and do sod all. And so he never seemed to do any ruling any more. Sometimes he would wonder who was doing it all. There used to be all sorts of things to do and sign. Not now. Presumably because he never left his private chambers to go and do it. And he used to be so gung ho about it all- keen and ready each day to get up and rule the empire he had created as a young, and then middle-aged, man. That zeal of old had died away. Around about the time he had started on the worms. But his brain didn't tell him this on account of the worms. So a despondent despot become useless continued to sit and ruminate over his life, remembering the good battles and the old, the uprisings beaten down and all the comrades stabbed in the back at the start, never recognising the look in his children's eyes.
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