There have been rumblings of war for some time now. The giant political zit of European diplomacy came to ripe and unpleasant head at a state dinner hosted by the Marquis De Salmond at his palace at Versailles. Powdered and perfumed almost as much as the harlots that surrounded him, the Marquis gave grave offense to Czar Alterio II when soggy and oversalted Borscht was served. Too many libations were roundly enjoyed by the august and venerable guests. After one too many white wine spritzers, King Benjamin I lost his shit and swatted the novelty-sized turban off Grand Vizier Cherry's head when he stroked his elaborate moustaches and asked if he had Prince Albert in a can. Emperor Magic von Turley anchlussed the shit out of Archduke Rofranz Foferdinand when, in a maneuver of the deftest statesmanship, he convinced Prime Minister Guerrasolini to put a lampshade on his head and do a little dance, distracting the Archduke and leaving him vulnerable to the savage Germanic pantsing von Turley dealt him.
The party ended in disaster, with the various heads of state uniformly butthurt. Even as they shuffled out the front door of Versailles and telling each other not to worry about it, we all had too much to drink, the Prince Albert crack was actually pretty funny, etc., etc., they were contacting their ministers and generals to put in unprecedented orders for barbed wire, mustard gas, machine guns and specialty trench-digging shovels...
