Dolo paused, disgusted at what he had just heard. “You’re all just a bunch of poo-poo heads, aren’t you?”

The audience members looked at each other in confusion.

Dolo continued. “It’s abundantly clear that you just don’t appreciate greatness when you hear it.” He puffed out his chest and tilted his head back so that he could look down his nose at everyone.

“Pardon me for being blunt, sir, but you need to clean the wax out of your ears,” said the Viceroy. “I don’t know what you thought you heard, but some of us liked your piece. Very much. It may not have been to everyone’s taste but that’s perfectly reasonable, isn’t it?”

“What about the complaint about too many metaphors? Or bird love?”

The Viceroy shook his head slowly. “I’m afraid you imagined that. Mrs. Moffatt, the woman who let you in, told me that when you arrived, you seemed to have a chip on your shoulder. If you were expecting universal approbation, I can understand how you would be disappointed. But surely that’s your problem, not ours.”