Gary lay upon a sea of pillows, knowing things couldn't get any better. There were barrels all around him, though unlike your regular inanimate barrels, these ones possessed arms and legs which they were using to fan Gary with ostrich feathers and feed him seedless grapes. The barrels also had female reproductive systems, which they would later use for an entirely different purpose.
"Hey, Chosen One," said Tyrone, poking his head inside the pillow-and-fanning room.
"Hey, Dark Lord. Things coming along swimmingly I assume?" replied Gary, opening his mouth to receive a grape.
"Yeah, the slaves will have our statues finished in no time," said Tyrone. "Six hundred and eighty feet tall, just as we planned."
"Brilliant, just make sure they don't make my nose too big. Last time they made my nose too big and we had to knock them down and start over again."
"I'm keeping an eye on it. You sure you don't want to come out here and whip a few slaves along? I've got them all dressed up like postmen."
"Nah, I'm right. Thanks for the offer," said Gary, with Tyrone shrugging in response and retracting his head from the room. Gary looked down at his awesome shoes. "How goes the polishing, my prince?"
"Very well, Chosen One," mumbled Prince Steve, as he and his father, the overthrown Paulo, wiped down Gary's shoes with cloths and polish. Gary would have loved nothing more than to see Alan down there with them, but the old priest was no longer amongst the living, the pain of seeing the world smashed to bits by orcs having been too much for his geriatric heart. Gary had been quick to shave off Alan's mo for safe keeping, though. He wore it every Friday.
Gary placed his hands behind his head and sighed contentedly. "Life's good, isn't it, Steve?"
"Mmm," scowled Prince Steve.
"Now you make those shoes sparkle, or I won't hesitate in killing you."