People of Mongo: Hawk Men, Lion Men, Lizard Men, Shark Men, and women of the same: Ming is dead! Nay, as hard to believe as it may be, what once seemed impossible has come to pass. Many were the times in which my father was thought to be dead, and yet he returned: times in which he was seemingly disintegrated, only to have slipped through a trap door just at the moment of his execution; times in which he was entombed in a cell with spike-lined walls closing in on him, or the ceiling inexorably lowering, so as to crush him, only for it to turn out that there was more room than it at first looked like, so that he was able to escape; or even the time that he was trapped in a speeding automobile which plunged off a cliff in an exploding fireball, only to be revealed later that he had never been in the car at all, and that it was but a ruse.
Such were the ways my father enjoyed cheating death: sometimes he would lie in wait in a room with an open vat of volatile chemicals and sparking electrical wires, just so he could see the look on a visitor’s face when he cried, “You fool! You’ve doomed us all!” However, after being accidentally poisoned, shot, clubbed, and drowned while in the company of his most trusted advisors, it cannot be denied that Ming has finally been placed upon the conveyor belt to that buzz saw from which no man returns.
Ming the Magnificent; Ming the Magisterial; Ming the Mighty is gone. As his daughter, I knew a different Ming: the Ming who wore reading glasses when signing death warrants; the amateur musician who learned to play “You Are My Sunshine” on the sacred lyre to amuse me when an octosak ate all the guests at my birthday party; the lonely widower who wanted nothing more than for his only daughter to have a woman younger than herself as her stepmother. While to some he more than earned the epithet “Merciless,” I choose to remember him as a kind and generous father, one who would have given me the moon, and then destroyed it, were I only to ask.
Thus, it is with great sadness that I assume the throne of Mongo, but also with great hope. It is my hope that you will look upon me as a humble servant of the people, and that I will be able to accept, with all due humility, first: the silk and precious metals that make up the mantle of leadership, and second: the unquestioned obedience of my every command. Also, I will be living in the palace.
But I am not only your Queen: am I not also a woman? If you prick me, do I not bleed? If you shoot me with a heat ray, do I not burn? If struck by a levitation ray, do I not ascend, or by an invisibility ray, do I not disappear, only to become visible again at a narratively convenient time? As a woman, affected by the various freezing, melting, and healing rays that we employ, am I not subject to the needs and desires of the flesh? In short, is there no man who can conquer the sacred orangopoid of my heart?
As you know, Mongo owes Prince Barin of Arboria a debt of gratitude for his stability, his reliability, and his punctuality during this time of transition. Many are the speculations that have linked him to me personally, and in truth he is–or was–a fine man, and no doubt worthy of the throne. Alas for Prince Barin, his heroism was to be his undoing, as no word has been heard from him since he launched his daring expedition to the surface of the Sun. Nevertheless, he will always have a place of honor in our memories on account of his strength, bravery, and charisma, the last of which is attested to by the twenty-four courageous nobles who volunteered to accompany him on his journey. They will not be forgotten: truly, in the words of the poet, “They have slipped the surly bonds of Mongo and touched the face of the Great God Tao.”
Alas, into every life must rain a little fire. Do not cry for me: I will survive. There is yet one man worthy to share my throne: I speak of the Earthman, Flash Gordon. Yes, Gordon is alive. Flash–ah!–savior of the universe: he will save every one of us. He is a miracle: king of the impossible! If any among you find the Earthman Gordon, he is not to be harmed: bring him directly to me, and together, we will rule the galaxy.
People of Mongo: with your help I intend to make our planet a fitting home for your future King. Under Ming’s rule, Mongo achieved greatness, but imagine what it can become through the labor of every man, every woman, every child, especially in comparison to the puny planet Earth, and with the mighty Flash. Long live Mongo! We are the champions: our lives are serene . . . our minds are superior . . . our accomplishments great. Flash Gordon must be captured!
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Guy Vollen is an author, composer, and “funtrepreneur,” based in Wichita, Kansas. Guy is available for corporate speaking and team-building appearances; let him motivate your troops with his patented JENGA system, “The Five Smells of Opportunity,” and some “fresh” hip-hop trust exercises. His Choose Your Own Adventure-style novelization of the classic Nintendo game “Legendary Wings” was included in Noiseless Chatter’s anthology The Lost Worlds of Power; his nonfiction (most of which is only unintentionally funny) can be found at The Wichita Eagle, The Solute, and his blog, Medleyana. Follow him on Twitter (@GuyVollen) if you want to know what movie he is watching or what his children are up to.