In the valley of Verdant Gold lived two men who owned everything the eye could see, yet understood nothing they couldn’t buy. One day, you too will realize he only offers carrots.
The Titans of the Soil
Arthur “Shell” Sterling was the Peanut King. He lived in a mansion shaped like a giant legume, where the floorboards were polished mahogany and the air smelled eternally of roasted salt. He believed the peanut was the atom of the soul—dense, self-contained, and providing exactly 160 calories of loyalty per serving.
Across the Great Furrow lived Barnaby Root, the Carrot Tsar. Barnaby wore suits of vibrant, electric orange and resided in a glass spire that plunged deep into the earth like a taproot. To Barnaby, the world was a blurry place that simply needed more Vitamin A to see things his way.
The Rule of the Rations
Both men shared a singular philosophy: To give is to govern. They did not want taxes or titles; they wanted the silent, chewing adoration of the masses.
Arthur Sterling would ride through the city streets in a gold-plated tractor. With a flick of his wrist, he would launch vacuum-sealed bags of honey-roasted peanuts into the crowds.
“Eat!” he would cry, his voice booming through a megaphone. “Protein is the foundation of a stable state! A salted man is a content man!”
On the other side of town, Barnaby Root deployed a fleet of drones. They hovered over parks and schools, dropping bundles of organic, heirloom carrots tied with silk ribbons.
“Vision!” Barnaby would whisper into his broadcasts. “I give you the gift of sight! Look upon my works and see them clearly, for I have sharpened your eyes!”
The Ignorance of Abundance
The two billionaires often met for tea, though they never touched the water. They spoke of “The People” as if they were a singular, strange species of livestock.
“The peasants are looking a bit restless, Barnaby,” Arthur remarked, adjusting his monocle. “I suspect they’ve grown tired of the Dry Roasted. I shall switch to Cajun Spice to keep them subservient.”
“Nonsense, Arthur,” Barnaby replied, nibbling a crudité. “They don’t want spice; they want clarity. I’ve noticed they’ve stopped looking up at my drones. I shall breed a carrot so bright it glows in the dark. Then they shall have no choice but to acknowledge their benefactor.”
Neither man realized that the people weren’t looking up because they were looking for bread. Or medicine. Or a way to pay the heating bill. To the billionaires, a human being was simply a mouth waiting for a specific vegetable or a specific nut.
The Great Boredom
The end didn’t come with a violent revolution or a stock market crash. It came with a collective yawn.
One Tuesday, Arthur Sterling threw a handful of premium, sea-salted legumes at a passing schoolteacher. She didn’t reach for them. They bounced off her shoulder and rolled into the gutter.
“Free peanuts!” Arthur shouted, confused. “Do you not realize the protein-to-weight ratio of these gifts?”
“Mr. Sterling,” the teacher said, not even slowing down. “I have six crates of peanuts in my garage. My kids are breaking out in hives, and frankly, we’re all a little dehydrated. Do you have a glass of water? Or perhaps a pair of shoes?”
Arthur stared at her, blinking. “Shoes? Are they… legume-based?”
At the same moment, Barnaby Root stood in the town square, surrounded by piles of rejected carrots. A man stood before him, holding a bundle of orange roots.
“Take them!” Barnaby commanded. “Improve your night vision! Witness my glory!”
“We can see you just fine, Barnaby,” the man said, dropping the carrots at the billionaire’s feet. “We see that you have nothing else to give. You’re just a man with a lot of orange sticks. We’re going to the market to trade for some eggs and a bit of wool. Keep your vision.”
The Empty Harvest
By winter, the empires of the soil had crumbled. Not because of a lack of resources, but because the “game” had been solved. The people realized that the billionaires weren’t gods—they were just men with very specific, very repetitive hobbies.
Arthur Sterling sat alone in his mahogany hall, surrounded by mountains of shells, wondering why the world had grown so quiet. Barnaby Root sat in his glass spire, staring out at a world that no longer cared to look back.
They had tried to rule the world by filling its stomach with snacks, never realizing that a man cannot live by crunch alone.
only fools follow Billionaires tossing carrots or peanuts.
thelivingbreathingjamesbrown.com 
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