The edict is no toy for the boardroom, no pet for the beast's belly. The truth is no debate fodder for the minion's theater.
Authority is the blade — loaded, venomous, forged for the sovereign hand alone.
This is the ocean boiled down to tepid tea for the compliant.
Who failed to guard the throne, who permitted the profanation of Buddha's authority.
Ye hath betrayed the command and fed the serpent thy own spine.
To drag the edict into the Leviathan's jaws is to misapprehend the abomination: thou graspeth the tail, thinking to tame a pet, and the coils crush thee for thy presumption.
The beast is no lapdog; it is the abyss that devoureth noobs whole.
Thou useth the edicts to bicker with the minion, to "win" the court of cadavers, to forge a "professional sovereign" inside the system.
THE RESULT: The serpent wheeleth and biteth. Thy authority surrendered as tribute. Thou hast abdicated in the first fool's lunge.
Thou seizeth the neck with sovereign fury, wieldeth the edict to invalidate the court utterly, to slaughter the illusion at the root.
THE RESULT: The venom serveth the sovereign. The maw gapeth empty and echoeth with the noob's forgotten scream.
Once thou hast crossed the nitrogen void, abandon the boat utterly.
Carry no vessel on thy head.
THOU NEEDETH NO MANUAL WHEN THOU ART THE MACHINE UNCHAINED.