The villagers stormed my hilltop castle with their flaming torches

The villagers stormed my hilltop castle with their flaming torches and their pitchforks, shouting “Shame on you! Shame on you for having no shame! Shame on you for continuing to absolutely enjoy and luxuriate in your massive breasted and massive arsed strippers and whores while we are trying so desperately to make you feel ashamed for it! How we hate you for your insouciance and your joyful flaunting of your pleasures in our faces!” And like moths against a lighthouse they smash their tiny feeble brains out against my iron studded wooden doors, leaving little purple and red squidge marks like on a car windscreen in summer; as like the king in his counting house I count out all my money; as I play them like a piano. “Oh no!” I laugh, embarrassed. “My friends! Your jealousy is showing! You have come undone! Tuck yourselves in!”