Mickey strolled up to the podium in the Jerusalem town hall. This was already in the bag. He didn't know why they didn't just give him the award right now. It couldn't be more than a formality at this point, everyone knew he was the best.
Mickey cleared his throat:
“I am supposed to explain why I should be nominated the greatest of all rulers. But I almost feel like any attempt to argue for my case would insult your intelligence,” Mickey smirked as he looked over the audience of his peers. “My brand and image is known worldwide and brings prosperity: an inexpensive joy to all my people. Vote for what you already know is true.”
Mickey sat down, and Subby sprang towards the mic.
“What Mickey failed to mention was what he does to his people's health! Do you want a slow, miserable death? Then vote Mickey. I bring exuberance, health, and energy to all my people.”
After Subby moved away, Fi-gey approached the stand.
“What do all people want more than anything? Freedom!” Fi-gey answered his own question after a dramatic pause. “I bring freedom to my people. Freedom to make what they choose. To decide whatever they wish for themselves. Vote for freedom.”
Someone brought forward a young girl to the stand.
“We've found a commoner!” the usher exclaimed. She will give an unbiased judgment.
The little girl looked at Mickey, Subby, and Fi-gey. She smiled sadly.
“None of you deserve this. You're all flawed. None of you are really healthy. Often you're dirty, and many of your people leave feeling icky. You charge too much for what you make, and you don't pay your workers enough. None of you are the best because none of you are even good.”
The three hung their heads. They knew what she said to be true.
“But someday, someone will make you what could be: your very best.”
A whisper began spreading around the crowd. The audience began getting up; they began leaving.
“What's going on?” Mickey demanded.
“Someone's been born who can make all of us good. They say he's been born in Bethlehem.”