Poovalan Kurup

Look, I don’t ask for much in life—just a modest 80,000-square-foot sanctuary where my personal artisanal glacier water doesn't taste like it was harvested by an amateur, yet here we are. Yesterday, my third-tier butler had the absolute audacity to serve my morning espresso in a cup that was warmed to 62 degrees instead of the mandatory 64.5 degrees, completely ruining the subtle notes of black truffle and starlight, so naturally, I had to fire him and burn down the west wing just to purify the residual negative energy. And don't even get me started on the moon—it’s entirely too bright tonight, practically screaming "middle class," so I’ve instructed my legal team to issue a cease-and-desist to NASA to have them dim the lunar reflection before I’m forced to buy orbit and install velvet blackout curtains myself.