Letters From King Midas’s Treasurer

King Midas's Treasurer


“All that glitters is not gold.”



“Hands to Yourself!”

~Mrs. McNamara, your second grade teacher

Your Majesty,

I am writing to ask that you please PLEASE PLEASE be more careful with this… unique new power you have recently acquired. I know how much you love your gold, but you must understand the serious repercussions your flippant touching of things has on the nation’s economy. Just the other day, your senseless poking and zapping increased the amount of gold in circulation by forty-two pounds, thereby decreasing its overall value by 0.002 drachma per gram. Fortunately, this number is small and manageable and needn’t cause too much alarm. However, if this carelessness continues, it could spell disaster and, quite possibly, economic collapse. We’ve no cause for worry yet, but please keep your hands to yourself.

Your faithful Treasurer,



Your Majesty,

I have been informed that, in the days since I last wrote you, you have turned your entire palace and surrounding rose garden to solid gold. While, to you, this may seem like a simple change of decor, it has caused the amount of gold in circulation to increase by over four hundred thousand pounds, which has in turn decreased its value by a whole three drachmae per gram. This sudden spike in inflation has forced small businesses to raise their prices drastically, to the point where a McGyro with fries now costs over eighty drachma! While this is not ideal (indeed, it is about as far from ideal as is possible to get) I think I may be able to work out a solution. In the meantime, please just… just stay put. Your castle’s all gold anyway, you couldn’t do any more damage there than has already been done.

Your faithful Treasurer,



Your Majesty,

I don’t know what to do with you. I tell you our economy’s on the brink of collapse, I tell you to stay in your palace, I tell you to keep your hands to yourself. And yet, in spite of everything, in spite of my suggestions and my bailouts and my complicated mathematical formulas, you continue to F*@# us over by varnishing your stupid metal-making hands all over the place! Our gold registry has now increased by over three thousand tons, and its value dipped four hundred drachmae per ounce! Crete and Egypt have cut off all trade with us, and our GDP has reached record lows. We aren’t sunk yet, but we’re pretty F*%$#ing close! I don’t know if we’re ever going to crawl our way out of this one.

Your slightly-less-faithful treasurer,



Your Majesty,

Full disclosure, I’ve had a few drinks of wine. But I don’t care. You’d be drinking too if you had to rectify over forty billion dollars-worth of inflated currency. Yeah, that’s what I’ve been doing for the past week. Do you want to know how many hours of sleep I’ve had? Two. Three. I don’t know. Fuck you. I am soooo sorry to hear that you cracked your tooth on your grapes. Oh, yes, that’s sooooo tragic. Poor King Midas can’t eat all his fancy shmancy King Midas food! Boo hoo HOO! (Do you detect the sarcasm? I hope so!) Meanwhile, while you’re sitting up in your golden tower crying because your golden fruit gave your tooth an ouchie, your subjects are all broke as shit, eating their own pets and fecal matter just to stay alive. I’m done. I have had it. I can’t take this anymore. I swear, you turn one more thing– just one more thing– to gold, I am waltzing up to your castle with a meat cleaver and I am chopping off your hands. You think I’m bluffing? Hmmm? Do you?  Try me, I dare you.

Your infuriated treasurer,




Your Majesty,

Well, it’s happened. You’ve done it. You’ve plunged us into a complete and total economic depression. The value of our gold is worth negative seventeen drachmae per ounce, our money is worthless, and we owe Egypt and Crete over four billion dollars in trade deficits. This is it. The end of the line. The country’s in the shitter. I hope you’re proud of yourself. As for me, I’m done. I told you what would happen if you kept this up, and I’m sticking to that. I hope your fingers have made their piece with Hades!

Your fed up treasurer,



My dearest, most faithful Monetus,

I am dreadfully sorry that I have not been responding to your letters. I’m sure you must have heard by now that I was gifted by the god Dionysus with the power to turn all that I touched into gold. Because of this, every time I have picked up the mail in the past few weeks, my letters have turned to smooth, shimmering, but entirely ink-less and therefore unreadable sheets of pure gold. Fortunately, we’ve got everything sorted out now– for the most part– so we shouldn’t experience any more hang-ups. Anyway, what was it you were inquiring about? I hope it wasn’t anything urgent.

Your reformed ruler,


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