"So, what about the donut king?" you ask the proprietor of Donut Queen like the asshole you are.
In the split second it takes you to spew the word "king" from your slack maw, a rush of images of the myriad idiots that have made the same dumb-ass joke flash before the fried dough-monger's eyes interspersed with images of the same idiots meeting violent ends at his hands.
You wouldn't know it, though, as he keeps his pleasant smile and calm, friendly tone when he tells you "The Donut King is only a figurehead, everyone knows that. The real power of the Kingdom of Donut rests in the throne of the Queen."
You both share a laugh, his seeming just as genuine as yours, which makes it all the more scary when you hear the same laugh in your bedroom that night.