Machiavelli paced back and forth in his spacious library. His manipulations and lies had gotten him control of the Church, the military and other politicians. He had tremendous power, which was the goal. But he could not control the artists and poets. Nothing he said could convince them he wasn't full of crap.
He spit out the window in disgust. He even offered them free pizza for life. Fools.
Then he hit upon a perfect solution. Give them their own territory apart from every one else. He would assign it a catchy name--Sicily.He would wait until that pathetic slacker finished painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Why didn't he just appoint those house painters. The job would have been done weeks ago.
Artists. Seriously?
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