"Do you have money? I think the kebab place is still open, we could go there"

"03:53 - Eating is cheating" - Casseurs Flowters - 2013

Robert Grognon is a human being from the planet "Earth".

Absolutely.

Another one.

If the esteemed reader has just joined the Great Galactic Regency, a quick digression is already necessary to inform them that the Great Galactic Regency currently comprises nearly six billion planets named "Earth". This is indeed a common phenomenon, as it is part of the logical development of a species - to name what we walk on. What was once a plateau from whose edges our ancestors feared to fall into an infinite void has become, over time and with a zest of science or common sense, call it what you will, a planet, mostly spherical in shape, though sometimes variegated. Thus, six billion planets have the unique distinction of bearing the same name, even though it is pronounced differently from species to species.

There are, however, planet names that claim a certain originality, such as the one originally called "Lassoie", which means "Earth" in ancient Lassoyen. A planet that the discerning aesthete will recognize as "quite pretty", a civilization that, as it progressed, united under the banner of the Lassoyen Empire. An Empire governed not by force, but through philosophy, pacifism, reflection, and mutual understanding. The Empire aimed to bring together the Lassoyen peoples, to walk the same path, taking into account the aspirations and principles of each, in an atmosphere imbued with respect for the other, which is both precious and rare in this sometimes chaotic universe.

A great people, indeed.

Emperor Beni-Wiwi IV, whose History will only remember by his nickname "The Dishonorable", was known as a wise and aging leader, watching over his subjects like a father over his children, like a shepherd over his labrador-sheep. He ruled the Lassoyen Empire with an iron fist in a velvet glove from the Opal Palace, an architectural marvel built gradually over ten centuries, give or take a cow.The Emperor was notably known for not wasting the air around him with needless chatter, preferring reflection and meditation to the endless and sterile debates his advisors dreamed of having with him.

Thus, over the years, the Emperor's Word became Law. When a problem was presented to him, Emperor Beni-Wiwi IV, whose History, I remind you, will only remember by his nickname "The Dishonorable", would plunge into a deep silence, from which he emerged only to announce his decision. The Word then becomes Law, the Law is applied, and so on.During the 213th anniversary of the Unification, celebrating the Lassoyen people as a whole, as well as their successes and accomplishments, and as Lassoie was gently but surely opening up to the stars of the unfathomable space, a perfectly legitimate problem was presented to Emperor Beni-Wiwi IV, whose History, for what it's worth, will only remember by his nickname "The Dishonorable".

At the Imperial Assembly traditionally held in the West Wing of the Opal Palace every 15th of the month, a counselor invoked his right to Question the Emperor.

"Emperor," he said, "first of all, it's an honor, I mean... Wow! I'm talking to you, you know! It's crazy!"

The Emperor gave him a sincere and tired smile, followed by a slow wave of his hand.

"Anyway, I digress, it's just... Wow... Yes, yes, so, uh, my question, I guess, Your Lordship?"

Other counselors rolled their eyes.

"Your Honor is not unaware that we're aiming for the stars, we're even doing pretty well, it's super cool, it creates vocations too, honestly, it's really great. So - uh - I guess we're going to meet extra-Lassoyens one day. And we'll have to introduce ourselves and all, so as not to appear rude, you imagine if they're there and they take a dislike to us - oops - the blunder."

The Emperor squinted his eyes.

"I think, Your Holiness, we should have a name to represent ourselves in Space, a name that unites us all as Lassoyens. In fact, we should rename our planet for the various peoples of the stars. While we may be united, our different peoples have different names for our planet, and that could cause misunderstandings, you know, awkwardness, can you imagine? So - uh - I exercise my right to Question and, if my old colleagues are ok, and you too, Your Royalty, of course, we will propose it to the Lassoyens, then follow the bureaucratic course of things, but you will have to give us a name then."

The counselors whispered. The Emperor closed his eyes, then smiled. He nodded. The counselors nodded as well.

The Question was submitted to the people, who overwhelmingly agreed. It made sense. If we are to present ourselves to the peoples of the Universe, might as well do it under a single name. That was the very philosophy of the Lassoyen Unification.Of course, there are always old renegades living in the past, whose mantras are "it was better before", "in my time", and who are quick to pour out their venomous opinions to anyone willing to listen, but, and this is a particularity that makes the beauty of the Lassoyen people, they had learned to completely ignore the retrograde opinion of the old crazies.

Finding a name was obviously not an easy task, even for the Emperor. Considering the growing interest of the Lassoyen people in this Question, and eager to find a name for Lassoie, he set aside certain subjects, rescheduled his appointments, delved into scholarly research, and spent considerable time in the Imperial Library. He was looking for a name that would represent both the history and ideals of his people. Of course, he did not utter another word, not a single one. Even the incident recorded in the Lassoyen Annals as the one of the little toe stubbed against one of the legs of the low table in the Imperial Salon only earned the Emperor's entourage a grimace of pain at best, a pinched lip at most.

Explaining a spring morning on Lassoie is to describe a gentle breeze coming from the east, which, as it passes through the grasses of the Benbal meadow, makes the dewdrops clinging to the stems and petals quiver, then entering the city gate and accelerating along the main avenue, extinguishes the torches and rustic lanterns still used out of tradition. At the end, the Opal Palace stands proudly, welcoming the breeze into its heart, letting it wander through the halls and corridors, up to the Emperor's chamber, whose night was disturbed by dreams of yesteryear. That spring morning, thus, the breeze persistently tickled the hairs of his ears. With half-closed eyes, the Emperor mumbled. His attendants, already present in the chamber, ready to help him rise and perform his ablutions, held their breath. The Emperor opened his eyes and sat up abruptly, uttering a string of words, marking a definitive turning point in the history of Lassoie.

In his dream, as was reported in the annals by a band of furious and humiliated historians, the Emperor was in the town of his youth, a small rural town with a few shops. The Emperor was young in his dream. He wore a thin shirt and shorts. It was summer. The sun was high in the sky, dust lifted behind each of his steps, and he was thirsty. He entered a fast-food establishment on the ground floor of a quirky little house probably designed by a drunk architect, ordered a cold drink, and suddenly enticed by the smell of the dishes, decided to eat a little something.

He hailed an employee, who pointed him to a table. Seated uncomfortably on a plastic chair, elbows on the aluminum table, and his drink served, he looked out the window, sipping his drink in small gulps. In the street, passersby walked with their heads covered, overwhelmed by the heat. The few tufts of grass that dotted the dirt road had turned yellow, and every shadow, rare under the midday sun, became a shelter as precious as it was welcome.

"You have to decide."

The Emperor, snapped out of his daydreams, turned around and saw the employee near him, a notebook in one hand, a pencil in the other.

"Sorry? He asked.

- I said, "You have to decide."

- Decide what?

- To order. The world depends on it.

- The world depends on it?

- You're the Emperor, I'm here to take your order, you have to decide now, or the drought will worsen by the minute."

Dream logic is what it is, and it's rare for the dreamer to question it.

"Of course," murmured the Emperor, "the drought."

The employee leaned closer to his ear and whispered.

"Choose your dish, Emperor. Now. Look outside, everything is dying."

The Emperor felt the hairs of his ears tickle. Suddenly seized by panic, aware of the urgency, he stirred.

"One... One..."

He woke up, screaming:

"A KEBAB-FRIES WITH WHITE SAUCE AND EVERYTHING EXCEPT CHILI PEPPERS!"

That day, marked by the seal of dishonor, was when Lassoie became A Kebab-Fries with White Sauce and Everything Except Chili Peppers.The Lassoyen people, then becoming the A Kebab-Fries with White Sauce and Everything Except Chili Peppersians, did not go back on the Emperor's Word in the following cycles, for the Word is sacred.

But they were deeply vexed.

During the integration of A Kebab-Fries with White Sauce and Everything Except Chili Peppers into the Great Galactic Regency, the ambassador was invited to the Golden Star, to undergo various administrative tasks to make his planet a full member, with all the benefits and prerogatives due. When the Great Administrative Employee asked him the name of the planet to register it, the A Kebab-Fries with White Sauce and Everything Except Chili Peppersian ambassador sighed then proceeded with a trembling voice, shaken by sobs. What the Great Administrative Employee considered to be a great emotion linked to the joy of joining the Great Regency was actually a deep shame mixed with furious resentment towards Emperor Beni-Wiwi IV, whose History will only remember by his nickname "The Dishonorable".

The rest of the story of A Kebab-Fries with White Sauce and Everything Except Chili Peppers knows a relatively happy ending, since, stung by such an uncommon name within the Great Galactic Regency, tourists flocked in masses, and the planet's kebabs experienced unprecedented success, giving a tremendous boost to the already excellent economy of the planet. The success was such that the recipe exported to the confines of the Galaxy, from the Noctulescent Falls of Gavéa to the Ethereal Cemetery of the Quack-Quack Ducks.