As we all know, I’ve been plotting the overthrow of all legitimate terrestrial governments and my installation as god-king for some time now. Let’s say that I’ve succeeded partially–i.e., I’ve conquered one country–the United States if you’re an American, or whatever country you happen to live in. My legions of genetically-engineered flame-breathing venom-spewing flesh-eating winged howler monkeys are flying about, enforcing my will; I’ve taken the White House/Buckingham Palace/insert-your-country’s-equivalent as my personal residence and changed the flag, national anthem, etc. to reflect the new rule of the Rhymer dynasty.
Now, I’m a pragmatic god-king; I haven’t destroyed the country’s infrastructure, because, after all, I want you and your fellow slaves/subjects to continue producing economically. I’ve publically disavowed any intent to conquer any more territory, and enough time has passed–ten years, say–that the other great powers have said, “Screw it. Freeing America/England/insert-your-country’s-name-here isn’t worth the effort. Let’s just recognize that Skald as the rightful ruler and go partake of his harems.”
But, however pragmatic I seem, I’m an evil god-king. Taxes are high; dissent is crushed; virgins are despoiled; the SMDB is outlawed. The heads of my enemies adorn pikes in front of the royal palace. You get the picture. Last but not least, I’ve placed a dead-man switch in my brain, so that when I die, a nuclear warhead will be detonated in the center of the capital city. Said deadman switch will be activated whether my death is natural or not–so, since my death is obviously inevitable, it’s only a matter of time before Washington/London/insert-your-nation’s-capital-here gets obliterated. The existence of the deadman switch is not common knowledge, but somehow you learn of it.
Plot my overthrow.