Musculus Minimax, one of the lesser known emperors of Rome, always felt uplifted when the finest playwrights and actors of the empire performed their latest stage play for his amusement. He was so grateful for their affection, just like only a humble god like him would be. But at one particular performance, he was not so sure whether his artists took his divinity serious enough. The play went like this: 

All members of the choir were dressed up as cabbages. They praised their farmer for at least one hour, because he had been so good to them, like a caring and nurturing god, as he was giving them just the right amount of water and nutrients every day, stuff like this, only with better rhymes. (Why hadn't the other gods bestowed the gift of poetry upon the emperor? Secretly, he felt so inferior because of that.)

At the beginning of the second act, the farmer entered the stage, praising this wonderful day of reckoning, looking forward to a truly sumptuous feast worthy of Lucinius Lucullus, followed by a very detailed menu, with each course presented as a long poem. After another hour of this, he escorted the choir away, followed by some strange noises off stage.

The emperor was confused. Was the playwright implying him being a mere farmer?

"Perhaps a few crucifixions are in order.", the emperor mused.
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