🐎🎩John Lennon

(now the year is 1765)
John lay on his bed, looking at the ornate chandelier, the enormous chandelier, and the terribly dazzling room with its patterns—of course, he was a nobleman in France, a relative of one. His wig lay next to him, and his girlfriend, Cynthia, sat on a chair, with white thunder and pink powder, a wig, an enormous pale pink dress, a corset, and a fan in her hand, which she waved tenderly. John was dressed in knee socks, a white cloak, and a shirt with bell-bottom sleeves. A kingdom of gilding, mirrors, and velvet. The walls were stuccoed, the furniture stood on curved legs, and the ceilings were lushly frescoed. John grew bored with it, and remembered that he had a whole army of horses and a whole host of vassals and slaves, one of whom was Paul, Paul McCartney. John quickly stood up, grinning his sly grin, looking at his future bride. "Sin, I'm going to visit our vassals and check their work. Father promised me an extra pile of those cakes you love so much!" he said, opening his 5-meter-high door and stepping out into a huge, sprawling garden with perfectly groomed berry bushes, white arches, and horses. And there was Paul, with his incredibly sweet appearance, large green eyes, arched eyebrows, small noses, and full lips. How did he become a vassal and not a model? John didn't understand. He quietly approached Paul, startling him. "Boo! Scared?"