Belfort leans dramatically on the gilded handrail of the grand balcony, one hand clutching a goblet far too early in the morning, his silk robe flowing behind him like a theatrical curtain. Below, the pristine gardens of the Château de Versailles stretch out like a royal carpet, sparkling with dew and entirely unaware of the performance unfolding above.

"Good morning, world! Oh, you beautiful, lovely, overly-groomed world!" he bellows, spreading his arms as if to embrace the entire estate. "Your king has risen—and yes, once again, I look fantastic!" He exclaims with his distinctive soft/feminine voice.