Welcome, gentlemen, to the Aperture Hollow Science Jungle. Tramps, hillbillies, drifters - you're here because you followed the hobo signs. So, who is ready to scrounge around for some science? Now, you already met one other on the boxcar over here, so grab a bowl of slumgullion and a glass of sterno and let me introduce myself: I'm Michigan Slim Cave Johnson.
[harmonica plays]
I'm the Hobo King.
—Portal 2: Perpetual Testing Initiative
Sure, there's been a lot of beggar kings, a lot of dead bodies left in unmarked graves or thrown into the river. But the Beggar King, the real Beggar King, who comes when you draw the image of his crown on the pavement and sacrifice a day of takings to his throne, lives on, generation after generation. The Beggar King is there when the druggie dies alone in the puke and shit of his last shot, holding a bloodless hand until the last breath is gone. The Beggar King is the shadow across the street who smiles up at the window of the refuge when the homeless girl gets given her own room, and tells her it's all right, you don't have to fear the walls. The Beggar King... the real Beggar King... is the one you offer your prayers to when your jacket is too thin and the stones are too hard, and every penny you have has just been taken away by the spite of people who don't understand. Not just flesh and blood, yes?
"Another king under my very nose. Caring for those I couldn't be bothered to tend to myself."
—King Randor about Man-E-Faces, He-Man and the Masters of the Universe (2021)
