Emperor.

As you, John, Emperor of Lighthorn Mountain, hover above the sparkling landscape, enjoying the warm upwinds caressing your belly, you feel your peen tip curiously peering out of its sheath. You swiftly maneuver your body around, and plummet. The adrenaline rises in your head, you close your eyes to perceive the air rushing through each and every feather in freefall. The seconds pass in slow motion as you close in to the water. In a split moment, you open your eyes and wing into a sharp curve, extending taloned hands towards your breakfast only half an inch above the silvery surface of the ocean. Snatching an enormous trout out of the water, you launch yourself back into the sky, where you swallow your prey whole. The thrill of the hunt fuels your body with another type of hunger, your now fully extended pink peen glistening in the sunlight. You dart through the sky, back towards the translucent-green rock and stone, where hundreds of your peers cast their shadow across the rugged surface. As the sunrays play around your wings, you contemplate the resplendent beauty of your Empire. You are pleased to be so highly regarded by the inhabitants of the mountain range, knowing that they will offer you unconditional servitude whenever you appear.

Life is a celebration after all, and the party is on.