A tip: Read it out loud to somebody, it's even funnier.
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away (on the edge of a wide and deep tranquil Ocean, actually), there lived a Prime Minister, governing his people. (They didn't like Kings very much, and Queens they had far too many in a City around The Cross. Nobody took them serious.)
There was not much to govern either, because the Gods of the Land had blessed the people with intellect, the land with riches for the picking --- and digging and shipping and flogging --- and the sky with sunshine, so everybody lived happily ever before.
And the Prime Minister, who had a way with words and a mellifluous organ to boot, claimed credit for providing people with intellect and the land with riches, and his court criers published the myth that the sun shone from before him and behind.
And the people couldn't care less because they lived happily ever before - but I mentioned that already.
However, governing is a costly business, especially when one has to rely on consultants and advisors and lobbyists and wise men in huge numbers to tell one, how best to spin the facts into woollen caps that people may wear over their eyes.
So it came to pass that the Prime Minister found the coffers empty, but the consultants and wise men and soothsayers demanded their pay. "Not a problem," he said. "We simply divert the cashflow from all the riches that get dug and shipped and flogged through our coffers, and share only that what may overflow, spreading it as gifts across all the people. Because it seemeth not meet that the loot should benefit only those that do all the digging and shipping and flogging. The people that do nothing of the sort will agree that they should share - and there is a great multitude of them that carrieth me through the next election."
And so it was decreed. --- except ...
A number of people stayed awake and did not like the idea. They were mainly those that had initially organised what to dig, where to ship, and negotiated all the flogging and fleecing and cashflow. They also refused to wear the woollen caps over their eyes. They foresaw a future with empty coffers and without any overflow at all. And they likethed it not one bit.
And so it came to pass that word got out on the streets "The Prime Minister is no longer as Beloved as he used to be." And there was great Hue and Cry among the cohorts of sycophants, hangers-on, lipopygian chairwarmers, and wise men. They afeared that their cashflow might dwindle away with the Prime Minister's chances of retaining Office.
And the Prime Minister's consultants consulted their tea leaves, and "Lo and Behold" they cried. "Our beloved Prime Minister is not sufficiently beloved any more. Let us send him to consult a real Guru who knows what to do to remain beloved."
And so it came to pass that the Prime Minister saddled his flying chariot, filled it with magic juices and food and drink to carry him and his retinue to the Land where the Guru liveth. And his retinue were many, and the fair maidens serving the food and drinks were shapely and well-instructed in the tastes of their beloved Prime Minister - lest he hit them with a tantrum.
And into the cave of the Guru he went, leaving his retinue well behind. And he spake in his mellifluous voice and said "O Guru, tell me what I have to do to be beloved again, at least until the next election."
And the Guru sat there and said nothing.
So he repeated his request in Mandarin.
And still the Guru sat and said nothing.
At last, the Guru's manservant appeared out of the dark and told the Primie Minister "Yon Guru speaketh not Mandarin." Upon which the Prime Minister demanded "Well, tell him then Who I Am and translate!"
"Oh, the Guru understandeth what you said the first time, but you omitted the password. I am sure your mother taught you basic enough manners."
And the Prime Minister swallowed his pride and several words that initially appeared on his tongue, and uttered the ancient word of magic ritual: "PLEASE".
And lo and behold, the Guru immediately spake and spake thusly: "If you want to be beloved by your people, you must display one character trait in everything you say and do."
"Well, what is this magic trait then?" asked the Prime Minister, and remembered to add the password "PLEASE".
"That trait is sincerity" replied the Guru. "Go forth and practice sincerity till you have it down pat. Once you manage to convincingly fake that, you've got it made." - Arty, aka Pixel
There was not much to govern either, because the Gods of the Land had blessed the people with intellect, the land with riches for the picking --- and digging and shipping and flogging --- and the sky with sunshine, so everybody lived happily ever before.
And the Prime Minister, who had a way with words and a mellifluous organ to boot, claimed credit for providing people with intellect and the land with riches, and his court criers published the myth that the sun shone from before him and behind.
And the people couldn't care less because they lived happily ever before - but I mentioned that already.
However, governing is a costly business, especially when one has to rely on consultants and advisors and lobbyists and wise men in huge numbers to tell one, how best to spin the facts into woollen caps that people may wear over their eyes.
So it came to pass that the Prime Minister found the coffers empty, but the consultants and wise men and soothsayers demanded their pay. "Not a problem," he said. "We simply divert the cashflow from all the riches that get dug and shipped and flogged through our coffers, and share only that what may overflow, spreading it as gifts across all the people. Because it seemeth not meet that the loot should benefit only those that do all the digging and shipping and flogging. The people that do nothing of the sort will agree that they should share - and there is a great multitude of them that carrieth me through the next election."
And so it was decreed. --- except ...
A number of people stayed awake and did not like the idea. They were mainly those that had initially organised what to dig, where to ship, and negotiated all the flogging and fleecing and cashflow. They also refused to wear the woollen caps over their eyes. They foresaw a future with empty coffers and without any overflow at all. And they likethed it not one bit.
And so it came to pass that word got out on the streets "The Prime Minister is no longer as Beloved as he used to be." And there was great Hue and Cry among the cohorts of sycophants, hangers-on, lipopygian chairwarmers, and wise men. They afeared that their cashflow might dwindle away with the Prime Minister's chances of retaining Office.
And the Prime Minister's consultants consulted their tea leaves, and "Lo and Behold" they cried. "Our beloved Prime Minister is not sufficiently beloved any more. Let us send him to consult a real Guru who knows what to do to remain beloved."
And so it came to pass that the Prime Minister saddled his flying chariot, filled it with magic juices and food and drink to carry him and his retinue to the Land where the Guru liveth. And his retinue were many, and the fair maidens serving the food and drinks were shapely and well-instructed in the tastes of their beloved Prime Minister - lest he hit them with a tantrum.
And into the cave of the Guru he went, leaving his retinue well behind. And he spake in his mellifluous voice and said "O Guru, tell me what I have to do to be beloved again, at least until the next election."
And the Guru sat there and said nothing.
So he repeated his request in Mandarin.
And still the Guru sat and said nothing.
At last, the Guru's manservant appeared out of the dark and told the Primie Minister "Yon Guru speaketh not Mandarin." Upon which the Prime Minister demanded "Well, tell him then Who I Am and translate!"
"Oh, the Guru understandeth what you said the first time, but you omitted the password. I am sure your mother taught you basic enough manners."
And the Prime Minister swallowed his pride and several words that initially appeared on his tongue, and uttered the ancient word of magic ritual: "PLEASE".
And lo and behold, the Guru immediately spake and spake thusly: "If you want to be beloved by your people, you must display one character trait in everything you say and do."
"Well, what is this magic trait then?" asked the Prime Minister, and remembered to add the password "PLEASE".
"That trait is sincerity" replied the Guru. "Go forth and practice sincerity till you have it down pat. Once you manage to convincingly fake that, you've got it made." - Arty, aka Pixel
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