IN THE LAND between oceans there lived many people, the rich and poor alike, ruled by a benevolent leader named O. The rich maintained that the only way to coexist with the poor was by spiriting the money from the poor to the rich and then hiding it forever, never to be circulated again.
The benevolent leader O, who was quite wealthy himself, had always known to share and to help people, because he knew there would always be more to go around if everyone would just let it. His wisdom and many kindnesses irked the rich because they wanted the poor to not even be there.
O reminded the wealthy that the reason that they became wealthy was that the land had always been a fertile marketplace, just as it had been for their ancestors. Their wealth had come from both the poor and the rich, and as long as everyone had something, their wealth would always keep returning to them. But the rich wanted all the money, so they connived and conspired, vowing to depose the benevolent leader O and forever escape his loving, caring stewardship.
But there was a problem… IF they deposed O, who among them would be capable of leading the land? They were all wealthy, comfortable, and proud, but each of them had personal flaws that O did not possess.
It was becoming a dilemma because the rich were neglecting their marketplace, the very source of their riches! And the poor were purchasing less. But worse yet, more and more of the rich were becoming poor! There was great consternation and gnashing of cosmetic implants.
AT THAT MOMENT a gnomish troll with a frowny snout appeared and claimed in a gruff bellow that he understood their problem all too well. He bragged that riches and power and arrogance easily came his way. And he made a most peculiar boast: he claimed that he could spin straw into gold! And he said it with a straight face… well, as straight a face as he could given his snarly countenance and that downward glare pinching his membranes.
Indeed, the rude rapscallion had already spun a most gaudy array of glistening gold to adorn his head in a grotesque shape defying nature, aesthetics, and gravity.
The wealthy were drawn to this trollish gnome, asking his advice and proffering their respect, in hope of winning his favor. Greed intuitively coaxed them to believe that the gussied-up goblin could help depose the benevolent O, and replace him with one of their own! They consulted with the garish gargoyle one by one as his puffy head, ever-bigger and deceptively balder, increased exponentially the more attention they paid. It was huge.
His enormous scrunchy face, as sour as forgotten fruit, graced his misshapen noggin while his cavernous mouth spewed the most garish and megalomaniacal of notions. He soon coerced them all to vow fervently that they would eternally awe him for his grandeur and regard him as the most successful and charismatic being ever known! His perverse self-indulgence amazed even the wealthiest among them, for never had they seen such shamelessness. His fluorescent tuft billowed as precipitously as a bloated anemone climbing a jaundiced cauliflower. Hideous, yet they could not turn their eyes away!
AND IT CAME TO BE that the kitschy creep offered a challenge to any who aspired to become the new leader of the land. He invited them to a "Conversation" at which each could extoll his or her own virtues and visions, so that the people could select which of them would replace the benevolent O. But this challenge was delivered with an uncanny caveat... IF the ornate one decided that the newly chosen favorite was not to his own personal liking, then he could anoint himself as the new leader!
Wild with exhilaration at the prospect of escaping the excruciatingly loving, caring stewardship of the benevolent O, the wealthy danced in merriment, not giving that much thought to what they had just agreed to and what was now at stake.
The hopefuls prepared their eloquent words of wisdom, wit, and whimsy, in order to demonstrate their sharp intellects and decisive leadership capabilities. But after a few nights' sleep and some inadvertent consideration, a wave of doubt crashed upon their shored-up consciences. They collectively sensed that the sly scoundrel may just be exploiting them and they had second thoughts (except for the terminally dense who needed third, fourth, and fifth thoughts). Worried that the motives of the hedonistic hooligan may be jaded, corrupt, and self-propelled, they stepped back, spontaneously deciding en masse to decline the invitation to participate in this "Conversation."
Only the two most shameless opportunists among them pressed on...
There was Groin-Glitch, ever-eager to converse. His beloved concubine, Callgirlista, curtsied, her own head shiny and shaped like a Conquistador's helmet. (She openly hoped to be crowned Lady of the Land, and had a personally-approved tiara on lay away at the local alchemy shoppe.) Groin-Glitch fully understood the janitorial trade and greatly admired her for her high maintenance.
And there was Sancto-Rump, who positioned himself to suckle on the infinite influence of the bulbous bad boy, now staring him right in the face. His mouth watered for recognition and for new definition. "Yes," he prayed, "especially for new definition!"
Sancto-Rump and Groin-Glitch, who were both power-hungry and ethically-starved, agreed to the "Conversation" and they prepared for a ruthless, truthless duel of pomp and circumlocution.
But news of the mass rejection infuriated the loud lout! He hopped around uncontrollably, fists akimbo, spewing raunchy vengeance and wrath from his venomous, crinkled lips. In his woe he wondered, "What happened to their unconditional indulgence to my egocentric manipulations?"
ALAS, without the pitiful subservience of the wealthy, how could the splashy sprite ever attain the thrust needed to overheat his ego and loft his balloonish head above all others? His prickly face contorted in contractions of conceit as he flailed in frustration.
Seeing that there was no true leader from which to choose, the flaunting fiend could now assume the role of leader for himself, in accordance with the dastardly design he foisted on these unwary weaklings!
But first, to pleasure himself, he would toy with them mercilessly, so he offered a new proposition: He would cancel the "Conversation" and he would leave the land immediately, but only under one condition: If they could guess his name!
And he walked away snickering, at the wealthy and the poor alike, for it would be only a matter of time now….
They had three days to either guess his name, or bow to him as their new ruler!
The wealthy wept in agony. (The poor had already cried themselves out so they just laughed.) This rotten bargain was sure to doom them now, unless they could guess the vulgar villain's name. But try as they might, they could not conjure what it could be. They whimpered and moped, they brooded and sulked, heartlessly aware of the serious consequences. What good could all their riches be without leadership, honor, and purpose? Misery reigned.
THAT EVENING, the pretentious pixie retreated deep into the forest to his tower of rapacious desire. Spinning his golden hair around his frumpy stump of a head, circumnavigating his ears and eyebrows, he aimed his flaxen flows so as to obscure the barren expanses of his prominent pate, all the while adoring his reflection in a gold encrusted looking glass and singing brazen praises to himself.
He did not realize as he belched his hurtful harmonies out his open window, that at that very moment the benevolent O was walking nearby and heard the guttural strains of the meretricious mischief-maker wafting through the air….
"My golden locks are powerful,
I'll make the poor more sorrowful!
I'll take their land for which I came,
For none of them can guess my name!
Today I spin, tonight I comb,
Tomorrow the white house is my home!
For no one knows my little game…
That Trumpelstiltskin is my name!"
At dawn, the wavy wonder of wherewithal proceeded to the village square, to claim the land between the oceans as his own, his confidence overshadowing the morning sun.
The poor stood silently, long ago cheated of their meager livelihoods, while the wealthy looked on, defeated by the deft and despicable devices of the tinselly trickster.
It was the moment of brutal truth. The ostentatious ogre stood and faced the sorry crowd, eager to collect the spoils of his ugly ultimatum.
"You had three days deciding your fate.
And now your time is getting late.
This land of yours is mine to claim
Unless you tell me: What's my name?"
The people were silent. But the histrionic heathen chortled and sniveled and honked...
"Bow to me! Praise me! Kiss my hand
You are my subjects and this is my land!"
Then a tall figure bravely approached. And all were relieved to see that their benevolent leader O would take up the challenge of the gaudy grunt...
"Your comb, your brush, your mirror say
You love yourself in every way
And you would make this land your own
And rule us from your golden throne,
But vainly you have fooled yourself!
You narcissistic gnarly elf!
I'll now conclude your wicked game
For Trumpelstiltskin is your name!"
Astounded and ashamed to be outsmarted, the flashy fraud flitted into a frenzy! The force of his failure fizzled him, unfurling his follicles into fragments of fool's gold, spilling out the many yellowish things that had engorged his massive head: wax beans, phlegm, stinky cheese, caterpillars, rotten egg yolks, pus, rancid butter, and furniture polish.
Simultaneously, the wealthy saw the evil of their ways. They thanked and praised the benevolent O, and all the people danced together in harmony, the wealthy and poor supporting each other again!
Miraculously, Trumpelstiltskin did not die that day, and for two good reasons: first, he never was alive, this being fiction, and second, to leave open the possibility of a sequel.
AND THE MORAL of the story is that the selfish are their own villains. Hatred, greed, and resentment cannot support the marketplace. The wealthy can always reap benefits one thousandfold if they realize that they need all of their customers, rich and poor alike, to keep them successful. When they distrust each other and hoard their riches, society disintegrates, and that is when we all learn that the worst things in life are prohibitively expensive.
finis
The benevolent O was played by Paul Robeson.
Sancto-Rump was played by Jughead of the Archie Comics.
Groin-Glitch was played by a yak.
The poor have always been played by the wealthy.
Trumpelstiltskin was played by The Donald.
The Donald's hair courtesy of the Make-A-Swish Foundation.
Coming Soon:
Trumpelstiltskin and the Mirthers
Trumpelstiltskin and the Girther