the emperor's new clothes...

Once upon a time there was an emperor who was obsessed with new clothes. These days we would call him a metrosexual; aka gay. The emperor spent all his money on the latest new fashions rather than concentrating on his kingdom, army, or even going out. Every hour he would change into a new outfit, never being seen in that same outfit twice. Basically, he was in love with himself and loved to twirl in front of the mirror, admiring his new clothes for hours upon hours. Every day the emperor’s castle hustled and bustled with townspeople doing their business. One day, two hobos arrived claiming themselves to be weavers. They bragged that they could make a material so unique and extraordinary that only humans of that same caliber could actually see it. They claimed that the only eyes that could behold such beauty would be that of royalty, and they would remain invisible to the simpleton or those not worthy of beholding such beauty. Well the king was such a dumbass that he bought into this shit. He figured if he owned such a suit, he could quickly weed out those unfit to hold positions in his office. He demanded that a suit be woven immediately, gathered all the money he had handy, and gave it to the weavers. The weavers set up two looms and appeared as busy as two bees, though they really weren’t doing a damn thing. They requested the most delicate silk and purest gold thread. Well, they were stashing that shit for themselves and pretending to work long into the night. Pretty soon the emperor wanted to know what was taking so long. He started to stomp his way up there to see it but then remembered that only a retard or one unfit for office would be blind to the progress. Though he was quite sure about how great he was, he wasn’t yet willing to risk the embarrassment if something went wrong. Knowing all the townspeople had heard of the new suit, the king was keen to not take any chances. Instead, he chose to send his faithful and brilliant minister to view the progress and bring back a report. He was certain that he was a man fit for office. The old minister went up the stairs, as the emperor requested, and entered the room where the hobos were busy weaving away at nothing. The minister was shocked upon discovering that he could see nothing, but kept quiet. Fuck that, he thought. I ain’t losing my skrilla over this shit. The hobos asked him to come closer and give them his opinion on the fine colors and textures of the suit, for surely he would know if the emperor would approve of what they had accomplished so far. The minister reluctantly approached, and still seeing nothing, felt a pang of inferiority and self-doubt. Could he in fact be the good for nothing his mother had said he was all those years ago? Was he just a simpleton, unfit to hold office? His life was over. His thought was interrupted by one of the weavers. “What’s up? You don’t like what you see?” Not wanting to appear beneath them, the minister exclaimed that the fabric was fabulous, the colors rich and bold, the texture certainly fit for a king! The weavers agreed, describing in great detail the colors and patterns; the minister took note so that he could repeat it back word for word to the king. He promised to convey the good report directly, but before he left the weavers requested more gold and silk, which the minister promised to deliver. As before, the impostors added all the goods to their secret stash and diligently worked into the night on nothing. I wish I would’ve thought of this shit. A little more time passed, and the emperor, eager for his new clothes, sent another officer of the court to get an update and see when he could expect his new suit. As with the minister, the officer was embarrassed to find that he could see nothing, only empty frames. The weavers asked the officer if the suit appeared as beautiful to him as it had the minister who visited before him, and again went into great detail on the colors and patterns, pointing them out as they went along. The officer was horrified at the thought that he was nothing more than a handitard. He had believed himself to be extremely smart and well rounded, but swore to himself that no one could learn of his inability to view greatness. With that, he passionately praised the colors and designs to the weavers as well as to the emperor later, insisting that the cloth was the most magnificent he’d ever laid eyes upon. I’d’ve done the same shit though. The whole city was abuzz about the quality of the new threads the king would soon be wearing, and they were all eager to witness their beauty for themselves. So was the emperor. He assembled a select few of his officers from the court, two of whom had already witnessed the cloth on the loom, and approached the weavers, working harder than ever. “Isn’t it beautiful?!” the two officers asked the emperor. They pointed to different parts of the invisible fabric, declaring how bright the colors were and how truly magnificent the designs were. They, of course, didn’t want to seem as if they couldn’t see what the others probably obviously did see. You can imagine the ‘oh shit’ moment the emperor had upon realizing he was, indeed, a simpleton. He was horrified by the fact that he was unfit for office. I mean, sure he’d fucked around a lot, but hadn’t all emperors before him? He smiled very graciously at the weavers and expressed his satisfaction in what he was supposedly seeing. The rest, not wanting to appear inferior, praised the cloth as well. One officer even suggested he wear the new suit to the upcoming Christmas parade. All agreed, exclaiming that no emperor before him had ever been so well dressed and splendid. When the day of the parade came, the emperor returned to the room where the weavers were making the finished touches to the pretend garment. They held their hands up as if they were presenting something, to which the emperor showed great satisfaction. I mean, at this point, wouldn’t you just say, “You know guys…I know you worked hard on this and all, but I’m a winter and those colors are for a summer…it just doesn’t go with my skin tone. Thanks anyway but I’ll wear one of my other robes.” I mean, am I right? The weavers requested that the king disrobe, which he did, and then they assisted the emperor in getting dressed, helping him on with his invisible pants, robe, and so on. They commented on how light the material was, which was in fact one of the qualities that made it so fine. Everyone in the emperor’s cabinet agreed and proclaimed how stunning he looked. He twirled and admired himself as he usually did so as to not let on that he was a complete idiot. Everyone went on and on about the colors, the patterns, how perfectly it fit before the chief master interrupted that it was time to join the parade. The emperor set off the join the parade with his cabinet behind him, carrying the make believe train of his garment. As they entered the town square, all the people began praising the emperor’s clothes, not wanting to let on that they were simpletons or not fit for whatever office they held. Out of crowd, the voice of a child exclaimed, “The king is naked!”, and his father quickly shushed him, and later sent him off to boarding school out of shame. The emperor continued to march the streets of his kingdom naked as a jaybird, but no one would stand up and tell the truth out of fear of looking stupid. The king knew good and well that he was naked, but in his error had discovered something new and wonderful; there were many gay men in this town, and now they knew what he was packing. Excited about all the new digits he brought home, he slept in his new robe and had the weavers secretly executed the next day. Oh. And the moral of the story is: check references. And: people are stupid.

The End