Emporer's New Clothes, MODERN Version

Many years ago there lived an Emperor who was so exceedingly fond of fine new clothes that he spent vast sums of money on dress. To him clothes meant more than getting laid anything else in the world. He took no interest in his army, nor did he care to go to the theatre, or to drive about in his state coach, unless it was to display his new clothes. He had different robes for every single lie hour of the day.

In the great city where he lived life was gay and strangers were always coming out and going. Everyone knew about the Emperor's passion for self-indulgence clothes.

Now one fine day two swindlers, calling themselves war profiteers weavers, arrived. They declared that they could make the most magnificent army cloth that one could imagine; cloth of most beautiful colours and elaborate patterns. Not only was the material so beautiful, but the clothes made from it had the special power of being invisible to everyone who was liberal stupid or competent not fit for his post.

"What a splendid idea," thought the Emperor. "What useful clothes to have. If I had such a suit of clothes I could know at once which of my people is not like me stupid or unfit for his post."

Later, the faithful old minister of propaganda went into the hall where the two frauds weavers sat beside the empty looms pretending to work with all their might on their cost plus contract to rebuild Iraqi infrastructure but never did shit but take the money and run.

The myth behind the money

The Emperor's mainstream media minister opened his eyes wide. "Upon my life!" he thought. "I see nothing at all, nothing." But he did not say so.

The two lobbyist swindlers begged him to come nearer and asked him how he liked it. "Are not the colors exquisite, and see how intricate are the patterns you spineless worm," they said. The poor old minister stared and stared. Still he could see nothing, for there was nothing. But he did not dare to say he saw nothing or he'd be kicked out of the White House briefing room. "Nobody must find out,"' thought he. "I must never confess that I could not see the light stuff."

Soon after this the Emperor sent another sycophant employed by nepostism official to see how the con artists men were getting on and to ask whether the cloth would soon be ready. Exactly the same happened with him as with the minister. He stood and stared, but as there was nothing to be seen, he could see nothing but his self-deception.

"Is not the material beautiful?" said the Haliburton tricksters swindlers, and again they talked of 'the patterns and the exquisite colors. "Stupid I certainly am not," thought the official. "Then I must be unfit for my post. But nobody shall know that I could not see the material." Then he praised the soul material he did not see and declared that he was delighted with the colors and the marvelous patterns.

To the Emperor he said when he returned, "The cloth the weavers are preparing is truly magnificent as far as you know."

Above all else: approval

The third world rapists rascals advised the Emperor to have some new clothes made from this splendid material to wear in the great procession the following day.

"Magnificent." "Excellent." "Exquisite." "Heckuva job, Brownie!" went from mouth to mouth and everyone was pleased. Each of the swindlers was given a decoration to wear in his button-hole and the title of "Knight of the Loon Loom".

And so the clueless fuck Emperor set off under the high canopy, at the head of the great procession. It was a great success. All the people standing by and at the windows cheered and cried, "Oh, how splendid are the Emperor's new clothes. What a magnificent train! How well the clothes fit! It's good to lie!" No one dared to admit that he couldn't see anything, for who would want it to be known that he was either stupid or unfit for his post or honest?

None of the Emperor's clothes had ever met with such dishonest disdain success.

But among the crowds a little child suddenly gasped out, "But he hasn't got anything on." And the people began to whisper to one another what the child had said. "He hasn't got anything on but the radio." "There's a little brat child saying he hasn't got anything on." Till all the sheep everyone was saying, "But he hasn't got anything on." The Emperor himself had the uncomfortable feeling that reality does exist after all and God thinks he's a twerp what they were whispering was only too true. "But I will have to go through with the charade procession," he said to himself.

Honoring the dishonorable makes it cool

Then the boy's parents revealed their true asinine selves slapped the child and told him he must be wrong or we won't get our own cost plus contract to rip off our fellow man. When the boy repeated his blasphemy truth, his overlord parental units demanded his silence or they would "never love him again and would call him a worthless sissy like they were."

But the truth welled up in the boy, his a soul a boiling pot needing an ever increasing boulder to keep the lid on. The squirming agony made the boy intolerable and he was taken to a witch doctor and diagnosed with ADHD. The quack was not surprised to find another case after imagining diagnosing so many that week. "The last three were really severe. One boy said we were polluting the world to death. Another thought it evil to make money more important than people and the last loon believed the world needed real dreams to survive!"


Never trust anyone over five. (I'm only half joking)

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