Many years ago there was a King of a mighty country who was so enamored of his hair, that his big palace was chock full of mirrors. He loved walking down the long, golden-studded hallways, looking left and right to admire his reflection. Sometimes he ended up with cramps in his neck, but a good night’s sleep in his huge canopy bed with the mirror on the ceiling took care of that.
This King did not care about reviewing his army or attending important meetings. All his servants, cooks, and numerous gardeners were told to carry a mirror around and whenever they crossed the King’s path, they kneeled and held up the mirror, so his highness could admire his ever-so-beloved hair.
Unfortunately, since hair is no great friend of aging, our beloved ruler found to his horror that his hair was starting to grow dangerously thin.
He spent most of his time experimenting on which side of his head his increasingly sparse hair should be combed. His Advisor in Chief had once commented on how regal he looked when his sparse hair was combed to the left, so from that moment on, everyone in his royal presence had to wear their hair to the left.
Many strangers came to curry favors of the great King. Russian Kings, Chinese Ambassadors, and North Korean Diplomats were seen entering the Palace, carrying large mirrors.
One day, among these many guests, came a barber from a faraway land. He let it be known that he could create the most magnificent hairdos. Not only were his scissors and combs uncommonly fine, but also once he had created a hairstyle, he said, the masterpiece would be invisible to anyone who was unusually stupid or not fit for office.
‘Wouldn’t that be incredible?’ the King thought, ‘This barber can make my hair abundant, flowing gorgeously in the wind, just like my mother liked it. I will be the envy of all and I will immediately know who is unfit for their job, in other words, who did not agree with me!’
The next morning, the barber (his name was Figaro), was summoned to the royal bedchamber and got ready to perform his incredible craft. ‘Your majesty’ he said humbly, ‘I must warn you. I have to shave your head before I can create a new beautiful hairstyle. This is the secret ingredient of my oh-so-incredible craft.’His majesty was a little taken aback by that statement, but his vanity took the upper hand, and he agreed to the balding procedure. ‘What’s a few more hairs leaving the royal cranium?’ he thought.
Figaro took out an enormous shaver with blades the size of a motorboat propeller and began shaving the King's head. Figaro sang a little tune while he was shaving away, the humming of the shaver accompanying his mediocre musical talent.
As the King witnessed the rapid disappearance of his mane, he began to doubt his decision. But once every single hair was gone, Figaro’s hands proceeded to mime the shapes of a meticulous and complicated arrangement, palm over palm, as if he was piling up vast amounts of hair until it reached a foot high. As he finally stepped back to admire his non-existent masterpiece, Figaro's glowed with an intense self-congratulatory expression . ‘Your eminence!’ he exclaimed, choking on his words with emotion. 'I have created a masterpiece!’
The King, squinting with his puffy eyes as he was looking in the mirror, only saw a bald head and wondered if he was too stupid to see what was there. He just nodded his head, pouted his lips, and retreated into his private bedroom.
The next day, it was announced to the good people of his kingdom that their King had a rejuvenated appearance and that a parade would be held in his honor.
When his lawyer entered to brief his Highness for the big occasion, he stared at the bald king, mouth wide open, eyes popping out of their socket. ‘What’s the matter, Rudy? You look like a carp on dry land,’ said the King. ‘Your Highness! Your hair….do. It’s… magnificent!’ said Rudy, swallowing vigorously.
The big day arrived. The crowd had been hastily instructed to cut out hair pieces from magazines and glue them on their mirror, in case his highness were to glance at himself. They cheered and sang: ‘Long live the King’s hair!’
Unfortunately, Mother Nature had not read the executive order and decided it was time for a healthy rainstorm. The glue was no match for this dousing from the heavens and slowly, the mirrors revealed the true appearance of the King’s cranium, which reminded everyone of the eggs they had for breakfast.
Nobody dared say anything except for a little boy:'The King is completely bald!'
The King pointed his pudgy index finger at the little boy and shouted:’Look at this little shit. He thinks he is better than me? He is the one without hair. Look at the little bald midget!’
‘But I am not bald!' The little boy said, pulling vigorously on his ample brown curls.
The people were confused. Then the King shouted that bald people were invading his Kingdom, the little shit being one of them.
‘Lock him up!’ someone shouted. ‘But a wig on him! ’ 'Send him back home!'
The King continued in the procession amidst thundering applause. He proudly patted his non-existent hair with one hand while pointing to the audience with the other. The little boy was unobtrusively hauled off in a black, unmarked secret police vehicle.This is a true story. If you don’t believe me, it means that you are mentally challenged and not fit for office. leave comment here
