When last we visited our acquisitive antagonist in Trumpelstiltskin and the Conversation, the people of the land were made merry watching the mop of mayhem be so deftly outwitted at his own game by the benevolent O. There seemed then but the slenderest of expectation that Trumpelstiltskin would ever foist that fringed face of his upon the land again.
LO, the frowning fiend has proven now again that he will not be anticipated.
Ruffled, chagrined, and smartened after embarrassing himself with his failed "Conversation," our blown-dry braggart was uneasy and anxious, the typical feelings that energize him in his every new bodacious bout of bluster. But never let it be said that he was demoralized, for that requires morals.
Ensconced in his Tower, the facetiously follicled frontman fell to brooding... his lips pursed, his ego burst, his fortunes had reversed. That glorious gourd was glistening, but nobody was listening.
He needed attention and he needed it now! Pondering and plotting, his carpeted cranium conjuring, "How shall I steal the spotlight, prove my prominence, extract revenge, and destroy the hopes of any fool who fears me?"
The upswept urchin wondered "What to do..." as he spun his gold into the moonlit night, Spin! and Swirl! and Spin! Repeat...
So he delved into his maniacal magic and decided to draw upon a trick for the poor and the rich alike. They were so daunted by his vaunted jaunty flaunting that he felt haunted, even taunted, how they did not awe him unconditionally and perpetually. And that must change, he vowed to his limitless self!
Spin! and Swirl! and Spin! Repeat... rounding every radius of his resplendent ragtop, deviously devising his next misadventure...
AND SO THE FOLLOWING DAY, Trumpelstiltskin gathered the lesser leaders of the land and he announced grandly that he would soon bestow his personal Blessing upon the one among them who could most likely defeat the benevolent O in the plebiscite.
Now many of those hopefuls, who had earlier planned to challenge the benevolent O, had since been shamed and shunned, and they had since left the field of endeavor. As you may recall, only two of the standing hopefuls, SanctoRump and GroinGlitch, had been loyal to Trumpelstiltskin in agreeing to join his facetious forum of folly (the one that never happened).
Now the day arrived for the bulbous brat's blessing. The scribes arrived at the tower of rapacious desire. Trumpelstiltskin reveled in his self-suspense. Little did the people know that the leiotrichous lunk had nothing but Revenge in mind. The scribes began scribbling. He approached the wishful wannabes and flung out his favor in frenetic fashion, praising them one by one.
First he thanked SanctoRump for his firm receptiveness. SanctoRump gushed in gratitude, overcome with smug self-righteousness. But Trumpelstiltskin abruptly laughed and dismissed him.
The hum in the air suggested that Trumpelstiltskin would now bestow his blessing upon GroinGlitch, to reward him for his loyalty. It seemed only natural, GroinGlitch attracted the most attention, what with that gleaming trophy ever at his side, flashy and vainglorious, they sharing a mutual indulgence in gems and jewels, baubles and beads, now forever bonded in blondness.
But again, Trumpelstiltskin deviously disappointed, snatching the glee that could be as he sent GroinGlitch away.
And the people were stunned! They looked around in amazement! Who could it be? Who had earned Trumpelstiltskin's holy grail of hypocrisy? The symbol of self-indulgence? The prideful prize of pretentiousness?
AND AT THAT GLORIOUS MOMENT, as flags furled and cameras whirred, as fans fared, hoopla hoopled and bunting bunted, the magnificent megalomaniac stood at a platinum podium, his cascading coif coruscating. And he spoke in his brashy, flashy, trashy style, squinting his glinty eyes. He turned and he embraced RawMoney, who had earlier insulted Trumpelstiltskin by shunning the Conversation. Their materialism muted as they met in this meretricious melodrama.
And there, between them passed the sought-after Blessing. "Fire Away!" the boastful bouffant of braggadocio blurted to RawMoney, "Fire Away!"
And everyone departed with his own flawed sense of accomplishment.
SanctoRump left with his tail between his legs, longing to drown his sorrows in silence, a salty concoction pressed to his lips.
GroinGlitch and his statuesque sidekick skulked off to dine on humble pie, eating crow and drinking wine of sour grapes, he manufacturing his history, she collapsed in her catalogues, their pique peaking and melting into delusions of purpose.
And RawMoney proudly paraded, for he had won the favor of the pompous pompadour!
AND YET, each was mistaken, for they did not see the evil vengeful consequences of Trumpelstiltskin's Blessing! As he walked from the scene, the shimmering shyster sang to himself...
How dare some black haired greasy man
Pretend he has a better plan
Than I, the most endowed of all,
The ruler of the Taj Mahal...
With riches richer than my gold
And handsomeness one thousandfold
So I'll make him my Chosen One
Until the day that I shall run!
And so this ends my vengeful verse
With my endorsement comes my curse!
And from that point, RawMoney lost favor and focus, losing small contests along the way, needing greater sums of money just to continue his quest.
AND THE MORAL of the story is that insincere praise from a superficial source is burdensome baggage to bear. And when that praise serves the praiser more than the praised, it reaches the height of haughtiness, the pinnacle of presumption, the acme of arrogance. So it is better to have no praise than the praise of a panderer.
The benevolent O was played by Paul Robeson.
SanctoRump was played by Jughead of the Archie Comics.
GroinGlitch was played by a yak.
Callgirlista was played by an anorexic conquistador.
RawMoney was played by a No.2 graphite pencil with eraser.
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.
Trumpelstiltskin and the Death Masque