The Propheteer

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You’re throne your life away, son!

30 March, 2005 (11:49) | hitch | By: hitch

I had taken it upon myself to travel the globe, thinking that it was time to expand my horizons, whereupon I found myself on a small island just off the coast of Brazil. There I found a tribe of natives, relatively untouched by civilization, save for the curious tradition of bestowing upon their chief a new throne each year, usually procured from the mainland.

These furnishings were laughable to one such as I, who, having seen many of the more opulent in home furnishings, would have found a simple Barcalounger to be simply common taste in decor. And yet, this chief was fascinated. Each new “throne”, they explained, was relished with zeal and awe, whether it was a cherrywood rocking chair or a brand new recliner, complete with cupholders and a mini-refrigerator, as they had given him this year. Having no electricity, I marveled at the waste of utility that such a thing would produce, but the villagers assured me that their chief was an ingenious man and would surely find a use for it.

Indeed he did, for while I watched he managed to fit an entire chicken within the small compartment. Truly this was a man who valued access to a quick meal.

I was also lucky enough to find myself on hand when the annual ceremony began which removed the previous throne to the upstairs apartments, and watched with delight the pageantry they put into the spectacle. Oh! You should have seen it. It was short lived, that year, and may not take place again, you see – for the house in which the chief did live was made from the grasses around the village, and the thrones from all the previous years as well were stored above the newest gift – when the ceremony was complete, it was not long before the ceiling caved in upon the poor chief, and he was killed.

I fear to say it, but I fear it must be said, so that all may remember the noble savage’s lesson – people who live in grass houses shouldn’t stow thrones.

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