"And now here's something you'll really like..." -Rocky J. Squirrel
Once upon a time, there was a kingdom far away, set upon a little hill. Now, this kingdom wasn't exactly a happy kingdom, in fact you could often hear the sounds of loud arguing coming from the palace.
Noble1: I'm going to be next king.
Noble2: No, I am.
Lady1: Silly boys. I plan to be king.
Noble2: You king? But you're a Lady.
Lady1: Haven't ya never heard of Woman's Lib?
{They start arguing loudly}
Well, finally things got so bad, and the arguing so loud, that the reigning king decided to do something about it.
King: I declare that the one who speaks the loudest is in control.
And so it was. When it came time for the next king to be decided, the palace became the arena of a screaming match, the contestant able to be heard over all others becoming the next king.
Winner: Well, let's just say my wife trained me well.
And down through the years, this practice continued, each king coming from the loudest screamer. The son of the currently reigning king spent most of his time not in training for war, but instead getting his lungs in shape. Until one day, the reigning king had a problem.
King: My, but isn't junior growing up to be a fine boy.
Queen: Yes, dear, but haven't you noticed how soft his voice is? He'll never become king with his set of lungs.
King: Oh really? I hadn't noticed anything wrong with the boy...right, junior?
{a moment of silence}
King: Well, what's the matter boy...don't you know to speak when you're spoken to.
Junior: {in a very low voice} But I did answer you.
King: Oh, my. I see what you mean, Gertrude.
The king was puzzled. He immediately set to work trying to come up with ways to make his son's voice louder. He tried voice lessons, he tried doctors, he tried microphones and amplifiers, but since they hadn't been invented yet, they were of no help either. He even tried some supposedly magic pills that were supposed to make your voice stronger.
King: Here, junior, take these.
Junior: Alright, father.
King: Feel anything, son? Is your voice any stronger?
Junior: No, father, but I think I it made my hair grow. {his hair starts covering his body}
King: {tosses bottle away} Oh, these pills will never be of use to anyone.
Finally the day came when the king died, and the young prince, whose voice was still as small as ever, faced his chance to become the next king.
Guard: Say there, son, you don't look too happy.
Junior: That's because only the loudest will be come king, and I'm hardly louder than a mouse.
Guard: I know how to help you, sonny. You see this here club I'm carrying? I'll hand it to you when it comes time for you to speak, and it will help you.
Junior: That thing? How will it help me?
Just then the trumpets blew to announce the start of the contest. Not having any more time to question, the prince hurried to join the crowd gathered in the castle, the guard following close behind him. When it came time for him to speak, the guard handed him the club. Unfortunately, the club was too heavy for the small lad, and it promptly dropped on his toes.
Junior: Aaaaaaaauuuuuuugh!
Needless to say, the scream was loud enough to rock the whole kingdom, and the prince was quickly given his rightful place as king.
And the moral of the story is this: Speak softly, but carry a big stick.
Junior: {adjusts the big crown on his head, then the even bigger bandage on his foot} Yeah, I'll say.
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This page was started: 03/29/1997 Last Updated: 02/10/2000
All text on this page is copyright © 1997-1998 Wendy Peacock. If any link or anything else on this page seems out of order, please notify the author.
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