(Caveat: Any similarities of characters in this fairy tale to persons living or dead is purely coincidental and should be considered figments of the reader’s imagination.)

Once upon a time, there was a man who dreamed of being a king. For the most part, this was an ordinary man with the usual male body parts. He had two arms, two legs, a penis, and a big head on his shoulders. The dream he had was also pretty ordinary, because many people, male and female, dream of being an absolute ruler.

There was one way this man was different from others. His big head contained a tiny brain. As a boy he didn’t excel in school work, and so he didn’t learn the usual acceptable social learning that most others master at a young age. He missed the lessons that introduced the words “nice,””kind,” and “respect.” To compensate for not learning his lessons, he had to find other ways to feel important.

Others in his family excelled, especially in the accumulation of wealth. From his father, he soon learned that the more money his family had, the more they were worth. Since his family had more money than anyone else, they were obviously the most important family, and by extension, since he was a member of the family, he was more important than any of the kids at school.

He decided that he didn’t have to be smart. He didn’t have to get good grades. He didn’t have to be nice or kind. He was perfect the way he was! And if anyone didn’t believe it, if anyone questioned his right to be the most important, if anyone didn’t pay him homage, then he’d fix their wagon!

The boy was not above physical violence. He was not above stealing someone’s lunch money. He was not above ridiculing someone in front of others to humble them. For many people, the threat of annihilation was enough. He found if he talked loud enough, long enough, most people just gave in, especially if they wanted to be in his good graces. It didn’t matter if what he said was true or not. Said with enough force, he found that people believed him. Of course, the threat of losing his favor may have had something to do with that belief. Right or wrong was also not an issue; morality was not a concern. Only getting his own way was important.

The boy became a bully, a very successful bully. There were few who would stand up to him. The other kids grew very fearful. When he grew to be a man, the skills he learned as a boy were easy to put into action. And so he did. Each day he rose and decided what should be his target for that day. Where could he create chaos and mayhem. He felt that if he shot down enough ideas, programs or people, then eventually everyone would give up and know the best course of action would be to make him King.

Once he was king, peace and harmony would be restored to the land because no one would dare disagree with him. The kingdom would be great once more, because he knew his ideas were better than those of his inferiors. And even if he didn’t believe his ideas were greater, if he acted like they were, his long-standing dream would become a reality.

But the man forgot one important thing. In fairy tales, as in the “real” world, dreams don’t die, but the people who have them do. Like wealth, power and influence, dreams cannot be taken to the grave. For the man who would be king, the dream was, in the end, buried in the suffering and hardships of the people he hurt trying to pursue the wishes of a sad, poor, playground bully.