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Funny guy! Who knew? He's Got a Million of 'em!By Rick Horowitz Gazing at the immediate future, Attila had a problem. Gazing at the distant future, his advisers had an idea. "You called for us, sire?" These would be the royal foretellers, of whom there were three: soothsayers in loyal service to the king. A messenger had been dispatched, for in the depths of the night the king could not sleep, and needed their wise counsel. "We are here at your urgent call, your majesty," said the first foreteller. "What seems to be the problem?" "I'm sunk," said Attila. "The Castle Correspondents' dinner is coming up, and they're going to eat me alive!" "Can they do that, your majesty? What with you being the king and all -- " "I'm speaking figuratively, you lout! No one eats Attila!" And the first foreteller sank to his knees and begged his lord's forgiveness. "I beg my lord's forgiveness," he cried, "of which I am supremely undeserving." "You can say that again," muttered the second foreteller under his breath (for the foretellers were fierce rivals.) But Attila's ears were as sharp as those of the wiliest creatures of the forest. He wheeled on the second man and ordered him to step forward. "So you think you can do better than your poor colleague here? Tell me then, sayer of sooth, how am I to proceed at this dinner thrown by those who so frequently condemn me?" "Condemn you, sire?" "'Scourge of God' sound negative enough for you?" Attila replied in fury. "And that's just for starters! They say I'm uncouth, that I lack the grace and bearing required for leadership. And now these are the very people I am to address?" "You could always say you have a previous engagement," the second foreteller suggested. "After all, even you cannot be in two -- " "Impossible! Attila does not run from his enemies!" "No one said anything about running, my lord. It's just that -- " "Enough! Attila does not run from his enemies -- that is final. And yet..." "Yes, sire?" "These people give me the willies. If only there were some way to appear before them and yet turn aside their harsh and critical gaze, their constant ridicule, their -- " "Why not beat them to the punch?" The third foreteller had spoken, he who had remained silent until this very moment. "What kind of advice is this?" Attila demanded. "I would dearly love to beat them to the punch, even beat them to a pulp, but that would simply confirm their worst impressions of me, impressions they are quick to spread throughout the kingdom." "I mean, your majesty, that you should indeed go before them -- and poke fun at yourself. At your image." Attila had never heard of such a thing. A monarch baring his weaknesses in public? Try as he might, he could not conceive of it. But the third foreteller pressed on, emboldened. "Your majesty," he said, "in lands and eras yet to come, this will be the way of successful leaders. This is how they will deflect their critics' nastiest words: by uttering them first." "But how -- ?" "Elderly leaders will make fun of their age, while more vigorous leaders will hint at their eye for the ladies. Extravagant consorts will dress up in rags and sing songs about second-hand clothing -- and even thoroughly inarticulate leaders will deliver amusing speeches claiming unique mastery of the rhetorical arts." "Wait just a minute!" Attila thundered. "You're telling me that some monarch who cannot string together two sentences of coherent conversation will someday read a speech poking fun at those very shortcomings? A speech clearly written for him by others? And this will somehow convince some future group of Castle Correspondents that an inarticulate man is now eloquent?" "They won't believe any such thing," the soothsayer explained. "They'll just enjoy seeing him debase himself. Speaking of which, your majesty, I've taken the liberty of jotting down a few remarks. If you wouldn't mind..." "'They call me the despoiler of thousands -- but after the first hundred or so, who can keep track?' And this will -- ?" "Keep reading. Please." "'If I'm such a horrible guy, how come all the waitresses still call me "Hun"?' You're sure this is funny?" "Trust me, you'll kill 'em!" "Let's see: 'How many Visigoths does it take to...'" Posted 4/3/01. The
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Rick Horowitz
