The story of the perfect spheres

Or something

In a far-off land lived a king and his beautiful daughter, as they do in fairy-tales.¹ Like all such fairy-tale kings, he wanted the best husband for his daughter, as kings with daughters do in fairy-tales. And so, he set a test, as is usual in fairy-tales.

The king called his artisans ordered them to make two perfect crystal globes. “You must make them indistinguishable from one another,” he commanded.

“Or else,” he added, ominously.

The artisans went to work

And so the artisans went to work. And in a year, the spheres were finished. The king inspected them, and they were good.

Here was the King’s plan:

Suitors would show up at the castle and fill out a Suitor Application Form. After review, each suitor would be handed the two spheres and challenged to tell them apart. If the suitor succeeded he would win the hand of princess. Most suitors were not interested in winning her hand, but rather some other parts of the princess; and becoming heir to the kingdom.

If a suitor failed they would die.

No big surprise. That’s the way these storybook things happen.

This king wasn’t fabulously rich, but the princess was known far and wide for her extreme hotness, otherwise no one would have dared to take such a challenge, and this would be a boring story, which it is not.

But, as I say, the princess was super hot. And so the story continues.

Word of the challenge was broadcast far and wide using the social media of the day: minstrels singing on the minstrel circuit and jesters doing stand-up on the jester circuit.

Social media worked. Suitors came. Suitors tried. Suitors failed. Suitors had their heads cut off.

And then…

Finally, a poor woodcutter came to try his hand for her hand.

Of course you knew that was coming and what’s coming after that.

I mean you probably didn’t know it was going to be a woodcutter. But you knew it would be somebody ordinary, like an IT administrator, or a junior sales associate, or a dental hygienist.

But this time it was a wood cutter. And everyone scoffed, as they do in these stories.

“How could a poor woodcutter succeed when so many princes have failed?” People asked, using the social media technology of the day, called “talking.”

So the woodcutter filled out the application; it was reviewed; and he was given his chance.

He was handed the two perfect crystal spheres.

The court murmured as he examined them.

The woodcutter looked at them for a long minute.²

Then the woodcutter smiled, and looked up at the King.

“Can you tell them apart?” The king asked.

The woodcutter nodded and smiled again.

“Of course,” he said, confidently. “This would be a dumb story if I couldn’t.”

“ True,” said the king. Then more seriously: “Show me!”

The woodcutter held up the sphere in his left hand. “This one,” he said, “is this one.”

He held up the sphere in his left hand. “And this one,” he said, “is this one.”

The king looked the woodcutter. He looked at the sphere in the woodcutter’s right hand. He looked at the one in the woodcutters left hand. Then right. Then left.

Then he smiled. Then he started to laugh. And laugh. And laugh.

“Fuck me!” The King finally said, still laughing. “You’re right! It’s so fucking obvious.”

The artisans are called

Eventually he stopped laughing. His face darkened. “Bring my artisans before me,” he commanded.

In a short while the artisans made their appearance.

“You were charged with making two globes that were indistinguishable,” the king said, angrily. “And this poor woodcutter has told them apart.”

The artisans trembled. No one had seen the king so angry before.

“I have trusted you with the life of my daughter and the fate of this kingdom,” he growled and paused.

”I sentence you to death.”

The room fell silent.

Then the King burst into laughter. “Psych!” he shouted. “ You’ve been punk’d so bad!” He could barely control his laughter.

“You should see your faces!” He laughed. Another burst of laughter. “I got you guys so fucking good.”

Then he turned to the crowd and said: “This man has fairly won the hand of my beautiful daughter,” he said. “Let the preparations begin! We will have a week of celebration and then the finest wedding that this kingdom has ever seen.”

“A week?” Screamed the princess. “A week! You want me to spend another week with my fucking vibrator, when I’ve got this hunk of handsome? No way!”

(Sorry, but I didn’t mention that the wood cutter was every bit as hot as the princess, but in an appropriately masculine way. But you probably guessed that.)

The princess released her father’s hand and took the woodcutter’s. “You’re coming with me,” she said, and headed for the stairs to her boudoir, which is what they called bedrooms in those days. “And you’re coming with me,” she repeated, boldly³.

“Several times,” she added unnecessarily, as everyone in the kingdom had gotten the joke.

“I don’t get it,” said a reader.

“Shhh!” Said another reader. “I’ll explain it later, in a footnote.⁴ ⁵”

And so, after the wedding, the newly crowned Prince Woodcutter started the marketing campaign that turned the kingdom from a backwater shithole to elite hotspot for the fabulously wealthy.

And they all lived happily ever after.⁶

1. Should this be called proud-gay-man-tales? Asking for a friend.

2. In those days they had minutes of different lengths.

3. A play on words: bold being forthright and also a font face.

4. This is a play on the word “coming” which can mean “accompanying” or “having an orgasm.”

5. Oh, I see, said the reader. Pretty good. I love it when you explain jokes to me.

6. Until they died, of course.

They never tell you that in these stories, but everyone eventually dies.

Sorry.