Ant Farmer's Almanac

The Man with the Gold-Plated Touch

ONCE UPON A TIME in the Woodland there lived a rich man named Midas.

Midas had the Golden Touch.

Okay, Gold-Plated touch is more like it, since Midas had amassed his fortune by making stuff from the cheapest material he could find then gold-plating the dickens out of it. Nonetheless, everything he touched became very, very shiny.

One day, Midas decided to gold-plate the dickens out of a boat.

He hired boat builders to build the biggest, most luxurious-looking boat anyone had ever seen, using only the crappiest material, then to gold-plate every nautical inch of the thing, stem to stern, crow's nest to keel. And to lay it on extra thick.

Midas named the boat Icarus because, well, because he was a little fuzzy on his Greek mythology.

He held a press conference to announce that he would be inviting only the A-est of Woodland's A-List to join him for the Icarus's maiden voyage. This, naturally, set off a flurry of publicity about and kissing up to Midas.

Finally, the big day finally arrived. As the select few who'd been selected went up the red-carpeted gangplank, each got a gift bag of gold-plated goodies that included a 1/32-scale model of the Icarus, an anchor-shaped keychain and a hefty jewelry box, made with leftover iron from the ship’s anchor and stuffed with gift certificates to swanky hotels, resorts, casinos, spas and restaurants that Midas owned a piece of.

Midas's current wife christened the boat by breaking a bottle of overpriced champagne over its bow.

Nobody noticed the crack it made.

The crowd gathered on the dock cheered right on cue as the Icarus pulled away and headed across Woodland's harbor, glistening in the sunlight as it sailed toward the open sea.

Just as it passed the outer lighthouse, however, the crack in its bow split wide open and water began rushing in.

Fortunately, everyone made it into the lifeboats before the Icarus went under. Unfortunately, the lifeboats were just as badly made as the rest of the ship and now, filled with swells refusing to let go of their swag, went down like a gift bag of hammers.

A few of the passengers got back to shore using their trophy wives as floatation devices but most went down with the ship.

Midas was among the survivors and at the investigation claimed the incident was an "Act of God"; specifically, Neptune, god of the sea. Amazingly, this worked. Midas was found not liable for the sinking and went on to star as himself in two of the three movies made about the incident.

Last we heard, he was buying a blimp.

Moral: Not everything that glitters is worth holding onto, much less gold.

Fairly Grim Tales: The Entrepreneur's New Gizmo

IN AN ORCHARD at the far edge of the Woodland lived an entrepreneur. Whenever this entrepreneur introduced one of his new gizmos, everybody who was anybody in the Woodland (which was everyone), wanted to have one, even if they didn't know what it did. And nobody seemed to care if his new gizmo was the same as the old one only smaller and a different designer color.

Success had brought him tremendous fame and fortune, but had also given the entrepreneur a monumentally oversized ego which, in this Woodland, is really saying something.

One day the entrepreneur went into his workshop and ordered his two tinkerers to come up with a new gizmo.

"Make it even smaller than that last one!" he hollered, "And give it a new color! And I want it tomorrow!"

When he'd gone, the tinkerers looked at each other in disbelief.

"Smaller?!" said the first tinkerer, "If we made one any smaller you couldn't see it!"

"Well, if it's invisible," said the other, "At least we don't have to come up with a new color for it!"

The tinkerers laughed, then realizing they'd both had the same idea, got to work.

When the entrepreneur came in the next morning, the tinkerers were waiting for him.

"All right," he growled, "What've you got for me?"

The first tinkerer thrust out his hand, palm up, as if holding something, and said proudly, "The New Gizmo!"

The entrepreneur looked down at the tinkerer's empty hand, but before he could say anything, the other tinkerer held out his hand and asked, "Maybe you like this color better?"

The entrepreneur squinted at the first tinkerer's hand, then the other's, then back again.

"I, can't quite, uh..." stammered the entrepreneur.

"Choose between them?" interrupted the first tinkerer. "I know, they're both such amazing colors."

"And you don't have to decide," said the other, "It becomes any color you want it to be!"

"That's because this gizmo works from your own brainpower!" said the first tinkerer, "The higher your I.Q., the more it does!"

"That's right," said the other, "You have to be really smart just to be see this thing!"

"I see," said the entrepreneur, even though he didn't.

He said he saw it because these two tinkerers had produced many amazing gizmos that had made the entrepreneur serious piles of cash, so if they said they'd created a gizmo you had to be smart to see, they probably had but he was way too proud to admit that they were smarter than him.

"You've really outdone yourself this time!" said the first tinkerer.

"Yes, yes I have," muttered the entrepreneur, adding, "What does this one do?"

"Everything the old gizmos did," said the other tinkerer, "Plus anything else you want it to."

When the entrepreneur unveiled the New Gizmo to reporters, they gazed at his empty palm blankly for a moment before he exclaimed, "It runs on brainpower! Only those with above-average intelligence can see it, much less make it work!"

"I see," the reporters said, even though they didn't. Not a one of them was about to admit that they might not have above-average intelligence. And none of them did.

The day the New Gizmo was released, the personal assistants of the Woodland's A-Listers (and even a few B-listers, who'd got past security), lined up outside the entrepreneur's workshop.

As a New Gizmo was dropped into their hands, they looked up suspiciously at the tinkerer who'd just pretended to put it there.

"Oh, don't worry," the tinkerer told each of them, confidently, "Your boss will see it," adding with a chuckle, "You can bet on it."

"I see," the personal assistants said, even though they didn't.

As the personal assistants handed over the New Gizmo to their bosses, they'd nervously blurt out, "It runs on brainpower! You have to be really smart just to see it!"

"I see," their bosses said, even though they didn't.

Now, usually when a new gizmo came out the Woodland's movers and shakers took every opportunity — and made up even more — to show off that they had one.

This time, however, everybody was canceling breakfast meetings, lunch meetings, dinner meetings and even staying home from work altogether rather than risk anybody finding out they weren't really smart enough to see it. Restaurants and offices sat empty.

Moving and shaking in the Woodland came to a standstill.

As it happens, the entrepreneur had a competitor who lived at the other end of the Woodland. For every gizmo the entrepreneur made, this competitor made a gadget very much like it.

The competitor was a very smart guy who, while no slouch in the plus size-ego department, didn't need as much stroking.

A reporter brought him a New Gizmo and asked for his opinion of it.

"I don't see it," he said, because he didn't.

"And," the competitor continued, "Not because I'm not smart enough to see it but because there's no "it" to see!" adding, "Honestly, what is wrong with you people?"

Just like that, the buzz around the Woodland went from how fabulous the New Gizmo was to how it didn't work.

"It was okay at first," everyone was saying now, "Then it kind of flickered and went all invisible. I can barely see it, anymore. I'm not even sure where it is half the time!"

When the entrepreneur heard about this he was furious and burst into the workshop demanding answers.

"It couldn't be a design flaw," said the first tinkerer.

"It must be a manufacturing defect," said the other.

All of the the New Gizmos were recalled. Once they'd been "returned" to his workshop, the entrepreneur snarled at the two tinkerers, "Figure out what went wrong and fix it. Or else!"

The two tinkerers looked at the corner of the workshop where they'd pretended to stack the recalled gizmos and then nervously at each other. They knew if they told the entrepreneur the truth that they’d never tinker in the Woodland again.

Then they had an idea.

When the entrepreneur came in the next morning, the tinkerers were waiting for him.

"All right, what've you got for me?" he growled.

"You won't believe it!" said the first tinkerer.

"Try me," replied the entrepreneur.

"They're gone," said the other, "They've been stolen!"

The entrepreneur's jaw dropped, "Stolen!?" he gasped.

"Yep, “ replied the first tinkerer,  “All of them.”

"And the blueprints," said the other, "They're gone, too. We could never make that particular New Gizmo again without those plans!"

The entrepreneur didn't say anything for what seemed like a long time, then he asked, "Any clues?"

"Not a one," said the first tinkerer.

"Whoever pulled this off," said the other, "Was pretty clever."

"I'll say," the entrepreneur said dryly, as he brushed past the tinkerers on his way to call his claims adjuster.

The robbery was never solved and everyone who'd bought a New Gizmo got a rebate good toward the purchase or upgrade of an older gizmo which was now available in several designer colors.

Every once in a while, a New Gizmo shows up for sale on eBay, but you can tell that it’s a fake just by looking at it.

Moral: You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but if you can get them to fool themselves you're really on to something.

Fairly Grim Tales: The Beautiful Swan & the Silly Goose

IN A POND at the center of the Woodland lived a flock of beautiful swans.

One of these swans, however, was so much more beautiful than the others that creatures came from all over just to watch her glide gracefully across the water.

The other swans were terribly jealous of the extra attention she got.

"Hmph!" said one, "Everyone says they like the way she glides, but it's really because of her looks!"

"That's right," said another, "I've seen ducks and geese every bit as graceful as her but you don't see anyone lining up to watch them!"

"Well, you know," said the third, "I have it on good authority that she doesn't even do her own gliding."

The especially beautiful swan overheard this and was hurt and confused. She knew she was beautiful (she'd seen her reflection after all) but truly believed that her gliding was as graceful as gliding got and that her popularity had nothing at all to do with her appearance. And she had never, ever used a gliding double.

She decided to find out once and for all whether she was admired for her grace or if she really was just getting by on her looks. But to do that, she would have to pretend to be some other type of waterfowl.

To research her ruse, she took several lunch meetings with a duck, and lived with a family of geese for a week.

When the beautiful swan returned to the pond, she was cleverly disguised as the silliest goose you ever saw.

She spent a couple of days gliding back and forth as gracefully as ever, all the while keeping a sharp eye out to see if anyone was watching.

Some Woodland creatures standing on the shoreline (not so many as usual, but respectable for an opening weekend) commented that the silly goose out there sure could glide gracefully.

Even the other swans, who normally didn't give geese a second glance, noticed her.

"She can glide well, said one, "I'll give her that."

"Pity she's not a swan," said another, "Then she'd really have something."

"Yes," said the third, "It isn't fair, I suppose, but a goose that silly looking doesn't stand a chance in this pond."

Upon hearing that last remark, the beautiful swan gracefully glided over to her old flock and threw off the disguise, revealing herself to be one of them, albeit way more beautiful.

The other swans honked wildly, first in shock and surprise, then with praise for her remarkable performance.

"A tour-de-force!" said one, "If you watch only one swan pretending to be a goose this year, make it her!"  

"How brave of you, darling" said another, "What was it like to not be so beautiful?"

"Whose feathers are you wearing?" asked the third, "They are just fabulous!"

The beautiful swan told the others all about how it felt to not be recognized, how many hours it had taken to put on the disguise and how the whole experience had given her more respect for geese and, to a lesser extent, ducks.

As soon as the beautiful swan glided away, once again feeling very good about herself, the other swans started trash-talking about her.

"What a show-off!" said one, "What was that supposed to prove?"

"Why would a swan pretend to be a goose?" said another, "Geese want to be swans, not the other way around!"

"Some birds will do anything to get attention," said the third, "Talk about needy!"

Moral: Birds of a feather, my ass.

Fairly Grim Tales: Goldilocks & the Three Tenors

GOLDILOCKS (she went by just one name) lived high on a hill, in a cantilevered castle that had the very best view of the Woodland.

For her birthday her mother and her mother’s new husband told Goldilocks that she could have anything she wanted.

“Feh!” whined Goldilocks, “That’s what I always get!”

What Goldilocks wanted this year was to have the most fabulously spectacular, birthday party ever; something like nothing she or any of her friends had ever had before.

Goldilocks announced that she wanted a very loud tenor to sing at her party. Now, Goldilocks didn’t know much about tenors, but she did know that no one she knew had ever had one sing at their birthday party.

Mother’s new husband, who had connections in the music business, commissioned a cantata for the occasion but Goldilocks insisted on casting the tenor herself.

She had her people put an ad in Daily Variety and on craigslist.

“Wanted . . .” the ad read, “. . . very loud tenor to sing at fabulously spectacular birthday party. Must bring down the house!”

On the day of the auditions, a line of tenors wound around the castle grounds and zigzagged halfway down the hill.

One after another the tenors came in, belted out an aria and left their head shots.

And one after another Goldilocks told them, “Thank you. Next!”

By late afternoon, there were only three tenors left.

“Hmmm,” thought Goldilocks, looking over the trio, “This one’s too fat. He’ll eat all the foie gras. And that one just hasn’t got, I don’t know, je ne sais quois. And that guy,” said Goldilocks, squinting at the third tenor, who was holding a leaf-blower, “Looks a lot like the gardener.”

No, none of them was just right.

Suddenly, Goldilocks got an idea.

She had all three tenors stand close together and told them to sing the same note as loudly as they could, all at the same time, and to hold it for as long as they could.

And on her cue . . .

“Okay, boys! Hit it!”

. . . they did.

As the trio boomed and bellowed, the chandeliers shivered, the tiles trembled and the walls wobbled. The whole castle quaked and there came a thunderous roar from under the floor.

The castle rocked this way and that, then toppled over and crashed down the hill into the valley below, leaving a terrible mess and tying up cross-town traffic something awful.

Sure enough, the three tenors had brought down the house.

With the castle now at the bottom of the hill, Goldilocks had her birthday party catered by a take-out Chinese joint which, while not fabulous or spectacular, was something that she and her friends had never done before.

Moral: People who live in cantilevered castles shouldn’t cast cantatas.

Fairly Grim Tales: The Pig, the Witch & the Cellphone

ONCE UPON A TIME there was a little pig who lived in an enchanted Woodland. Also in this Woodland lived an evil witch who only looked beautiful until you really got to know her.

The evil witch cast a spell that made the little pig rude and thoughtless and caused her to turn off her cellphone and ignore calls she was expecting.

Nearby there lived a handsome and talented bear, whose success and popularity really ticked-off the evil witch, who was all but washed up in the Woodland.

The bear bravely went out to rescue the little pig from the witch’s spell and straighten her out.

But when the bear tried to tell the little pig that she was under a spell, his fearsome-sounding roar startled many of the other Woodland creatures.

The evil witch took advantage of this and sent out nasty, highly paid trolls to tell everyone about how the bear had roared so ferociously and how very frightened the little pig had been.

Soon the whole Woodland had heard about the angry, roaring bear.

“Roaring is bad,” said everyone in the Woodland, “Especially roaring at little pigs.”

Of course, the trolls didn’t say anything about the spell or the witch, and nobody asked why the bear had roared at the little pig.

The bear was very upset and very confused, “Of course I roar,” he said to himself, since no one in the Woodland would talk to him anymore, “I’m a frikkin’ bear!”

Everyone in the Woodland demanded that he apologize for having roared, which the bear thought was strange since he hadn’t roared at them. But he did it anyway, since he had to live there and everything.

He also tried to apologize to the little pig but the evil witch wouldn’t let him, and threatened to send out even nastier, more highly paid trolls if he came anywhere near.

Knowing that he couldn’t beat an evil witch’s spell and so many lying trolls, the bear lumbered away sadly.

Although the bear stayed way over on the other side of the Woodland, whenever he passed by, there would be whispered conversations about him:

“There goes that bear who roared at that little pig.”

“A troll told me that he ate her, too.”

“No, he just roared.”

“Are you sure?”

“Who are you gonna believe, me or some highly paid, lying troll.”

“He seemed pretty sure. He said the bear’s gay, too.”

“You are a complete moron.”

Eventually, the evil witch’s powers diminished and the spell lifted. When the little pig realized how much hurt she’d caused the bear she felt just terrible about it.

So she spent several wild years on drinking binges, unwise marriages, and made a bunch of adult videos that wound up on the internet and crappy reality show pilots that didn’t get picked up.

The witch and her trolls went around saying the little pig’s misbehavior was because the bear had roared at her when she was littler. By now, though, everyone in the Woodland had figured out that trolls lie about pretty much everything and that the evil witch really was awfully evil.

The little pig finally went into rehab, sobered up and took responsibility for her actions. But by then, nobody really cared.

Moral: Answer your cellphone or you’ll wind up making crappy reality show pilots that don’t get picked up.