Of Mice and Men…

Tale 1

Once upon a time, there lived King Panchikangandu III of South Hiberia, located somewhere in the vicinity of Sankut. Though he wasn’t a particularly good ruler, his subjects really didn’t mind him; actually, they were too busy with their personal lives to bother with his little eccentricities. And life just went on – to everybody their own.
Until that fateful morning happened. The morning that changed everything.
Now, as you probably know, King Panchikangandu III really hated mice. So what if they never bothered him; he didn’t like the way they stayed cooped up in their little holes and did whatever they do, squeaking all the time. He didn’t like them for their dark grey fur, their little pointy ears, their long serpentine tails; for his Royal Highness, just existing in that form was a sin. And – after all – if he was the king of his kingdom, wasn’t he also the king of all the holes therein?
So, on a bright Sunday morning, between piddle-time and coffee-hour, King Panchikangandu III was struck by a violently brilliant idea. “How dare these little furry guys reside in my kingdom without my permission?” he thought, “I will smoke them out of their homes and bring them out on the streets… oh yes, I will!”
That morning, he spent the time sitting on the shitpot drafting a new decree. A decree that said that from that moment on, mice were outlawed from living in their holes. If they really wanted to live, they could do so on the streets.
Pandemonium ensued in the days that followed. Mice – big and small, old and young, educated and illiterate, healthy and sickly – were driven out of their homes and sent out to haunt the streets. And by the end of it, the king’s order had been carried out – all the streets in the kingdom were teeming with angry rodents that didn’t seem to like it one little bit.
So the mice set out to make the most of their fate by biting old women, nibbling the toes off bratty little kids who dared make fun of them, pecking on the cheeks of pretty young maidens while they were looking the other way, and making away with unassuming chickens –  whether they were crossing the street or not.
Quite predictably, this let loose a terrible plague that wiped out one-thirds of the kingdom’s population. The survivors? Well, they popped precautionary pills and cursed King Panchikangandu III for the tragedy he had unwittingly brought upon them.
Heartbroken, the king handed over the reins of his kingdom to a dappled donkey (oh yes, he really liked dappled donkeys) and retired to a life that largely dealt with the manufacture of designer paper lamps.

Tale 2

Once upon a time, there lived Anbumani Ramadoss of India, located somewhere in the vicinity of Nepal. Though he wasn’t a particularly good Health Minister, his countrymen really didn’t mind him; actually, they were too busy with their personal lives to bother with his little eccentrities. And life just went on – to everybody their own.
Until that fateful morning happened. The morning that changed everything.
Now, as you probably know, Anbumani Ramadoss really hated smokers…