King Glenn's Word

Once upon a time there was a white haired king named Glenn Beck who lived atop a hill made of white sand. His voice was loud and shrill, and when he barked and stomped his scepter the entire city could hear it. It wasn't a question of being able to hear it, but being able to avoid it. Even the fishermen working miles away at the wharf were susceptible to this mad king's rants.

One day, King Glenn heard of a neighboring village's new efforts at spreading a sense of community, responsibility, and charity. Glenn hated this, because to him, ideas (especially benevolent ones) spread like disease, and he did not, under any circumstances, desire that the lowly peons in his town would help each other. Secretly, it was because Glenn was worried that once there was a united village, they might see past his ivory locks and may not be so intimidated by his ethereal castle made of sand. Striking his scepter violently on his marble floor, he spat and shouted:

IT'S PROPAGANDA, IT IS ALL PROPAGANDA! ALL OF THE GOD-LOVING CITIZENS OF MY KINGDOM SHALL NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, VOLUNTEER! WE SHALL NOT HELP OTHERS, IT IS THE DEVIL'S WORK AND WE SHALL NOT HAVE ANY PART OF IT.

Citizens stopped what they were doing at once: the bakers stopped baking, the fishermen stopped fishing, and the teachers stopped teaching. They were all startled. A young boy who was helping an old woman with her groceries dropped the bag at once, frowned, and ran away. What is volunteerism, the townspeople wondered? Isn't everything we do for one another some form of it? Out of fear of King Glenn, the villagers retreated into their homes and lived in silence, only attentive to the King's daily shouts and decries against humanity. Soon enough, the entire kingdom was in disarray.

Upon hearing of the kingdom's weakening bloodline, many other neighboring kingdoms became interested in pursuing it, and claiming it as their own. One day, as King Beck was staring out the window of his castle, he saw an army from a neighboring village appear in the horizon. The black line seemed as though it would never end. King Glenn, alone in his castle made of sand, began to worry. He looked down to his kingdom; no one was wandering the streets, all doors to homes and buildings were closed. He violently struck his staff once more and said:

CITIZENS, AN ARMY FROM THE NEIGHBORING VILLAGE HAS ENTERED OUR BORDERS. I REQUIRE YOU AT ONCE TO VACATE YOUR HOMES, AND HELP DEFEND OUR BELOVED KINGDOM!

Surely, thought Beck, they would listen. He licked the white spittle from the sides of his cracked lips, and watched out the window with anticipation. In his mind, he saw townspeople, men, women, children, the elderly, all pouring out of their houses like his little and mindful ants (as he so desired them to be) with weapons, fighting the King's war.

But no one came, and the lights in the houses remained shut. The army drew closer. He struck his staff again.

CITIZENS, IF YOU LOVE GOD, YOU WILL COME OUT THIS INSTANT AND SAVE OUR KINGDOM.

He struck his staff the hardest he ever did, and all of a sudden, things started to shake. King Glenn looked up, and he saw his chandelier start to rattle. And then, he saw his saucers tremble. And before he knew it, his sand castle began to crumble.

From their window, the townspeople gasped as the immaculate castle fell to pieces, and watched in terror as the king (or so they thought, it was hard to discern him from the sand), struggled and choked in the mass avalanche, crying (from what they could hear, that is, it was rather muffled): Help me! Help me!

A little boy tried to run up to the top of the once-hill, but his mother stopped him. Son, she said, we are not to help others. It is the order of the King.

The little boy stopped, sighed, and went back to his playthings.

The army continued to march, however no blood had to be shed. After all, the king died by his own hand.

A few months later, as new rule had been established, the late King's thoughts had come true: the idea of volunteerism did spread, and citizens raked up the sand together from the fallen castle and transplanted it to the beaches. One person raised question, saying they should not just toss away this sand; it was special, he said.

"Don't be daft," said the next, "sand is sand. Anyone can build a castle from it, but it will never last. Now here, help me with this shovel."

And the other man did, and soon enough, King Beck's marvels, both his word and his palace, were but tiny white granules of nothingness, soon to be forgotten by all.