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Most important, they said the suit was distinctive for its so-called "weapons of mass destruction," and that if the king were a wise man he could readily see them in the fine fabric woven by clothier Bush Blair Rumsfeld Ltd.
And not only that: They said the king could have the suit for free. All he had to do was vouch strongly and publicly for the existence of these weapons. And, if he did this on a specific date chosen by the clothier, he could then become a best buddy of Bush and Blair.
Moreover, then Bush would come and spend the night in the Danish kingdom. And, best of all, then could the Danish king—or was it the prime minister?—be invited to travel across the sea to Crawford Castle in the kingdom of Texas to have his photo taken there with Bush, and with Danish and American flags waving briskly in the background.
There were just a few other things the king should know, said the swindlers. A small war would be involved, and the king would be required to bring his country into it. The king would also be required to endorse the pretext for war precisely on the day before it started. This was the script the king—or was it the prime minister?—needed to memorize and assert publicly on that fateful eve:
"Iraq has weapons of mass destruction. This is not something we just believe. We know."
The swindlers persuaded the vain king that "justifying" the war would be a "Schlammdunk," and that this wee war of aggression would be a "Kuchenwalk"—suggesting ease in conjuring up a casus belli, and in achieving a quick and easy victory. Best of all, his country was sure to be on the winning side and he would be invited to march in the very first row of the victory parade.
Now the king, not wanting to appear a fool, saw at once that the magic suit was fairly bristling with weapons of mass deception—sorry, I mean destruction. He enthusiastically joined the chorus of Sir Tony of Blair and other dodgy nobles who had been so ready to see the invisible. The king donned the suit and ordered a practice parade as a kind of rehearsal for the eventual victory parade.
The day for the rehearsal arrived, and the streets were lined with thousands and thousands of people. They had heard the story of the magic suit and wished to see it—and appear wise—like the king. And so they all were cheering like mad. That is, all but one fellow named Frank Grevil.
Now, it is understood that no one wants to appear completely out of step—and particularly not at a celebratory parade. And so Major Grevil strained his eyes and directed his considerable analytical skills toward the king in his "magic suit"…and was shocked.
Grevil shouted:
"Look at the king! The king is in the altogether, he's altogether as naked as the day that he was born.
"The king is in the altogether; it's altogether the very least the king has ever worn!
"Call the court physician; call an intermission. The king is wide open to ridicule and scorn!
"The king is in the altogether, and it's altogether too chilly a morn."
The disruption caused by this burst of honesty was most unwelcome. You see, everyone but Grevil—whether nobles like Sir Tony of Blair or commoners—had their own reasons for going along with the king and pretending to see the WMD. And so they did.
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