The Once-ler (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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paradisa2013-03-13 08:42 pm
whichwayyoulean) wrote in paradisa2013-03-13 08:42 pm
Entry tags:
Twenty Three Truffula Trees
[Oh yes, it's story time again. The Once-ler has got himself a cup of coffee, a nice cigar and an open journal, which he taps as if to get people's attention]
So, I promised I'd tell this story around this time, and keeping promises is a thing I'm trying to do, so I give you: The Curious Tale of the Sneetches on the Beaches. Or Why Racism is Pointless. [He clears his throat, and begins]
On the beaches of my world live a special kind of bird. Really, really big, sentient birds, called Sneetches. [He helpfully doodles some into the journal] Though they're the same species, there are two kinds. The Star-Bellied and the Plain-Bellied. One of them has a star on their belly, one doesn't. If you guessed which is which, just go ahead and give yourself a nice, slow clap. Good job.
Anyway, the Star-Bellies had this big superiority complex, they thought the stars on their bellies meant they were better than the Plain-Bellies. You ask me? A disfigurement like that, I'd be more worried about what was happening in my gene pool than being all smug about it. They treated the Plain-Bellies like dirt, the kids weren't allowed to play together, the Stars would hoard food away form the Plains, refuse to look at them as they passed, that sort of thing. It was pretty ugly.
One day, a guy came to the beach, a shady entrepreneur because I guess my world just breeds people like us specifically to be a cautionary tale or something who had a machine that could give the Plain-Bellies stars. Not considering the damage this might do to themselves, the Plains jumped at the chance for this machine to fit in with the quote-unquote 'better' side of society, for a price. Sure enough, the machine did the job and soon every Sneetch on the beach had stars on their bellies.
The original Star-Bellies didn't like this at all. I mean, what did those other Sneetches think they were doing? Daring to make every Sneetch equal when they were clearly superior with their physical deformity. Gosh. But that happy little money grubbing guy had the answer for them too. his machine could remove stars, as well as give them.
...Yeah I don't know how any of this works, OK? I'm the guy who made the physics-defying sweater, I don't know the key to genetic manipulation.
Anyway, the Stars became Plains, and like the jerks they were, decided Plain was now the way to be. Back to phase one. What followed was Sneetches going into the machine over and over again, trying to turn the tide of if it was better to be a Plain-Belly or a Star-Belly. Eventually, it got to a point where they couldn't remember if they were originally a Plain or a Star. So, they came the conclusion they should have done before: all Sneetches were equal. They lived their lives contentedly ever since, while the guy with the machine made a bundle and I guess went off to make women feel better about themselves when they were pretty enough or something.
So the moral of the story is this. You shouldn't treat people differently because of what they look like, and cosmetic surgery is never the answer.
The. End.
So, I promised I'd tell this story around this time, and keeping promises is a thing I'm trying to do, so I give you: The Curious Tale of the Sneetches on the Beaches. Or Why Racism is Pointless. [He clears his throat, and begins]
On the beaches of my world live a special kind of bird. Really, really big, sentient birds, called Sneetches. [He helpfully doodles some into the journal] Though they're the same species, there are two kinds. The Star-Bellied and the Plain-Bellied. One of them has a star on their belly, one doesn't. If you guessed which is which, just go ahead and give yourself a nice, slow clap. Good job.
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Anyway, the Star-Bellies had this big superiority complex, they thought the stars on their bellies meant they were better than the Plain-Bellies. You ask me? A disfigurement like that, I'd be more worried about what was happening in my gene pool than being all smug about it. They treated the Plain-Bellies like dirt, the kids weren't allowed to play together, the Stars would hoard food away form the Plains, refuse to look at them as they passed, that sort of thing. It was pretty ugly.
One day, a guy came to the beach, a shady entrepreneur because I guess my world just breeds people like us specifically to be a cautionary tale or something who had a machine that could give the Plain-Bellies stars. Not considering the damage this might do to themselves, the Plains jumped at the chance for this machine to fit in with the quote-unquote 'better' side of society, for a price. Sure enough, the machine did the job and soon every Sneetch on the beach had stars on their bellies.
The original Star-Bellies didn't like this at all. I mean, what did those other Sneetches think they were doing? Daring to make every Sneetch equal when they were clearly superior with their physical deformity. Gosh. But that happy little money grubbing guy had the answer for them too. his machine could remove stars, as well as give them.
...Yeah I don't know how any of this works, OK? I'm the guy who made the physics-defying sweater, I don't know the key to genetic manipulation.
Anyway, the Stars became Plains, and like the jerks they were, decided Plain was now the way to be. Back to phase one. What followed was Sneetches going into the machine over and over again, trying to turn the tide of if it was better to be a Plain-Belly or a Star-Belly. Eventually, it got to a point where they couldn't remember if they were originally a Plain or a Star. So, they came the conclusion they should have done before: all Sneetches were equal. They lived their lives contentedly ever since, while the guy with the machine made a bundle and I guess went off to make women feel better about themselves when they were pretty enough or something.
So the moral of the story is this. You shouldn't treat people differently because of what they look like, and cosmetic surgery is never the answer.
The. End.