The Electric Storyteller by Adam Acidophilus

There was once a rich and powerful Caliph who liked nothing better than to relax on his cushions and listen to an ethnic storyteller. Indeed, such was his fascination with this particularly ancient and worthwhile form of entertainment that his reputation spread throughout the world.

And storytellers travelled from the South to tell him stories with coconuts in them; and they travelled from the North to tell him stories with snow; and they travelled from the East to tell him stories with eastern stuff in them – and he applauded and commended them, and sent them on their way heavy with payment.

So far, indeed, did his reputation spread that there came one day into his palace a man from a land the direction of which he had never heard, bearing a mysterious wooden box.

"Oh worshipful and high-born Caliph," this man began, "I carry in this box such stories as will surpass all those that you have previously heard!"

"A bold claim," remarked the Caliph, "fetch me my gaudiest listening cushion and let us see these ancient scriptures which have lain undiscovered for millennia!"

"A musical instrument!" gasped the Caliph. "Marvellous! Let us hear these tales in song. But I should warn you that we've already seen a piano."

"I doubt if you know how much I like puppets," said the Caliph. "But, as you have journeyed so far, pray reveal the gorgeous dancing-girl-come-mime-artist who doubtless inhabits the mysterious wooden box; and who will presumably relate stories in dance in an unclothed condition – vital to the plot and character development. Not that I'll enjoy it as much as you think I will, as I already have a hundred wives, and I really like puppets."

"Alas, majesty, this box contains no dancing girl," sighed the visitor, "but something even more impressive than that."

"It better be," said the Caliph. "And let us get on with it before I start behaving like a fictional character myself."

"Majesty," announced the visitor – who could take a hint, "You see before you a rare and exquisite entertainment – for this: this is an electric storyteller."

The Caliph was appropriately astonished. "Electric storyteller?" he remarked. "Sounds . . . different."

"This box is a device," the traveller began, "contrived by the most ingenious minds in my land. A bolder man might say that this box is both a parchment and a piano, a puppet show and a dancing girl."

"I think you did say it," the Caliph pointed out. "And it can't be both of four different things! And I might warn you that if this turns out to be another tiresome Sufi riddle, you're stuffed."

"We've never found it very useful ourselves," replied the Caliph. "But there are thirteen amp sockets in every room in the palace."

"Then let the stories commence!" said the visitor – attaching his box of tricks to the wall with a magic cable, switching a magic switch and waving a magic aerial.

And sure enough, people the size of puppets appeared within the box – though they were far more realistic than any puppet that the Caliph had ever seen. And music emanated from within the box, though the sounds were far stranger than those of any piano. And voices did speak, and shout and whisper, and sing and argue and cry; and there were colours more vibrant and varied than were familiar to desert cultures at that time.

The first story concerned a man and a woman who were very, very sad – for they were poor and stupid and not very beautiful. But a woman did appear to them and she dressed them in new clothes and changed their hairstyles and they were very, very happy.

But then a second story began. And this one was about a man who was very sad, for his house was falling down and his garden was overgrown – for he had no ability to tend it, for a reason that was never explained. And another man did appear to him who conjured forth slaves, and they mended the house and completely redesigned the garden – and the man was very happy.

But then a third story began: and this was about some people who prepared a feast – so they did – and guests arrived.

"This is pathetic!" grumbled the Caliph. "This stuff has absolutely no story, it has no meaning, it has no passion – these people can't even act. I am inclined to compare it to wallpaper, which we have recently invented, only I'd say that the wallpaper was actually more interesting!"

"Hang on," said the visitor," the next one is about a man who finds treasure under his house."

"Then piss off," said the Caliph. "And take that box with you. And don't come back here again. Electric storyteller? What a load of crap!"