About 1500 years ago, there was a tribe of people who existed on a plain that was covered with grass that was unusually strong. Although there were neighboring tribes, each with their own king nearby, the people of the grass pretty well kept to themselves. And, although there were wooded and hilly lands where these other tribes lived, the grass people seldom visited the other lands. They foraged in the grass, and even built their houses out of the grass. The king of the grass people became fascinated with his power and built a throne from which to rule. Eventually, so prideful he became, he sent a spy to see the throne of the king of a neighboring tribe. The spy reported back that the king next door had a gawdy wooden and jewel encrusted throne from which to wield his power. Well, said the grass king, I must have that throne, and he sent out a war party to conquer the neighboring tribe and bring back the king's throne for him to have. His warriors won and carried back the throne to the grass king who, instead of sitting on it, built a second floor to his grass castle and would stare at it for hours, proud of his possession. He decided he should war on other tribes and capture the kings' thrones so that he could possess and admire them along with his power. Each time he added a throne, he would put it in his second floor throne room. He captured many thrones and had a room positively FULL of them.

One night, as he was sleeping in his royal chamber, the second floor, no longer able to support the weight of all of the thrones, collapsed. The king was found dead under the thrones the following morning. It was a sad, sad day.

From that day, it was written: People who live in grass houses shouldn't stow thrones.

Sorry.