NEEDLING

The Emperor looses ground. His flight to the moon seems put off for the time being. He’ll just say he did it, and forget about it. The propaganda crews will take care of the details. Design a proper moon-walking suit, just as long as it looks good on camera. That’s the trick. Make it flashy, over the top, add some big time military music, a large orchestra mind you with all the brasses the turbines the large tam-tams and a whole slew of woodwinds and chords... fireworks in the night skies, the rocket never even left ground, but nobody’s gotta know. The Emperor steps out of the cockpit, his special-unit helmet all ready in his arms, all suited up clean as a brand new nickel, his clothes never even been worn, stepping out of the rocket as if he’d just come back from the moon, his hair in a perfect hairspray get-up. The paparazzi are all up in arms, cameras stuck to their retinas, shooting it all up like the latest soap-opera queen. The Emperor Steps Back Down to Earth Safely, says the headlines – “Irony is not necessarily intended,” the editor tells his subordinate before they send the paper to the press... “but maybe it is.”