On a South Pacific island, there was a tribe of Polynesian natives who lived
in simple houses, made of grass. The tribe had a chief who was the only one
who had a grass house with a second floor.

The chief, since he was the supreme head honcho of the tribe, had always felt like royalty, and wanted a throne like other royals. He ordered his number two tribesman to have an elaborate throne built for him.

It took over 3 months to have all the materials brought in, and then build the throne. The chief was thrilled when the throne was set up on the ground floor of his house. It was very beautiful.

After a year, or so, he became bored with his throne, and wanted a bigger one. It took the number 2 guy in the tribe at least 6 months to get the manpower and materials together for this new and much larger throne, and when it was finished, he asked the chief where to set up this one. The chief told him to just move the old throne upstairs, which was mainly a place to store things which were no longer needed, and to put the new throne where the old one had been.

The chief liked this new throne even more, and was so happy that he presented his number 2 tribesman with the hand of his only daughter, in marriage. The tribesman was so thrilled with his new bride that he almost shat.

About another year had passed when the chief again wanted an even bigger and fancier throne, one which would be appropriate for a chief of his status, who was now a proud grandfather. His son in law dutifully accepted the challenge, and spent a full year building the most extravagant throne possible. It was truly magnificent. As before, he had the second throne stored upstairs with the first one, and set up the latest throne in the usual place.

The chief was so happy with the latest throne that he spent most all of his time, day and night, sitting on his wonderful new possession.

One night, about a week later, a loud crash was heard by the tribesmen, and the tribeswomen, and the tribeskids. The chief was dead. The 2 heavy thrones which had been upstairs in the chief's house had fallen through the floor onto the chief, who had been sleeping on his new throne. All the tribespeople were greatly saddened, and the son-in-law was appointed to be the new chief.

The moral of this story: People who live in grass houses shouldn't stow thrones.

I hope this story needs no explanation, but comments are welcome. The concept of this story isn't original, but the wording is my own, except for the punch line.