Well, dear citizens of Elmburg, I, Ronald Tramp, your ever-beloved and infallible President, am here today to tell you a very "instructive" story. It's about an old friend of mine, Donny, and his son, Ricky.... uh, I mean Eric! Yeah, that's right, Eric. So, sit down, grab your popcorn (only the best, of course, imported from Trampland) because this story is juicier than the steaks in my magnificent palace!

So, here we have young Eric following in his father's footsteps. Big footsteps, I must say, huge! Almost as big as mine, but I digress. So this young man is trying to "maximise" the value of a simple, small, humble golf course. You know the sort of thing, a bit of grass, a few holes - but hold on, Eric sees more! He sees a golden city on the hills, townhouses as far as the eye can see! And not just any townhouses - no, no, that would be too easy - but ones that would sell for a whopping $1,000 a square foot!

But then, oh horror, along comes this McArdle, a man who claims to be an "appraiser". With his little clipboard and his mocking grin, he says, "No, young Eric, this golf course is not a golden city, it's just.... well, a golf course." Pah! What does this McArdle guy know? Has he ever hosted a reality show? I don't think so!

But this is where the fun begins, dear Elmburgers. Because Eric, our shining knight of high property valuations, is not giving up! He fights against the tyranny of "market values" and "realistic appraisals". He sends McArdle proposals, insisting that his golf course cannot be compared to these other ridiculously sub-par courses. And McArdle? The poor man finally had to capitulate and settle on a value of 45 million. I almost sent him a hanky.

But here, my friends, it grows dark. In the depths of the night, in the shadows of the Skyscrapers, numbers on paper came to life. Where once stood 45 million, now stand over 100 million! Oh, the magic of creative accounting, the beauty of optimism! How poetic, how inspiring.... how utterly disconcerting!

But wait, there's more! For when young Eric was called upon to recall, to explain himself, he said, "I pour concrete. I don't bother with estimates." Eric, the concrete poet, the man who makes skyscrapers sing, can remember nothing. Ah, the tragedy of a forgetful heir!

Now, as this dramatic play continues, with judges and lawyers whirling wildly, I ask myself: where is the moral of the story? Perhaps, dear Elmburgers, we should learn from the mistakes of our friends. Maybe we should let our golf courses be golf courses and our townhouses.... well, at least a little more modestly.

Because at the end of the day, believe it or not, sometimes a golf course is just a golf course. And a tramp, well, he's still a tramp. And remember, dear citizens: dream big, but estimate realistically, otherwise your next fairytale castle might consist of nothing but castles in the air!