A Mod Fairy Tale
LONDON (AFP) - Young girls who enjoy classic romantic fairy tales like "Cinderella" and "Beauty and the Beast" are at greater risk of becoming victims of violent relationships in later life, a British researcher says.
What a crock. What a load of cheap beans. Where did this researcher get his information -- from some disgruntled feminist who more closely resembles Boy George or that Paris Hilton? How ridiculous! Paris never dressed as well as George did, much less wear the cool hats. And how exclusionary! What about young boys who enjoyed those classics? Are they at risk of growing up to become fairy researchers?
It just seems like such a wild stretch of the imagination, which of itself is a fine thing to possess, but to state inflammatory nonsense in print is irresponsible and properly phlogiston. Let’s leave all of that up to professional liars -- politicians, the weathermen and fictional writers. Too much of that stuff gives us hard-working stiffs gas, plus a really bad name that might take weeks, if not days, to clear up. Why, mere decades ago, as two other men and I set out to drift across the vast Atlantic in our gay but efficient tub, we posed some questions to pass our time together…
“How did you come to be a professional butcher man?”
He stared out at the sea and readjusted his position as he considered the question.
“Once upon a time,” He began, “I was told the story of Billy Goat Gruff, and being a young and innocent lad, I felt sorry for the little troll who had no particular meat-carving skills. That, plus I wanted a better place to live than under a measly bridge.”
We three rocked as I pursued after more details.
“So how’d you end up in this tub here?”
A tear came to his steady eye, while the other one twitched twice.
“I met a princess and married her, but she turned out to be a mean big-city lawyer.”
Only the sounds of small wave broke over our heads, so while I bailed, he wiped his face and asked the other man,
“And how did you find your way into the baking business?”
The fellow stopped paddling us in circles, and then he dried his hands on a spiffy white apron before he spoke up.
“I used to read nothing but political essays, and from those I gathered that I could try my hand at cooking up something with better taste.”
“Did you succeed at that?”
“Oh, yes indeedy. I also met me a princess, but after we two were married, she and her mother ended up eating me out of house and home.”
“Are you saying she turned out to be a mistake?”
“They both turned out to be huge, costly mistakes.”
Several gulls above us hovered in respectful silence.
“And you, friend. What might your trade be?”
“I went into candle manufacturing and distribution.”
“Ah, an interesting choice. And what might have inspired that industrious line of work?”
“The Wizard of Oz.” I trailed a finger idly in the wet foam next to the tub.
I scooped up some of the froth onto my index finger, held it aloft, and then blew on it.
“I read the story as a child. Then as a young man, I set out upon an honorable quest to go melt witches, but soon found them to be much too scarce for profit, unlike common wax. Later on, I met a princess with long, golden hair, and so we fell madly in love. I thought we both would live happily forever after, but alas, that was not to be the case.”
“She met another man?”
“No, another woman.”
A gull lit gingerly on the edge of the tub, steadied himself, and stared right at me until his eyelids began to droop.
“Look out, boys -- here comes a monster wave.”