Trumpelstiltskin
Once a lovely maiden made the mistake of making a deal with a big bad banker who was about to pull the rug out from under her poor dad. The desperate old man offered his daughter up to the banker as stopgap collateral, believing in her earnest entreaties, that she could indeed spin her way out of his mess.
The deal she agreed to was to build a wall across the southern border of the country, overnight. Sure it was a nutty concept, but she’d do anything to save her father. Then, as if out of nowhere an imp or elf-like creature appeared and offered to help. He was very specific in the details of the deal, as was his wont. “I’ll build your wall, and if you make love to me, I will forgo your debt. Otherwise I will take your firstborn as my own. There is a single caveat here, listen carefully, if you guess my name, all will be even-steven, and you’ll be free and clear with me.”
She was a sharpie herself, no slouch when it came to ferreting out the devil in details. “How many guesses do I get?” she asked. The answer came without hesitation. Unlimited guesses until the first crow of the cock. “Well, I got this,” she said to herself. Pitifully. And we all know how the story goes. The wall got built, and the banker was so impressed he commissioned another wall to circumscribe the entire country, for the next day, which the elf erected as if it were no big thing.
The time came to square up with the eerie homunculus. The maiden rifled through the canon; John, Mike, Chris, Jeb, Marco.. she called each and every Bobby, Henry, George and Dick she could think of…but she was shooting blanks…Then, as these things go, she went out to clear her head in a pre-dawn run. She was doing some parkour, and as she bounded along the parapet she heard the elf chanting to himself…”Ha ha she’ll never find me out, she’ll never guess the real me…old Trumplestiltskin has really pulled one over this time!” Just then the rooster blared the call of a new day.
Returning for his spoils the elf was about to shackle the woman’s child to his own wrist. “I’m sorry,” he feigned. “Not so fast…Mr. Trumpstiltskin..You win sometimes..but by gloating you can also lose”. The strange creature was stopped in his tracks, his magic gone, his jaw cracked with a shreik of dismay.
Moral…don’t make dumb deals or count on happy endings in real life, only in fairy tales does it not lead to ruin.
Rebernzel
Once a lovely maiden was held captive in a tower to evil oligarchs who offered no way out or down. She would sing the most enchanting melodies…”Lalala lalala, Danton and Robspierre…what fine fellows..they will make things right….tralalala…Marx and Lenin…what clear leaders…”
One day, a prince was riding under the tower in which she was held hostage. He was well-educated, alas. Shouldering the burden of history, he puzzled over her song. So enchanting, yet he couldn’t help but think…the French Revolution led to Napoleon’s dictatorship, and the October Revolution led to Stalin…but what winsome tones…He had to know who was behind such an alluring voice.
The prince stood below at the base of the tower..”Helloooooo,” he bellowed up to the window. What came next he should have imagined. The princess was ravishingly beautiful, with hair grown long to reflect her internment. They beheld each other and instantly were smitten. Facts of history fell by the wayside..the prince craved the princesses’ song…”Sing for me again, I’m mad for your message” She obliged, “Tralalala, we’ll take it from them, and it’ll cost you nothing…Lalalalala… aren’t you sick and tired, tell me you’re sick and tired too…”
He cried up to the window, “Rebernzel, let down your long long locks and I will climb up so we can escape this prison once and for all.” And she did as he said, offering him a flaxen ladder. Up he went, and they plotted their escape. But lo, her vanity was such that she was unwilling to cut her hair, which would have made a line down for them both. She wouldn’t change, and his only thought was of being by her side, so now they were both trapped.
Moral…don’t fall for a catchy hook, or seek an easy out. You’ve got to think things through if you want freedom, more than a song is needed.
technical difficulties
The second tale was posted in full, but seems to have vanished..Stay tuned…(Foul play and vote tampering not suspected at this point)
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Update: Remaining content now added from original draft…
and
Those responsible for the sacking have been sacked.
The Empress' New Clothes
Once there was an Empress who hired the best fashion advisors to create an outer layer that would be appealling to her subjects. The tailors and seamstresses worked around the clock, studying what her subjects wore, and what was being worn by neighboring royalty.
Day after day, they tried new outfits for her. The Empress would try them on, and go out to meet with people in the village. Some people liked the clothing, but others did not. Some saw the fashions as dated, or borrowed and lacking originality.
The Empress wanted everyone to like her, and told her fashion advisors to work overtime. Neighboring royalty was getting the attention.
The advisors were out of ideas. They met to discuss, and hatched a plan: an outfit made of nothing at all.
The Empress doubted the advisors at first. She didn’t see any outfit to try on. But they convinced her to head out into public without anything on at all. “You look wonderful,” they insisted. “It is inevitable that they will like you now.”
The Empress paraded about town, and the people took notice. But they were also polite people, not the types to criticize, and kept their mouth shut about the outfit that was lacking. “You look just fine,” they told her.
One innocent child, though, didn’t see any clothes, and pointed it out to the crowd. “Uh, she’s not really wearing anything of substance.”
The child was ridiculed and sent away.
Moral: Bush- Clinton 2016!
Little Ted Riding the Hood
Once a lovely maiden was on a stroll through old growth forest. She was on the way to visit her grandmother, who had grown a little forgetful in her dotage. Alone in her cottage. Being thoughtful, even a little solicitous, the girl grew anxious if too many days passed without visiting. Granny could never remember the last time she saw her little lovely, but she was always elated to get company.
A wolf, aware of everything that happens on his turf watched as the girl strolled the path, now worn prim by her many footsteps. “What easy pickings,” he thought to himself. Or did he say it aloud? He suddenly frightened, he might have spoken it and alerted the child. Being completely honest with himself, he was a little bit in love with her. So eating her as a meal wouldn’t really satisfy him like other approaches might. “OK,” the wolf leveled with himself, “I’m a lot in love with her. But I’ll probably gobble her up anyways because that’s how we wolves roll.”
So he set his plan in motion. He marked every zone, every tree, each gulley and neck of the woods, so he’d know the precise timing of the girl’s every passage. Then he threw on a cape in the style of the girl, and knowing that Granny was especially fuzzy at sundown, he knocked at the old crone’s door. “Come in,” Granny called, trustingly, like some voter on a fence who’d just been glad-handled by a pro. “What a big schnoz you have my girl, I never really noticed before.” The wolf was in no mood. He had just sat through that new three hour Tarantino movie set in the hinterland, so you can imagine the mangled scene that ensued as he dispatched Grandma, and took her place in bed.
Early the next morning, he hears a rustle…it might be the wind…it might be the slumbering electorate tilting towards his divinely vouchsafed dream… a knock on the door tells the wolf his moment of truth has arrived. The girl approaches her Grandmother. “My, what big eyes you have, are your cataracts bothering you?” “Oh no, the better to read polls, and metadata.” “My, what big ears you have.” “The better to hear slanderous innuendo and inject that into the general discourse sowing fear and doubt…I mean…” Well everything was seeming very normal to the girl, because she knew her beloved Granny had dementia, and she could say anything. It was indeed a sorrowful state of affairs.
Not wanting to drag this out a moment longer, “My Granny, what big teeth you have.” The wolf at this point licked his chops, knowing his appetite would soon be sated. Just then a woodsman, or it was a guy in a flannel shirt with an axe, which might have been a guitar.. everything was suddenly so confusing, in any case this dude bursts through the door and slams the wolf with some potent and righteous rock, leaving him a babbling and quivering mess. Lupus took his lumps and slunk off, if that indeed was a word, glad to be alive, knowing that tomorrow is another day.
Moral: That distressing ambush is going to keep on coming, you know. So pay attention. And don’t think you have to do what’s expected of you.
Three Little Pigs
Once there were three pigs who lived in a field that previously had a few more pigs, but they were butchered.
The three remaining pigs decided to build houses to protect themselves against the Big Bad Wolf, who was going about doing whatever he wanted and getting his way.
The first pig built his house of straw. This pig had learned to build using straw, and despite it all being blown down one Saturday evening, decided to keep building using the same straws over and over again.
The second pig built a house of wood. Wood has always been solid in the past and, this pig reasoned, would be a reasonable choice for a house product given the other choices.
The third pig had lots of money, so decided to build a house of brick. He couldn’t really do it alone, so his family helped him lay the foundation. It was slow going, too. Storms came and went, but this pig was confident that in the end, his house would stand up to the Big Bad Wolf.
A fourth pig, which everyone had forgotten about, was dozing.
The Big Bad Wolf ignored them for the most part, but occasionally hurled insults their way. He spent most of his time getting rabbits to be mad at rabbits from other burrows for taking their carrots.
Moral: I have no idea what they are doing.
The Process and the People
Elders of an eminent family wanted to find a suitable mate for their hunky scion, one who would produce an heir to cast their powerful legacy forward. But they needed a system that would guarantee candidates would be properly vetted. To date all the contenders were either too thin, or too fat or too whiny or too slick, too this or too that..none seemed right, it was becoming a regular confederacy of don’ts up at the manor. The process dragged through many seasons.
A necromancer, who had advised the clan for three generations suggested they have little contests in each of the territories before a final selection was made. The central office was about to unveil that plan when one dark and stormy night a woman showed up at a party the family was holding. How she got past the dragons and across the moat without an invitation remains a mystery. The wizard sensed an opportunity, he offered the woman entry, and one of the guest bedrooms.
She was escorted to her digs, and in the modest room was a bed, upon which was laid 50 mattresses. Unbeknownst to everyone, beneath the bottom mattress the wizard had placed a micro-chip, which was no larger than a tick on the back of a tick. The chip transmitted data on every wiggle and waggle, every move she made.
The next morning at their prayer breakfast, the family and the wizard were already seated at the table when the woman came down the escalator. “How’d you sleep?” the matriarch eagerly inquired. “Not so well, the guest confessed. I tossed and turned, flipped and flopped, then got a headache, and didn’t know what to do. I’m feeling lost to myself if truth be told.”
At this, they all rejoiced. “Hallelujah, our prayers have been answered, we have our nominee!”
Moral: Moore’s law be damned. Be careful what you wish for.