Jack and Jill and Jill and Jack May 31, 2009

Once upon a time, there was a boy named Jack and his sister Jill.

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Jill and her brother Jack.  A different Jill, and a different Jack altogether.

Now, Jack who had a sister Jill, and Jill who had a brother Jack, were madly in love. They had every intention of getting married one day.  The other Jill and the other Jack, were, as far as anyone else knew, not romantically involved. However, they were quite compatible in their entrepreneurial styles, and decided to go into business together.

So one day, Jill and Jack went up a hill, to put their very first business plan into action. Meanwhile, Jack and Jill stayed behind to have a picnic under a tree, complete with tea and crumpets and wings and crowns. They were very festive picnic-ers.

Although Jack had insisted that tap water should work just fine, Jill had forced him to go up the hill with her to fetch a pail of cold spring water, so that they could bottle that cold spring water and sell it to others, starting with, probably, Jack and Jill.

Unfortunately, they never made it to that point. While trying to scoop the cold spring water into the first plastic bottle, Jack slipped on a wet rock and began to roll down the hill at a terrifying speed. Jack and Jill below were so busy below staring into each other’s souls that neither of them saw Jack hurtling toward them, with the result that Jack smashed into Jack, bruising his face, and knocking the crown from his head. When Jill saw the crown lying broken on the ground, she tumbled into the mess as well, screaming and kicking and scratching.

Meanwhile, Jill remained atop the hill, slowly filling water bottles. By the time she made her way down, Jack, Jack and Jill had stopped fighting and were all very tired and thirsty. Since they were friends, Jill only charged each of them $2.50.

The End.

Source: Jack and Jill, Nursery Rhyme

The Flutist and the Salespeople May 28, 2009

Once upon a time, there was a town. And this town had a problem: it was overrun with salespeople.

It had all started long ago, when a traveling sock salesmen had stopped into town on a particularly drippy night. By visiting all the restaurants and bars and public places, he was able to unload his entire stock by selling to people whose shoes had gotten wet, people who liked new socks, and people who were just polite. This was quite a polite town, after all.

Unfortunately, word had spread, and soon the town was full of salespeople. They stood by building entrances, spritzing anyone who walked by with perfume. They stood outside windows, asking people to participate in surveys or if they would be interested in having the local news told to them through their windows. They made signs and covered the trees with them.

After some time, the townspeople were quite sick of being advertised to. They were quickly running out of money, for one thing, and were having trouble remembering how to find their own homes because of all the new billboards. Some simply bought town maps from the guy selling them on the corner, but a few gathered together under cover of night to discuss the problem.

The negotiations took long into the night to resolve. After much deliberation, it was decided that the mayor would ask his cousin to come take a look, because his cousin’s town had recently solved its own salesperson problem.

His cousin arrived the next week, wearing a long cape, and holding a flute. For the first day, all he did was stand in the center of town, playing the flute. For the second day, all he did was stand in the center of town, playing the flute, but not quite as well. On the third day, he walked around, handing out mailing lists to all the salespeople. They all had names of different towns on them.

The sales people were gone by the end of the night.

The following morning, there was a small celebration for the clever flutist. Just as he was about to leave, however, he cornered his cousin the mayor and asked for payment, which was only fair.

But that wasn’t all.

After he had accepted a check, he asked his cousin to have the townspeople fill out a survey let him know how well he’d performed his task. He also gave him some complementary posters. Finally, he gave him a pile of discount coupons for extractions of all kinds — salespeople, rats, even traveling flutists.

The mayor began to feel that something had gone terribly wrong.

The End.

Source: The Pied Piper

H. D. WallSitter Sits On A Wall May 24, 2009

Once upon a time, an egg called H. D. WallSitter fell from the top of a wall.

And it was no ordinary fall. Mr. WallSitter spent quite a lot of time sitting on walls, after all, and had some experience falling off them.

This was, in fact, a Great Fall. He had never had one of THOSE before.

He promptly broke into pieces, and was so distraught he hardly noticed when all the king’s horses and all the king’s men arrived to perform emergency surgery. Or, when an actual surgeon showed up to piece him back together again.

It was only later, when the anesthesia was starting to wear off, the Mr. WallSitter realized one of the king’s horses had never left. This horse was wearing pinstriped pants and a gray vest. He had a pocket watch in his hoof.

“You know, Mr. WallSitter,” the horse said. “That wall you were sitting on, I’d say it didn’t look fit for sitting upon. Not fit for sitting upon at all. Tell me, was there a sign?”

“A sign?”

“Telling you not to sit upon the wall?”

“Not at all!”

“Had you received any warnings about staying away from the wall?”

“Not at all!”

“Then, Mr. WallSitter, I think I can make you a very rich egg indeed.”

The egg drifted off to sleep at that point, but the next day, he called the king’s horse and asked him to represent him in a lawsuit against the city for allowing the wall to become unfit for sitting upon.

He did become a very rich egg, and immediately had plans drafted for the construction of his very own wall.

The End

Source: Humpty Dumpty, English Nursery Rhyme

The Loquacious Owl and the Fire May 21, 2009

Once upon a time, in a little town, a surprising thing happened.

An owl came to live in an empty barn. It wasn’t a big owl, but it had feathers like horns, and a sharp tiny beak.

Now, as even the smallest child in this town could tell you, owls are nocturnal. They only come out at night.  Not this owl.  This owl arrived in the barn one night, certainly, but then it did not leave. What’s more, the townspeople could hear the creature flapping about during the day.

While some thought it must be injured or sick, others thought it must be demonic or mad. In either case, it was generally decided that only brave and strong sorts should enter the barn to check on the owl.

So, a brave and strong sort was chosen, and he walked into the barn early one morning. He didn’t come out until it was dark, and when he did he was shaken, and would talk to no one.

The same thing happened when the miller’s daughter visited the little owl.

The same thing happened when the town’s most well liked firefighter visited the little owl.

After that, a few hotheaded townspeople decided that the only way to deal with such a threat was to destroy it. And so the next night, they set the barn on fire and ran back to the safety of their homes.

Now the farmer who owned the barn was very upset, mostly because his neighbors had destroyed his property without asking him. Also, because their act had been in vain. You see, there was hole in the ceiling of the barn the owl had used to fly in.  The owl also used it to fly out, when things started to get uncomfortably warm.

Now, the farmer knew about the gap because he had put it there.  He needed the owl to be able to fly in and out of the barn, because….

he didn’t want her living in his house anymore. For weeks, the little owl had been visiting him at home.

“Hoot,” she’d say.

“Warm today,” she’d say.

“What do you think of the price of cabbage?” she’d ask.

“I had a vole today. Isn’t that just delightful?” she’d ask.

And she’d say and she’d ask and she’d talk and talk until the farmer couldn’t stand it anymore.

He’d thought letting her live in the barn would be the perfect solution.

“Imagine that!” the little owl said. “Setting the barn on fire! How rude! You know, I saw a fire just like that one some time ago, back over the other side of that big tree, you know, the one with the knobbly branches? I do love to perch in trees!”

The farmer sighed and closed his eyes.

The End

Source: The Owl, Brothers Grimm

Dusty Knickers May 17, 2009

Once upon a time, there lived an extraordinarily dusty girl.

Now, it wasn’t entirely her fault she was so dusty. She lived with her two stepsisters, who may have been even dustier girls if she didn’t make it her personal mission in life to keep them clean. She forced them to wash up, and swept their rooms and made their beds and made sure they didn’t wear shoes in the house. As a result, she was left with little time to do these things for herself, no matter no often her lazy stepsisters insisted she leave them be and take care of her own room and bed and shoes and personal hygiene.

In time, they began to call her Dusty Knickers, as everything she wore invariably became dusty. And stayed dusty, since she was so busy doing laundry for her step sisters that she failed to do her own.

Now one day, the stepsisters received an invitation to the county cook off, the most exciting time of the year. Unfortunately, the two girls were not particularly good cooks. Even more unfortunately, they thought they were excellent cooks, because they’d never had an opportunity to give their food to anyone other than Dusty, whose tongue was so coated in dust that she couldn’t really taste anything anyway.

So the girls prepared for days, making every recipe they knew — broccoli in cheese sauce, asparagus in cheese sauce, chicken in cheese sauce, cheese in cheese sauce, and a daring new concoction — rice in cheese sauce, with bits of canned tomatoes. They were extremely pleased with themselves, so pleased that they hardly became frustrated when Dusty cleaned up all of their equipment (and spilled cheese sauce) while they were still using it.

On the day of the cookoff, they proudly presented their food to the judges, including for some reason, the prince of a nearby country that also had a prime minister, and watched them chew every bite.

But suddenly, a gust of wind blew past the girls and their stepsister, and all of their dishes were covered in dust.

The girls were distraught. but the judges were grinning.

Several days later, a proclamation went out through out the land that the prince who had been at the cook off had resolved to marry the girl who had caused the dust storm. There was also a proclamation going around about yet another prince who was looking for the owner of a lost glass slipper.

The girls realized at once that the prince would be coming in search of their dusty stepsister. Each of them desperately wanted to be the chosen bride, but they knew they’d never get her cleaned off. So they did the next best thing and locked her in a room.

For days, they lived in the sort of filth they’d unknowingly avoided for years. And it was, well, pretty disgusting.

“That prince had better get here soon,” they’d taken to grumbling. “Because I can’t take much more of this.”

Meanwhile, Dusty sat in the other room, cleaning the walls and the floor, and gathering dust.

And get there the prince did, finally, just as the girls were on the verge of taking showers.

The prince frowned when he saw them. “You are both fairly dusty. But the girl I remember was extraordinarily dusty. Could it be that my imagination has fooled me?

Yes, yes, it could be, the girls affirmed.

Just then, there was a sneeze. And another. And another, all coming from the room Dusty was locked in. The prince, being a valiant, if strange, sort, immediately strode over and pulled open the door.

They were married almost immediately.

The next day, the sisters went out looking for a glass slipper.

The End.

Source: Cinderella, Perrault.

The Boggart, Or the Mystery of the Cricket May 14, 2009

Once upon a time there was a family, that is, a man, a woman, and their wee little son. They lived in a smallish house in a nice neighborhood far away from the noise and bustle of the city, and that was just how they liked it.

There was only one problem. The little house was haunted by a boggart.

Now, the man had never seen the boggart. The woman had never seen the boggart. But they were absolutely sure this was only true because the boggart took great pains to hide himself away. They knew he was there anyway.

Like, one time, their wee little son saw a giant shadow on his wall, with many legs and long thin things sticking out of its little head. Or another time, he’d complained of tiredness because he’d been up all night listening to something hum just inside his bedroom. Bits of food disappeared from his little table, and sometimes they’d find remnants of what appeared to be a tiny tea party.

One time, he’d complained, saying “Bogger” and pointing at the wall behind his mother. Just as she’d turned to look, a clock had fallen off the wall for no reason whatsoever. After that, she cleaned the wee little boy up (there were some boogers on his fingers, as he was prone to picking his wee little nose), and immediately told her husband they needed to move.

He prepared, but without much effort. You see, this man understood boggarts. He knew that he would spend a good deal of time packing and cleaning and buying and getting ready and such, until the final day, when he let his neighbors know he was going. At that point, he was sure the boggart would announce its intention of coming along.

You can imagine his surprise when nothing happened.

He and his family rode off one morning with no interruptions or bother. The little boy never complained of the boggart again.

And, back in their old house, a cricket crawled into a patch of sunlight on the floor and curled up to take a nap.

When the man returned the next week to pick up the rest of his family’s belongings, he found his house redecorated, with lovely pictures of crickets all over the wall. He never did find out why.

The End.

Source: The Boggart, English folktale

Three Gruffsome Goats May 11, 2009

Once upon a time, there was a troll who lived under a bridge. Now, this was a troll who lived for quiet. He liked nothing better than to curl up on the couch with a nice book and a hot cup of tea. Unfortunately, living under a creaky bridge, the troll often found his quiet time interrupted by the “creeeeaaak creeeeaak” of the bridge swinging in the wind or the “trip trap trip trap” of his neighbors in the animal kingdom crossing the bridge.

Being a clever troll, he managed to keep things under control by hopping on top of his bridge and threatening to eat the trespasser in question unless he or she could offer up a better substitute. They invariably did, and never crossed the bridge themselves again.

Recently, however, the troll had encountered a more serious problem: three little goats by the name of Gruffsome. Now, the three billygoats Gruffsome lived just north of the bridge, and they spent many a summer day running back and forth across it, jumping and stomping and yelling until the troll thought he might have to eat his own ears just to get some quiet. More worrisome still, the three little Gruffsomes were clever, and had long called his bluff: when he threatened the little one, the little one would tell him to wait for his older brother. The older brother would tell him to wait for his oldest brother, and the oldest brother would swear an elephant or some otherwise imaginary but delicious animal was on the way.

The troll didn’t really want to kill and eat any of the goats, but he was starting to think he didn’t have any other options.

He decided first to try other threats. Give them homework! Make them clean! Tell their mother! But the little goats just laughed and ran away, only to come trip-trapping back over the bridge moments later.

He tried to make the bridge as inhospitable as possible, by cooking bad smelling things and turning his television all the way up. But the little goats ignored it all, running back and forth over the bridge.

He tried to engage the little goats in awkward conversation, figuring they’d be so bored they’d never return, but instead, all three began to seek him out, to tell him about missing teeth and trips to the hillside and surprisingly late bedtimes.

Why would nothing work? Finally, he got so frustrated, so angry, he lost his temper, and pulled the bridge down with his bare hands. He had an uncomfortable fall, but the bridge came down, and after that, there was no more activity above to interrupt his rest.

He should have been happy. But, as time passed, he found himself listening for the “trip trap, trip trap” of the three little goats. How hard could it be, he wondered, to build a bridge?

Source: The Three Billy Goats Gruff, Norwegian Folktale

How Seven Little Kids Owned the Wolf May 7, 2009

Once upon a time there was a goat who had seven kids. She loved them very much, even though they spent a lot of time crying and arguing and eating more food than she could afford.

Now, she tried not to leave them alone too often, because she knew there was a wolf lurking about who had quite a taste for kids. However, she did have to buy food at least once every week, and after her kids were kicked out of the grocery store for the 7th time, she resolved to go do the shopping by herself.

Before she left, with her metal cart and shopping list, she warned her kids that there was a wolf around, who would do anything to get into the house and gobble them up. She feared they hadn’t really listened, and locked the door double tight when she left.

Of course, the wolf, who had been waiting for ages for this opportunity, sprang upon the house as soon as the goat was well away. He hoisted himself up to look in the window at the delicious kids inside, and rang the doorbell.

“It’s your mother, children,” he called. “Let me in.”

Immediately, the kids saw the wolf in the window and remembered their mother’s warning.

“You’re not our mother,” the bravest among them said. “Our mother does not have the face of a wolf.”

So the wolf, grumbling to himself, climbed down from the window and went on his way.

What he needed was a way to make his own face look like that of a goat. So, he went to the baker and through a combination of persuasive arguments and threats, convinced the baker to cover his face with flour. Once it was perfect, he went back towards the house, past the goat supplies store, the costume shop, the robe maker, and the grocery store.

Unfortunately, it began to rain as he was traveling, and the flour all slowly tripped down his face. He had just started his trip back when he heard a voice call:

“Goat masks! Get your goat masks here!”

He ran in the direction of the voice, and sure enough, the costume-maker was peddling goat masks just outside his shop. The wolf couldn’t believe his luck!

He walked back to the little house confidently, holding the new goat mask up to his face. When he rang the bell this time, the kids let him right in, all talking very fast.

“Mom, did you get cookies?”

Mom, where are the bags?”

Mom, did you get hot dogs?”

“Mon, why would you get hot dogs?”

“Mom, we’re out of peanuts.”

“Mom, I’m allergic to peanuts, and she IS TRYING TO MAKE ME EAT THEM!”

The voices all got faster and more high pitched as the wolf made his way into the house. He tried to examine each kid to determine which he should eat first, but his eyes kept focusing on spilled milk here, a pile of unwashed laundry here, and the wide open window someone could clearly fall out of.

“MOM, MOM, MOM, MOM, MOM!”

The voices rose around him until the wolf simply lost the ability to think and fainted dead away.

When the mother goat came home soon after, she was surprised to find the wolf passed out on the ground with a goat mask barely hanging from his face. But before she could even register what happened,

“Mom, the wolf came!”

“Mom, they let him in, it wasn’t me!”

“Mom, the wolf had a mask!”

“Mom, did you get cookies?”

The End.

Source: The Wolf and the Seven Little Kids, German Fairy Tale

Jackson: Ferret and Hypocrite May 3, 2009

Once upon a time, there a lived a king and a queen who very much wanted a child.  Any child.

Or, a pet.  After hoping and thinking and wishing for some time, the queen conceded that she’d be happy with even just a ferret.

Sometimes, you really do have to be careful what you wish for, especially if you are prone to wishing out loud. You never know who’s listening.

Nine months later, the queen gave birth to a ferret.

Considering all the wishing and whatnot, the queen and king decided to make the best of the situation and lavished upon the ferret all the love they would have lavished upon some innocent boy or girl.  They named him Jackson. They dressed him up in little suits and told him he was the smartest and most handsome boy around.

In time, Jackson grew, so that one day he stood as tall as his parents.  But he was still, you know, a ferret.  A very tall ferret.

And one day, Jackson the very tall ferret decided he needed to find true love, and informed his parents of his plan to do so.

Now, his parents knew that Jackson might have a hard time of it, since human girls were so rarely interested in marrying fully grown ferrets. However, they couldn’t hurt his pride by telling him so, and instead tried to warn him:

“Girls may be intimidated because they aren’t as smart as you.”

Or:

“Girls may be afraid because they’ve never seen anyone as handsome as you.”

They were very surprised to hear that the very first nobleman Jackson had encountered had offered up his second daughter.

Here’s what they didn’t know:

Some time ago, the nobleman had thrown a party, and failed to invite one of the faeries.

But another faery, who was at the party, had had a little too much fun, and turned his second daughter into a ferret.

Jackson found out about this just in time to temporarily cancel the wedding, and consult every holy man, magic man, and veterinarian in town about the state of his bride to be.

The vet gave him eye drops.

The holy man gave him holy water.

The magic man gave him a bag of mysterious powder.

That night, Jackson sneaked into the other ferret’s room and sprinkled all three substances over her. Then he closed the door behind him, and waited patiently for morning.

He never did find out which had done it, but by the next morning, a beautiful young woman woke up and brushed a few stray ferret hairs from her body. The wedding was back on!

Some time after it was over, and Jackson had become accustomed to married life, his wife made a decision.

She visited the holy man.

She visited the magic man.

She visited the veterinarian.

They all told her the same thing:  Jackson was a ferret.  And she was screwed.

The End.

Source: Prince Hedgehog, Russian folktale