by Robert Thier
There was just one problem: the wicked woman didn’t feel quite the same. After two months of the grueling agony that was her happily ever after, she had enough and called an old friend of her.
“Good morning. Thank you for calling Grim, Graul & Slimeball LLP, the most wicked lawyers in Fairyland. How may we help you grind your enemies to dust?”
“Hello. I’d like to speak to Jack, please.”
“Mr. Slimeball is in a meeting at the moment. May I take a message?”
“Yes, tell him his old friend from the Satanic Sabbath called, and she has a big case. A royal divorce.”
“Royal?” The secretary’s voice nearly sounded delirious with delight. “Of course, ma’am! I’ll be sure to let Mr. Slimeball know the moment his meeting is over.”
Now, this little tale could be continued by giving a detailed account of the following lawsuit. But since that would take about three thousand seven hundred sixty-seven pages in extremely fine print, we’ll skip over all that and keep it short: the wicked woman won.
But was she happy?
No.
She had loved the Prince, once, after all. Even if she couldn’t exactly remember why by now, she had once dearly loved that disgusting turd, and her heart was broken. What was half a kingdom in alimonies compared to that? Nothing!
She needed help! She needed comfort! And who can we rely on in times of these if not our family? Thus, it was that the very next morning, the wicked woman could be seen running down the path from her palatial mansion towards the little cottage of her sister. (The one whose daughter she had eaten. But you can’t let a little thing like that stand in the way of sisterly love, can you?)
“I thought he really loved me,” sobbed the wicked woman. “All I asked of him was a little torture and cannibalism! A little freedom to spread my own reign of terror over his kingdom and massacre his subjects! Is that too much to ask?”
“No, of course not, dear,” cooed the younger sister, patting her sibling on her mangy mane.
“Men are all such bastards! They trick you into making them fall in love with you, and then, when you’ve forced them into marriage, they can’t stick with their commitment! Let me tell you something, little sister: never marry! Men are bastards!”
“There, there. Have a piece of child’s foot. It’ll make you feel better.”
*********
After a while, the wicked woman consoled herself to her dour fate as an incredibly rich, independent single woman. However, as inevitably happens with heroines who have younger relatives, her fate is not the end of this little tale.
Sometime after the wicked woman had gotten her divorce, another royal Prince visited the city. This was the elder brother of the first Prince, and he was much more handsome and royal than his brother. Unlike his brother, this prince hadn’t come to town to force shoes onto people’s feet, but was looking for a high tower with girl’s hair hanging out of the window. Why exactly he was doing this wasn’t entirely clear, but neither is it really pertinent to our story. What matters is that, one day, as the prince was standing under the highest tower in the city, hoping for girl’s hair to fall out of the window. And just in that moment, the younger (and extremely wicked) sister of the wicked woman came by on her way to the market to snatch children. The moment she saw the Prince, she forgot all about roasted earlobes and tasty toes and fell hopelessly in love with him.
The moment her elder sister heard of this, she vehemently counseled the foolish young woman to think better of it.
“Marrying a prince is never a good idea,” she urged, while three muscular, good-looking men fanned her with palm leaves while a fourth expertly massaged her back. “Look at me—lonely and unhappy, with only a few tons of gold coins and dozens of bed slaves to comfort me in my lonely existence. You can’t wish such a joyless life on yourself, can you?”
But no amount of good arguments would persuade the younger sister. So her older sister finally gave her blessing.
“All right, all right! Marry him!”
“It’s not that easy,” the younger wicked woman said sadly. “First I have to rob him of his will and make him my willing slave.”
“Oh, right. Well, here’s the address of the wicked witch who helped me. I’ll let her know you’ll be coming.”
The younger wicked woman perked up. “You really think she’d help?”
“If it’s for an evil cause? Of course she will! Especially if I tell her it’s for my little sister. Don’t worry. She’ll have a love potion ready for you.”
“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much, sis!”
The younger wicked woman was just as determined as her older sister. So she embarked on her perilous quest, and, after countless dangers and more than seven hundred sixty-six near scrapes with death, she returned from the Wicked Witch of the South-South-East with a little bottle of love-potion, glowing in a nasty shade of neon green. It was a comparatively simple matter to walk up to the prince while he was gazing open-mouthed in front of a tower, staring at a strand of golden hair hanging out of the window, and jab a hypodermic syringe filled with the potion into his royal behind.
“Ouch!”
“Pardon, Your Highness.”
“How dare you, you mangy hag! Don’t you know who…I…ardlfsmpldgrrrrg…”
“What were you saying, Your Majesty?”
“Good God! You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life! Will you marry me?”
“Hm…let me think about it…yes!”
Soon, news of the happy wedding of the Prince were spread by royal heralds in all the towns and villages of the kingdom. But alas, the wicked woman was not a lot more successful in married life than her older sibling had been. There were simply too many problems. First of all, there was her cooking. The wicked woman was a housewifely little creature, and she did her best to cook delicious meals for her new husband. But, although he loved her desperately, he simply could not show the proper appreciation for her Bratfoot Pie and Child Tartare. Then there were his outrageous opinions on other women and exclusivity. No matter how much the wicked woman explained her need for extended sexual orgies, the Prince could simply not understand and insisted they remain exclusive. How could he! Hadn’t he promised to love and support her?
It all ended as it inevitably had to: with a non-happily ever after. But, instead of going through all the trouble of divorcing her husband, the second woman kept it simple and just killed, cooked, and ate him. With a little sugar and strawberry cream, he turned out to be a lot sweeter in death than he had ever been in life. Plus, this way she got all of his money, not just half.
These cautionary examples should have been enough to keep the third and youngest sister of our two previous heroines from following a similar path to desolation. But, as fate would have it, the last—and most handsome!—son of the king came to town looking for sleeping girls covered in thorns and roses. He was just visiting one of the florists in town when the youngest wicked woman—seventeen years of age, so more of a wicked girl, really—walked in, wanting to purchase some mandrakes, hemlock, and belladonna. The moment she beheld his scrumptious Highness, she knew that he was the love of her life and would be great fun under the sheets. But she had even more warts on her nose than her sisters and knew there were only three ways she was ever going to get him into her bed: sudden madness, a love potion, or a hard knock over the head.
The youngest wicked woman went home and considered her options. Of course, she could have embarked upon a perilous quest to distant lands and begged a love potion from the Wicked Witch of the South-South-East. However, our youngest heroine was considerably smarter than her older siblings. So instead, she embarked on a short walk to the best wedding planner in town.
Ding-dong.
The fairy behind the counter looked up with a smile as the wicked girl entered. “Welcome to Fairyflower & Co, Luxury Wedding and Event Planner. How may I help you?”
“I was wondering, do you per chance have any love potions stoc
ked?”
The fairy smiled even more brightly and fluttered her little sparkly wings. “Oh, certainly, Miss! We have Forever Yours No.1, With All My Heart No.5, Deadly Desire—that one is for necrophiliacs—and Eternal Love No. 3.”
“I’ll take one bottle of Forever Yours, please.”
“Certainly, Miss. Please note that whoever drinks it will fall in love with the first person he or she looks at. We don’t give guarantees against mixups. Should I giftwrap it for you?”
“No, thanks. I’ll be using it. And…”
“Yes?”
“Do you have any info material on wedding dresses?”
“Certainly, Miss! What budget are you aiming for?”
“Money is no object. I’m marrying a prince.”
With her most important purchase—the potion—tucked away in her handbag and the rest sent off to her house on credit, the youngest sister went back to the florist, where the Prince was still lifting roses to check if there was a sleeping, enchanted girl underneath. Clearing her throat, the wicked girl approached the Prince.
“Your Highness? Are you looking for something?”
“Yes. A girl. But I don’t seem to be able to find her.”
“Have you considered that she might be there, but that you simply can’t see her?”
“You mean she’s…invisible?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
The Prince looked impressed. “Dear God! What am I supposed to do?”
The wicked girl pulled out the vial from her handbag. “Drink this. I guarantee it’ll improve your sight.”
“If I drink this, I’ll find a girl under the roses?”
“Oh yes, you’ll definitely find a girl. Really quickly, too.”
“Thank you so much! That is so kind of you.”
The prince took a deep gulp, and…
“Grrx!”
“Something the matter, Your Highness?”
“Oh…my dear…”
“Yes, Your Highness?”
“You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my life!”
“True.”
“Will you marry me?”
The wicked girl smiled. “If you insist.”
To keep things short and sweet: the Prince and the wicked girl had a wild, tempestuous courtship of about a day and a half, and, as soon as a wedding had been put together, they were married, to the great happiness of one and all (except the groom’s parents, the wedding guests, and the general populace). Not long after the ceremony was completed, the happy couple withdrew to the bridal suite.
Now, you might think that the youngest sister’s life took the same abysmal course as that of her older siblings. But, as mentioned above, the youngest was considerably more intelligent than the other two wicked sisters. And because she was more intelligent and understood human nature a lot better than her sisters, just before she joined her husband in the bridal bed, she pulled another bottle of Forever Yours No.1 out of her pocket, uncorked it, and drank every last drop. Then she looked long and hard at her husband.
“Is something wrong, darling?” he asked.
The wicked girl smiled. “No. Everything is perfect. I love you. I’ll love you forever and ever and ever.”
“So will I,” he told her and kissed the big wart on the end of her nose.
And they lived happily ever after. Guaranteed.
And the moral of the story is: always hire an expert wedding planner.
Or, another moral is: husbands can be sweet, if properly cooked.
The White Bride and the Black Pride
Once upon a time, there lived two sisters. One was beautiful and kind and properly meek for a young damsel, whereas the other ran wild and tended to be rather brash with people. On the plus side, though, she wasn’t nearly as boring as the other.
One day, the two sisters were walking along a path in the country—or, rather, the first was walking while the second was running around, trying to catch herself a weasel for a pet—when they met an old man coming the other way.
“Excuse me,” he asked, stepping in the way of the second sister. “Do you know the way to town?”
“Out of my way!” Pushing him aside, she sprang forward and landed on top of the weasel, squealing with joy. “Gotcha!”
The man huffed and turned towards the older sister. “Excuse me,” he repeated. “Do you know the way to town?”
“Why, yes, sir, of course,” the beautiful girl answered. Curtsying, she pointed down a fork of the path. “Three miles that way, and you’ll be at the town gates.”
“Thank you.”
The old man went on his way. But he was really God the Almighty in human form, who had come to earth for a little holiday, and the younger, weasel-catching sister had really upset him. So he turned around after a few steps and called to the two girls:
“You two! Harken unto my words!”
The two girls turned to face him.
“In the beginning,” God said, “there was the word. And the word was God, and God was pissed off! Not at both of you, though. One of you was kind to me. She shall be blessed with beauty beyond any mortal woman! Let there be beauty!”
He snapped his fingers, and a plastic surgeon stepped out from behind a bush and began performing cosmetic surgery on the older sister on the spot.
“As for you,” God said sternly to the younger girl while the plastic surgeon was busy on her sister’s airbags, “as punishment for your rudeness, you shall be cursed with ugliness until the end of your life! Let there be ugliness!”
Again he snapped his fingers, and suddenly, her face, her arms, her legs, and all the rest of her body turned black, and her hair, which had had been straight, shining, and golden up until that point, curled into dark brown dreadlocks.
“Whoa!” she yelled, staring at the dreadlocks. “Bro, what the hell…?”
Quickly, she ran over to the nearest pond to stare at her new ugliness. God conjured up a little cloud, climbed onto it, and smugly floated after her, looking forward to seeing the effects of his just punishment.
The girl kept staring into the pond for quite some time. Then she took a deep breath and turned to God. The way she raised her chin should have been his first indication that things had not quite gone as he had planned.
“So you think this is a punishment, do you?” the girl demanded. “You think black is ugly? Well, let me tell you, you racist asshole, I, too, sing the songs of Fairytaleland! I may be the darker sister, and people may lock me away in the broom cupboard when company comes, but I’ll laugh, and I’ll knock them over the head with a broom the moment I’m out again![5] Because I have a dream! I have a dream that, one day, this enchanted kingdom will rise up and invent a creed that sounds something like ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men (and women!) are created equal.’ I have a dream that, one day, in the magic forest beyond the river, black people and white people will be able to go on quests together to kill the evil giants of the north instead of just killing off each other! I have a dream that, one day, even the Misty Mountains ruled by the White Witch-Queen, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice! I have a dream that, one day, some stupid, supernatural jackass on a cloud won’t come swooping down and start hassling perfectly innocent people just because they happen to be busy chasing after weasels! I have a dream today!”[6]
And God was speechless. He had done his best; he had visited the most terrible punishment imaginable upon this nasty brat, and still the little toad refused to be repentant! Worse still, she even refused to realize that she had been punished!
God saw that all was not well. For a moment, he considered turning the insolent black girl into a real toad so people couldn’t say that someone who incurred his wrath had gotten off scot free. But he decided against it. “For,” he said to himself, “my ways are not their ways. Mine are mysterious ways.”
Besides, he had to get on with his holiday if he wanted to be back in heaven in time for his appointment with S
t. Peter. So he turned his cloud and floated away towards Hawaii.
Meanwhile, the plastic surgeon had finished with the other sister. Putting away his knives and leftover implants, he smiled at the dazed sister and held out his hands.
“That would be $7,999.99, please.”
“W-what?” the white sister stuttered.
“For the operation. $7,999.99.”
“B-but my beauty was gift from God!”
“That’s all very well and good, Missy, but a gift from God won’t pay for my new Villa on the Côte d'Azur.”
But the white sister was not shaken in her faith by this. Kneeling down, she folded her hands and prayed to the Good Lord:
“Oh Lord, thou has given me the gift of beauty in thy infinite mercy. Grant me, I beg you, another miracle and pay the bill for the operation, for I am a poor maiden and cannot afford that much silicon. Amen.”
And behold, the clouds parted and a cherubim came flying down to earth, surrounded by a halo of golden light and dressed in a banker’s suit.
“Here,” the heavenly messenger proclaimed, handing the surgeon a credit card surrounded by a golden halo. “Take what is thy due, loyal servant of Heaven. Yet be forewarned: do not overcharge us, or the wroth of God the Almighty shall be visited upon thee and all thy facial implants!”
The plastic surgeon thanked the angel of the Lord and went away in search for more flat-chested women. The white sister, meanwhile, called out to her sibling. At first, she heard no answer. Yet, after a moment, there came a shout from behind a bush: “There! In you go! That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“Sister?” the white sister called. “Sister, could we go home, please?”
“What’s the rush?” called the other sister from behind the bush.
“I think I should change. This dress is suddenly a bit too tight across the chest. Also, I think I need to re-apply my makeup.”
“All right! I’ll be there in just a minute! I just have get a grip on this bag so the confounded weasel can’t get out!”