Politically Correct Bedtime Stories

by James Finn Garner

  ‘What do you think you’re doing? Put us down!’ they shouted. The giants were so startled they almost dropped the womyn to the floor.

  ‘That was the most sickening thing I have ever heard!’ shouted the queen. ‘Offering us around like pieces of property!’

  ‘And you,’ said Snow White to the prince, ‘trying to make it with a girl in a coma! Yuck!’

  ‘Hey, don’t blame me,’ said the prince. ‘It’s a medical condition.’

  The leader of the giants said, ‘Don’t start tossing blame around. You both broke into our property in the first place. I can call the police!’

  ‘Don’t try it, Napoleon,’ said the queen. ‘This forest is property of the crown. You are the ones who are trespassing!’

  This rejoinder caused quite a stir, but not as big a commotion as when the queen warned: ‘And another thing. While we were immobile and you all blathered on in your sexist way, I had a personal awakening. From now on, I am going to dedicate my life to healing the rift between womyn’s souls and their bodies. I am going to teach womyn to accept their natural body images and become whole again. Snow White and I are going to build a womyn’s spa and conference centre on this very spot, where we can hold retreats, caucuses and ovariums for the sisters of the world.’

  There was much shouting and name-calling, but the queen eventually had her way. Before the Seven Towering Giants could be evicted from their home, though, they packed up their sweat lodge and moved deeper into the woods. The prince stayed on at the spa as a cute but harmless tennis pro. And Snow White and the queen became good friends and earned world-wide fame for their contributions to sisterhood. The giants were never heard of again, save for little muddy footprints that were sometimes found in the morning outside the windows of the spa’s locker room.

  CHICKEN LITTLE

  hicken Little lived down a winding country lane surrounded by tall oak trees. (It should be mentioned here that the name ‘Little’ was a family name, and not a derogatory, size-biased nickname. It was only by sheer coincidence that Chicken Little was also of shorter-than-average height.) One day, Chicken Little was playing in the road when a gust of wind blew through the trees. An acorn was blown loose and hit Chicken Little squarely on the head.

  Now, while Chicken Little had a small brain in the physical sense, she did use it to the best of her abilities. So when she screamed, ‘The sky is falling, the sky is falling!’ her conclusion was not wrong or stupid or silly, only logically underenhanced.

  Chicken Little ran down the road until she came to the house of her neighbour, Henny Penny, who was tending her garden. This was a simple task, since she didn’t use any insecticide, herbicide or fertilizer, and also permitted the native nonedible varieties of wildflower (sometimes branded ‘weeds’) to mingle with her food crops. So, lost amid the foliage, Henny Penny heard Chicken Little’s voice long before she saw her.

  ‘The sky is falling! The sky is falling!’

  Henny Penny stuck her head out from her garden and said, ‘Chicken Little! Why are you carrying on so?’

  Chicken Little said, ‘I was playing in the road when a huge chunk of the sky fell and landed on my head. See? Here’s the bump to prove it.’

  ‘There’s just one thing to do,’ said Henny Penny.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Chicken Little.

  ‘Sue the bastards!’ said Henny Penny.

  Chicken Little was puzzled. ‘Sue for what?’

  ‘Personal injury, discrimination, intentional infliction of emotional distress, negligent infliction of emotional distress, tortious interference, the tort of outrage—you name it, we’ll sue for it.’

  ‘Good gracious!’ said Chicken Little. ‘What will we get for all that?’

  ‘We can get payment for pain and suffering, compensatory damages, punitive damages, disability and disfigurement, long-term care, mental anguish, impaired earning power, loss of esteem …’

  ‘Person, oh, person!’ said Chicken Little joyfully. ‘Who are we going to sue?’

  ‘Well, I don’t think the sky per se is recognized as a suable entity by the state,’ said Henny Penny.

  ‘I think we should go and find a lawyer and learn who is suable,’ said Chicken Little, her diminutive brain working overtime.

  ‘That’s a good idea. And while we’re there, I can ask whom to sue for these ridiculously bony legs of mine. They’ve caused me nothing but anguish and embarrassment all my life, and I should be compensated for all that.’

  So they ran farther down the road until they came to the house of their neighbour, Goosey Loosey. Goosey Loosey was busy teaching her canine animal companion to eat grass so that she could avoid the guilty feelings that came with feeding the dog processed animal carcasses from a can.

  ‘The sky is falling! The sky is falling!’

  ‘Sue the bastards! Sue the bastards!’

  Goosey Loosey leaned over her fence and said, ‘Land sakes! Why are you two carrying on so?’

  ‘I was playing in the road and a piece of sky fell on my head,’ explained Chicken Little.

  ‘So we’re going to find a lawyer to tell us whom we can sue both for her injuries and for my bony legs.’

  ‘Oh good! Can I come and sue someone for my long, gangly neck? You know, nothing really flatters it, so I am convinced there’s a conspiracy within the fashion industry against long-necked waterfowl.’

  So the three of them ran down the road looking for legal assistance.

  ‘The sky is falling! The sky is falling!’

  ‘Sue the bastards! Sue the bastards!’

  ‘Smash the conspiracy! Smash the conspiracy!’

  Farther down the road they met Foxy Loxy, who was dressed in a blue suit and carried a briefcase. He held up a paw to halt the entourage.

  ‘And what are you three doing out on this lovely day?’ asked Foxy Loxy.

  ‘We’re looking for someone to sue!’ they shouted in unison.

  ‘What are your grievances? Personal injury? Discrimination? Intentional infliction of emotional distress? Negligent infliction of emotional distress? Tortious interference? The tort of outrage?’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes,’ the three said excitedly, ‘all that and more!’

  ‘Well, then, you’re in luck,’ said Foxy Loxy. ‘My caseload has just eased up, so I will be able to represent you in any and all lawsuits we can manage to bring.’

  The trio cheered and flapped their wings. Chicken Little asked, ‘But who are we going to sue?’

  Without missing a beat, Foxy Loxy said, ‘Who aren’t we going to sue? Three hapless victims such as yourselves will be able to find more guilty parties than you can shake a writ at. Now, let’s all step into my office so we can discuss this further.’

  Foxy Loxy walked over to a small black metal door that was in the side of a small hill nearby. ‘Step right this way,’ he said as he lifted the latch. But the black door wouldn’t open. Foxy Loxy tugged on it with one paw, then with both. It still wouldn’t budge. He yanked and pulled violently, cursing the door, its mental abilities, and its sexual history.

  Finally the door swung open, and a huge ball of fire shot out. This was really the door to Foxy Loxy’s oven! But unfortunately for him, the ball of fire engulfed his head, burned off every hair and whisker, and left him totally catatonic. Chicken Little, Henny Penny, and Goosy Loosey ran away, thankful that they had not been devoured.

  However, the family of Foxy Loxy caught up with them. In addition to suing the manufacturer of the oven door on behalf of Foxy Loxy, the family brought a suit against the three above-mentioned barnyard fowl, claiming entrapment, reckless endangerment and fraud. The family sought payment for pain and suffering, compensatory damages, punitive damages, disability and disfigurement, long-term care, mental anguish, impaired earning power, loss of esteem and the loss of a good dinner. The three birds later brought a countersuit, and they’ve all been battling in court from that day to this.

  THE FROG PRINCE

  nce there was a young pri
ncess who, when she grew tired of beating her head against the male power structure at her castle, would relax by walking into the woods and sitting beside a small pond. There she would amuse herself by tossing her favourite golden ball up and down and pondering the role of the eco-feminist warrior in her era.

  One day, while she was dreaming of the utopia that her queendom could become if womyn were in the positions of power, she dropped the ball, which rolled into the pond. The pond was so deep and murky she couldn’t see where it had gone. She didn’t cry, of course, but she made a mental note to be more careful next time.

  Suddenly she heard a voice say, ‘I can get your ball for you, princess.’

  She looked round, and saw the head of a frog popping above the surface of the pond. ‘No, no,’ she said, ‘I would never enslave a member of another species to work for my selfish desires.’

  The frog said, ‘Well, what if we make a deal on a contingency basis? I’ll get your ball for you if you do me a favour in return.’

  The princess gladly agreed to this most equitable arrangement. The frog dived under the water and soon emerged with the golden ball in his mouth. He spat the ball on the bank and said, ‘Now that I’ve done you a favour, I’d like to explore your views on physical attraction between the species.’

  The princess couldn’t imagine what the frog was talking about. The frog continued, ‘You see, I am not really a frog at all. I’m really a man, but an evil sorcerer has cast a spell on me. While my frog form is no better or worse—only different—than my human form, I would so much like to be among people again. And the only thing that can break this spell is a kiss from a princess.’

  The princess thought for a moment about whether sexual harassment could take place between species, but her heart went out to the frog for his predicament. She bent down and kissed the frog on the forehead. Instantly the frog grew and changed. And there, standing in the water where the frog had been, was a man in a golf shirt and loud plaid trousers—middle-aged, vertically challenged, and losing a little bit of hair on top.

  The princess was taken aback. ‘I’m sorry if this sounds a little classist,’ she stammered, ‘but… what I mean to say is … don’t sorcerers usually cast their spells on princes?’

  ‘Ordinarily, yes,’ he said, ‘but this time the target was just an innocent businessman. You see, I’m a real estate developer, and the sorcerer thought I was cheating him in a property-line dispute. So he invited me out for a round of golf, and just as I was about to tee off, he transformed me. But my time as a frog wasn’t wasted, you know. I’ve got to know every square inch of these woods, and I think it would be ideal for an office/property share/resort complex. The location’s great and the numbers add up perfectly! The bank wouldn’t lend any money to a frog, but now that I’m in human form again, they’ll be eating out of my hand. Oh, will that be sweet! And let me tell you, this is going to be a big project! Just drain the pond, cut down about 80 per cent of the trees, get easements for… .’

  The frog developer was cut short when the princess shoved her golden ball back into his mouth. She then pushed him back underwater and held him there until he stopped thrashing. As she walked back to the castle, she marvelled at the number of good deeds that a person could do in just one morning. And while someone might have noticed that the frog was gone, no one ever missed the real estate developer.

  JACK AND THE BEANSTALK

  nce upon a time, on a little farm, there lived a boy named Jack. He lived on the farm with his mother, and they were very excluded from the normal circles of economic activity. This cruel reality kept them in straits of direness, until one day Jack’s mother told him to take the family cow into town and sell it for as much as he could.

  Never mind the thousands of gallons of milk they had stolen from her! Never mind the hours of pleasure their bovine animal companion had provided! And forget about the manure they had appropriated for their garden! She was now just another piece of property to them. Jack, who didn’t realize that non-human animals have as many rights as human animals—perhaps even more—did as his mother asked.

  On his way to town, Jack met an old magic vegetarian, who warned Jack of the dangers of eating beef and dairy products.

  ‘Oh, I’m not going to eat this cow,’ said Jack. ‘I’m going to take her into town and sell her.’

  ‘But by doing that, you’ll just perpetuate the cultural mythos of beef, ignoring the negative impact of the cattle industry on our ecology and the health and social problems that arise from meat consumption. But you look too simple to be able to make these connections, my boy. I’ll tell you what I’ll do: I’ll offer to trade your cow for these three magic beans, which have as much protein as that entire cow but none of the fat or sodium.’

  Jack made the swap gladly and took the beans home to his mother. When he told her about the deal he had made, she grew very upset. She used to think her son was merely a conceptual rather than a linear thinker, but now she was sure that he was downright differently abled. She grabbed the three magic beans and threw them out of the window in disgust. Later that day, she attended her first support-group meeting with Mothers of Storybook Children.

  The next morning, Jack stuck his head out of the window to see if the sun had risen in the east again (he was beginning to see a pattern in this). But outside the window, the beans had grown into a huge stalk that reached through the clouds. Because he no longer had a cow to milk in the morning, Jack climbed the beanstalk into the sky.

  At the top, above the clouds, he found a huge castle. It was not only big, but it was built to larger-than-average scale, as if it were the home of someone who just happened to be a giant. Jack entered the castle and heard beautiful music wafting through the air. He followed this sound until he found its source: a golden harp that played music without being touched. Next to this self-actualized harp was a hen sitting on a pile of golden eggs.

  Now, the prospect of easy wealth and mindless entertainment appealed to Jack’s bourgeois sensibilities, so he picked up both the harp and the hen and started to run for the front door. Then he heard thundering footsteps and a booming voice that said:

  ‘FEE, FIE, FOE, FUM,

  ‘I smell the blood of an English person!

  ‘I’d like to learn about his culture and views on life!

  ‘And share my own perspectives in an open and generous way!’

  Unfortunately, Jack was too crazed with greed to accept the giant’s offer of a cultural interchange. ‘It’s only a trick,’ thought Jack. ‘Besides, what’s a giant doing with such fine, delicate things? He must have stolen them from somewhere else, so I have every right to take them.’ His frantic justifications—remarkable for someone with his overtaxed mental resources—revealed a terrible callousness to the giant’s personal rights. Jack apparently was a complete sizeist, who thought that all giants were clumsy, knowledge-impaired, and exploitable.

  When the giant saw Jack with the magic harp and the hen, he asked, ‘Why are you taking what belongs to me?’

  Jack knew he couldn’t outrun the giant, so he had to think fast. He blurted out, ‘I’m not taking them, my friend. I am merely placing them in my stewardship so that they can be properly managed and brought to their fullest potential. Pardon my bluntness, but you giants are too simple in the head and don’t know how to manage your resources properly. I’m just looking after your interests. You’ll thank me for this later.’

  Jack held his breath to see if the bluff would save his skin. The giant sighed heavily and said, ‘Yes, you are right. We giants do use our resources foolishly. Why, we can’t even discover a new beanstalk without getting so excited and picking away at it so much that we pull the poor thing right out of the ground!’

  Jack’s heart sank. He turned and looked out of the front door of the castle. Sure enough, the giant had destroyed his beanstalk. Jack grew frightened and cried, ‘Now I’m trapped here in the clouds with you forever!’

  The giant said, ‘Don’t worry, my little f
riend. We are strict vegetarians up here, and there are always plenty of beans to eat. And besides, you won’t be alone. Thirteen other men of your size have already climbed up beanstalks to visit us and stayed.’

  So Jack resigned himself to his fate as a member of the giant’s cloud commune. He didn’t miss his mother or their farm much, because up in the sky there was less work to do and more than enough to eat. And he gradually learned not to judge people based on their size ever again, except for those shorter than he.

  THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN

  he picturesque little town of Hamelin had everything a community could wish for—non-polluting industries, effective public transport, and a well-balanced ethno-religious diversity. In fact, the town council had managed to legislate or intimidate away every element that could keep the citizens from living a good and sensitive life. Every element, that is, except the caravan site.

  The caravan site on the edge of Hamelin was a civic embarrassment. Not only was it a terrible eyesore, with its rusted pick-up vans and rubbish heaps in every backyard. Within it dwelled some of the most unregenerate and irredeemable people you could ever imagine—murderers of nondomestic animals, former clients of the correctional system and cross-country bikers. With their plastic daisy wind-mills, loud music and drunken weekend brawls, they sent a shudder through every respectable person in town.

  One day, after a particularly riotous road rally through the caravan site, the town council had a meeting. After heated debate, they decided that somehow they had to eradicate the caravan site. But they were at a loss to know how to do it without ignoring or infringing upon the rights of the people who lived there. Finally, after even more oratory, they decided to let that be someone else’s worry, since they were already so burdened with more important concerns, such as declining property values. So the councillors decided to advertise for someone to solve their problems.