Politically Correct Bedtime Stories Read Online Free PDF Page B

height,
    ‘But for sheer OOOOMPH!, you can’t beat Snow White.’

    At this news, the queen clenched her fists and screamed at the top of her lungs. For years, her insecurities had been eating away at her until now they turned her into someone who was morally out of the mainstream. With cunning and malice, she began to devise a plan to ensure the nonviability of her daughter-of-step.
    A few days later, Snow White, to be sure she didn’t touch or rearrange anything, was meditating on the floor in the middle of the cottage. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Snow White opened the door to find a chronologically gifted wommon with a basket in her hand. By the look of her clothes, she was apparently unfettered by the confines of regular employment.
    ‘Help a wommon of unreliable income, dearie,’ she said, ‘and buy one of my apples.’
    Snow White thought for a moment. In protest against agribusiness conglomerates, she had a personal rule against buying food from middlepersons. But her heart went out to the economically marginalized wommon, so she said yes. What Snow White didn’t know was that this was really the queen in disguise and that the apple had been chemically and genetically altered so that whoever bit it would sleep forever.
    When Snow White handed over the money for the apple, you would have expected the queen to be gleeful that her plan for revenge was working. Instead, as she looked at Snow White’s fine complexion and slim, taut body, she felt alternating waves of envy and self-revulsion. Finally, she burst into tears.
    ‘Why, whatever is the matter?’ asked Snow White.
    ‘You’re so young and beautiful,’ sobbed the disguised queen, ‘and I’m horrible to look at and getting worse.’
    ‘You shouldn’t say that. After all, beauty comes from inside a person.’
    ‘I’ve been telling myself that for years,’ said the queen, ‘and I still don’t believe it. How do you stay in such perfect shape?’
    ‘Well, I meditate, work out in step aerobics three hours a day, and eat only half-portions of anything placed in front of me. Would you like me to show you?’
    ‘Oh, yes, yes, please,’ said the queen. So they started out with 30 minutes of simple hatha yoga meditation, then worked out on the step for another hour. As they relaxed afterwards, Snow White cut her apple in half and gave a piece to the queen. Without thinking, the queen bit into it, and both of them fell into a deep sleep.
    Later that day, the Seven Towering Giants returned from a retreat in the woods, elaborately decked out in animal skins, feathers and mud. With them was a prince from a nearby kingdom, who had come on this male retreat to find a cure for his impotence (or, as he preferred to call it, his involuntary suspension from phallocentric activity). They were all laughing and back-slapping until they saw the bodies and stopped short.
    ‘What has happened?’ asked the prince.
    ‘Apparently our house guest and this other wommon got into some sort of catfight and killed each other,’ surmised one giant.
    ‘If they thought that by doing this, they could make us slaves to our weaker emotions, they’re wrong,’ fumed another.
    ‘Well, since we’ve got to dispose of them, let’s practise one of those Viking funerals we’ve read about.’
    ‘You know,’ said the prince, ‘this might sound a little sick, but I trust you chaps. I find that younger one attractive. Extremely attractive. Would you fellows mind … um … waiting outside while I … ?’
    ‘Stop right there!’ said the leader of the giants. ‘Those half-eaten apple pieces, that filthy costume—this has all the earmarks of some sort of magic spell. They’re not really dead at all.’
    ‘Whew,’ sighed the prince, ‘that makes me feel better. So could you chaps take a break and let me … ?’
    ‘Hold it, Prince,’ said the leader. ‘Does Snow White make you feel like a man again?’
    ‘She certainly does. Now, could you chaps …