Disclaimer: Thankfully I own nothing, especially not the Y.M.C.A. song.
A/N: This is a parody of Rumplestiltskin that I wrote for my creative writing class that I found rather amusing. Really I decided to post it because I felt bad about not having anything up. And I have changed some things from the copy I turned in to my teacher. I have a feeling she wouldn't be too happy about some of it.
~~~
In the strange location of once upon a time there was a kingdom, and in this kingdom there ruled a king. He wasn't stupid or cruel or married to a vain old woman who was out to kill his daughter, unlike some – no, this king loved to dance, disco to be specific. So as often as he could escape from those boring duties that entailed leading a nation, he would throw on his platform shoes and polyester and dance for hours.
But on one such occasion a tragedy occurred – his disco ball broke, crashing to the floor in bits of groovy mirror. However, tragic as it was, it provided a sensible occasion for the repairman (instead of that random miller guy that's always showing up) to come and throw our story into motion. And so the king was forced back to his plodding job for a bit until the finest repairman in the kingdom could come restore it.
While the repairman was completing his noble deed, he began a casual conversation with the king about polyester. The repairman (who besides being plot-progressing) was also very shrewd, and also knew of the disco king's obsession with finding the most retina-scorching polyester out there.
And so the lying repairman proceeded to tell the king that his daughter had the remarkable ability to turn love beads into the most vibrant polyester you could imagine. And to top it off, she was gorgeous too! (Of course all fairy tale maidens were beautiful, but she was exceptional.)
The king, sadly, had devoted most of his life - and thought - to dancing, and little to anything else, like common sense. He was, as a result, somewhat lacking in mental capacity, and, like an idiot, whole-heartedly believed this story. (Did we say the king wasn't stupid? Well...)
The king ordered that the girl be brought to the castle that very day to test her skills, and if she could indeed make polyester, they would both be well rewarded. If not – it wouldn't be pleasant for them. Imagine what punishment you will.
The repairman returned to his home, now regretting his deeds, and told his unwitting daughter what had transpired. She wept helplessly for a while like a good fairy tale maiden, then mustered an ounce of courage to try to save her family, which consisted of just her father and herself. Her mother, like most fairy tale mothers, had been killed off years before, but her father hadn't yet remarried to give her the typical evil stepmother.
So the ditz-now-heroine made her way to the castle, and was quickly whisked away to a room filled with love beads. The king, who had been escorting her, issued an ultimatum: "If this room isn't full of polyester by morn, you shall die." He had brushed up on his regal lingo just for this occasion.
The maiden promptly collapsed into a weepy heap of feminine weakness as soon as the king dramatically slammed the door. She sobbed until a tinny voice interrupted her. "Hey, what's wrong?"
She looked up, still sniffing delicately, to see a strange looking (other than that we can't say what he looks like, fairy tale ambiguity and all) little man standing before her. Not even bothering to ask who he was, why he was there, or anything like that, she immediately launched into her story. "I cry because – "and she proceeded to relate her plight to him. He nodded attentively through the telling and then said, "I can help you," when she finished.
"Really?" she cried, forgetting she was supposed to use fairy tale speech. "I mean – "
"Oh, forget that formal junk," said the man. "I don't mind."
She arched an eyebrow skeptically, and he laughed. "We're only in trouble if the author catches us."
"Well... OK," she agreed. "Now can you help me?" Her tone was pleading.
"Sure," said the guy. "While I'm here. And for a fee."
Her jaw dropped and she pulled away. The guy quickly caught her rather polluted train of thought.
"No!" he cried, shaking his head emphatically and waving his arms in a negative motion. "Not like that. I mean your jewelry!"
She sighed heavily in relief, then obligingly slid off the bright chunks of plastic that had been dangling from her wrists, and dropped them into his outstretched palm. (Like most of the kingdom, she too enjoyed the king's favorite pastime, and had the appropriate garb for a night of far out dancing.) He tucked them away and nodded curtly. "Now to business."
He strode to the closest pile of groovy beads and grabbed a handful, then flung them high into the air. While they were aloft, he sang, "It's fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A.!" complete with the arm motions, and instead of beads, a fluorescent rainbow-colored length of polyester came fluttering down. He turned to see the girl sitting agape. He laughed. "Can I do that?" she squealed, and without waiting for a reply she threw a few strands of beads into the air and began, "It's fun – "but the beads plummeting around her cut her off. He laughed again.
"Only I can change the beads," he told her. And that was fitting, because if just anyone could change love beads to polyester, then we wouldn't have a story.
The girl fell asleep to the, um, melodious sound of the little man's voice, continuing his work, and awoke the next morning to find the room lit more by the heaps of polyester it contained than the fragile beam of sunlight coming through its window. Besides the fabric, there was no trace of the weird singing guy.
She had barely awoken when the king conveniently burst through the door, leaving no spare time for us to have to fill in. He surveyed the room briefly before his insatiable greed for polyester took over and demanded more.
The girl was taken to a larger room, also full of love beads. To make the story flow as quickly as possible, she wasn't allowed to eat or bathe, because that would bore the small children listening.
So once again she was threatened with death, once again she was left alone, once again she cried in despair (though you have to wonder why – wouldn't she know the guy would show up once more?), and once again the little man appeared.
"You!" she cried. "Will you help me?" 'Save me' would have been more fitting, as she was the weak female character who had to be rescued by the male, but whatever...
He grinned. "For a fee, of course I will."
She thought a moment, her mind staying on cleaner tracks this time, then unzipped her knee-high white leather boots and pushed them over to him. He blinked at them, trying to figure out how to stow them away, then decided to leave them there. He began immediately to toss and sing and dance, and the girl once more fell asleep to the strains of "Y.M.C.A." Her dreams were scary, to say the least.
~~~
The following morning the man was gone once more, with the piles of fabric the only indication he'd even been there in the first place. The king came in again, shipped her off to yet another room of love beads (because he had to fill the Magical Fairy Tale Quota of Three), threatened her again, she sobbed again, and, finally, the singing man showed up again to save the poor death-threatened maid.
But there was a catch this time. When asked for payment, the girl had run out of trinkets to barter with. So the man came up with a deal.
"When you and the king marry, promise to give me your firstborn," he squeaked.
'Like that's ever going to happen,' she thought, but said, "Sure, whatever."
So for the final time, the man started off into the chorus of "Y.M.C.A." The girl curled up on the floor with her fingers in her ears, thankful that this was her last night in the palace. That song was about to drive her mad.
~~~
The following morning it was just as before, save in one detail. When the king entered the room, he looked around, and his polyester greed instantly evaporated. He dropped to his knees and cried, "Oh, fair maiden, will you marry me?"
The girl stared at the king for a moment, and then, in a burst of plot- upsetting independency, frowned and answered slowly, "No, I won't."
He blinked stupidly. She proceeded to explain herself. "What basis do we have for marriage? I met you three days ago and in that time you've done nothing but threaten me with death and exploit me. And now you want us to get married? That's ridiculous."
The king, while not the brightest, wasn't cruel (at least we got that part right), and so allowed her to leave the palace unwed, but loaded down – as promised – with a hefty reward for 'her' skills. Her independence was here to stay, and so she didn't even go home to her father, realizing he was a capitalist pig and she was better off without him.
Our nameless plot-ruining chick ran off to a different part of town and got a job working in a disco, and lived quite well off of her reward for many years. Her father continued in his work, cheating people at every occasion, only wondering briefly where his daughter had gone off to. (He, too, wasn't the most intellectually gifted outside of his rather dishonest deals.)
The king kept dancing and eventually found an airhead twit to become his queen. She, unlike our heroine, had no objections to marrying him.
And finally, our magical singing man – whose name, by the way, was Polyester (the only one with a name, as it had previously been a major plot point) - was rather upset that the girl had started thinking and hadn't married the king. Really all he had wanted was a child to raise, so he went to the Fairy Tale Adoption Agency (why couldn't he have done that in the first place? Because his life was dull and he needed some drama) and adopted a lovely little girl named Miniature Magenta Riding Hood.
And so, just like in a good fairy tale, they all lived happily ever after.
A/N: This is a parody of Rumplestiltskin that I wrote for my creative writing class that I found rather amusing. Really I decided to post it because I felt bad about not having anything up. And I have changed some things from the copy I turned in to my teacher. I have a feeling she wouldn't be too happy about some of it.
~~~
In the strange location of once upon a time there was a kingdom, and in this kingdom there ruled a king. He wasn't stupid or cruel or married to a vain old woman who was out to kill his daughter, unlike some – no, this king loved to dance, disco to be specific. So as often as he could escape from those boring duties that entailed leading a nation, he would throw on his platform shoes and polyester and dance for hours.
But on one such occasion a tragedy occurred – his disco ball broke, crashing to the floor in bits of groovy mirror. However, tragic as it was, it provided a sensible occasion for the repairman (instead of that random miller guy that's always showing up) to come and throw our story into motion. And so the king was forced back to his plodding job for a bit until the finest repairman in the kingdom could come restore it.
While the repairman was completing his noble deed, he began a casual conversation with the king about polyester. The repairman (who besides being plot-progressing) was also very shrewd, and also knew of the disco king's obsession with finding the most retina-scorching polyester out there.
And so the lying repairman proceeded to tell the king that his daughter had the remarkable ability to turn love beads into the most vibrant polyester you could imagine. And to top it off, she was gorgeous too! (Of course all fairy tale maidens were beautiful, but she was exceptional.)
The king, sadly, had devoted most of his life - and thought - to dancing, and little to anything else, like common sense. He was, as a result, somewhat lacking in mental capacity, and, like an idiot, whole-heartedly believed this story. (Did we say the king wasn't stupid? Well...)
The king ordered that the girl be brought to the castle that very day to test her skills, and if she could indeed make polyester, they would both be well rewarded. If not – it wouldn't be pleasant for them. Imagine what punishment you will.
The repairman returned to his home, now regretting his deeds, and told his unwitting daughter what had transpired. She wept helplessly for a while like a good fairy tale maiden, then mustered an ounce of courage to try to save her family, which consisted of just her father and herself. Her mother, like most fairy tale mothers, had been killed off years before, but her father hadn't yet remarried to give her the typical evil stepmother.
So the ditz-now-heroine made her way to the castle, and was quickly whisked away to a room filled with love beads. The king, who had been escorting her, issued an ultimatum: "If this room isn't full of polyester by morn, you shall die." He had brushed up on his regal lingo just for this occasion.
The maiden promptly collapsed into a weepy heap of feminine weakness as soon as the king dramatically slammed the door. She sobbed until a tinny voice interrupted her. "Hey, what's wrong?"
She looked up, still sniffing delicately, to see a strange looking (other than that we can't say what he looks like, fairy tale ambiguity and all) little man standing before her. Not even bothering to ask who he was, why he was there, or anything like that, she immediately launched into her story. "I cry because – "and she proceeded to relate her plight to him. He nodded attentively through the telling and then said, "I can help you," when she finished.
"Really?" she cried, forgetting she was supposed to use fairy tale speech. "I mean – "
"Oh, forget that formal junk," said the man. "I don't mind."
She arched an eyebrow skeptically, and he laughed. "We're only in trouble if the author catches us."
"Well... OK," she agreed. "Now can you help me?" Her tone was pleading.
"Sure," said the guy. "While I'm here. And for a fee."
Her jaw dropped and she pulled away. The guy quickly caught her rather polluted train of thought.
"No!" he cried, shaking his head emphatically and waving his arms in a negative motion. "Not like that. I mean your jewelry!"
She sighed heavily in relief, then obligingly slid off the bright chunks of plastic that had been dangling from her wrists, and dropped them into his outstretched palm. (Like most of the kingdom, she too enjoyed the king's favorite pastime, and had the appropriate garb for a night of far out dancing.) He tucked them away and nodded curtly. "Now to business."
He strode to the closest pile of groovy beads and grabbed a handful, then flung them high into the air. While they were aloft, he sang, "It's fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A.!" complete with the arm motions, and instead of beads, a fluorescent rainbow-colored length of polyester came fluttering down. He turned to see the girl sitting agape. He laughed. "Can I do that?" she squealed, and without waiting for a reply she threw a few strands of beads into the air and began, "It's fun – "but the beads plummeting around her cut her off. He laughed again.
"Only I can change the beads," he told her. And that was fitting, because if just anyone could change love beads to polyester, then we wouldn't have a story.
The girl fell asleep to the, um, melodious sound of the little man's voice, continuing his work, and awoke the next morning to find the room lit more by the heaps of polyester it contained than the fragile beam of sunlight coming through its window. Besides the fabric, there was no trace of the weird singing guy.
She had barely awoken when the king conveniently burst through the door, leaving no spare time for us to have to fill in. He surveyed the room briefly before his insatiable greed for polyester took over and demanded more.
The girl was taken to a larger room, also full of love beads. To make the story flow as quickly as possible, she wasn't allowed to eat or bathe, because that would bore the small children listening.
So once again she was threatened with death, once again she was left alone, once again she cried in despair (though you have to wonder why – wouldn't she know the guy would show up once more?), and once again the little man appeared.
"You!" she cried. "Will you help me?" 'Save me' would have been more fitting, as she was the weak female character who had to be rescued by the male, but whatever...
He grinned. "For a fee, of course I will."
She thought a moment, her mind staying on cleaner tracks this time, then unzipped her knee-high white leather boots and pushed them over to him. He blinked at them, trying to figure out how to stow them away, then decided to leave them there. He began immediately to toss and sing and dance, and the girl once more fell asleep to the strains of "Y.M.C.A." Her dreams were scary, to say the least.
~~~
The following morning the man was gone once more, with the piles of fabric the only indication he'd even been there in the first place. The king came in again, shipped her off to yet another room of love beads (because he had to fill the Magical Fairy Tale Quota of Three), threatened her again, she sobbed again, and, finally, the singing man showed up again to save the poor death-threatened maid.
But there was a catch this time. When asked for payment, the girl had run out of trinkets to barter with. So the man came up with a deal.
"When you and the king marry, promise to give me your firstborn," he squeaked.
'Like that's ever going to happen,' she thought, but said, "Sure, whatever."
So for the final time, the man started off into the chorus of "Y.M.C.A." The girl curled up on the floor with her fingers in her ears, thankful that this was her last night in the palace. That song was about to drive her mad.
~~~
The following morning it was just as before, save in one detail. When the king entered the room, he looked around, and his polyester greed instantly evaporated. He dropped to his knees and cried, "Oh, fair maiden, will you marry me?"
The girl stared at the king for a moment, and then, in a burst of plot- upsetting independency, frowned and answered slowly, "No, I won't."
He blinked stupidly. She proceeded to explain herself. "What basis do we have for marriage? I met you three days ago and in that time you've done nothing but threaten me with death and exploit me. And now you want us to get married? That's ridiculous."
The king, while not the brightest, wasn't cruel (at least we got that part right), and so allowed her to leave the palace unwed, but loaded down – as promised – with a hefty reward for 'her' skills. Her independence was here to stay, and so she didn't even go home to her father, realizing he was a capitalist pig and she was better off without him.
Our nameless plot-ruining chick ran off to a different part of town and got a job working in a disco, and lived quite well off of her reward for many years. Her father continued in his work, cheating people at every occasion, only wondering briefly where his daughter had gone off to. (He, too, wasn't the most intellectually gifted outside of his rather dishonest deals.)
The king kept dancing and eventually found an airhead twit to become his queen. She, unlike our heroine, had no objections to marrying him.
And finally, our magical singing man – whose name, by the way, was Polyester (the only one with a name, as it had previously been a major plot point) - was rather upset that the girl had started thinking and hadn't married the king. Really all he had wanted was a child to raise, so he went to the Fairy Tale Adoption Agency (why couldn't he have done that in the first place? Because his life was dull and he needed some drama) and adopted a lovely little girl named Miniature Magenta Riding Hood.
And so, just like in a good fairy tale, they all lived happily ever after.