Fairy Tales

What would have happened should Humpty Dumpty not fallen off the wall?

In the first place H.D., as fragile as he is, should not have been sitting on a wall. Even if he was, there should have been no cause for him to crane his gross neck to look at his toes. He would not have been able to anyway because of his bloated circumference.

Merely gorging to become bloated is end justifying the means as Machiavelli said or did not . And, the result? End to end flab of the highest order.

Then, let us take the case of Mary and the little lamb. Why in heavens name a lamb? Why not a dog or cat which are accepted pets around the home. But then I forget that she is from a rustic background. A proper female country bumpkin! I wonder if she says 'Baa' instead of a simple 'Hello'.

Imagine her boyfriend complimenting her. "You're so beautiful!"

"Baa!"

"You have such a lovely voice!"

"Baa!"

"Will you marry me?"

"Baa."

"And stop your baa."

"Baa."

Mary remains a lifelong spinster because she cannot not stop going 'Baa'. No suitor in his right mind can accept such a person to exchange a wedding ring with.

Jack and Jill also make a curious case. Why on earth are they looking for a well on a hilltop?

Or is it a subterfuge for something else? It might be that they have a dirty mind.

They may have been chuckling, 'Well, well, well' as they make their way up the hill hand in hand. Who says they are carrying a pail? What need will they have for a pail? They have already sent it to Mary With The Little Lamb to milk the cows at dawn.

They may also have been trying to dodge the eyes of the guardians of the law and order as this is not a park area where they can cuddle up.

Also interesting is the case of Red Riding Hood. Why in the world would she dress up all in red? Would it not then attract all the wolves in men? Perhaps she does it deliberately as she is entering her teens and has no boyfriend.

May be she also has a puritanical father who looks askance at his little girl whooping it up with the boys.

But, let's return to Ms. Hood. Why does her grandmother have to live in a such a god forsaken place as a forest? Serve her right for being eaten by the Big, Bad Wolf. She must have forgotten to fit Yale locks on her doors and surveillance cameras. But, of course they had not been invented then. Even then she could have used bolts and sturdy locks. But she does not because perhaps she is in the early stages of dementia.

Ms. Hood and her dad should have taken her to a good doctor, have had her eyes tested, blood examined for diabetes and presented her with a set of false teeth on her 100th birthday. But did they do so? No.

Meanwhile. Ms. Hood is fooled for awhile by the Big, Bad Wolf, who has swallowed whole her grand mum.

But, then she has her doubts and the following conversation takes place.

"What a bass voice you have! Just like Deep Purple!" says Ms. Hood.

"The better to bay the moon with," responds the Wolf.

"What big eyes you have, just like those men who follow me around with their eyeballs!" says Ms. Hood perturbed.

"The better to ogle you with."

"And, what large hands you have for molesting girls," Ms. Hood says tartly.

"The better to grab you with," the Wolf says trying to lull her suspicion.

"What big teeth you have! Did you turn into a rabbit when you were last riding your broomstick at full moon?" Ms. Hood asks, backing away.

"The better to gobble you up with. Darn it! I forgot the spoon and fork," the wolf yelps.

"Why don't you look for them, while I take a walk?" Ms. Hood asks warily.

"Ok! Ok!" I'll do that. But that 's not in the fairy tale," the wolf says as Ms. Hood runs off straight into the arms of the wood-cutter.

"But you're running away! That was not in the fairytale. I was supposed to rescue you," the wood-cutter says dismayed.

"Rescue me my foot! I'm going to the police to file a missing persons report about my grand mum!" retorts Ms. Hood as she hurries off to the nearest police station.

Enough about  Ms. Hood while she is filing a F.I.R. Let us turn to the Emperor who goes around in the buff thinking he is wearing the splendid creations of Giorgio Armani .

He is vain as a peacock eyeing it's rear part  and wondering where it comes from. I don't know if the Emperor does it too. He would then have pompously proclaimed the benefits of taking a gander at his posterior if he had enough messengers, besides Twitter, Facebook and Whatsapp.

An Emperor who mistakes his behind for the moon, would not generally know the difference between tailor and titular. These are no tailors who call on him one day, but crooks who have graduated from duping earls to shafting dukes.

They know as much about tailoring as a bum would know about the bum's brush.  But they have guile as they nip into the royal residence. 

They are very clever and do not seek an audience straightaway with the dancing girls. They only want a room to set up their fictitious loom and gorge on breakfast, lunch and dinner daily, not to speak of wholesome snacks in between.

And, they keep the Emperor waiting, who takes to twiddling his thumbs to keep his mind off the robes he would eventually wear when his people bow low readying their behinds for a swift kick in the butt.

The swindlers take their time, knowing that the Emperor is growing impatient.

"The proof of the pudding is in the eating," they tell him soothingly.

"Pudding? I thought you fellows were making my clothes," he asks bewildered.

"But we are. And, by the way we need a lot more of the gold and silver thread," the rascals say.

"Of course, of course, I will see to it at once," the Emperor, who is short-sighted, says adjusting his pince nez.

While the Emperor waits for the imaginary loom to weave his clothes, the thieving tailors at last order the dancing girls to be brought before them.

"It's hard work all day. We need a bit of entertainment," they say gruffly.

The king anxiously awaits some more.

One day they tell the Emperor that the clothes are ready. They have no other option. All their bags are full to the bursting with loot. There is no place for even an inch of thread whether of gold or silver.

They then take the gratified Emperor to see their creations.

"You will look every inch an Emperor," they say grinning crookedly.

"I like it by the yard," the Emperor says.

"Yes, there's yards and yards of it for stumblebums to trip on," they say graciously.

And, a day is set for the Emperor to sally forth before his subjects. When the day comes, his subjects look at him baffled.

"Just look at him!" one says.

" I'm trying not to," gasps another.

"Mama," ejaculates a baby," doesn't he look like the Emperor with no clothes!"

"That's a fairytale my boy," the mother answers primly.

"Fairy? Is the Emperor third gender?" asks the baby wonderingly.

"Shush! You mustn't spread rumours," she says, with the Emperor goose-stepping past them, his behind twitching smartly as he disappears into the distance.