I am Busting a Cap in My Dear Mother's Buttocks

Round Two

The Tree of

"I am hungry, and that is neither here nor there," said a snake, "nor when nor where."

A parrot squawked "Hin und her! Hin und her!"

"No! Here and there; when and where!" It was useless, thought the snake. The parrot was just too stupid to learn. But he was, after all, only on the first branch. Parrots are stupid on the first branch. Smarter birds perch high, away from the ground and hungry predators besides. The snake slithered up the ivy covered trunk, between leaves and broken stems, over cold moss, and through every which way imaginable—every which way a snake could go, he went, taking his time and moving with the natural flow of the wood. But there was that parrot again.

"Hin und her! Hin und her!" squawked the parrot, as it circled over the snake.

"I would eat you if you weren't so stupid!" said the snake. It was true: stupid parrots make lousy meals, and the snake needed something good to eat. The snake followed the parrot slowly with its head. The parrot—unfazed by the mesmerizing attempt—continued to circle the snake. "Hin und her! Hin und her!" But flying and squawking is tiresome, and the ferociousness with which the parrot did both of these things would make even the stupidest bird faint. And it did. The parrot fell from the sky, catching itself just in time, and barely alive.

"Stupid parrot!" thought the snake, "Serves him right! Ah! But what's this thing, this wonderful thing? It's round and supple and looks just right! I could nibble on it, we'll see! We'll see." The snake purposefully slithered towards the end of a stout branch. Snakes have bad eyesight, and the thing, small and round and hard, lay at the end. "What a thing, what a thing, what a thing is this?" sang the snake as it drew closer. Twirling and twining its tail all over it, the snake inspected the thing.

"What is this? What is this? Not a bird, not a mouse! Ow, it hurts! Not a treat! A tit!" And there was a tit. A little tit with black feathers and lonely for its mother sat on the branch just above the snake. "Oh tit, oh tit, don't be afraid. Why are you sad?" said the snake.

"Because I miss my mom; my mother's dead. Oh snake, won't you eat me?"

"No, never. No, never! Never such a sad tit would I eat. Sad tits taste bad." And it's true; sad tits taste bad. The snake shrugged the way only a snake can, and moved on. The poor tit sat above, grieving for her mother and contemplating suicide. Falling would hurt, but it wouldn't kill her. Maybe a hawk would eat her.

"Oh snake! Oh snake! Oh wait for me!" cried the tit with sadistic vigor.

"Go away, tit, I will not munch on you!"

"But snake! Oh snake! I do not want you to! Only allow me to come into the heights with you! There a hawk will surely find me a tasty meal. And while I'm there I am sure to lure some happier birds with my cries."

The snake reasoned this and nodded. The tit could come. Even if she did not lure happier birds, a hawk wouldn't taste bad. The snake continued up the tree, slithering every which way. About half way up the tree the snake found the stupid parrot again.

"How did you get up here? You fell back there!"

"Hin und her! Hin und her!"

"I'm too hungry for this! Go away!" Stupid parrots on the first branch, sad tits on the next—the snake expected better than this. If the bottom is stupid and the lower middle is sad, then the middle middle must be angry or mad. "I'll skip that, and go to the top." And that's just what the snake did. The tit followed. But they did not get far.

"My eggs! My eggs!" cried a disparaged sparrow. "The freak is after my eggs!"

"What? No!" said the snake. "I am not after your eggs."

"Just kidding! Elohel! Elohel!" cried the sparrow, rolling her L.

"What? I don't understand!"

"My eggs! My eggs!" cried the sparrow once again. "The freak is after my eggs! They will be so beautiful when they grow up! Just like me! I can't let the freak eat them before I can see!"

"I'm not…! Oh, forget it," said the snake. "You're not disparaged, but mad, then! I would not eat you or your eggs, if you had 'em."

And out flew the tit, screeching with delight, "Mother! Mother! You are here! It is you, I can hear! Mother, I am here!"

"Yes my child! I am here!"

And there was the parrot again. "Hin und her! Hin und her!"

The tit stopped short. "You are not my mom! Oh mom! Where are you?"

"Elohel! Elohel! Just kidding! Just kidding! I got you there!"

"Hin und her! Hin und her!"

"Just my luck," thought the snake. "I'm picking up a bird of every emotion and condition imaginable as I slither up this tree. I've got stupid, sad and mad, and angry is all I need. What I want is happy. Happy tastes good!"

The procession continued up the tree, three birds singing stupidity, sadness and madness, respectively. The snake was on his belly and had nothing else to do but climb. In the back of his mind he was conscious of a conspicuous lack of angry birds. Up and up the snake slithered, circling the trunk many times in a spiral. The top at last!

"Alright, tit, do your work! You two, go away!" said the snake. The tit nodded; bawling, and fluttering haphazardly, she ascended to the top-most branch and chirped.

"Oh, I am so poor and defenseless and all alone! I wonder where to go!"

"Hmm… Good. Good!" thought the snake. "Now maybe I can put these other two to good use. That sparrow certainly would look tasty, to a hawk, and the parrot is big enough for a nice meal. If I could position them such that they look the best, maybe a happy hawk will be more likely to come by."

The snake slithered towards the sparrow and stretched himself along a branch. If he stretched just right, he could blend in with the foliage and not be noticed by his potential meal. In position, the snake began twitching his tail. This excited the sparrow.

"A worm! A worm! It's mine!" cried the sparrow with a mad glint in her eye. "Elohel! Just kidding! A worm! A worm!" She flew towards the snake's tail and began to sing.

"Perfect," thought the snake. "Now I just need a way to attract that parrot. Well, that's easy!" "In there!" he yelled.

"Hin und her! Hin und her!" squawked the parrot, as it circled the area from where the snake's disembodied voice came.

"Too easy. Now to wait! I can't wait!" thought the snake.

"Mother! Mother! Where are you?"

"Elohel! Just kidding! A worm! It's mine!"

"Hin und her! Hin und her!"

"Ha, ha! Ha, ha!" cried a hawk from afar.

"At last, my meal is here!"

The hawk was closing in, swiftly gliding through the air. The sounds he heard were too much to bear. The snake watched. A long-anticipated meal was about to be had. Closer. Closer. The hawk was almost there. The snake tensed. The hawk was apparently coming for the tit. Closer. Closer still. And then…

"Now!" cried the parrot, as he grabbed the snake's head. The tit joined him, pecking at the snake's eyes. The sparrow took on the tail, gnawing at it with all her might. Stretched out and flat, the snake was almost too easy for the hawk to grab. Talons closed on the elongated belly, and the snake went limp in a confusion of fear and frustration.

"Thanks, guys!" said the hawk, as he flew away with the limp snake. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Sure thing!" said the tit, waving happily. She turned to the parrot. "You know, we're getting better at this."

"Nah, the snakes are just getting stupider," said the parrot, sagely.

"That sparrow really is helpful! How does she know what to do? We never explain it to her!"

"I think she really is mad. So mad, in fact, that she convinces herself each time that the snake's tail really is a worm."

"Ha, ha! How sad!"

Gangsta Rapper Wars with my Mother

Round One

Princess Toad

© Irena von Zahn

Once upon a time, there lived a lovely little toad with long eyelashes and rather sparse hair. She had sparse hair because a tiny golden crown caused her head to itch from time to time. She happened to be a princess, though she was not proud of it.

One bright Wednesday morning at 11 o'clock, as she sat dozing on a lily pad after pushing off a great hulking frog, a prince from a nearby castle wandered by, grumbling and complaining loudly to himself.

"What is the matter with you," cried the Princess Toad. "Can't you grumble more quietly?"

The Prince stopped short and stared. He stared and stared. He had never seen a toad with a crown before. At last he pulled himself together and said, "What are you doing on that lily pad. That belongs to the frog."

"Well actually, it belongs to me. I have just been renting it to him for 10 cents an hour."

"Oh," said the prince.

"So what's the matter with you," said the Princess Toad. "You shake the leaves off the trees with that noisy grumbling."

"It's my dad."

"Who is your dad?"

"He's King Tut Tut."

"I've heard of him," said the lovely little toad thoughtfully. "He is known to be quite severe."

"Yes, I can never do anything right. It's always, 'open the door for the Vizier when he comes out, or stop fidgeting. If you fidget one more time, you can eat in your room. It's enough to make you croak."

"Well, he is right about the Vizier, you know. Doors are hard for him. He is very ancient."

"Yes. But my dad really rags on me. How many times have I heard him say, 'when are you going to bring a nice girl home and settle down? It's about time we saw some grandchildren in the palace.'"

"As to that," said the lovely little toad, "You must invite me to the palace to sit to the left of the king at a state dinner. Then, you must hire a coach and sixteen white mules to drive me through town, so I can wave to the townspeople and throw them kisses."

"Sit to the left of my dad during a state dinner? Drive through the town in a coach and sixteen white mules? You must be batty," cried the prince. "You're just a warty old toad!" And he skipped off, grumbling all the way home to the palace.

"Guess what, dad," said the prince when he arrived at the palace, "There's a toad on a lily pad down by the pond, and she insists I bring her home to sit next to you at a state dinner.

"And get this," he added. "She wanted me to hire a coach and sixteen white mules, so I could drive her through town. She must be crazy, huh?"

"If she insisted, you must do it," said King Tut Tut, casting a disapproving eye upon his son. "Only a princess toad is allowed to insist."

"Did she wear a crown?" asked King Tut Tut.

"Only a tiny crown," the prince said reluctantly.

"Well then, run straight back down to the pond and bring her to the palace, so we can have a state dinner."

With hunched shoulders, grumbling all the way, the prince walked slowly back to the pond.

"All right, you ugly old toad. My father, King Tut Tut, says you must come to the palace for a state dinner.

"Just so you know, I am totally against toads attending state dinners."

The toad ignored this remark and hopped on to his hand with a dainty little acrobatic twist.

The prince was somewhat surprised that the toad was not slimy or wet, like a frog. He also noticed that she had beautiful green eyes with long lashes.

"You may kiss me, if you like," said the Princess Toad.

"Oh gross," said the prince. And he held her as far away from him as he could and wouldn't speak a word to her all the way to the palace, where the guests were already arriving.

Twice during the state dinner, the king sent the prince to his room for cutting faces at the Nubian nobles who sat at the foot of the table. The nobles were giggling and whispering about the Princess Toad, but the king could not see that.

To distract the Nubian nobles, the prince stuck out his tongue, stuffed his thumbs into his ears and wiggled his fingers. The Princess Toad wasn't his date, but he did feel some responsibility for her.

At last, the state dinner was over and the prince thought he would be rid of the Princess Toad, but his father soon called him over, flung some gold coins into his pockets and said, "Now go and hire the coach and sixteen white mules so that you can introduce the princess to the town."

The town and its moat, high walls, and medieval buildings were well kept, except for some very large potholes in the avenue leading up to City Hall.

As the prince and the Princess Toad passed through the main gate with its huge drawbridge, the coach hit a pothole and lurched wildly to the right. Had the Princess Toad not saved him, the young prince would have been tossed out of the window into a mud puddle.

"You may kiss me if you like," said the Princess Toad after she had brushed the dust off him.

The prince looked out the window and pretended not to hear.

A second pothole on Market Street caused the coach to lurch perilously to the left. Again, the princess Toad saved the Prince from a tumble out of the coach window.

All of this delighted the populace, which came running out in droves to watch the spectacle.

At last, the coach and one of the mules fell into a giant pothole. The prince catapulted forward, landing, with a little bit of clever steering on her part, with his lips smack dab on top of the Princess Toad's lips.

The townspeople waited, holding their collective breath, and it was worth it. In the twinkling of an eye, the prince exchanged his outlandish, 14th century prince's garb for an elegant leafy green coat.

"You look very handsome," said the Princess Toad. "That is a fine green coat you are wearing. And I like the rows of warts on your back. Very fine."

"I feel good too," said the prince. "I can't think of a thing to complain about."

"Then give us a kiss," said the Princess Toad. And he did.

Not long after, the Prince Toad and Princess Toad got married, settled down next to the frog on a much bigger lily pad and had many children.

So far as the storytellers know, the Prince Toad never complained again, partly because he had to work so hard to feed all those mouths. He simply didn't have time.

At first, King Tut Tut disapproved of this marriage, as he did of all things new to him, but eventually he got used to his many grandchildren. He became especially fond of a small princess with long eyelashes, which often crept up his leg and settled on his lap for nap.

As for the townspeople, since toads brought luck, they all agreed that so many toads could only bring more luck, and after a time they found it quite natural to be ruled by a Princess Toad.

And, on an ecological note, the townspeople were right. As toads died out elsewhere in the world and the people suffered from it, the toads in King Tut Tut's and the Princess Toad's realm prospered, along with the townspeople, farmers and computer programmers.

So it was that they lived more or less happily ever after, as in all descent fairytales.