So here's a lovely traditional fairy tale:
Once upon a time there was a poor little straw-haired beggar girl whose bestest friend was a fairy. They played happily all day in the magic grove where the pixies came to sell their dreams and they were as gay as gay can be.
The old woman who lived in a shoe had so many children she didn’t know what to do, although she had found the time to have them colour-coded. But it was alright because the pixies cared for each and every one of them.
The pixies encouraged all the children to play together and let them eat cake. This was no ordinary cake; it was a magic cake because you could eat and eat and eat and at teatime there would still be plenty of cake to go around! The children ate and ate and grew and grew and the old woman was moved into a bigger shoe in a nicer part of the magic grove. What lovely pixies they are, the children cried!
And the children played and the children laughed because all the while, outside the magic grove, they knew that bad people were being punished for not believing in magic pixies.
The bad people had a kind of game called ‘work’. Rumpelstiltskin told riddles and took bets and Rapunzel had to sit in a high-rise sweat shop and grow hair. Then there were the three little pigs, who spent their life building houses only for Mr Wolf to huff and puff and blow them all down again. The butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker; all of them lived a life beyond the pale, spending their hard lives making things that other people consumed, meaning they had to keep on working to make more things. It sounded horrid!
The children knew about the unhappy people outside because the old woman told tales of when everybody was like that, before the pixies came along and sowed their magic beans in the grove. The magic beans grew qualifications from thin air, which meant that the children would never work again.
One day, despite all the grave warnings, overcome by curiosity and bored of playing all the time, the little golden-locked beggar girl wandered outside the magic grove and found herself in the forest. Soon it started to get dark. The bushes scratched at her legs and the trees tried to snag her hair and she was afraid of the noises in the night, so she pulled up her red riding hood against the cold and hurried on to find shelter.
Little red Goldilocks eventually found a cosy wee cottage with a light on and a fire in the grate. There was nobody home so she slipped inside, looking for food. There were three bowls of porridge on the table; a little one, a big one and a middle-sized one. She scoffed the lot and went looking for a bed. First she tried the little one, but it broke! Then she tried the middle-sized one, but it was too small. Only the biggest one was big enough for her cake-fattened arse.
In the cold hard light of day she was confronted by three bare landlords demanding money for bed and board. When she told them how the magic pixies took care of all that they laughed and set her to work in the kitchen. “But I have qualifications!” she protested. The cook thought for a moment, then gently took away the knife she’d given Goldilocks and replaced it with a broom…
Goldilocks woke up screaming. Outside, the chubby children played around the big taxpayer-funded shoe and ate more cake and the sunshine streamed in through a lace-hole. “No more bedtime stories for me,” thought Goldilocks and waddled out into the sunshine, gay as you like, to live happily ever after
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