"Come in! Come in, you've nothing to fear!" went on the old woman. Unluckily for Hansel and Gretel, however, the sugar candy cottage belonged to an old witch, her trap for catching unwary victims. The two children had come to a really nasty place.

"You're nothing but skin and bones!" said the witch, locking Hansel into a cage. I shall fatten you up and eat you!"

"You can do the housework," she told Gretel grimly, "then I'll make a meal of you too!”

"Let me feel your finger!" said the witch to Hansel every day to check if he was getting any fatter. Gretel had brought her brother a chicken bone, and when the witch went to touch his finger, Hansel held out the bone.

"You're still much too thin!" she complained. When will you become plump?"

One day the witch grew tired of waiting. "Light the oven," she told Gretel. "We're going to have a tasty roasted boy today!"

A little later, hungry and impatient, she went on: "Run and see if the oven is hot enough." Gretel returned, whimpering: "I can't tell if it is hot enough or not." Angrily, the witch screamed at the little girl: "Useless child! All right, I'll see for myself."

As the witch bent down to look into the oven, Gretel gave her a big kick in the behind. But Gretel was just a little girl, and the witch easily stopped herself from going in.

"Nice try you evil child! Now you're going to pay!" cried the witch. The witch quickly grabbed the girl and threw her in the oven

While Gretel was baking, the witch proceeded to chop Hansel into bite-sized chunks, and then put him in the cauldron of boiling water. She then threw in a few chopped vegetables, some basil and oregano, and a pinch of salt for flavor.

Forty minutes later, the witch removed the golden brown Gretel from the oven, and spooned herself a nice big bowl of Hansel soup. She then sat down at her table, poured herself a nice glass of Chianti, and helped herself to some fava beans as a side dish.

Just then, there came a knock on the door. The witch opened the door to reveal a large woodcutter.

"Hello ma'am," said the woodcutter. "I am in search of two young children, a boy and a girl".

"I'm quite sure I haven't seen any children in these parts," replied the witch, "but you're more than welcome to come in and wait for them, I was just sitting down for lunch."

"Well that would be lovely, I'm famished!" said the woodcutter as he stepped in and took off his boots.

The two sat down for lunch and enjoyed their food and wine. Unbeknownst to the woodcutter, the witch slipped some Rohypnol into his Chianti, and within minutes he slumped out of his chair and onto the floor.

The woodcutter awoke sometime later, only to find himself in bed, bound in handcuffs and gagged with a rubber ball strap. The witch was dressed in head to toe leather, and was carrying a long black whip.

Several hours passed, and the woodcutter experienced things completely foreign to him. At first it was very painful, but he eventually became accustomed to the whipping and verbal abuse. In fact he even grew to like it. The woodcutter was released from time to time, only to have some leftover meat and soup, then went right back to the bedroom.

The woodcutter completely forgot about the children, as well as his wife and career. The witch had him fix up her candy cottage, and they went on to lure more lost children into their house of lust. They even wrote a recipe book, which became a best seller amongst the cannibal and serial killer population.

The witch and her woodcutter got married, became filthy rich, and lived happily ever after.

The End.

The Wolf had followed him home.

“I think I’ll come in there and gobble you up.” Cried the Wolf from outside. “If you open up I promise it’ll be quick.”

He knew himself safe with the Wolf locked out. That fact put steel in his backbone.

"Let you in?” he asked incredulously through the door. “Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin.”

The Wolf with horrible laughter in his voice replied “Then I’ll just have to huff and puff and break the door in.”

The door began to rattle on its hinges in an ever increasing violence. The boards creaked and moaned that they would soon give up against the Wolf’s furious assault. The piggy could only think of escape. He ran to the back of the house and threw open the rear window and jumped out just as the front door exploded in a shower of splinters like so much straw in the wind. The piggy ran and ran and ran. Thinking only that his brother would know what to do, his big brother would save him.

There was a knock at the door. The two brothers jumped as if stung. Knowing what waited on the other side the brothers held each other silently and hoped the Big Bad Wolf would go away if they stayed quiet. The knock came again more insistent this time.

“I know you’re in there piggy piggy. Have you got a friend with you? I hope so, chasing after you has made me doubly hungry and two little pigs would go down very nicely right now.”

“Don’t worry brother I’ve just had my new security system put in. The door has been reinforced and the wolf can’t get in.”

“Will you let me in? If not I’ll have to eat you very slowly indeed.”

“Stupid Wolf” yelled the second piggy “you can’t get in; on this I’ll bet the hair on my chinny chin chin.”

“Is that what you think?”

Just then the pigs heard a great huff and puff and the door rattled on its hinges but held fast.

“Hmm strong door…” there was silence then and the piggys breathed a sigh of relief. Until they heard another great huff and puff, this one unmistakably the sound of a great diesel engine. The piggys knew just that the game was up and they had to run lest they be eaten by the Wolf. So out the back door they went just as a great resounding crash announced that the Wolf had smashed through the front of the house in an eighteen wheeler. The door and the whole front of the house was reduced to sticks of a size that ever after would only be good for kindling.

They ran and ran and ran. The Wolf’s eighteen wheeler was dogging their heels. Knowing their only hope lay with their big brother. The agoraphobic whose home was a veritable fortress. Their breath came hot in grunts and gasps but they couldn’t slow. The Wolf came after running his truck at a leisurely pace, smiling his awful fanged smile, knowing that those piggys were doomed.

At last the big brother’s house came into view with nary a window or opening besides the small steel door.

“Big brother” they cried “let us in or we will surely die, the Wolf is after us.”

The door stayed closed. They were left pounding for their lives hoping it would open and save them. The Wolf, who had stopped, revved his engine once, twice, a third and final time. Then the truck was in gear, barreling down on the helpless piggys. They turned then and saw this, clutched at each other and waited for death with tears in their eyes.

The Wolf waited until the last moment then flung himself from the cab. He watched as the pigs were crushed between the house and the truck. One thing the pigs had been right about; if they had made it inside they would have been safe. Although the truck was destroyed the house was barely scratched. The Wolf reached into his pocket and brought out a cell phone.

“It’s done.” Two simple words.

And from the phone “Good, you’ll get the rest of your money when I get the insurance checks.”

“Can I ask why?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, so I suppose so. Because they were always so happy wanting to run and play and frolic in the big wide world. They forgot all about me their own big bother who took such care of them when they were young. They didn’t even come to visit me anymore.”

“I see. I’ll say this, they came for a visit today, they surely did.”

The servant bent down on one knee. “Your Highness,” he said, “I searched high and low across the country for this man. From highest mountain to deepest forest I sought after him, and yet there was no sign of the fellow. And so, when I had run out of leads, and my horse was weary, and I had run out of rations for the both of us, I was forced to return home.” The servant bowed his head, pausing for a moment in his tale. “But,” he continued, “last night, as we travelled through the cold and dark, I espied a little house, and the flicker of a fire from within, and seeking perhaps to warm my aching bones, I ventured towards it. But to my surprise, as I took a glance through the window, I saw the very man you had sent me looking for, dancing around with a look of glee on his face. And he was singing a little tune to himself, of how he would, this very day, be turning up to claim the reward he was promised, the Queen’s first born child. And he sang out his name, as if boasting that he, ‘Rumplestiltskin’, was indeed clever to have wrought such a deal.”

The Queen looked down at her servant, and repeated the name. “Rumplestiltskin...” Then, thanking the servant, she prepared herself for the little man’s visit, that evening...

As before, the man mysterious appeared before her, and said “Well, well, my Queen, I am here as we discussed. And I have come to claim my prize.” “But have I not got three more guesses, before I give up my only child?" the Queen interjected, " Perhaps, by some slim chance, I will guess your name.”

“Perhaps,” smiled the little man. “Guess away, oh Queen...”

“Might it be...” the Queen stroked her chin, seemingly deep in thought... “Bob?” “No,” laughed the little fellow, doing a little dance...

“Okay then,” replied the Queen, “then how about Ronald Xavier-Symthe?” The man smiled once more, and said “You’re really not taking this seriously, are you?” The Queen smiled back.

“And what about...” the Queen asked, “Rumplestiltskin?”

The man looked up at her and frowned. The Queen’s face broke into a grin, then a laugh.

“I’ve won! I’ve guessed your name!” she cried.

The little man’s frown suddenly cracked, and he laughed out aloud. “Rumplestiltskin? You honestly believed that? You’re more stupid than I thought!”

“But... but I found out! It must be your name!” the Queen said.

“Oh, must it indeed?" He smiled. "And this guy who told you this, he doesn’t happen to be, let’s see... just under six feet tall, dark hair, dark eyes, not clean shaven, but never quite a full beard...?”

The Queen’s reply dragged out, uneasily... “Yes...”

“Thought so,” said the little man, “I was drinking with him last night, down the Frog & Firkin. He’s always down there. We had a few drinks together, then a few more, you know how it is... And then he started to tell me how he shouldn't really be sitting there getting drunk, how he should be out finding out some guy’s name. He was complaining a little, you know, how’s he supposed to tell the difference between one mystical midget and another? I just told him to make it up, you know? Use his imagination.” The man paused, then added, “Although I think Rumplestiltskin’s the name of his pet pig. He’s a weird one, that guy. A few sandwiches short, if you know what I mean...”

The Queen gave out a deep sigh. “So...” she said I’ve got no choice but to give up my baby...” A tear ran down her cheek. “Hey, hey,” motioned the little guy, “I’m not an unfair man. I’ll tell you what, I’ll do you a deal...”

“Anything!” said the Queen.

The little man smiled... “Double or quits...”

...The next morning when he went into his shop to make the shoes, what did he find!

Yes, there were two pairs of shoes already made.

The work was so well done that those shoes were also sold very quickly.

With the money the poor shoemaker bought enough leather for four pairs of shoes.

Those he also cut out and left upon his bench.

The next morning he found four pairs of beautiful shoes, all well made.

And so it went on and on.

Instead of being a very poor shoemaker, be became a very rich shoemaker.

His shoes were so well made that even the queen herself wore them.

At last the shoemaker said to his wife, "We must find out who makes the shoes."

So one bright moonlit night they hid behind a curtain, where they could watch the bench and not be seen.

Just on the stroke of midnight, two little elves jumped through the window.

They went skipping and dancing up to the bench.

Sitting cross-legged they took up the leather and began to work.

How their needles flew back and forth, back and forth!

How their little hammers beat rap-a-tap-tap, rap-a-tap-tap!

Almost before the shoemaker and his wife could think, the work was all done.

The tiny elves ran about, skipping and dancing, skipping and dancing.

Then, whisk! Quick as a wink, they were gone.

The next morning the good shoemaker had an idea.

He set up a series of cages underneath the windows, rigged with a tripwire to close the lid shut.

Later that night, the tiny elves snuck into the window, and fell smack into the open cage.

"Snap!" went the lid as it closed tight on the cage.

The tiny elves started panicking frantically about.

"Get us out of here!" they cried, "help!"

"Do not be afraid little ones," said the shoemaker, "I won't hurt you."

"I have a deal to offer you," he said.

The shoemaker went about explaining his proposition to the elves.

Soon after, more elves joined the shoemaker, and they were all clothed, fed, and given shelter.

The tiny elves went on to make hundreds and hundreds of shoes in the years to come, while the shoemaker made more money than he could ever imagine...

...And they all lived happily ever after.

The End.

(Original statement given by Phillip Knight, CEO of Nike Inc, regarding his lawsuit accusing his company of hiring Guatemalan children in labor camps to make running shoes.)

"... and so I huffed and puffed just like I did to the other two houses, but nothing I did seemed to affect the brick at all. It was very frustrating.” Mr. Wolf tried to smile just like his lawyer had coached him, but the baring of his fangs just seemed to strike terror into the jurors who were intently listening to his story.

"I know it was hard to relive those events-s-s. Thank you for telling us-s-s the s-s-story Mr. Wolf.” His lawyer hissed dramatically in an attempt to get the jury to refocus on him to try to control some of the damage that had been done. He wriggled across the courtroom and gazed at his notepad. “Now, tell us-s-s why you are here today.”

“I feel that I have been victimized! I have done nothing but follow my natural instincts and those pigs have ruined my life.” The whole courtroom shuddered as “pigs” came in as more of a low, guttural growl.

“Objection!” the weasel at the defense table shouted. He stretched himself to full height and waved his claws menacingly. “I see no reason why this witness should be allowed to call my defendants names.”

The owl behind the bench readjusted the robe on his shoulders and glared over the top of his glasses at the weasel. “WHO is calling your client names. I believe Mr. Wolf was referring to WHO your clients are, not insulting them. Overruled. Please continue.”

Mr. Wolf suddenly realized that he was hungrily staring at the defense. He licked the drool from his lips and continued with his pleading. “I have no faith in my abilities to hunt any more, I have not eaten in several days and my reputation has been destroyed by the incessant bragging of those three.” Mr. Wolf tucked his head between his legs and whimpered, “I just can’t live like this anymore.” He snuck a peek under his hind quarters to see if anyone in the jury box was buying it. One of the hyenas actually appeared to be snickering.

“I s-s-sympathize with your s-s-sadnes-s-s-s-s-s Mr. Wolf. Pleas-s-se des-s-scribe to us-s-s in great detail what you cons-s-sider your role to be as-s-s leader of the pack, the Alpha male per s-s-se...”

The debate raged on for days, each side arguing fiercely for their rights. The defendants squealed like stuck pigs when badgered by the 2nd chair prosecutor. Mr. Wolf howled with delight. The bailiff actually had to clamp his jaws around the weasel’s neck to restrain him on several occasions. The court recorder’s paws pounded away on the keys as her bunny ears twitched to hear everything that was said.

The fateful day finally arrived. The jury shuffled, crawled, slid, crab-walked and burrowed their way back into the jury box. The spokesparrot stepped up onto the restraining wall, groomed its’ wings and squawked out the verdict. “Polly thinks this wolf’s a real cracker, but he’s definitely mentally inadequate to defend himself against the defendant’s defense. The pigs are real hams who obviously enjoy slinging mud and getting dirty when not on display in front of this court room. We find them guilty.”

“Very well,” the owl boomed. “You three are hereby sentenced to make restitution to Mr. Wolf and bring home the bacon.”

The wolf and the snake went home and feasted on BLTs for many weeks afterwards. They began making plans for “Mr. Wolf Vs Ms Riding Hood” and lived happily ever after.

Once upon a time, there were three pig triplets. When they reached maturity, they all went to find a place to live. The three of them marched together down the road. Soon, they passed a wide open field.
“My, isn’t this lovely? The scenery is beautiful and I could fashion myself a humble abode out of straw!” said the first pig. He decided to settle down right there, in that field. The two remaining pigs moved on.
Soon, they passed a forest. “I love it!” exclaimed the second pig. He decided to live among the trees and built a house out of sticks. The last pig moved on.
The last pig was undoubtedly the most ambitious of the three; he had always been fascinated with city life, and he would settle for nothing less. Three days and three nights later, he reached the city. He went to the nearest hardware store and, spending his life savings, obtained all the supplies he needed to build a quaint brick house. He did just this, right on the outskirts of town.
One day, a hungry wolf was out on the prowl. He hadn’t eaten in three days and things were looking bleak. The scent of pig caught his adept nose. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a straw house. Stepping up to the domicile, he tapped his paw against the door three times.
“Little pig, little pig, let me in,” he requested. The pig was on to him.
“Not by the hair on my chinny-chin chin!” he retorted.
“Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in!” The wolf took a deep breath and unleashed a massive gust of air from his mouth. The house was destroyed and pig devoured shortly thereafter.
The wolf moved on, his stomach still growling. The familiar smell of pig caught his nose once more, and he spotted a stick house in the woods. Knocking on the door, he began his spiel once more:
“Little pig, little pig, let me in.”
“Not by the hair on my chinny-chin chin!”
“Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in!” The wolf huffed, the wolf puffed, and the pig suffered the same fate as his brother.
The wolf was nearly content now, but felt that just one more pig would finally squelch his hunger. He caught that now very familiar scent and spotted the brick house of the third pig.
As confident as can be, he stated perfunctorily, “Little pig, little pig, let me in.”
“Not by the hair on my chinny-chin chin!”
“Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in!” He huffed, he puffed, he blew, and still the house remained. He paused, and repeated his actions, but the house still stood strong. For the next ten minutes he huffed and puffed to no avail. Finally, he gave up. At least, he gave up on huffing and puffing.
At the library, the wolf searched book after book for a possible solution until, at long last, he stumbled upon an edition of The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Pyromania. In no time at all, he had synthesized a chunk of C4 explosive out of household components.
Arriving at the pig’s brick house, he knocked on the door. “Little pig, little pig, let me in.”
“Not by the hair on my chinny-chin chin!”
“Suit yourself,” the wolf reasoned. He attached the explosive to the door, stepped back about fifteen meters, and set of the device. Where the door previously was was now a large gaping hole.
About an hour later, the wolf’s friend the fox strolled by the wolf sitting outside a brick house picking his teeth with a bone.
“Penny for your thoughts,” broached the fox.
Smiling, the wolf replied, “Work smarter, not harder.”

The job done, the Pied Piper tucked his flute into his belt and returned to the town hall. “I have fulfiled my task,” said the Pied Piper, “and have rid this town of rats. They shall trouble you no more!” He beamed at the mayor and the rest of the assembled town council. “Thank you,” said the mayor, “Thank you very much! And, true to our word, here is your money.” With that, he tossed a large bag of gold into the Piper’s hands. With a smile, a tip of his hat and a wink, he departed, playing a jaunty little tune on his flute.

And so it might have ended, the town saved by the mysterious stranger with the magical flute. But just as the town was becoming accustomed to the order and tranquillity which had settled, the mayor observed “It seems a little TOO quiet...”

Indeed, barely half an hour later a young boy on crutches limped into the town hall. “Sir,” he cried, “the Piper has taken all the other children away!” “WHAT!?!” spluttered the mayor, and so the young boy sat down to explain how the mysterious stranger had played a new tune on his flute, which had charmed the children away from their town and into a magical kingdom within the nearby mountain. Having seen the power of the flute before, the mayor could well believe this, and gathering together a band of the town’s strongest men, went to break their way through the rock face.

The boy watched the assembled band ride out on horseback, until they were out of sight, all the time wondering how different the town would be if the children were never to return. No more sounds of children playing. No more laughter. No more taunting. No more bullying. A smile crept onto the boy’s face.

“You!” a voice cried out behind him. “You malicious little insect! What have you done?”

The boy turned to face a figure lurking in the shadows alongside the town hall. “It was YOU, wasn’t it?” The Pied Piper emerged from the dark, his eyes glowering in rage. “YOU stole my flute, didn’t you? What have you done?”

“Ah, Mr Piper, thank you very much,” said the young boy, making an exaggerated bow, “I am deeply indebted to you for the loan of your flute...”

“Where is it?” spat out the Piper, moving towards the boy, fists clenched.

“Why, I thought it appropriate to hide it in the same place as you disposed of the rats”, laughed the boy, “In the river...”

“My magic flute!” shouted the Piper in shock, “Have you any idea how much that was worth?” He turned, glancing towards the river.

“No,” said the boy, quietly, “but I can hazard a guess.” Lifting up the edge of his shirt, he uncovered the flute, tucked into his belt. “Oh, did I say I disposed of the flute? In the river? How stupid of me. I suppose I was confused in all the excitement...”

The Piper turned slowly. The boy smiled up at him. “It was the CHILDREN I disposed of in the river, drowned like the rats they were. Oh, didn’t you know? You disappeared with them, off to some magical kingdom...?” Too late, the Piper saw him raise the flute, once more, to his lips...

In a move that shocked many residents of Fairy Tale land, two of the famous “Three Little Pigs” were arrested today on charges of insurance fraud. In addition, the big bad wolf was arrested as a co-conspirator in the crime.

The two pigs in question, commonly known as the first little pig and the second little pig, were arrested only after their brother, the third little pig secretly called his insurance provider to inform them of the fraud. The police were called in once the charges were verified.

“Why did I do it?” said the third little pig during a press conference, “Those two were mooching off me far too much. I decided enough was enough. Shortly after the big bad wolf quit trying to blow my house down, the two informed me of the plan. I didn’t plan to inform the police about it, but once it became clear that they weren’t going to use the money to move out and instead live and eat free under my roof, I knew that I had to say something. Mama didn’t raise no fool with this pig,” the third pig said, knocking on his brick house for emphasis. The pig was granted immunity from withholding evidence in return for turning it in. “Better late than never,” the pig said.

“The third pig’s information was extremely useful,” said Jack, of Jack and Jill Insurance, “but we had to investigate the claim ourselves. It became pretty evident that fraud was involved after minimal searching. Who really builds houses out of straw and sticks? Seriously! You could send in the big bad sheep and the houses would still fall apart. It was clear that they built the houses as flimsy as possible so they barely fit under our insurance requirements.”

The two pigs insurance fraud plan was simple. They would build easily destructible houses from flimsy materials. The two pigs took out insurance policies on the houses and then solicited the help from the big bad wolf, a friend of theirs from college, to participate in the fraud. As the story goes, the big bad wolf blew down the two pigs’ houses, made of straw and sticks, but gave up when reaching the third pig’s house, made of bricks. Charges were never filed as the big bad wolf suffered burns when he tried to enter the third pig’s house through the chimney and landed in a pot of hot water. Both sides decided it was even at that point.

The two pigs deny the charges completely. “We were just about to move out!” said the second pig. “My brother had found a nice little house in the woods made out of mud and I had just found a house made of duct tape. They aren’t bricks, but they’ll do. There have been a rash of drive-by blow downs in the area anyway. It wasn’t safe to stay with our brother any longer. The gangs on the street nowadays, they have larger lung capacities…it’s just a matter of time before they blew the brick house down too. You can’t blame us for our brother’s impatience. These charges are ridiculous.” Afterwards, the two brothers requested to be moved to a jail cell made of candy. This request is still being processed.

The big bad wolf also denied the charges brought against him. Initially, there was a rather tense standoff between the wolf and police. The big bad wolf threatened to “blow them all away”, but when it became clear that the big bad wolf literally meant to blow them away, the police advanced with relative ease. The wolf from “Little Red Riding Hood”, the big bad wolf’s lawyer, had only one statement to say about the case. “We’re wolves! What do you expect? There has been long standing discrimination against the wolf. Whenever there is a crime, the wolf is the first animal suspected. If the paw mark fits, you must acquit!”

The case is to be brought up in lower court later this month. Judge Goldilocks is presiding over the trial. She promised a ruling “neither too harsh nor too lenient” but rather “just right.”

« He looked down at her foot and saw how the blood was running out of her shoe, and how it had stained her white stocking quite red. Then he turned his horse and took the false bride home again. This also is not the right one, said he, have you no other daughter? No, said the man, there is still a little stunted kitchen-wench which my late wife left behind her, but she cannot possibly be the bride. The king's son said he was to send her up to him, but the mother answered, oh, no, she is much too dirty, she cannot show herself. But he absolutely insisted on it, and Cinderella had to be called. She first washed her hands and face clean, and then went and bowed down before the king's son, who gave her the golden shoe. Then she seated herself on a stool, drew her foot out of the heavy wooden shoe, and put it into the slipper, which fitted like a glove. »

- My name is Manolo Blahnic, said the prince, will you be my model?

Next thing she knew, she was on the cover of Vogue, became anorexic, tried heroin, spent two months in rehab, married a famous magician, divorced him, learned yoga, made the cover of Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue, married a famous actor, divorced him, made a record that flopped, modeled shoes ads for Manolo, became addicted to painkillers, spent four months in rehab, married a politician, divorced him, made In Style Best Dressed List, became an alcoholic, spent six months with AA, married a producer, starred in a movie that bombed, divorced the producer, made the cover of the National Enquirer, had a depression, became addicted to antidepressors, spent eight months in rehab, was the butt of a joke on Saturday Night Live, married a cosmetic surgeon, had 17 liftings, became addicted to botox, spent ten months paralyzed, divorced the surgeon, married-divorced Michael Jackson, made In Style Worst Dressed List, was arrested for shoplifting, married her lawyer, had an autobiography ghost-written that was a huge success, made all the morning TV shows, was divorced by the lawyer, spent a year in Palm Beach, became addicted to chocolate, took up 150lb, was contacted by Richard Simmons, lost 25lb, made an ad for Richard Simmons, failed to marry him, regained the 25lb and some, married at last a real prince from an obscure European lineage, became an underground gay cult idol, had 1234 fan websites, learned on the 1235th that her prince was a swindler with ties to the Russian mafia, took a mix of heroin, painkillers, alcohol, antidepressors, botox and chocolate, died, had her biography written by Dominic Dunne, made the cover of Vanity Fair, had a movie about her life produced, written, directed and starred by Madonna that the critics called "a religious experience" and won 12 Oscars, and then Cinderella became a legend for ever and ever.

Because, children, this is a fairy tale after all.

“Someone’s been sleeping in my bed, too” said the mama bear.
”Someone’s been sleeping in my bed, and she’s still there!” exclaimed baby bear.

Papa Bear looked up at me and shrugged his furry shoulders. “That’s the way it happened. She was slumped over Baby’s bed, blood everywhere. We panicked and called you, Mr. Spade.” I sucked long and hard on the cigarette in my mouth, then crushed it in the glass bowl on the table. I looked at him for a long moment before I spoke. “I’ll take the case. My men and I will do my best to find out who this girl was, and was she was doing in your house.” Papa smiled, relief flooding over his brown face.

I showed Papa Bear out of my office, then went back and sat in my executive style chair, feet on the table. I thought best that way. I pulled out another Camel from the pack on the desk and lit it, holding my first drag for a few seconds before letting the smoke out. I watched it as it floated towards the ceiling. But my mind wasn’t on smoke, it was on this case. It seemed the Bear family had been out for a peaceful Wednesday afternoon walk in the woods surrounding their home, when they had come home to find the door slightly ajar. Papa Bear, instead of doing the right thing and getting out, had went inside, taking his family with him. They had first discovered that the porridge they had been cooking was found eaten. The police had discovered the smallest bowl in shards on the tile floor of the kitchen.

As the horrified Bear family proceeded into the next room of their house (“It was the room we watched TV in!” the horrified Papa Bear told me later) they discovered that not only had the two parental Bear’s chairs been sat in, the Baby’s chair had been crushed to matchsticks. Naturally, Baby starting wailing, an event which angered Papa bear even more. This is really where the tale gets interesting. I’m inclined to believe his tale up to this point, but at this point, he says they simply “discovered” the bloody and battered body of the young girl in Baby’s bed. Baby and Mama bear claimed to have been with him the entire time, but the look in there eyes makes me doubt their story, and I doubt they could hold up to a polygraph.
My theory is that Papa Bear caught the girl in the act of sleeping, and proceeded to beat her to a bloody pulp, as his family watched on in horror. Then he apologized profusely, realizing he’d done wrong, and told them never to tell anyone of what had happened.

And then the door opens and in walks Mama Bear. I was eager to talk to her, but I didn’t want to appear so. “Get out!” I yelled. “What?” she replied, a shocked look on her face. “I said GET OUT! If you aren’t going to tell me the truth, I don’t want to talk to you at all.” Her lower lip quivered. “What do you mean? I’ve never lied in my entire life!” I leaned over the table and growled at her, “That’s not what your husband says!” and I slapped her.
Now that... that was a mistake. She came at me over the table, and didn’t stop until she'd broken both my legs, an arm, and I was bleeding profusely from a stomach wound. And she bit my knee. She bit my bloody knee! And believe it or not, she got out of the police station without anyone stopping her. A giant bloody bear running around the bobby-house and no one stopped her!

No one has seen her, or her family, since, and I’m laying here in the hospital with casts on my limbs, speaking into a tape recorder. I have gained a warrant for their arrest, but I’m not sure how much good it will do. Bears are very good at hiding when they don’t want to be found. But I’m positive that Papa Bear killed that girl in a fit of rage, and will never come forward into normal society again. I’m going to send my assistant, Bill, to East India, their natural habitat I’m told, to search them out. But I’m afraid it will do no good. They are as out of my reach as a king’s daughter to a bakers half-dozen of midgets.