>>> Edited For Content
By staff writer Mike Forest
October 20, 2004

Greetings and welcome to “Magical Fairytale Story Time” with Uncle Beech, where our motto is: Ill-conceived metaphors and the subtlety of a brick. This week we have a magical fairytale story from the wonderful world of Spartania:

Once upon a time there was a kingdom that loved to celebrate together. They had many cookie-making parties and excursions to the royal bakeries where they raised many forks to the honor of the kingdom and their warriors.

The biggest parties were in the fall when fanatic subjects gathered at the wee hours of the morning, converging on the kingdom's festival grounds for a day of merriment. Pigs were slaughtered. Pumpkins were beaten. Vegetable trays were purchased. But cake and cookies were by far the favorite of the people. Cake and cookies were so highly honored that they were reserved for only the adults. Children were not allowed to partake until they reached 21 years of age. (They could, however, be forced into slave labor at the age of 18.)

Many hours on tournament days were passed by the hardworking, beautiful citizens as they lay in the grassy fields around the castle dining on cake and wolfing down cookies. Once they ate cake to the point they could barely walk, all went off to the tournament to watch their warriors do battle.

One day the Evil Queen was sitting around her palace bored and cranky as usual. She said to herself, “I'm such an out-of-touch bitch. My people hate me much, but I hate them more. How can I make the lives of my subjects as miserable as possible?” She tried to cancel the fall celebrations, but that turned out to be too difficult for even the craftiest of her magicians. She mused for weeks trying to come up with something diabolical enough to ruin the celebrations that kept her up at night and kept her from the beauty sleep she needed so much.

“I have it!” she exclaimed. “I will take away their cookies on tournament days. I will let them have cake, but no cookies! They're all too fat anyways. Brilliant! I shall also have my soldiers patrol the festival grounds to keep an eye on things and make sure everyone's identification is in order and no children are eating cake. Yes!” She cackled and wrung her twisted hands. Another devilish idea soon struck her: “Also no more merriments. No more games of revelry like this horrid ‘cake pong' I keep hearing about.”

The Queen's decree was announced in the town square and in the fields. The peasants of the kingdom were dismayed. No more cookies? That was madder than a thousand praying manti in a synagogue. But cake? They could still have cake? They loved cake, but what was wrong with cookies? There was much confusion and debate and basically people yelled a lot.

“One damsel gets assaulted after eating two whole batches of cookies and we all have to suffer?” one reveler complained.

“If I want to have cookies, I should be able to have cookies!” hollered some wench.

“I just bit the head off a squirrel!” screamed a demented villager from the next town over.

“I just like causing trouble!” screamed one. “Rabble! Rabble rabble!”

The Queen, of course, paid them no mind and turned a deaf ear toward their cries. Oh sure, she pretended to be understanding by holding open sessions where selected commoners could share her audience and discuss her decree. Alas, it was useless. Behold the appointed peasants sent to the queen were stupid and more worried about royal butt kissing than the good of the festivals. The peasants stoned their elected out of hate and devoured their intestines.

The festivals still went on under the new rules; and the subjects still came out to cheer, but they're spirit was broken and besides, it was getting cold in the land of Spartania. Macadamia nut cookies or Irish cookies would been just the thing to warm them up, but as it was forbidden, many suffered in the chill. They celebrated morosely in fear that the Gestapo-like soldiers of the Queen would come and demand identification in triplicate including DNA. Many children were slaughtered when they were caught with cake.

Some screamed rebellion and started assembling piles of couches in the town square. Others continued to bring cookies and were lanced through their bowels by the Queen's soldiers. Tons of cakes were consumed. Their empty boxes piled high into the sky, but when asked by beggars if they could take the boxes back for the deposit, the citizens told them the boxes belonged to them, they were going to take them back, and why didn't the bums get a job.

Though all agreed that the sweetness of the cakes was grand, they wished they had their beloved cookies as well. They longed for the days of bigwheel, cakewalks, ice luges and cake pong. They missed the dead children who used to amuse them with their perky breasts and low cookie tolerance.

As the orange sun exited the darkening sky, they headed to the neighboring towns and villages to celebrate as though they were free again with as much cake and as many cookies as they could consume.

All of this had the unfortunate end of causing the wrath of the Dragon of Eastern Lansingland, but that's a story for another time. That's all for today. Uncle Beech is going to go practice for November 2nd.

Next week: “Don't Vote, Get Hammered Instead”

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