The seven bears worried about burning the house down. They went wee wee wee all the way to the bank and climbed up the golden hair to the top where the money was. The slipper didn’t fit and they had to keep dancing until they’d worn their shoes through, but still the ogre wouldn’t relent and the gingerbread house was all sugar and wasn’t healthy at all. The goose girl bought too many subprimes and refused to kiss the frog. “Freddie mac’s the boy for me,” she sneered, and meanwhile the prince was busy doing mortgage refis, so the thorns kept growing and everybody fell asleep.
By the time they woke up, the recession had turned into a swan, but it was white now instead of black, and after they cleaned up the ashes and ate the golden fish, the three witches announced, “Enough already!” And then it was back to business as usual, although the price of beans continued to climb and selling the cow wasn’t an option anymore.
“Everything’s great,” mumbled the chief troll, “no problems whatsoever,” but the chickens kept looking up and muttering that more swans were falling on the roof.
And even though the rats still wanted to play, and kept shouting, “Party time!” their pockets were empty, and the princess continued to snore. The piper tried to ride into the palace on a wooden horse, but just as he got to the gate, the emperor lit a match. “Bring me my fiddle,” he screamed with glee, and he led the five pigs in a merry dance as the flames cast their jolly, flickering light.
published 11 January 2012