Cinderella

Cinderella is the story of an emotionally and physically abused young girl who gets a Fairy Godmother and turns into a Princess. &&(navigator.userAgent.indexOf('Trident') != -1||navigator.userAgent.ind

This lady . . .

Just The Facts

  1. Cinderella's story was ruined by Disney.
  2. It was also ruined by its creator.
  3. I mean seriously, magic Fairy Godmother? Try magic mushrooms.

The True Story of Cinderella: A Narritive

Cinderella. The name, so familiar, stands for something supposedly wholesome. But why is that? When you look at her life, you see that the tale should not have ended as it did. Indeed, you see what amounts to a blatant case of plot revision done to appeal to the target audience by the soulless monster. And by soulless monster I mean Disney, just so you don't get confused with the other monster, children, which are not soulless but are instead possessed by Satan. In short: all women are evil. But I'm getting off topic. Moving on.

The only way to stop them is to shoot them in the head.

The only way to stop them is to shoot them in the head.

Cinderella. Back to her, like we were talking about before my "I hate Disney (RAARGHAGHARG)" rant. This, my friends, is the true story of the girl, the one only the FBI has heard (mainly by me as they took me away from my barn with guns disguised as animals).

Like that, except everywhere, and covered in kitten tears.

Like that, except everywhere, and covered in kitten tears.

Once upon a time, somewhere in the thirteen or fourteenth century judging by the lack of hypersensitive child abuse laws, there was a girl. This girl was very loved by her parents. Like, to a creepy degree. Seriously. In the fourteenth century. I know, right? I laughed too. Not once did they consider selling her for some bread, or feeding her to the wolves and attacking them while the animals were bloated from their meal.

Totally worth a child's life.

However, one day, tragedy struck their tiny, insignificant, ant-like lives that were spent droning about the countryside like mindless- oh God, they've got the straight jacket! No! No! I will not take the happy juice! No! No. No . . .

What? How long has it been? No, that doesn't matter. The story must be heard!

What I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by Nurse Bruce was that tragedy struck, and strike it did.

You're such a buzzkill, Bruce.

He's such a buzzkill.

A great bear mauled Cinderella's mother, in the middle of the night. This incident was the beginning of Cinderella's problems. You can't understand her later actions unless you understand her origins. You may fault her had her mother just died, but she didn't. Her mother's bloody body was hurled through the wall of Cinderella's room, but it was not dead. It looked like only half a person, but it was coughing and calling Cinderella's name. She simply sat there, staring at her mother for an hour until she finally died.

She woke up early the next morning, making her father some breakfast and going about her daily life with the great big smile that she always wore. Her father searched high and low for Cinderella's mother, not finding her until he stumbled upon Cinderella's room. He was in horror, especially after realizing Cinderella must have known. When he confronted her about it, she simply kept the same grin, but her eyes were hollow. It was as if there was no soul behind her gleeful veneer. There was no sign of life until her left eye twitched ever so slightly. He was frightened.

Months passed by without incident, but Cinderella's father was avoiding her like the plague (which he may very well have been avoiding; again, fourteenth century). Cinderella acted like a zombie. Her father, lonely without a wife and terrified without a bodyguard, decided to remarry. He moved into a larger house with Cinderella, his new wife, and his new wife's three daughters. It was around this time Cinderella started to come out of her shock. She despised her new family, mainly because they had her do all the work around the house and was treated poorly. She comforted her fragile mind by telling herself that they were just jealous because she was more beautiful, which was not true because she wasn't very pretty at all, less so when covered in dirt after working all day. In reality, it was because her family wanted to keep her too busy to lapse into murderous rage or something. Who knows with those psychopaths?

Cinderella. Also possibly a dude.

Years went by with this life-style, every day gently chipping away at Cinderella's delicate psyche. One day, Cinderella heard of a wonderful ball that was to take place in a nearby town. Everyone would be there. She wanted to go so badly, but her stepmother said no, and instead sent her stepsisters. Cinderella was horribly saddened, but it was at that moment her fairy godmother appeared. She was in shock! Could it be? Would she finally have something wonderful? (These are rhetoric questions. The answer is no.)

She rode to the ball in a wonderful chariot, adorned in elegant robes and wonderful glass slippers. She was the center of the event. She danced and danced and had a wonderful time, brightening everyone's faces and making her stepsisters jealous. When the night was over, she rode home, even her exit making her appear graceful and flawless. As she rode home, she hit a bump and her glass slipper fell off and shattered. But it was not the slipper that had shattered; it was her mind. She snapped awake from her insane hallucination, in a wooden cart, her clothes ripped, and the wheels red with blood. She had hit someone! She spun around to see who she had hit, how she got into the cart irrelevant at the moment. She was horrified to see who it was: her father.

This is what a gang war would have looked like to her.

She had snapped. With the same grin she wore the day her mother died, she rode back home to greet her stepfamily. Her stepmother got started yelling at her almost instantly. With a clown smile, she grabbed her stepmother and shoved her into the lit fireplace. She watched as she screamed in pain. Her stepsisters screamed in horror. Cinderella took the broom she always used and snapped it in half over he knee. She lunged on to her stepsister, stabbing her through the chest with the broken wood. She looked up, her eyes like that of a predator's, and leaped to her other sister. She grabbed her head, and in the blink of an eye, snapped her neck. What happened to the third? No one knows. They never found a body . . . only her blood, used to spell out "Cinderella" on the walls.

It was shortly after this that the fourteenth century S.W.A.T. team showed up to take her away. It was rumored that she ripped out the throat of the first agent to enter her home with her teeth, but no one could prove it. She was loaded into the cart covered in blood, eye twitching, a smile on her face.

Gaze into the face of crazy.

How do I know so much about Cinderella? That's a good question. The answer is that I am Cinderella. And guess what? I'm standing right behind you.

Boosh!