(insert pithy rejoinder here)

Kristerella

Somebody pinch me because I must be dreaming. It seems our very first F*CKED UP FAIRY TALE has come in! Thanks to my ever trashy but always wise blogmate Kevin Jorenby of  TRAILERTRASHDELUXE fame, we are treated to a fairy tale every bit as f*cked up as promised. Ladies and gentlemen, please to enjoy…KRISTERELLA!

***

by Kevin Jorenby

Kristerella awoke and stretched to the pleasant sounds of birds singing a happy tune.  Her head was thick from last night’s debauchery, but still she felt okay all in all.  She laid her head back down and soon was dreaming about her “main squeeze”, R-Patsy; he was just about to enter her when: “Cock-a-doodle-doo!!” went the damn rooster.

“Ohhh, that cock”, she lamented, “always waking me up when I get to the good part.”  Then she remembered a little of last night’s “after-party” with R-Patsy.  “Ohhhh, that cock”, she purred this time.  A little smile broke across her face at the recollection.  “Ouch”, she said, as her facial muscles, unaccustomed to smiling, or any emotion at all for that matter, entered unfamiliar territory.  She’d had small parts in the village plays, but never showed emotion in any of them.  Her vaguely good looks, and the fact that everyone felt bad about her orphaned status, were all that kept getting her roles.  Oh, there were some nasty rumors going around that she was overly friendly to the play director, and R-Patsy’s feelings were hurt by this, but Kristerella assured him, and anyone else who asked, that nothing much really happened and she still loved R-Patsy.

The thought of smiling made her sit bolt upright in her shabby straw bed.  She hid her face in her hands as she recalled more embarrassing details of last night.  She dimly recalled laughing at one of the jokes that one of her “backup squeezes” had told (was it Mandingo? or Bubba? she couldn’t remember; one was black and one was white, but all she knew and cared about was that they were both sure-handed coachmen and sure good lovers, and they always had weed).

“Please tell me I didn’t show emotion,” she sighed into her hands, “I just can not show emotion.”  Her father had taught her that showing emotion was for common folk, just as he had shown her how to pick the best pot, just before he was murdered by a rival drug gang.  She hadn’t kept up the family business, but she kept some of her dad’s connections, and either “traded favors” for enough weed to get her by, or scrounged together enough allowance from taking care of her mean-ass stepmother and ugly-ass stepsisters, to buy enough to keep her happy.  She loved sitting on the front porch when she thought no one was watching and getting high.  She also got a little income from a deal she had worked out with the mice, fencing things they stole from the ugly stepsisters.

God, but those were some ugly women.  Her stepmother had probably been sort of striking in her younger days, but her features were a little too sharp to be considered beautiful or even pretty.  The relentless aging process, as well as her unbridled greed, had taken away any pleasantness about her features, giving her a permanent, ugly scowl.  That is, except for when she felt like she was “putting one over” on someone, then she got this hideous satisfied smug look on her face, like one would get if they thought they’d denied someone their favorite shoes or something.  As for the stepsisters, they were a new and improved kind of ugly.  Kristerella, for the life of her, couldn’t figure out why God decided to strap a pair of vaginas on as homely and dumpy a couple of bodies as were ever formed.  Their mom was bad enough, but their dad must have made Sasquatch look like the royal Prince.

Oh, the Prince.  She would love to get a piece of that.  If R-Patsy only knew how she felt about the Prince, he’d really whine like a little baby.  It wasn’t just the money, the position, the way he could dance and sing; it was, more than anything else, the way he played the lute.  He did a lute solo during his song “When Dodo Birds Cry”, that sent her through the roof.

“Speaking of birds”, she thought to herself.  She took a couple quick hits off her pipe, threw the covers off her nude body, moved down and put her legs up on the footboard of her bed, and clapped twice.  Seemingly from everywhere, mice and birds appeared.  The birds first grabbed a sponge out of the wash-basin, dipped it in a huge bowl of honey, and flew in tandem over her body, squeezing out the honey-filled sponge all over her.  The mice spread the honey around on her and nibbled playfully at her neck, her nipples, and the entrance to her own honeypot.  Once the birds were done with the honey, they lined up in the rafters of her little garret.  At a whistled cue from the lead bird, they took off and lined up in an attack formation, diving down from the rafters and swooping in and out of her gaping gash, fluttering their wings at the entrance, like she had taught them to.  After a few minutes of this, she clapped her hands again, the birds and mice all backed off, and she shoved the giant heel of a glass slipper inside herself, crying out, “Oh my Puhrincccce!!!!” as she shuddered mightily in ecstasy.

Completely satisfied, Kristerella giggled a little stoned giggle, thinking to herself: “If R-Pats only knew who I really wanted.”  Then a horrible thought occurred to her–“Oh my God, he better have pulled out last night.  I don’t want to pop out a kid with that big fucking ugly forehead like R-Patsy has.  I mean, his eyes and his body drive me crazy, but that forehead is Uggggg-leee.”  “And the little bastard’s head would probably tear me in two coming out, if he has that same freaky forehead.  And where is he anyway?”

She got up and went to the window.  “Oh, now I get it”, she exclaimed.  There was a long, bright yellow rope hanging all the way down to the top part of the lower floor of the decaying manor house, the house that her pops had lovingly built up and Old Wartface herself had hatefully let go to rot while she spoiled the Ugly Twins with the last of her dad’s money, drug money that was rightfully Kristerella’s.  The rope was actually braided together out of human hair, from her longtime rival for R-Patsy’s affections, her slut of a distant cousin, the bitch that Kristerella liked to lovingly call “Ra-Cunt-Zel”, an even bigger pothead than Kristerella, who sold half of her hair years ago to Kristerella’s dad to pay for a couple pounds of weed.  The shit was so straw-like already from too much blonde hair dye, that it made a very sturdy rope.  Kristerella had to hand it to R-Patsy–he only needed to use the rope for the steepest part at the top of the house, the last section going up to Kristerella’s room, and the lower part he scaled like he was some sort of vampire or something.

After the birds and the mice helped her dress, Kristerella made her way down the long stairway toward the second-floor bedrooms of the Uglies.  On the way down, she spied a disgustingly obese mouse which she promptly named Gus, since she was a big “Lonesome Do-do bird” fan.  She put some undersized clothes on him so that everyone could ridicule his obesity even more.  She made Jean-Luc, the lead thief in her gang of mice-thieves, explain to Gus that if he wanted to keep on salting away the table scraps he’d have to pull his considerable weight as a thief.

She cracked open the door to her evil Stepmother’s room, the smell of the old lady’s gas nearly knocking her down in the process.  She whispered for the nasty cat, Aguilera, to follow her down to the kitchen for breakfast.  When they reached the kitchen, Kristerella started a fire in the woodstove while Aguilera farted, stretched, screeched some awful high noises, waved her paws oddly up and down as she screeched, then plopped down on the rug and promptly fell asleep.  The horse and the dog, two of the dumbest creatures Kristerella had ever met, but who magically seemed to communicate, with short neighs and barks, complicated messages to each other whenever the birds told them someone in the house needed rescuing, were sleeping in the morning sun.  The mice all came out and stole most of the corn from the chickens in the yard, pooled their strength and stole a broom off the wall, and bashed Aguilera over the head with it, just for fun.

The mean stepmom and the ugly stepsisters all finally woke up and rang their bells for breakfast.  Kristerella made them wait while she smoked a couple joints, blowing pot smoke into the nostrils of the unconscious Aguilera.  After a while, she tired of this and took the now-lukewarm porridge and tea up to the bitches, the now-groggily awake Aguilera close behind.  Aguilera spied Gus hiding under a teacup, grabbed him and threw him at the ugliest sister, who shrieked at her mother.  The evil stepmother then gave Kristerella 3 days worth of work to do before lunch, as punishment.  Kristerella didn’t care; she had plenty of weed, and the stepmother would be too busy trying to make ladies out of her clumsy, ugly daughters to bother checking on Kristerella’s work.  She still found time to beat Aguilera with her mop bucket, though.

As she was busy cleaning, Kristerella heard a knock on the door.  It was a representative from the royal palace, inviting all the women from the household to a ball in honor of the Prince that night.  The King was worried that the Prince was a little “light in the loafers”, since all he wanted to do was ride horses, play the lute, and dress in frilly purple sportcoats, so he made the Duke organize a dance so that the Prince could find a mate.

Kristerella took the note up to the so-called “music room”, where the step-mother was assaulting the piano in accompaniment to the Ugly Twins doing their best to out-screech Aguilera.  “At least Aguilera’s screeching is usually in tune”, sighed Kristerella as she opened the door.  She interrupted the Uglies in what appeared to be some sort of sisterly foreplay.  Kristerella would’ve steamed open the letter, but the King’s official seal was on it, and she dared not break that.  Besides, when she had snuck out earlier for a midmorning puff, she ran into Bubba, who’d told her about the royal ball.  He’d heard it from the widow lady down the lane, the one who lived in a shoe (which she called “The Shaq” for some reason) and who traded Bubba killer blowjobs for his killer “chronic”, so that she could keep her sanity while raising 23 of the laziest kids on the planet (except for the ugly stepsisters, that is).  The old woman was sending all 9 of her daughters that were over the age of 11 to the ball, along with one of her sons, Percy, who liked to design and sew all his sister’s clothes (“if you know what I mean”, she’d say), “just in case”, since, like everyone else, she’d heard the rumors about the Prince.  It was really assumed that Percy would go anyway, even though the ball was for young ladies and their adult chaperones, because he had designed most of the gowns in the kingdom, and treated all the dances as if they were his own personal fashion show.  His mother was pretty redneck about Percy, but she had to admit that he had the only ambition in the whole bunch, and his dress designs brought in much-needed income.  Percy’s “gaydar” didn’t really go off around the Prince, but he, like Kristerella, had many fantasies about the Prince and held out hopes that perhaps one day he could convince the Prince to “bat for the other side”.  Besides, he had a purple paisley sportcoat that he knew the Prince would like.

Kristerella quietly stood while her mean stepmother read aloud the note about that night’s upcoming ball.  The ugly stepsisters snorted and farted gracelessly with homely excitement as their mother tried to calm them down, fully realizing that it would take the whole 10 hours to try to scrape off the outer layer of ugly and make them marginally presentable.  Still, even a bitchy mother can dream.

“What are you looking at, ‘Second-hand Rose'”?, sneered the ugliest sister, setting both of them into gales of clumsy, snotting, spitting, choking laughter.  Kristerella did get their hand-me-downs, and got some cash too, from the clothes and jewelry (that the stepsisters forgot they had, or didn’t like but thought they were in too good a shape to give to the hated Kristerella) stolen by Jean-Luc and his gang of mice-thieves, right out of their closets.

“Surely I can go to the ball too,” cried Kristerella.  She was bound and determined to get the Prince out of his paisley knickers for real, not just in fantasy.  Her mean stepmother agreed that, if Kristerella remodelled the entire west wing of the manor, and resodded 5 acres of lawn, she could go to the ball also.

Kristerella quickly went to the stables and serviced both Bubba and Mandingo in exchange for a buzz and their help with the extra work.  She then beat the birds and mice mercilessly, forcing them to resew her late mother’s frumpy old gown and to steal some jewelry and accessories from the ugly stepsisters to complete her outfit.  Her plan worked beautifully until she made the mistake of modelling her outfit in front of her evil stepmother and her ugly stepsisters.  It just so happened that the sheriff, who once upon a time had a little affair with Kristerella’s evil stepmother during her first marriage, chose that moment to stop by and bring some zucchini.  The evil stepmother, even as she was making eyes at the sheriff, spied some parts of Kristerella’s outfit that looked familiar.  She pointed them out to the dimwitted stepsisters, who slooooowly realized that the items had been stolen from them.  They demanded the sheriff immediately arrest Kristerella for receiving stolen goods; he hauled her off to jail.

As luck would have it, another distant relative of Kristerella’s, Magda, was in jail doing time for insider stock trading.  Magda could do magical things in the home; people used to say she could “make a tea party out of a horse turd.”  In return for Bubba throwing some weed to her through the jail’s outside window, Magda took some old rags that happened to be lying around in the jail cell and sewed them into a fine gown that would’ve made Percy proud.  Before she had gone off with the sheriff, Kristerella had managed to whisper to Mandingo, who was standing nearby, that she would be ever-so-grateful if he’d bring her glass slippers to the jail so that she’d have something to do that night.  Mandingo rolled his eyes at her nymphomania, but complied anyway.  The slippers, and some spangles and jewelry taken off a nearby passed-out “lady of the evening” in the same cell (who’d made the mistake of being so drunk that she propositioned the parson in front of his wife) completed the outfit.  Mandingo and Bubba, being close friends of all the “shoe” family, convinced a couple of the oldest daughters to stop by the jail and model their gowns for the sheriff.  Mandingo then stole the cell keys while the sheriff was thus distracted, freeing Kristerella.  Meanwhile Bubba laced the sheriff’s pipe tobacco with some powerful weed.  The sheriff, unaccustomed to the stuff, lit up a bowl, took a few puffs, and slept for 24 hours.  The “shoe” girls, being used to doing each other’s hair and makeup, slightly altered Kristerella’s hair and makeup, knowing that would be enough to fool the dimwitted stepsisters at the ball; they had to rely on the dim lighting at the ball to help fool the evil stepmother.

The ball went as you would imagine; the Prince shuddered at the raw ugliness of Kristerella’s stepsisters, which caused Kristerella to wonder how the Prince would look shuddering in ecstasy with her, and the Prince took one look at Kristerella and fell in love.  R-Patsy (who unbeknownst to everyone was way older than he looked) had suffered a heart attack while climbing down from his 3-hour performance with Kristerella the night before, and fallen to his death, hidden in the ivy until found several days later by the dog, and was a nonfactor in the rest of this tale.  The Prince and Kristerella danced for hours, then slipped outside for a quickie on the footbridge in the moonlight.  They pledged their undying love for each other and Kristerella showed the Prince how to pleasure her with the heels of her glass slippers, which she’d had custom-made to resemble a sizeable dildo.  After awhile they decided they should go back in, as it was getting late.  At precisely midnight, one of the servants, who had been playing catch with his friend with garden produce, accidentally beaned the evil stepmother in the head with a pumpkin.  As the stepmother shook her head to clear it, her evil ugly eyes lit on the Prince’s new flame, who she suddenly realized was her servant girl, her late husband’s daughter Kristerella.  She cried out “Thief, thief!  Get her–she must have escaped from the jail.”  Kristerella ran off, breaking a jagged piece off one of her dildo-heels in the process, which the Duke promptly picked up.

The next day, the King sent the Duke to match up the broken piece of dildo with the rest of the heel of the slipper.  Only the King, the Prince, the Duke and, of course, Kristerella knew that the pieces were part of the slipper, not just some random dildo.  The Duke travelled the kingdom with the broken piece, claiming to have found it at the ball, and that the Prince really wanted to meet the woman who had the most similar dildo to it.  The Duke had to inspect dildoes of all sizes and shapes.  When he got to the house of Kristerella and her stepfamily, he found that the stepsisters had dildoes as ugly as their owners.  Meanwhile, the evil stepmother had found Kristerella hiding in the wardrobe in her room, locked her in, and hid the key in her pocket.  Gus and Jean-Luc managed to steal it, but Gus had a heart attack and died on the way up to bring it to Kristerella.

Aguilera, who found that she now loved pot almost as much as Kristerella did, was high as a kite, singing and moving her paws oddly up and down on the stairs up to Kristerella’s room.  She thought Jean-Luc was a toy, so she started to toss him and the key up in the air.  The birds saw this, quickly realized what was going on, and somehow magically passed this information on to the horse, who with one loud whinny, magically passed the entire story written down here to the dog, who dashed into the manor, up the stairs, scared away Aguilera, grabbed Jean-Luc and the key in his jaws (instantly breaking Jean-Luc’s back and killing him) and delivered a slobbery key and a dead mouse under Kristerella’s door.  She ran downstairs to show the Duke her broken slipper, but of course the evil stepmother tripped her, causing the slipper to fall to the floor and break into a thousand little pieces.  Kristerella wiped the smug smirk off the evil stepmother’s face by producing the other slipper, identical dildo-heel and all, to the Duke.

Kristerella and the Prince lived happily ever after, until he moved her to a place later called Minneapolis, where he did nothing but write songs for his lute, and became so in love with himself that she dumped him.  The stepsisters and stepmother became so lazy and despondent that they laid in bed all day, until an earthquake happened one day, further breaking down the decaying manor, and stirring up so much mouse piss and so many mouse droppings (from the vermin that Kristerella had used as partners in crime over the years), that they all contracted hantavirus and soon died horrible deaths.  Bubba and Mandingo set up a pot-growing operation with “Mama Shoe” and married a couple of the daughters.  Percy moved to Paris and became a huge success.  Kristerella was last seen muttering to herself and walking through the American wilderness, for some reason heading towards the Pacific Northwest, still showing no emotion whatsoever.

21 responses

  1. Madness! (0.o) I’m gonna have to pick it up a few notches I see.
    …. To start with .

    September 23, 2012 at 5:23 am

    • You will produce something incredible, I am sure. :)

      September 23, 2012 at 3:31 pm

  2. Awesome. Maybe I should have gone a little further out on the limb. But no regrets. Being in good company is its own reward.

    September 23, 2012 at 7:13 pm

    • No! I loved what you wrote exactly as you wrote it! The point is it’s YOUR vision.

      I worry sometimes myself because I struggle to write anything naughty, believe it or not. I am sure many of the stories to be posted are going to be very adult, but my vision of a fairy tale is going to be funny, most likely. We all have our own perspective to offer, and that variety is what I am most looking forward to reading.

      You have nothing to worry about. Kevin’s story is amazing the way he wrote it, just as yours is perfect coming from you. I wouldn’t change a thing. :)

      September 23, 2012 at 7:22 pm

  3. Ah yes- the Hantavirus. One of Pestilence’s better endeavors.

    Great story, Kevin. Keep writing.

    September 23, 2012 at 7:52 pm

  4. The Grimms are spinning in their graves.
    Probably because they want a piece of her too…

    September 24, 2012 at 9:30 am

  5. I didn’t really mean to be that vulgar (well, maybe I did), but someone needed to “set the bar low”. I like a little vulgarity, but on my terms–I don’t really care for that whole list of disgusting things such as “Hot Karl” that people make copies of and hand out to each other. Thanks for the kind words. I’m looking forward to the rest of the stories.

    September 24, 2012 at 1:00 pm

    • “Hot Karl” that people make copies of and hand out to each other…

      I have no idea what you mean by this, but suddenly I cannot know fast enough.

      September 24, 2012 at 5:48 pm

      • I only hope you went on the same dark search engine journey I went on. Someone at work years ago gave me a 3-page copy of definitions for disgusting things with odd names such as “hot carl”, “dirty sanchez”, etc, most of it juvenile, disgusting, and anatomically difficult or impossible. I was scarred for life.

        September 24, 2012 at 6:14 pm

        • No, I partied a lot at Cornell. Those boys are the biggest pigs out there. I just didn’t know what you meant by “handing them out.” It sounded to me like something the Taliban would do.

          Yeah, I’m off my meds.

          September 24, 2012 at 6:16 pm

  6. Reblogged this on Trailertrashdeluxe's Blog and commented:
    From heellisgoa.com, a sweet little story for you.

    September 24, 2012 at 6:22 pm

    • You are pure awesome and I should know. Just take a look at my sidebar.

      September 24, 2012 at 7:26 pm

  7. Hellis, will you please pull my goddamn reply out of your motherfucking spam box? Thank you. And no thanks to YOU, WordPress/Askimet!

    Sorry, I normally don’t use those words. “Askimet”. Whoa.

    September 24, 2012 at 7:52 pm

    • No worries. I was raised Catholic so I know all about pulling out. Just ask my kids.

      September 24, 2012 at 8:00 pm

      • It appears that someone may have commented in your spam box at least three times.

        September 24, 2012 at 8:02 pm

        • Yes, someone did.

          Shh…don’t tell HR.

          September 24, 2012 at 8:08 pm

          • Don’t tell him what? Was he there? Does he know about your spam box? You know, spam is HUGE in Hawaii. I’m surprised it’s not huge everywhere.

            September 24, 2012 at 9:26 pm

  8. Fuck. It’s not in this story, it’s in the Pigs story, but still, it’s in there.

    September 24, 2012 at 7:53 pm

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