Once upon a time there lived a prince named Stephen. The kingdom belonged to him, but he was not a king because he liked being a swingin’ bachelor. He also liked his glittery-dragon-hoodie (a hoodie is just a stupid name for a sweatshirt, but he wouldn’t allow anyone to call it a sweatshirt). Stephen also loved to galavant around the countryside on his donkey, because it made him look pretty darn noble (he thought). All in all, he lived a pretty great life, and his people thought he was the clam’s garters.
One day, Stephen woke up and reached for his glittery-dragon-hoodie, but it was nowhere to be found. Realizing that his most beloved garment was really gone, he let out a mighty bellow of rage and despair that rang dimly in the belfry where the misunderstood hunchback shook his head sadly.
The prince threw on his bloodred angrycape over is bunny-footie-PJ’s and swished menacingly out of his chambers to his throneroom. He climbed on top of his throne and jumped up and down. The courtiers knew that he was going to make a vengeful proclamation, so they listened up.
“I need a hero!” yelled Stephen as he gnashed his teeth.
Then he broke out into a show-stopping musical number from “Footloose” complete with smoke machine and flashing lights. The courtiers applauded politely. Then they rushed off to find the prince’s hero.
Many knights, wizards, and court jugglers showed up but Stephen deemed them all unfit to quest for his hoodie. Finally, as he was getting ready to behead the entire courtroom another (very short) potential hero walked in.
“Heey… princie! I think I can find your hoodie!”
Stephen stared uncouthly. The aspiring hero was a girl. The courtiers gasped dramatically. But Stephen was a fair ruler and didn’t want to seem sexist and piggish, so he said, “Ah, what the heck. You can try hon.”
“Thanks dude!” she giggled, and she skipped out of the throne room.
Stephen was alarmed. He had sentenced a poor, crazy woman to death, for surely, he thought, his hoodie had been taken by an evil dragon or sorcerer. So, naturally, he ran after her. His footie pajamas got good traction, so he caught up to her quickly. “Wait, my dear, you cannot go alone!”
The hero whirled around, her firey red braid slapping Stephen squarely in the jaw. “Oop,” she said. “Scuse me!”
With that, she went on down the hall. “But what is your name?” Stephen cried.
“Sandpiper,” she said without breaking stride. “But you can call me whatever you like.” “Well, Whatever-You-Like, M’lady,” said Stephen, chuckling. “I’m coming with you.”
“Okie dokie,” she said, skipping backwards. “I really don’t need you, but it’ll be fun.”
She looked him up and down with odd, red eyes. “But change out of your jammies.”
So they set out together on the prince’s best donkies, neither of them wearing jammies.
Sandpiper never really spoke to Stephen, but she giggled constantly. She only talked if Stephen asked her questions. “What does that cloud look like to you? Is that poisonous? Are those MY serfs?”
It went on like that until he asked a good one. “What is your plan for rescuing my royal glittery-dragon-hoodie?”
“Plan?” said Sandpiper, looking shifty. “Well uh, my plan is… hey, look at that cloud! It’s a bunny!”
“Where?” asked Stephen, twisting around in his saddle and forgetting the entire conversation.
They traveled for days in no particular direction until they came to a forest grove with a cottage at the center of the clearing. There, hanging on the clothes-line, was the glittery-dragon-hoodie.
Stephen gasped. “How did you know it was here?” he asked as he ran to his hoodie and buried his face in it.
Sandpiper giggled (yet again). “I was the one who took it, silly!” Stephen stared at her dumbly. “April fools!” she said (though it was December).
Finally comprehending, Stephen lunged at her with his glittery-dragon-sword drawn. Just as her head was about to depart from her shoulders, Sandpiper disappeared with a puff of smoke. She reappeared on Stephen’s shoulder, only now she was less than a foot high. “Pretty cool trick, right Stephen?”
“Whaaa?” he said.
“I’m a fire sprite, you know, and we love to be tricky. But I like you, so I’ll grant you one wish.”
“I wish you would go away!” said Stephen rashly.
She did, but then Stephen sort of wished that he wished for something more worth wishing for.
Just as he was about to ride triumphantly home wearing his hoodie, a young woman ran out of the cottage and threw herself at his feet hanging onto his crocodile boots like a vice. “You crusty botch of nature!” Stephen exclaimed.
“Pardon me, my liege,” she said standing.
She was fair spoken and fair faced (even though her cheek had picked up the crocodile print in stunning red blotches).
She continued. “But thank you for ridding me of that evil fire sprite.”
“Think nothing of it, M’dear,” said a proud Stephen.
“Well…” the woman said, twirling her blond hair around a finger. “I have some evil spirits that need taking care of… and you seem to have a knack for this sort of thing, so I was wondering…”
Stephen had to get out of here before he got sucked into, Duh, duh, DUH! Physical Labor! So he said, “Well, I’ve got a whole kingdom to rule, sooo…gotta run!”
Just as he was about to dash off, she grabbed his sleeve and pouted with fall, red lips. “But they torment me so…”
Stephen melted and sighed. “Very well, but just for today.”
“Oh, goodie!” she said, clapping her hands. “There are an awful lot of demons, but you can handle it. By the way, I’m Jane. Now get to work M’lord!”
The cottage looked smaller than it was. 20 underground rooms, each with at least five monsters, plus the upstairs rooms were no spring picnic.
After two days, he was ready to quit. “Well, Jane, the goblins are all gone, but my parlay with the imps isn’t going too well; and the trolls have taken over the goblins’ haunts. I think you can handle yourself now.”
“Oh, thank you!” said Jane. “But…”
“But what?” Stephen asked.
“Well… I plan to have company over, and I don’t want them to have gremlin bites when they leave.”
Stephen sighed dejectedly. “But the gremlin bites aren’t bad at all… they’re just playing…”
Jane’s eyes filled with undulating tears. “All right,” said Stephen quickly.
A month later, when all the imps, goblins, trolls, gremlins, witches, flying monkeys, ghosts, ghouls, and hobbits were scampering off to find other homes, Stephen left. “Wow,” he said, blinking in the sunlight. “I was gone for a while.”
“Duh…” came a voice from the sky.
“What?” said Stephen.
“Oh, uh, nothing,” said Katherine, the all-powerful and beauteous narrator. Then she stuck her shapely hand down out of the clouds, plucked up Stephen, and carried him hundreds of miles south for no apparent reason. She put him down in the middle of a tiny, mountain village. “Carry on,” she said.
“Ummm, okay,” said Stephen.
Suddenly, another young lady rushed up to him, slapped a helmet on his head, pressed a sword in his hand, kissed him on the cheek, and said, “Go! Slay the dragon before it destroys our village.”
“Do I have a choice?” asked Stephen.
“No,” said Katherine.
So Stephen started toward the mountain cave where the dragon lived (actually the girl was shoving him, but that didn’t make him look much less noble).
Once they got to the cave entrance, the girl threw herself down the side of the mountain, screaming, “The dragon will eat us all!”
“Gee, I hope she’s all right,” said Stephen peering down at the jagged rocks below.
With that, he gulped, and knocked on the side of the cave. “Uh, Mr. Dragon?” he called. “I’ve come to smite you, I mean if that’s okay…”
A firey voice came from within, “That’s Miss Dragon, sir.”
Stephen gasped as the huge winged beast stepped into the light. Her fierce purple polka dots glowed in the dark, but Stephen could only stare at her enormous teeth. Screaming, he turned and ran, but Katherine’s hand was cupped over the entrance. He could hear her giggling from outside.
“OH! Sugar-plum-pumpkin-pie-cake-honey-glazed ham! Don’t hurt yourself!” said the dragon.
“Whaaa?” said Stephen again, turning to face Miss Dragon.
“You’re far to cute to leave, darling!” You can be my pet!” she said, scooping Stephen up in a taloned claw.
“Oh,” said Stephen, brightening up. “Well, all right. That’s not bad.”
“No, it isn’t,” purred the dragon.
A year later, Stephen was beginning to get tired of playing “Fireball” and “Eat the Goat”. One night, as he lay curled under Miss Dragon’s wing, he got the desire to run.
“Katherine? Are you up there?” he whispered.
There was a very long silence. “…Maybe,” she said.
“Get me out of here… I mean I sort of like getting fed and stroked, but those claws did a number on my sparkly-dragon-hoodie, and I have more burns than I thought was possible. I’m starting to smell appetizing.”
“Well,” said Katherine. “I’ll grant your request.”
He heard the sound of a giant finger snapping, and he was outside of the cave. “ Thank you!” he said, falling to his knees.
“All right,” said Katherine. “Where to now? The Forest Faries? Or perhaps the mermaids. Lovely gals, you could carry their shells for them!”
“Hey!” yelled Stephen. “All through this story you’ve been making girls abuse me, enslave me, and try to kill me! I think it is very undermining of my rugged, manly demeanor!”
There was another very long silence. “Yes,” said Katherine. “You’re just catching on! That’s the whole plot of the story! Gosh, I knew you were slow, but man…”
“Okay, okay… Will you just leave me alone?” said Stephen peevishly.
“Very well. Bye,” said Katherine.
And she did, and Stephen lived many years as a lonely, bored hermit, with no one to boss him around.
But that was okay with him.

The End