An Important Story With A Moral Lesson For Our Times

Reader Portia O’Conner asks:

"Hey Puppet Head, since you are over here writing this blog that nobody will ever read why don’t you tell us, your imaginary readers, a story with an uplifting moral lesson, instead of that fake story about a camel or that other one that I don’t even know what it was about?"

Thank you for your message Portia, and okay I will. Right now.


Once upon a Wednesday – in fact, it may have even been this morning – I set out for an afternoon walk with a spring in my step, a twinkle in my eye, a song in my heart, a lapel button that said ‘La-de-da-de-da’, a smile upon my face, another smile upon my face, a pocket full of gumdrops, and all like that, plus I was carrying my favorite umbrella (because it looked like rain), and as a result I looked very stylish. I was whistling, too.

But I was so busy being all happy that, after a couple of blocks, I nearly stepped on an elegant man in a gray pinstripe suit, who was sitting on an alligator briefcase in the middle of the sidewalk, weeping and rubbing his bare feet.

"Oh, sir!" he piped, "I forgot my shoes, and my feet are so tired and sore that I can’t walk, but I’ve still got six blocks left to go before I get to my office, where I work as a highly compensated corporate accountant! Won’t you please help?"

Sure enough, when I looked down at his impeccably tailored trouser cuffs, I saw a couple of bony, blistered, bare feet sticking out of them, without a shoe in sight.

I wasn’t really feeling very nice, though – so I said, "Sorry mister, do I look like somebody who is made out of shoes?"

But he kept wringing his hands and crying and wincing in agony and rubbing his aching feet, so I finally told him, "Okay fine I’ll try to help, just wait here." And off I went, singing a happy tune.

But just as I was getting to the very happiest part of my happy tune, the part where I get to twirl around and click my heels together with joyful enthusiasm, I again came about a half-a-whisker from tripping over another person! So, stopping precariously in mid-twirl like a stork doing a plié, I looked down and saw a very short man, wearing overalls and a straw hat, with a huge chaw of tobacco in his cheek, who was sitting there in the middle of the sidewalk and playing the blues on a harmonica.

"Hey buddy!" he oozed, "I plum forgot my feet when I left th’ farm earlier today, where I work as a highly paid tree-surgeon for the world’s largest agriculture conglomerate. An’ bein’ footless has lowered my spirits into a powerful funk, which, as you can see, has made me incapable of doin’ anything but sittin’ here an’ playin’ th’ blues on my harmonica, what you can likewise clearly see that I am holding in my hand right here and playing the blues with my mouth therewith upon and unto.” He coughed, and continued, “Could you see your way to helpin’ a fella out?"

And sure enough, when I looked at where his feet should have been, all I saw were empty overall legs with nothing at all sticking out of them – nary a foot in sight.

I wasn’t really feeling very nice, though – so I said, "Sorry mister, do I look like somebody who is made out of feet?"

But he kept playing his harmonica so mournfully and blues-like, and spitting tobacco juice on the sidewalk so sadly, that finally I told him, "Okay fine I’ll try to help, just wait here." And off I went, snapping my fingers and bopping my head like a coked-up gorilla.

But, just as I was about to do a couple of cartwheels and slide into a full split due to my overpowering joie-de-vivre, what should happen but that yes! Once yet again, I almost tripped over still yet another somebody sitting on the sidewalk. I looked down and beheld a very tall and large yet shapely woman wearing a ball gown and a tiara, with what appeared to be a single leg sort of corkscrewed beneath her like the spring on a broken pogo stick.

“Hello, kind sir,” she said, with a voice that sounded just like the soft underbelly of springtime, “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare shinbone by any chance?” I replied, “No, sorry, I don’t… but… what happened to your leg?” To which she replied, “Well, it’s off.” To which I replied, “I mean your other one, the one that’s gone all curlique beneath you.” To which she replied thusly:

“Oh, dear sir, I am a princess who is languishing under a terrible curse, for a wicked witch stole one of my legs, and then put a hex on the other one, and decreed that if I did not find a handsome prince within the span of three short days, my shinbone would turn into silly putty. Which it has, for four long days have now passed, without a prince in sight… unless…. ?” And she looked at me dubiously.

Well, given that she was a beautiful princess and all, and thinking that there might be some type of reward involved, and also because I was feeling a little guilty for passing by two people in need already, I figured I ought to be helpful. So I said, “Well princess, there certainly might be some royal blood in my veins fifty or so generations back, and I likewise certainly spend a great deal of time sitting on the ‘throne’ of a morning, but as to whether I’m handsome enough for you… well that’s probably in the eye of the beholder, though I must say that the ladies don’t generally tend to take much of a shine to me. Equally sadly, I don’t happen to have a spare shinbone on me right at the moment.”

She pouted, showing a face full of darling dimples. I thought for a moment, grasping at mental straws like a man drowning in a horse trough full of vaseline, then said, “But I do have this, my favorite umbrella, which is more or less shinbone shaped, and seems to be about the right size for your large yet surprisingly shapely leg!”

She beamed a smile at me that was bright enough to melt aluminum siding. “Oh, dear sir,” she purred, “I will take your word for it that you might perhaps be a prince, or nearly one, and that umbrella does look just about perfect as a shinbone replacement, and as far as your looks are concerned… well two out of three isn’t bad, and besides that really is a stylish umbrella!”

Dutifully, I handed over said stylish umbrella with a bow, whereupon she proceeded to perform a very complicated maneuver which involved a great number of undergarments, a myriad of odd facial expressions, and the extraction of a large blob of silly putty. Once the umbrella was safely ensconced in her shin, she happily leaped up and bounced about to and fro, and hither and yon, and also up and down, with surprising grace and agility.

“Oh, joy!” she exclaimed, “Now if I could only find a competent accountant to keep the royal books, and a competent tree-surgeon to prune the royal orchards, we could happily go back to my kingdom and be married, after a suitable engagement period, during which time my father the king will collect the extravagant dowry that will be due to you upon the blessed day of our marriage, my nearly-handsome-almost-prince!” And with that, she gathered me up in her very large arms and gave a tremendous bounce, which caused her to drop her voluminous handbag, which in turn dislodged a beautiful golden slipper, which was the mate to the one she was wearing on her single foot (even princesses have to buy them in pairs, you see).

Scooping up the golden slipper, which gleamed in the afternoon sunshine like a 1970’s Pontiac, I said, “I think I can help, princess. Follow me!”

Arm-in-arm, the large and also very bouncy princess and I traipsed back up the sidewalk, waved at the footless tree-surgeon as we passed him, and eventually came upon the poor shoeless accountant. I handed him the golden slipper, which he eased onto one of his aching feet, and suddenly a huge grin of relief spread across his freshly shaved and expensively cologned face.

He beamed. “Sweet relief! Dear people! How can I ever repay you?” he sang, as he jumped up and bounced around like a deranged ostrich on his newly shod foot.

I grinned. “Princess, here is your new royal accountant. Come with us!” I said, and the beslippered royal accountant linked arms with the princess and bounced back up the sidewalk with us, alternately wincing and sighing with relief depending upon which foot was bearing his weight.

Very soon, the large princess and the royal accountant and I came upon the footless tree-surgeon. I whispered something to the accountant, who nodded, reached down, unscrewed his un-slippered foot, and handed it to the tree-surgeon with a flourish.

The tree-surgeon began to yodel like a dangerously oxygen deprived alpine mountaineer. “Thank th’ Lord and pass th’ biscuits!” he howled, as he screwed on the accountant’s foot and jumped up from the sidewalk with glee. But, just as quickly as he’d jumped up, he sat right back down again, for his new foot was still covered in painful blisters.

“Princess, meet your new royal tree-surgeon,” I said. “Now, you wouldn’t happen to have another shoe in there, would you?” I asked the princess. She opened her handbag and rummaged around for a bit, then sadly shook her head. “No, my nearly-handsome-almost-prince, all I have left in my bag is this lecherous bullfrog, which showed up right after I began my quest to find you; it is icky and keeps trying to get me to give it a kiss – which isn’t going to happen, not in a million years,” she said. “Frogs have germs,” she said, frowning. The frog croaked sadly.

“Can I see that frog for a minute?” asked the tree surgeon. The large princess shrugged, and pitched it to him. “Good riddance,” she said, scrubbing her hands with antibacterial gel.

The tree surgeon quickly (and, we hope, painlessly) brained the frog with his harmonica, skinned it, and fashioned a rather crude but surprisingly durable frog-hide moccasin. Slipping it onto his foot, he arose again tentatively and then, smiling, bounced around on his frog-shod foot with gusto, like an overweight matador with a bad case of chafing. “That fixed her!” he said. “Happy times are here again!”

So arm-in-arm-in-arm-in-arm, the large princess, the accountant, the tree-surgeon, and I – each of whom now had at least one good shinbone, one good foot, and one good shoe – hobbled forth into our beautiful afternoon of lovely tomorrows in the kingdom of sweetness and light and probably also pie.


And….. (wait for it, gentle reader… wait for it) ……

……..

….. we all lived hoppily ever after.


The End