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The Shittiest Princess and the Magic Mirror

The Shittiest Princess is a series of funny fairy tales for those of us who ain’t exactly cartoon princesses. Stay tuned for a new adventure every week!  You can find the whole series here.

In the simpler times before rocket travel, when everyone afeared the moon because it shot “horny” rays, there lived a king named Handsome. Handsome of Kingdomville was sad, you see, because while he possessed two beautiful daughters, he had a third who was the shittiest princess this side of ShitTown, the world’s leading supplier of roughage. He’d tried berating Princess Poot into being more attractive, and yelling at her to make her less clumsy, and punishing her until her boobs de-lopsided themselves, but to no avail. The problem, he cogitated, was that he wasn’t available to admonish all day and night. He needed help.

“Poot, I have brought you a present,” said he one sunny morning. Poot knew that the present was a mirror, for it was delivered by the Reflective Decorative Objects Minions. Handsome drew back the red velvet covering. “It’s not just any mirror,” he explained. “It’s a magic one. Go ahead, ask it a question!”

A ghostly face emerged in the center of the mirror. He looked kinda like Patrick Stewart. Yum yum.

“Hello, I’m Princess Poot. Do you ever get tired of reflecting, Mister Mirror? Sometimes I enjoy just vegging out and watching Love Boat.”

“You are not the prettiest of the lot. Your sister, Princess Comely XII, is much superior to you, face-wise, and your other sister, Princess Ravishing XIV, has no scales.”

Poot knew these things already, but no matter how many times she applied Scale-Off, that one place on her skin never improved.

“Well, Poot,” said Handsome, “I’ll leave you to listen to the mirror and catalog your many faults. I have a date with my Barcalounger.” That was the name of the spork throne, designed by Count Barca, who’d turned out to be a very talented dog.

“Would you like a rub-down with Windex?” asked the princess.

“You are not the prettiest of the lot,” replied Magic Mirror. “Lady Badonkadonk has a better figure, and…oh, thank you, yes, a clean-up would be lovely. I have Minion smudges on me.”

As Poot wiped away all traces of the lower classes, she asked, “Do you have a name, Mister Mirror?”

“You are not the pret— ” Mirror pursed his lips and paused. “…It’s Benicio.”

“Nice to meet you, Benicio. Your life here won’t be very exciting.” Poot plopped onto a velvet footstool. “You see, I will never be the prettiest of the lot. I try to be okay with that, even though Kindgomville’s only self-help book is called At Least You’re Not Poot. I only hate myself seventy-three percent of the time, but, then again, I am the shittiest princess, so I can’t do anything right.”

Benicio nodded. “It’s true that you won’t ever win Miss Kingdomville, but at least you’re all real. The Duchess of Gossip has kneecap padding.”


“Yes!” He peered to the right. “I don’t suppose you could pry this grime out of my frame? It’s been there for months, ever since Countess Allergica sneezed on me.”

Poot cleaned and scrubbed Benicio until he sparkled. All the while, he spilled his secrets. Lady Bowlegged had a gambling problem… Duke So-and-So wore lifts in his shoes, and was a miserable so-and-so.

Poot made mental notes of these tidbits. The next time a courtier wanted to use her as the fox in their hunt, she could blackmail her way out.

After a marathon of Gopher-centric Love Boats, Benicio turned and said, “Princess Poot, no one has ever been this nice to me. It’s usually ‘Tell me my junk is enormous,’ or “Does my ass look big in this pointy hat?’” He sighed and trembled in his frame. “Even though you are unsymmetrical, I would like to do something for you. Name it.”

Poot gasped, for no one ever did her favors! Except for the army of Minions enslaved by her father to do so. But nobody else!

She whispered in the mirror’s ear, or where his ear appeared to float. He nodded.

The next day, Benicio was transferred to the suite of Poot’s sisters, Princess Comely XII and Princess Ravishing XIV. The two blonde beauties rushed to him, as rushing to mirrors was one of their hobbies. “Mirror, mirror, in which I look pretty, tell me the names of everyone who looks shitty!” spake the sisters in terrifying unison.

Benicio noted that they did not introduce themselves, as was polite. Therefore, he grinned when he replied. “You are not the prettiest of the lot. That title goes to Princess Princess III.”  (Non-drunk readers will remember that Princess Princess III is Poot’s real, non-flatulent name.)

The sisters fell onto their perfectly-Pilates-ed backsides. “Nuh-uh! Our sister is a hideous she-beast,” said Comely XII.

“I am much beautifuller than Poot,” said Ravishing XIV. “My name is Ravishing, like, duh. It means ‘to carry off by force.’ That means I’m so gorgeous, I ought to be kidnapped. No woman could hope for more!”

Little did they know that Benicio’s friend Poot had asked of him but one favor: to reflect inner beauty instead of outer. Even though Poot tended to beer burp a lot, she was kind to inanimate talking objects, and that was good enough for him.

Benicio didn’t get a lot of magic mirror work after he began telling the truth about assholes, but that left him available to watch old TV programs with Poot, who kept him snot-free for the rest of his days.

The end.

Next week, Poot tries to be a proper cartoon princess in “The Shittiest Princess and the I Want Song.”

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Lucy Woodhull

Lucy Woodhull is a novelist, humorist, parodist, and all-around geek. Her new venture is THE SHITTIEST PRINCESS, a series of un-fair-y tales right here on Persephone. You can check out her sexy, fun romantic comedies at www.lucywoodhull.com.

6 thoughts on “The Shittiest Princess and the Magic Mirror”

  1. Mkay: ShitTown/roughage, Barcalounger/Count Barca/very talented dog.

    May I just say, dear Lucy, that your weird, wonderfulness knows no bounds, and you made me to laugh aloud (I! Who has already read this!), and Princess Princess III is an inspiration.

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