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.
There once lived a princess so lovely and non-gassy, she outshone the heavens, and even the Vegas strip. This is not a story about that lady. Our tale involves shitty Princess Poot, who couldn’t outshine a pile of mulch, especially if it was one of those fancy mulches they sell behind the yogurt shop.
One of Poot’s worst traits was her inability to wear pink with aplomb. Unfortunate, for pink was the Official Princess Color™ in her home of Kingdomville. “Pink is used for the fabric of princess clothes,” as the pithy saying went. Yet the hue really emphasized the slime undertones in Poot’s face.
While drunk on fermented sno-cones one evening, Poot and her platonic prince-wife Prince Agnes tried to make over Poot’s Official Princess Gown to be more flattering. This was a tricky undertaking, for royal ladies were only allowed to wear one style of gown. You’d think that princesses could afford myriad gowns what with all their money, resources, and Sore-Fingered Sewing Minions. Sadly, no. Turn on any animated movie and you will observe that young royals can never change clothes.
Poot’s closet was filled to brimming with the same pink dress: fluorescent yellow starfishes over each boob; giant balls of mauve fabric on each hip; and humongous bows across her butt, elbows, and feet. And, naturally, a tall, pointy pink hat with a “P” embroidered on it.
“It’s hopeless,” said Poot as she squished one of her enormous knockers into the scratchy confines of a too-small starfish. “If I were a proper princess, my tits would fit. No one wants a princess doll with chronic back problems.”
Agnes circled the gown and shook her head in dismay. “Why star fishes? Kingdomville is landlocked.”
“My father thought the starfishes were pentagrams. When I was three, he began worshiping Satan to make my leprosy go away. It worked, for a while.” Poot sighed and grabbed for her pint. The glass slipped from her magenta satin opera gloves and crashed to the floor. She sighed. “Once a princess dress is designed, it stays forever. You don’t want to know what devilish accoutrement adorns my underpants. Beer me.”
Agnes beered Poot and shuddered at the oddness of it all. Her panties had a Fraggle Rock theme, like normal people.
Since the Pink Princess Proclamation was actually written into Kingdomville’s great book of laws, The Big Book With Rules Written In, Poot knew that the only person who could change it was her father, King Handsome. She’d tried to approach Dad with this issue several times before, but wound up accidentally changing the Official Duke Color to puce, and Salisbury Steak Day in the cafeteria from Tuesday to Wednesday. Her father was not named “King Good Listener.”
Poot put on mascara (stabbed self in eye), a minimizing bra (sprained boob), and perfume (stabbed self in eye), and clomped off gracefully (tripped on potted fern) to an official audience with dear ol’ dad. “My father the king, I wish to strike a blow for princesses everywhere,” saith Poot.
“You want to blow princesses? No wonder you’re not married to a prince,” declared King Handsome from his gilded throne constructed of sporks. He’d been watching a lot of Game of Thrones during a spork surplus.
Princess Comely XII and Princess Ravishing XIV, Poot’s sisters, tittered in the corner. That is not to say that they flapped their properly small-sized boobies, but they laughed. They always snickered at Poot, for they looked gorgeous in pink, and never tripped on plastic plants.
“She’s single because she smells like pizza,” sneered Comely XII.
“She’s single because she looks like pizza,” jeered Ravishing XIV.
“I’m single because I look terrible in pink!” neither sneered nor jeered Poot. “And many men enjoy the smell of pizza. I propose that we change the Princess Color from pink to black.”
Handsome gasped. “Black? But that’s the color for People Who Bicycle at Night. Odd daughter Poot, have you considered wearing your head bag again when you go on dates? That might help.”
It might help — if Poot had dates. She persevered. “There are many reasons black is better than pink for princesses. One, it’s slimming, and being skinny is akin to godliness according to Father Misses-the-Point. Two, it would match my nail fungus. Three —”
“Enough of this nonsense!” Handsome stood and adjusted his red cape to best advantage. “Pink is the color for women. Princesses are the ultimate expression of women, and, therefore, their color must be pink.”
“But why is pink for ladies? My royal apartments look like a Pepto Bismol monster exploded there. Even my toaster is pink!”
Handsome laughed. “Of course! All toasters are pink for women because men don’t make toast. Men catch toast in the forest because they are manly.”
Poot wished, not for the first time, that her father would shut up with his theories about toast. “But father,” she said cloyingly. Well, as cloying as Poot could get with her speech impediment. “If all women wear pink, then we princesses don’t stand out. I guess you want Comely and Ravishing to just blend in with other, lesser women…”
Comely gasped. Ravishing tore the pointy pink “R” hat off her coiffure.
Confronted with this unpleasant logic, Handsome stroked his dimpled chin and began to pace. Handsome detested unpleasantness, which is why he had so many Vice Presidents of Oh, Shit.
Finally, after fifteen minutes of grunting cogitation, Handsome decreed, “Red is the new princess color!” The Ass-Kissery Minions exploded into applause.
Poot sighed. “Red is the Official King Color, Sir.”
“Oh, shit!” expressed several of the vice presidents.
“Yellow?” Handsome sort-of decreed.
“Official Color of the Urologists Guild,” Poot replied.
“George Hamilton Fan Club.”
“The I Totally Have a Black Friend Society.”
Handsome groaned and collapsed onto his spork chair, for this much thinking taxed him terribly. Kings were most definitely not supposed to make so many decisions all at once; he felt a rash coming on.
Poot’s blood raced, for she felt very close to burning her pink dresses forever. “Esteemed and wise king, cream could suit princesses, since we are much beloved — like potatoes! Maybe cream with Purple polka dots,” Poot added, “since Purple is the Official Queen Color, and I shall be a queen someday.”
Everyone assembled broke into uproarious laughter which Poot took to be agreement, and not a nasty judgment about her ability to lock down a royal prick.
Handsome agreed, and soon the Sore-Fingered Sewing Minions had fashioned Poot an amazing new cream dress with lavender polka dots upon it (and a few splatters of blood from overworked fingers). Poot still wore the starfishes (lavender) and the hip pads (mauve) and the bows (magenta and lavender striped), but the overall cream color made Poot’s pock marks seem less crater-ish than usual.
The new princess gowns were a hit with Ass-Kissery Minions, and with all the other Minions, who must also fawn or else.
Prince Agnes finally allowed Poot to play bar trivia with her on Thursday nights since the princess’ clothing was much less embarrassing now. Well, less embarrassing. Oh, and on one of those evenings out, Poot got hit on by a very human-seeming llama, so a happy ending was had by all.
Except for the Minions.
Next week’s story is full of dogs! (And we don’t mean Princess Poot. Well… only Princess Poot.) Coming soon: The Shittiest Princess and the You Betta Werk.