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The Shittiest Princess and the Cats from Outer Space

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.

Back in the dark ages, when everyone squinted a lot, there lived the most fantastic princess of the century, Princess Poot. Fantastic as in “odd and remarkable; bizarre; grotesque.” She was once hung up on by a telemarketer for saying, “Hello, this is Princess Poot.”

The princess’s birthday came around, as it did most years. Blorgvember the first. As usual, Princess Poot had no date, for she was the shittiest princess, and she had yet to find a prince who enjoyed fantastic women with a penchant for collecting stuffed spiders.

Poot sat in her dungeon and sighed. And cried. And picked her nose a little because come on, we all do it. When you’re the only one exploring your orifices, there can be no judgment. Poot hadn’t even told her friend wife Agnes that it was her birthday, for her lovely wife had a date with Harold the Flexible Baker, and one of them should be enjoying some frosting-covered strange.

Evil Stepmother Queen Bucky had stopped by to throw a bucket of fish heads at Poot, but besides that gift, Poot received nothing. She was all alone. And single. And virginal. And she’d run out of consolation holes.

With a blow of her nose, Poot decided to take a walk by the moat. Maybe Squid would be there, and they could chat about anything but Poot’s crushing loneliness. But when she arrived moat-side, she found Squid canoodling with that obnoxious turtle who hated her! The turtle splashed her with its tiny flipper thing and all the moat creatures laughed, including the mermaid, which was super unfair. Poot had bought Fish Scout Cookies from her daughter just last week.

Poot fell to her knees and yelled to the heavens, “Am I doomed to spend eternity as a crazy cat lady?”

The night sky burst into light. Pink and green streaks of lightning surrounded Poot, and she shrunk backward from a giant ball of yarn that fell from the sky!

“If this is the end of the world, then… hail Satan!” said Poot. She was probably too ugly to get into heaven — angels were always depicted as looking like Taylor Swift — so she hedged her bets.

The enormous ball of yarn cracked in half and lots of scary smoke came out. Poot held her breath to see… to see…

A cat. A fluffy white cat with purple spots. It bounded down the face of the yarn ball and flopped to the ground near Poot’s feet.

“You look like my princess dress,” said Poot. “Oh, and welcome to Kingdomville and stuff. I’m Princess Poot. We’re a patriarchal monarchy of humans, so… that pretty much sucks.”

“Indeed. I am Yolanda, princess of the Empty Cardboard Box Coalition of Space Cats. Oh, dear — my ship has sustained damage.” Yolanda ran to the side of her yarn ball where a dangling string blew in the breeze. She fell onto her back and swiped at the flipping yarn with all four feet for a moment or two. Then she bounded away from the ship, circled Poot’s legs several times, and sat down to lick herself.

Not for the first time, Poot wished she was a cat.

Yolanda said, “I am on a mission of interplanetary importance. FYI, if we’re getting along really well and then I bite you out of nowhere, it’s just a thing I do. No cause for nuclear war. We’ve had… incidents.”

“It’s okay. Pretty much everyone bites me sooner or later.” Poot scratched her chins. “How can it be that you come from space? Kingdomville is the only planet in the world, and the sun revolves around my glorious father, King Handsome.”

Yolanda frowned. “That’s not true at all.”

“But the king’s good grace is what keeps our world from spinning into Neptune’s anus.”


Poot bit her lip — she didn’t remember too much high school smience. “Oh! What about the natural law that says if women turn the thermostat too warm, the spirits that live in the center of our planet will melt all lady bones into magma, and that will teach us about proper temperature?”

The space cat kneaded her forehead with her paws. “I see I have come to this land too early. I’ll be back in a thousand years or so, when surely all these sexist notions will be gone.”

Poot laughed. So did everyone reading this story.

“Wait, don’t go!” Poot knelt down and held out her hand, palm up. “It’s my birthday, and I have nothing else to do. Let me help your glorious space mission.”

Yolanda stared at the proffered hand. “I suppose. We’ll work until three a.m., at which time I’ll wake everyone up by running across their feet.” She began purring and allowed Poot to pet her, even though Poot was a backwards human with a weird number of fingers. “You shall help me gather the power of the moving red dot. Our enemies back home, the Empty Paper Bag Coalition of Space Cats, must be distracted so that we may win the war. The moving red dot of doom is all-powerful, yet we have yet to unlock the mysteries of it. Can you help?”

“Let us visit my fairy godmother.”

Poot squished herself into Yolanda’s yarn ball, and they zoomed into Tinkersmell’s boudoir through an open window. Tinkersmell yelped in alarm, as many do when first visited by flying yarn balls and talking cats. She sent her two sex boyfriends and three sex girlfriends away so that she could decipher the mystery of the moving red dot of doom.

Tinkersmell put on a zebra-print robe; she wisely decided against her leopard one. “I have a moving green dot of doom,” said she. “How about a pixie or two? They glow pink and fly about, and they take orders, as long as you keep them in tequila.”

She snapped her fingers, and several pixies popped into view. They flitted all over the room, and Yolanda went mad, running and jumping, meowing to catch them.

Tinkersmell snapped again and the pixies disappeared. Yolanda sat down and turned her back to the humans. “Yeah, okay,” she said, totally calm and collected. “Those were no big deal, and I really didn’t want to murder them with all my might or anything. I’ll take four thousand.”

Princess Poot brokered a deal between Yolanda and the pixies — five thousand of them agreed to travel to Planet Ass Lick and help the Cardboard Coalition to victory in exchange for tequila and Sundays off.

Poot joined Yolanda at three a.m., and they bounded across many feet in the castle, and had a merry poop in King Handsome’s favorite shoes. Yolanda told Poot that thermostats cannot cause melting bones, so Poot raised everyone’s to seventy-two degrees so that no ladies would have to put on a light sweater over her dress, which really messed up the outfit.

At dawn, Poot and Yolanda said their farewells next to the space cat’s ship. “You are a good human,” said Yolanda. “I mean, as disgusting, patchy haired creatures go.”

Poot grinned from ear to ear, happy at last on this dark Blorgvember the second. “Thanks! I’m usually considered the worst one, so this is a real birthday treat for me.”

“I have a present for you.” Yolanda ran into her yarn ball and came out holding a tiny black kitten with pink spots. “This is my cousin Babette. She is young, but eager to explore on behalf of the Cardboard Coalition. Will you be her liaison here in Kingdomville?”

Yolanda set Babette down, and the tiny cat squeaked, “All hail the mighty Cardboard Coalition! I shall explore this world with skill and honor, Lady Yolanda.”

Poot knelt to give the lovely Babette a little scratch between the ears, but the space cat bit her with an adorable, “Fuck off.”

The princess grinned. “That’s what everyone says to me when I try to pet them. You already know of our human ways!”

And so Princess Poot became a cat lady after all, and it was a wonderful experience of being barely tolerated by someone much, much better than her. That is to say, it was like every day. Poot didn’t know of Babette’s actual horrifying reason to be in Kingdomville.

Not until it was far too late.

This story will now end with the following message, or else they will carry out their threats against the author’s family: Meow, mwrr, meow-meow, m’ow!

The end.

Next week:  the last The Shittiest Princess story before we go on a hiatus.  Prepare yourselves for “The Shittiest Princess and the Real House Duchesses of Kingdomville”!

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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.

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