humble origins

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a princess. She lived in a castle with her kindly, aged, senile father and her stepmother, who spent most of her time passed out on White Zinfandel and Percocets, recuperating from her latest elective procedure.

The princess had a lot of time to herself. At first, she spent her days talking to the birds and animals who came to visit her in the castle - but a trip to a teen psychiatrist and a prescription for clozapine cleared that right up. So she spent her days reading women's magazines, polishing her nails, and waiting for her prince to come.

And, finally, one day, he did. Well, he wasn't exactly a prince. He was a traveling toilet salesman, doing brisk business in the medieval castle district. He was very handsome. His skin was porcelain-white, and his eyes were . . . well, they were brown. As she saw him, she knew that, one day, she would yank his chain till it rattled.

The day came soon enough. In a peaceful meadow by a babbling brook, he laid her upon the grass. Up flew the gown. Down went the britches. And out came the cutest little pink thing she had ever seen.

The affair, of course, ended shortly. The, er, prince had to leave town. Some sort of fan-hitting incident in the next kingdom over. But she never forgot the little pink thing. How cute it had been. How tiny and adorable. Nothing could ever compare to it.

Until, one day, she came upon a tiny pink pen. Cute, and sleek and bursting with possibilities. She took the pen in her hand, gripped it, delighting in the familiar feel of it.

And that was when she realized that the best thing that could possibly come out of that little pink thing was potty-mouthed sex humor.