James Finn Garner - Politically Correct Bedtime Stories: 25th Anniversary Edition with a new story: Pinocchio

Politically Correct Bedtime Stories

Expanded edition

with a new story:

Pinocchio

James Finn Garner

To the Theater of the Bizarre, including Pepe, Armando, Egon, Ted, Matteo, Nick, and Julietta; James Ghelkins, Jr., and Willie, Smitty, and Jocko of the Teamsters Childrens Puppet Theater; and Others too numerous to mention. To Carol, for help and encouragement, and to Lies, for everything.

Its been a quarter-century since my first processed tree carcass was published, in an effort to improve the world by rethinking the biases baked into childrens stories. The idea was simple: smash the patriarchy by smashing the patriarchs of bedtime, like the Siblings Grimm and mer-misogynist Hans Christian Andersen.

Its a good time to take stock of our successes. Anti-wolf bias is declining, Prince Charmings are being exposed for their stalkerish ways, and formerly marginalised trolls have enjoyed a stunning comeback, thanks to the Internet.

Yet the world is still afflicted by backward thinking and so many regressive ills. I dont know what else to do, except release this book again, this time with bonus material. Commercial? Certainly, but sometimes you have to use the system to upend the system. We will not get (sorry for this ethnic insensitivity) a Mulligan for our lives here. This is the only earth we have on this planet, and bedtime remains the best time to save it.

here once was a young person named Red Riding Hood who lived with her mother on the edge of a large wood. One day her mother asked her to take a basket of fresh fruit and mineral water to her grandmothers housenot because this was womyns work, mind you, but because the deed was generous and helped engender a feeling of community. Furthermore, her grandmother was not sick, but rather was in full physical and mental health and was fully capable of taking care of herself as a mature adult.

So Red Riding Hood set off with her basket through the woods. Many people believed that the forest was a foreboding and dangerous place and never set foot in it. Red Riding Hood, however, was confident enough in her own budding sexuality that such obvious Freudian imagery did not intimidate her.

On the way to Grandmas house, Red Riding Hood was accosted by a wolf, who asked her what was in her basket. She replied, Some healthful snacks for my grandmother, who is certainly capable of taking care of herself as a mature adult.

The wolf said, You know, my dear, it isnt safe for a little girl to walk through these woods alone.

Red Riding Hood said, I find your sexist remark offensive in the extreme, but I will ignore it because of your traditional status as an outcast from society, the stress of which has caused you to develop your own, entirely valid, worldview. Now, if youll excuse me, I must be on my way.

Red Riding Hood walked on along the main path. But, because his status outside society had freed him from slavish adherence to linear, Western-style thought, the wolf knew a quicker route to Grandmas house. He burst into the house and ate Grandma, an entirely valid course of action for a carnivore such as himself. Then, unhampered by rigid, traditionalist notions of what was masculine or feminine, he put on Grandmas nightclothes and crawled into bed.

Red Riding Hood entered the cottage and said, Grandma, I have brought you some fat-free, sodium-free snacks to salute you in your role of a wise and nurturing matriarch.

From the bed, the wolf said softly, Come closer, child, so that I might see you.

Red Riding Hood said, Oh, I forgot you are as optically challenged as a bat. Grandma, what big eyes you have!

They have seen much, and forgiven much, my dear.

Grandma, what a big nose you haveonly relatively, of course, and certainly attractive in its own way.

It has smelled much, and forgiven much, my dear.

Grandma, what big teeth you have!

The wolf said, I am happy with who I am and what I am, and leaped out of bed. He grabbed Red Riding Hood in his claws, intent on devouring her. Red Riding Hood screamed, not out of alarm at the wolfs apparent tendency towards cross-dressing, but because of his wilful invasion of her personal space.

Her screams were heard by a passing woodcutter-person (or log-fuel technician, as he preferred to be called). When he burst into the cottage, he saw the melee and tried to intervene. But as he raised his axe, Red Riding Hood and the wolf both stopped.

And just what to you think youre doing? asked Red Riding Hood.

The woodcutter-person blinked and tried to answer, but no words came to him.

Bursting in here like a Neanderthal, trusting your weapon to do your thinking for you! she exclaimed. Sexist! Speciesist! How dare you assume that womyn and wolves cant solve their own problems without a mans help!

When she heard Red Riding Hoods impassioned speech, Grandma jumped out of the wolfs mouth, seized the woodcutter-persons axe, and cut his head off. After this ordeal, Red Riding Hood, Grandma and the wolf felt a certain commonality of purpose. They decided to set up an alternative household based on mutual respect and cooperation, and they lived together in the woods happily ever after.

ar away, in a time long past, there lived a travelling tailor who found himself in an unfamiliar country. Now, tailors who move from place to place normally keep to themselves and are careful not to overstep the bounds of local decency. This tailor, though, was overly gregarious and decorum-impaired, and soon he was at a local inn, abusing alcohol, invading the personal space of the female employees, and telling unenlightened stories about tinkers, dung-gatherers and other tradespeople.

The innkeeper complained to the police, who grabbed the tailor and dragged him in front of the emperor. As you might expect, a lifetime of belief in the absolute legitimacy of the monarchy and in the inherent superiority of males had turned the emperor into a vain and wisdom-challenged tyrant. The tailor noticed these traits and decided to use them to his advantage.

The emperor asked, Do you have any last request before I banish you from my domain forever?

The tailor replied, Only that your majesty allow me the honour of crafting a new royal wardrobe. For I have brought with me a special fabric that is so rare and fine that it can be seen only by certain peoplethe type of people youd want to have in your realmpeople who are politically correct, morally righteous, intellectually astute, culturally tolerant, and who dont smoke, drink, laugh at sexist jokes, watch too much television, listen to country music, or barbecue.

After a moments thought, the emperor agreed to this request. He was flattered by the fascist and testosterone-heavy idea that the empire and its inhabitants existed only to make him look good. It would be like having a trophy wife and multiplying that feeling by 100,000.

Of course, no such rarefied fabric existed. Years of living outside the bounds of normal society had forced the tailor to develop his own moral code that obliged him to swindle and embarrass the emperor in the name of independent craftspeople everywhere. So, as he diligently laboured, he was able to convince the emperor that he was cutting and sewing pieces of fabric that, in the strictist objective sense of reality, didnt exist.