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New Paradingbeautifulstrippedfemalepows Parading Beautiful Stripped Female Pows Politically Correct Bedtime Stories -- Modern Beautiful ales of Our Life and Times (评论: Politically Correct Bedtime Stories)
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tate developer, and the sorcerer thought I was cheating him in a property-line dispute. So he invited me out for a round of golf, and just as I was about to tee off, he transformed me. But my time as a frog wasn't wasted, you know. I've gotten to know every square inch of these woods, and I think it would be ideal for an office park/condo/resort complex. The location's great and the numbers crunch perfectly! The bank wouldn't lend any money to a frog, but now that I'm in human form again, they'll be eating out of my hand. Oh, will that be sweet! And let me tell you, this is going to be a big project! Just drain the pond, cut down about 80 percent of the trees, get easements for…"
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　　The frog developer was cut short when the princess shoved her golden ball back into his mouth. She then pushed him back underwater and held him there until he stopped thrashing. As she walked back to the castle, she marveled at the number of good deeds that a person could do in just one morning. And while someone might have noticed that the frog was gone, no one ever missed the real estate developer.
　　
　　
　　
　　JACK AND THE BEANSTALK
　　
　　Once upon a time, on a little farm, there lived a boy named Jack. He lived on the farm with his mother, and they were very excluded from the normal circles of economic activity. This cruel reality kept them in straits of direness, until one day Jack's mother told him to take the family cow into town and sell it for as much as he could.
　　
　　Never mind the thousands of gallons of milk they had stolen from her! Never mind the hours of pleasure their bovine animal companion had provided! And forget about the manure they had appropriated for their garden! She was now just another piece of property to them. Jack, who didn't realize that nonhuman animals have as many rights as human animals – perhaps even more – did as his mother asked.
　　
　　On his way to town, Jack met an old magic vegetarian, who warned Jack of the dangers of eating beef and dairy products.
　　
　　"Oh, I'm not going to eat this cow," said Jack. "I'm going to take her into town and sell her."
　　
　　"But by doing that, you'll just perpetuate the cultural mythos of beef, ignoring the negative impact of the cattle industry on our ecology and the health and social problems that arise from meat consumption. But you look too simple to be able to make these connections, my boy. I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll offer a trade of your cow for these three magic beans, which have as much protein as that entire cow but none of the fat or sodium."
　　
　　Jack made the trade gladly and took the beans home to his mother. When he told her about the deal he had made, she grew very upset. She used to think her son was merely a conceptual rather than a linear thinker, but now she was sure that he was downright differently abled. She grabbed the three magic beans and threw them out the window in disgust. Later that day, she attended her first support-group meeting with Mothers of Storybook Children.
　　
　　The next morning, Jack stuck his head out the window to see if the sun had risen in the east again (he was beginning to see a pattern in this). But outside the window, the beans had grown into a huge stalk that reached through the clouds. Because he no longer had a cow to milk in the morning, Jack climbed the beanstalk into the sky.
　　
　　At the top, above the clouds, he found a huge castle. It was not only big, but it was built to larger-than-average scale, as if it were the home of someone who just happened to be a giant. Jack entered the castle and heard beautiful music wafting through the air. He followed this sound until he found its source: a golden harp that played music without being touched. Next to this self-actualized harp was a hen sitting on a pile of golden eggs.
　　
　　Now, the prospect of easy wealth and mindless entertainment appealed to Jack's bourgeois sensibilities, so he picked up both the harp and the hen and started to run for the front door. Then he heard thundering footsteps and a booming voice that said:
　　
　　"FEE, FIE, FOE, FUM,
　　"I smell the blood of an English person!
　　"I'd like to learn about his culture and views on life!
　　"And share my own perspectives in an open and generous way!"
　　
　　Unfortunately, Jack was too crazed with greed to accept the giant's offer of a cultural interchange. "It's only a trick," thought Jack. "Besides, what's a giant doing with such fine, delicate things? He must have stolen them from somewhere else, so I have every right to take them." His frantic justifications – remarkable for someone with his overtaxed mental resources – revealed a terrible callousness to the giant's personal rights. Jack apparently was a complete sizeist, who thought that all giants were clumsy, knowledge-
　　impaired, and exploitable.
　　
　　When the giant saw Jack with the magic harp and the hen, he asked, "Why are you taking what belongs to me?"
　　
　　Jack knew he couldn't outrun the giant, so he had to think fast. He blurted out, "I'm not taking them, my friend. I am merely placing them in my stewardship so that they can be properly managed and brought to their fullest potential. Pardon my bluntness, but you giants are too simple in the head and don't know how to manage your resources properly. I'm just looking out for your interests. You'll thank me for this later."
　　
　　Jack held his breath to see if the bluff would save his skin. The giant sighed heavily and said, "Yes, you are right. We giants do use our resources foolishly. Why, we can't even discover a new beanstalk before we get so excited and pick away at it so much that we pull the poor thing right out of the ground!"
　　
　　Jack's heart sank. He turned and looked out the front door of the castle. Sure enough, the giant had destroyed his beanstalk. Jack grew frightened and cried, "Now I'm trapped here in the clouds with you forever!"
　　
　　The giant said, "Don't worry, my little friend. We are strict vegetarians up here, and there are always plenty of beans to eat. And besides, you won't be alone. Thirteen other men of your size have already climbed up beanstalks to visit us and stayed."
　　
　　So Jack resigned himself to his fate as a member of the giant's cloud commune. He didn't miss his mother or their farm much, because up in the sky there was less work to do and more than enough to eat. And he gradually learned not to judge people based on their size ever again, except for those shorter than he.
　　
　　
　　
　　THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN
　　
　　The picturesque little town of Hamelin had everything a community could wish for – non-polluting industries, effective mass transit, and a well-balanced ethno-religious diversity. In fact, the town leaders had managed to legislate or intimidate away every element that could keep the citizens from living a good and sensitive life. Every element, that is, except the trailer park.
　　
　　The trailer park on the edge of Hamelin was a civic embarrassment. Not only was it a terrible eyesore, with its rusted pickup trucks and trash heaps in every backyard. Within it dwelled some of the most unregenerate and irredeemable people you could ever imagine—murderers of nondomestic animals, former clients of the correctional system, and off-road bikers. With their plastic daisy pinwheels, loud music, and drunken weekend brawls, they sent a shudder through every respectable person in town.
　　
　　One day, after a particularly riotous road rally through the trailer park, the town leaders had a meeting. After heated debate, they decided that somehow they had to eradicate the trailer park. But they were at a loss as to how to do it without ignoring or infringing upon the rights of the people who lived there. Finally, after even more oratory, they decided to let that be someone else's worry, since they were already so burdened with more important concerns, such as declining property values. So the town leaders decided to advertise for someone to solve their problems.
　　
　　Soon after the advertisement was sent out, a man appeared in town. He was very vertically gifted and of lower-than-average weight for his size. His clothes were worn in combinations never before seen or imagined, and his mannerisms and high-pitched voice were certainly unique. Although he looked like he came from some world other than (but certainly not unequal to) our own, he gained the trust of the desperate town leaders.
　　
　　"I will be able to rid your town of the trailer-park dwellers," said the man of enhanced strangeness, "but you must promise to pay me 100 pieces of gold."
　　
　　The town leaders wanted this whole unpleasant business finished as soon as possible, so they readily assented. The sooner the trailer park was eliminated, the sooner they could all revert to their open-minded, progressive selves.
　　
　　So the man of enhanced strangeness got down to work. He reached into his tattered knapsack and pulled out a sophisticated, compact recording machine. The people around him looked on with interest as he inserted a few tapes, set some knobs, and checked the sound levels. Then he began mumbling into the built-in microphone. No one could hear exactly what he was saying, but the man seemed to be lacking in coherence. Abruptly, he stopped mumbling, stood up, and told the town leaders that he needed a truck with a public-address system.
　　
　　The authorities scrambled after this strange request. They managed to find such a truck at the Department of Public Biodiversity and handed over the keys to the man of enhanced strangeness. He climbed in and drove off popping the cassette he had made into the sound system. Everyone followed the truck as it headed toward the trailer park.
　　
　　Soon music began to emerge from the slowly moving truck – generally country music but also occasional classics like "The Ballad of the Green Berets" and "Ghost Riders in the Sky." The town leaders were puzzled by this, until they noticed people emerging from their trailers, tool sheds, and taverns. The people had a certain glassy expression and talked to themselves as they stumbled along.
　　
　　"I'm gonna go git me a job," said one. "I hear the carny is hirin'."
　　
　　"I think I'll join the professional tractor-pull circuit," said another.
　　
　　"Do you think I could make a livin' by signin' up for medical experiments?" asked a third.
　　
　　The denizens of the trailer park followed the truck as it drove slowly toward the edge of town. Soon both they and it disappeared over the horizon, and the town leaders lifted a cheer.
　　
　　About an hour later the truck returned, minus its entourage. "I led them all to the highway," said the man of enhanced strangeness as he alighted from the truck. "They're out thumbing rides for anyplace but Hamelin. Now the trailer park is free for you to use in whatever way you want."
　　
　　"Marvelous!" said one of the authorities, who was serving as a spokesperson. "Now that they're gone, we can commence with our plans for a Third-World Refugee Reorientation Center. Thank you, thank you."
　　
　　"Now if you will kindly pay me the 100 pieces of gold you promised, I'll be on my way."
　　
　　"Well, er... Hamelin is striving to establish an economy that is based on human capital and not the mere exploitation of physical resources. And so, to this end, we'd like to offer you this coupon book, which entitles you to such services in Hamelin as free massages and seminars on releasing your inner child."
　　
　　The man of enhanced strangeness squinted his eyes. "You promised me 100 pieces of gold," he said, growing visibly angry. "Now pay up or suffer the consequences."
　　
　　"If you wish to abandon your responsibility for making the world a more equitable place," clucked the spokesperson, "so be it. We will have to give you the official Hamelin IOU, which can be redeemed for a significant portion of its face value at many of the currency exchanges and liquor stores in the surrounding towns."
　　
　　The man of enhanced strangeness paused, then chuckled eerily and climbed back in the truck. Before anyone could stop him, he began to drive through all the neighborhoods of Hamelin. As he went, the truck played a weird, high-pitched music that no one could recognize. Soon, the children of Hamelin emerged from their houses and streamed from their playgrounds. With glazed looks, they milled about in the streets. The town leaders could hear the children talking earnestly to each other:
　　
　　"Free markets are the only sur
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