Rumpelstiltskin
A long time ago, in a faraway land, when your super-great-great-great-grandparents weren’t even born yet, there lived a miller; he was a man so poor and so gold-deprived that he wasn’t able to study, and so came off as an idiot. This miller was also the jerkiest and the most unbelievable father of his time—and this would come clear later. Now, this miller was of little importance as far as the story goes, but the kingdom where he lived in was ruled by a king: a ruler who was even more of an idiot than the miller—again, this would come clear later.
One day, the miller had to go to speak to the king and ask for gold for he and his daughter desperately needed it. In order to impress His Royal Highness, the miller, who was very high on drugs at that time, said: O, King! Thou art supercalifragilisticexpialidocious! I fear I might contract pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanokoniosis just by being in your presence, My Lordship!
The people present at that time instantaneously fell silent upon hearing the extravagant words of the miller (they didn’t realize that it was just random nonsense). The silence was so deafening that the king was compelled to say: SILENCE!
The king said: Miserable miller—and mind, I am an awesome alliterator—pray do spell these words so I would understand better. To which the miller replied, hyperventilating: Your Highness! I... I... I... uhh... I have a daughter who can spin straw into gold! So please, don’t let me spell those words!
Very well! This daughter you speak of, is she not a witch for being able to do such an impossible thing? If so! BURN THE WITCH! The king proclaimed.
And so it came to pass that the king ordered for the daughter’s arrest. Three days later, she was burned at the stake...
...and Rumpelstiltskin lived happily ever after.
But alas! It pains me to admit that this wasn’t the real end to the tale, and I could’ve given so much to make it so. I couldn’t bear to write the horrible fate of Rumpelstiltskin, but it is my duty as a writer to narrate the events exactly how it had gone.
As I had mentioned earlier, the king was an idiot. He believed the words of the miller—who looked obviously stoned—and he ordered him to bring his daughter to the palace the next day for a demonstration of her powers: turning straw into gold. The poor girl was traumatized. Her father had sold him to the stupid king, and he wasn’t even half as handsome as Cinderellie’s Prince Charming. There, she was locked up in a room and was warned by the king himself: Now set to work,spin the straw into gold; you have five minutes to do so, and shall you fail, I can finally utter the words I’ve been dreaming to say: OFF WITH HER HEAD! But the girl would have none of it: Thou art a son of a b*tch! There is no way I can make gold out of straw in an hour, much less in five minutes! Make it a day, and you shall have your gold. Take it, or leave it.
The king was surprised at the strong will of the miller’s daughter, and there he realized that he was taking a liking to her: You will make a good businesswoman. Remind me to not kill you if you fail, for I feel like making you Secretary of Finance. Very well. You have one day. And then he left.
So there sat the poor miller’s daughter, who didn’t know what to do. She had no idea how straw could be spun into gold, and she grew more and more frightened; she knew the king was starting to like her, and she knew too, that he will marry her eventually because that is how most fairy tales go. The only thing she could do was weep, and weep, and weep, hoping for a miracle, perhaps her very own fairy grandmother.
In a cruel twist of fate, Rumpelstiltskin, the protagonist* of this story, happened to pass by and overhear the pitiful cries of the miller’s daughter. Good evening, Mistress Miller! Why are you crying? To which the girl replied: Would you not cry too if you’re hungry? Heck, I didn’t even eat breakfast, and now it’s seven-thirty in the evening, and I had missed my favorite show on TV! But never mind that. Do you know how to spin straw into gold? The king wanted me to do it, but I don’t know how. So I cried, because the writer wanted me to do it, see, so it can’t be helped. But it worked! You’re here! I know you can do it! Now spin these or I’ll scream: BLOODY MURDER!
Thus was the fate of Rumpelstiltskin, blackmailed and forced to do something he never wanted to do in the first place. But he was helpful, and had a weak spot for crying girls, so he did it anyway. And boy, was he good at it. In less than half an hour, he had filled the room with golden thread spun from straw. The girl was delighted, but she still screamed: BLOODY MURDER!
All at once, the royal guards came rushing to the room. They found Rumpelstiltskin and aimed their weapons at him. He was terrified as the girl added: He took my necklace, the thief! Fortunately, he was of the quickest little men there ever was, and he escaped in the nick of time.
The king, however, became more greedy, and he had the girl spin more gold. He locked her again in the same room and said: You must spin these whole room of straw too, overnight. If you fail, you’ll be made Secretary of Finance, but if you succeed you will be my wife. The girl thought that it was an easy choice—she never wanted to marry the assh*le anyway, so she’d decided to just sleep on it and tomorrow she’ll be Secretary of Finance. She’ll cash on the savings of the kingdom and be filthy rich.
Rumpelstiltskin overheard what the king said, and he thought: Poor girl, she could never do it. I know, I’ll help her. And so, while the girl was sleeping, Rumpelstiltskin spun the straw into gold the rest of the night. After the grueling work, he thought it was only fair to ask for compensation. He woke up the girl and told her: Tomorrow, you will be queen, I’m sure of it. Now, since I did all these work for you, I’d like to ask if I can baby-sit for your future child; I’ve always wanted to play with babies—no, I’m not a pedobear—is it okay? The girl only reply was: Uhhh... sure, whatever. Given, she was still half-asleep at the time.
Satisfied, Rumpelstiltskin popped and vanished.
The next morning, the king was so glad that the girl succeeded on spinning that much gold, he had her marry him in no time. There was a huge celebration, blah, blah, blah and all that stuff. The miller’s daughter, of course, was happy too that she was richer than ever before. She was a little bit mad at Rumpelstiltskin for ruining her plans, but all was well that ended well. Unfortunately, she didn’t remember any of the deal she had made with him.
A year passed, just like that, without anything eventful happening. The miller’s daughter, now queen, brought upon a beautiful child (thank god it took after its mother) into the world. She never thought of Rumpy again (this guy’s name is freaking long) until at last, one day, he appeared out of nowhere.
I HAVE COME FOR THE BABY! (With matching lightning and sound effects.)
Obviously, duh, she misunderstood it (who wouldn’t). Of course Rumpy was saying along the lines of: I am here to help you baby-sit! but because she couldn’t remember the deal, the queen took it as: MWAHAHAHA! I, THE EVIL, THE ALMIGHTY, THE SEXY, HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED WILL TAKE YOUR CHILD AND EAT IT! The queen was dumbfounded and horror-struck. She began to lament and cry. Please, give me three days! If I can’t guess whatever name you have, you ca n take my baby! Please! Three days! Boohoohoo!
Rumpy was confused, but he just assumed it was some kind of a game: Umm... okay? And then he left as usual.
So the queen thought hard about the names she’d ever heard in her entire life, and had her messenger fetch her the Big Book of Names. When Rumpy came the next day, she began with the names of the three kings that visited Jesus in the stable and all the Bible names that followed but all of it was answered with: You’d think it would be that easy? And I thought you were smart.
The second day, the queen had her messengers ask around for the unusual names in their country. She enumerated all 500+ Pokemon names too but to no avail. The last three she had guessed was:
Perhaps your name is Griphook – No, I may kinda look like it, but I’m not a goblin.
How about Dobby – No way, I may look very similar it, but I’m not an elf.
Are you maybe... oh my god, are you VOLDEMORT?! – What the f*ck, no! You read Harry Potter too much, and it wasn’t even written yet in this era!
On the third day, one of the queen’s messengers who was a sucker and was eager to be on the good side of the royal family relayed what good news he had found: I have not been able to find a single new name, but as I came to a high mountain at the end of the forest, where the fox and the hare bid each other good night, there I saw a little house, and before the house a fire was burning, and round about the fire quite a ridiculous little man was jumping, he hopped upon one leg, and shouted:
The king was stupid, the queen was a jerk
But I like babies so it’s cool
My name is Rumpelstiltskin but I don’t know
Why I have to say it out loud
I guess I just like this name even though
It sounds evil and all
And this doesn’t rhyme but who cares
No-one’s listening anyway
Behold, the queen was ecstatic that she now knows the name of the wretched creature who was the foil to her otherwise happy married life. In fact, she was so ecstatic that he had the messenger hanged. And when soon afterwards Rumpy came about, she couldn’t contain her excitement and was grinning like a madman... errr... madwoman.
Rumpy didn’t fail to notice this: Why do I have the feeling I’m going to get screwed tonight?
She proceeded to ask: Is your name Czechslovakia?/Do I look like a country to you?/Is your name Asdfghjkl?/Um... what the hell?/Perhaps your name is Rumpelstiltskin?
Rumpy was amazed: Yes! Wow, you’re good. So what happens now? Do I still get to, y’know, the baby?
The queen laughed maniacally (and I really mean, MANIAC-ally): Nuhahahaha! GUARDS! SEIZE THIS INSOLENT FELLOW! And you know what to do!
And thus, poor Rumpelstiltskin was thrown into prison. They cut off his tongue and fingers, stabbed him all over, gouged out his eyes, hanged him upside down, and they hired wasps to sting and ants to bite his already bloodied and beat-up swollen face. Until at last they got tired of torturing him so they chopped him into tiny little pieces and made stew out of it.
*-other versions would portray Rumpelstiltskin as the villain, but that is not the case. Reliable sources say that he was, in fact, a good person, willing to help those who are in need, but often misunderstood because of the evilness of his name. Thus, he didn’t want anyone to know of it.
A long time ago, in a faraway land, when your super-great-great-great-grandparents weren’t even born yet, there lived a miller; he was a man so poor and so gold-deprived that he wasn’t able to study, and so came off as an idiot. This miller was also the jerkiest and the most unbelievable father of his time—and this would come clear later. Now, this miller was of little importance as far as the story goes, but the kingdom where he lived in was ruled by a king: a ruler who was even more of an idiot than the miller—again, this would come clear later.
One day, the miller had to go to speak to the king and ask for gold for he and his daughter desperately needed it. In order to impress His Royal Highness, the miller, who was very high on drugs at that time, said: O, King! Thou art supercalifragilisticexpialidocious! I fear I might contract pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanokoniosis just by being in your presence, My Lordship!
The people present at that time instantaneously fell silent upon hearing the extravagant words of the miller (they didn’t realize that it was just random nonsense). The silence was so deafening that the king was compelled to say: SILENCE!
The king said: Miserable miller—and mind, I am an awesome alliterator—pray do spell these words so I would understand better. To which the miller replied, hyperventilating: Your Highness! I... I... I... uhh... I have a daughter who can spin straw into gold! So please, don’t let me spell those words!
Very well! This daughter you speak of, is she not a witch for being able to do such an impossible thing? If so! BURN THE WITCH! The king proclaimed.
And so it came to pass that the king ordered for the daughter’s arrest. Three days later, she was burned at the stake...
...and Rumpelstiltskin lived happily ever after.
But alas! It pains me to admit that this wasn’t the real end to the tale, and I could’ve given so much to make it so. I couldn’t bear to write the horrible fate of Rumpelstiltskin, but it is my duty as a writer to narrate the events exactly how it had gone.
As I had mentioned earlier, the king was an idiot. He believed the words of the miller—who looked obviously stoned—and he ordered him to bring his daughter to the palace the next day for a demonstration of her powers: turning straw into gold. The poor girl was traumatized. Her father had sold him to the stupid king, and he wasn’t even half as handsome as Cinderellie’s Prince Charming. There, she was locked up in a room and was warned by the king himself: Now set to work,spin the straw into gold; you have five minutes to do so, and shall you fail, I can finally utter the words I’ve been dreaming to say: OFF WITH HER HEAD! But the girl would have none of it: Thou art a son of a b*tch! There is no way I can make gold out of straw in an hour, much less in five minutes! Make it a day, and you shall have your gold. Take it, or leave it.
The king was surprised at the strong will of the miller’s daughter, and there he realized that he was taking a liking to her: You will make a good businesswoman. Remind me to not kill you if you fail, for I feel like making you Secretary of Finance. Very well. You have one day. And then he left.
So there sat the poor miller’s daughter, who didn’t know what to do. She had no idea how straw could be spun into gold, and she grew more and more frightened; she knew the king was starting to like her, and she knew too, that he will marry her eventually because that is how most fairy tales go. The only thing she could do was weep, and weep, and weep, hoping for a miracle, perhaps her very own fairy grandmother.
In a cruel twist of fate, Rumpelstiltskin, the protagonist* of this story, happened to pass by and overhear the pitiful cries of the miller’s daughter. Good evening, Mistress Miller! Why are you crying? To which the girl replied: Would you not cry too if you’re hungry? Heck, I didn’t even eat breakfast, and now it’s seven-thirty in the evening, and I had missed my favorite show on TV! But never mind that. Do you know how to spin straw into gold? The king wanted me to do it, but I don’t know how. So I cried, because the writer wanted me to do it, see, so it can’t be helped. But it worked! You’re here! I know you can do it! Now spin these or I’ll scream: BLOODY MURDER!
Thus was the fate of Rumpelstiltskin, blackmailed and forced to do something he never wanted to do in the first place. But he was helpful, and had a weak spot for crying girls, so he did it anyway. And boy, was he good at it. In less than half an hour, he had filled the room with golden thread spun from straw. The girl was delighted, but she still screamed: BLOODY MURDER!
All at once, the royal guards came rushing to the room. They found Rumpelstiltskin and aimed their weapons at him. He was terrified as the girl added: He took my necklace, the thief! Fortunately, he was of the quickest little men there ever was, and he escaped in the nick of time.
The king, however, became more greedy, and he had the girl spin more gold. He locked her again in the same room and said: You must spin these whole room of straw too, overnight. If you fail, you’ll be made Secretary of Finance, but if you succeed you will be my wife. The girl thought that it was an easy choice—she never wanted to marry the assh*le anyway, so she’d decided to just sleep on it and tomorrow she’ll be Secretary of Finance. She’ll cash on the savings of the kingdom and be filthy rich.
Rumpelstiltskin overheard what the king said, and he thought: Poor girl, she could never do it. I know, I’ll help her. And so, while the girl was sleeping, Rumpelstiltskin spun the straw into gold the rest of the night. After the grueling work, he thought it was only fair to ask for compensation. He woke up the girl and told her: Tomorrow, you will be queen, I’m sure of it. Now, since I did all these work for you, I’d like to ask if I can baby-sit for your future child; I’ve always wanted to play with babies—no, I’m not a pedobear—is it okay? The girl only reply was: Uhhh... sure, whatever. Given, she was still half-asleep at the time.
Satisfied, Rumpelstiltskin popped and vanished.
The next morning, the king was so glad that the girl succeeded on spinning that much gold, he had her marry him in no time. There was a huge celebration, blah, blah, blah and all that stuff. The miller’s daughter, of course, was happy too that she was richer than ever before. She was a little bit mad at Rumpelstiltskin for ruining her plans, but all was well that ended well. Unfortunately, she didn’t remember any of the deal she had made with him.
A year passed, just like that, without anything eventful happening. The miller’s daughter, now queen, brought upon a beautiful child (thank god it took after its mother) into the world. She never thought of Rumpy again (this guy’s name is freaking long) until at last, one day, he appeared out of nowhere.
I HAVE COME FOR THE BABY! (With matching lightning and sound effects.)
Obviously, duh, she misunderstood it (who wouldn’t). Of course Rumpy was saying along the lines of: I am here to help you baby-sit! but because she couldn’t remember the deal, the queen took it as: MWAHAHAHA! I, THE EVIL, THE ALMIGHTY, THE SEXY, HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED WILL TAKE YOUR CHILD AND EAT IT! The queen was dumbfounded and horror-struck. She began to lament and cry. Please, give me three days! If I can’t guess whatever name you have, you ca n take my baby! Please! Three days! Boohoohoo!
Rumpy was confused, but he just assumed it was some kind of a game: Umm... okay? And then he left as usual.
So the queen thought hard about the names she’d ever heard in her entire life, and had her messenger fetch her the Big Book of Names. When Rumpy came the next day, she began with the names of the three kings that visited Jesus in the stable and all the Bible names that followed but all of it was answered with: You’d think it would be that easy? And I thought you were smart.
The second day, the queen had her messengers ask around for the unusual names in their country. She enumerated all 500+ Pokemon names too but to no avail. The last three she had guessed was:
Perhaps your name is Griphook – No, I may kinda look like it, but I’m not a goblin.
How about Dobby – No way, I may look very similar it, but I’m not an elf.
Are you maybe... oh my god, are you VOLDEMORT?! – What the f*ck, no! You read Harry Potter too much, and it wasn’t even written yet in this era!
On the third day, one of the queen’s messengers who was a sucker and was eager to be on the good side of the royal family relayed what good news he had found: I have not been able to find a single new name, but as I came to a high mountain at the end of the forest, where the fox and the hare bid each other good night, there I saw a little house, and before the house a fire was burning, and round about the fire quite a ridiculous little man was jumping, he hopped upon one leg, and shouted:
The king was stupid, the queen was a jerk
But I like babies so it’s cool
My name is Rumpelstiltskin but I don’t know
Why I have to say it out loud
I guess I just like this name even though
It sounds evil and all
And this doesn’t rhyme but who cares
No-one’s listening anyway
Behold, the queen was ecstatic that she now knows the name of the wretched creature who was the foil to her otherwise happy married life. In fact, she was so ecstatic that he had the messenger hanged. And when soon afterwards Rumpy came about, she couldn’t contain her excitement and was grinning like a madman... errr... madwoman.
Rumpy didn’t fail to notice this: Why do I have the feeling I’m going to get screwed tonight?
She proceeded to ask: Is your name Czechslovakia?/Do I look like a country to you?/Is your name Asdfghjkl?/Um... what the hell?/Perhaps your name is Rumpelstiltskin?
Rumpy was amazed: Yes! Wow, you’re good. So what happens now? Do I still get to, y’know, the baby?
The queen laughed maniacally (and I really mean, MANIAC-ally): Nuhahahaha! GUARDS! SEIZE THIS INSOLENT FELLOW! And you know what to do!
And thus, poor Rumpelstiltskin was thrown into prison. They cut off his tongue and fingers, stabbed him all over, gouged out his eyes, hanged him upside down, and they hired wasps to sting and ants to bite his already bloodied and beat-up swollen face. Until at last they got tired of torturing him so they chopped him into tiny little pieces and made stew out of it.
*-other versions would portray Rumpelstiltskin as the villain, but that is not the case. Reliable sources say that he was, in fact, a good person, willing to help those who are in need, but often misunderstood because of the evilness of his name. Thus, he didn’t want anyone to know of it.
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