Then one day, a famous actor called Derek Devine came to the forest looking for out-of-work actresses down on their luck, and stopped for the night at the dwarves' house. Look, he has to have a job and a name, right? Derek's as good as any other isn't it? Don't you like actors? Or does he remind you of that old slapper, Bo Derek? OK, he's a Prince then; Prince Derek. That's a title of Nobility, by the way, not his Christian name. Happy now? Some minor prince wholly unconnected with the House of Windsor, because we obviously don't want to raise the hackles of any republicans, do we? Can we get on now?

Right, Prince Derek saw the coffin on the hilltop, and to say he was gobsmacked would be like saying Snow White was 'quite pretty'. The poor guy was poleaxed and only the timely intervention of his faithful retainers prevented him committing a dreadful sartorial faux pas in his very expensive designer Chinos. Several stiff brandies (and a couple of changes of underwear) later, he climbed the little hill and gazed upon the gorgeous cutie in her glass coffin with adoring eyes rimmed with tears. He didn't pay the slightest heed to the golden letters, despite the fact that Ralph and Ross continuously drew his attention to them, because he was far too busy racking his brains for a way to pass a new law making necrophilia legal for top knobs—well, for his knob, anyway.
"I musht have that coffin or I schall schimply die." he said.
Yep, handsome as he was, rich as he was, and despite being hung like a donkey, Pwince—sorry, Prince Derek, suffered from an even worse speech impediment than Snow White. Whereas she only mispronounced words with the letter 'r' in them, he lisped as well. In short, the two were made for each other and the dwarves knew it.

I could tell you that they took pity on him and gave him the coffin for nothing, but I'd be lying through my teeth. The truth is, the tight-fisted bastards not only stung him for 50,000 quid, but made him arrange his own transportation. They also omitted to mention that Snow White had a bun in the oven; well, seven buns actually. Well, I did say that she was reckless, didn't I? Yes, she knew all about contraceptives; she had a speech impediment, not brain damage. But she really couldn't be bothered with all that mucking about with little foil sachets you can never bloody open without ripping the rubber with your nails, or trying to remember which day to take the green pill on, so she let nature take it's course.
Anyway, this was England; getting an abortion was as easy as catching a nasty yeast infection from sitting on filthy toilet seats.

With the sale successfully concluded, Prince Derek's strapping young retainers hoisted the glass coffin up on their manly shoulders and were carrying it away down the hill when one of the clumsy sods stumbled over a tree root. As luck would have it, the jolt dislodged the poisoned banana (which you will recall the wicked stepmother had stuffed down Snow White's throat), and she coughed it up and opened her pretty blue eyes wide in surprise. Her pretty legs opened even wider when she spotted the handsome Prince gazing up at her with an expression that would embarrass even the cutest little puppy dog. Then she lifted up the coffin lid, sat up, and blushed from her tiny, pink toes to the roots of her lustrous black hair. "Bugger!" she cried. "Who stole my fwock and who is that scwummy man?"

"Your saviour, my Schweet Sugarplum," the handsome Prince answered joyfully. Then he lifted her down from the coffin, cradling her naked buttocks rather longer than strictly necessary (not that she was complaining), and planted a kiss on her cherry-red lips. Then he told her what had happened and said: "I love you more than anything in the whole world; come with me and be my Pwinschess."
"Oh my scwummy pwince!" cried Snow White, flinging her arms around him with a glad cry. "I'm going to give you such a good BJ!" No sooner had she unbuttoned his bulging trousers and knelt down dutifully in front of him, than a small frown puckered her pretty forehead.
"Um...you don't mind that I'm a wandy lickle slut, don't do housework and can't speak pwoperly?"
"Good heavens no. If I'd wanted to shag schomeone who can cook, clean, wash and sew, and woll their warse, I'd have mawwied one of these howwible dwarves!"
"I'm sooo happy!" squealed Snow White. She was about to wrap her cherry-red lips around the Prince's hugely-empurpled sceptre, when Dick coughed noisily and patted his stomach.
"Oppss," she said with a becoming blush. "I think I might be a lickle bit pwegnant too..with...um sextuplets."
"SEXTUPLETS?"chorused the dwarves.
"Well.." giggled Snow White, "you did say Walf was gay, wight?"
"Schix, scheven, ten, it's all the schame to me," said the Prince, gripping her lustrous, black hair as she drew his royal sceptre deep into her throat. "Just—uh—think of the tax benefits, my —uh...Schweet."

The wicked stepmother wasn't invited to the wedding, but decided to gatecrash it anyway after reading about it in the Society papers. She nearly expiring on the spot when she saw the name of the blushing bride and recognised the face of her hated rival. "The bitch!" she yelled. "That fucking bitch! Where's my magic mobile? She eventually found it buried under an enormous pile of cosmetic surgery brochures, rejected Game Show applications and porn, snuff movie scripts. With trembling fingers she keyed in the familiar question she hadn't asked in years:
"Mobile, mobile, in my hand
who's the hottest babe in all the land?"
And the mobile answered:
"You're the hottest babe here, Oh Mistress, but—"
"—But what?" interrupted the starlet impatiently.
"But Princess Snow White is a thousand times hotter than you, you washed-up old junkie fag-hag."
"Please don't fling me against the—"

"I'm gonna kill that fucking bitch!" shrieked the Tart. Well, she was nothing if not consistent. No sooner had she gatecrashed the wedding reception, than Roger offered her a quivering, yellow thong. What? You thought Snow White wouldn't invite the fathers of her unborn children to her own wedding? She may have been a stupid slut, but I never said she was an ungrateful one, did I?
"Here," said Roger, you must wear a novelty, party thong. Everyone else is."
"Er, no thanks, I don't wear underwear," replied the Tart, backing nervously away.
"But we insist," chorused the six other dwarves.
"Nooo!" shrieked the evil stepmother as the dwarves ripped off her expensive designer frock and dressed her in the thong. Her cries soon turned to short, guttural grunts as the thong worked its magic. Well, she was a common tart, what did you expect—long, languorous sighs?
But her pleasure soon turned to wide eyed terror when Rodney and Robert approached bearing a whole basket of bananas.

"Gosh, you do look a howwible fwight," said Snow White, viciously pulling back the Tart's head and dragging a hairbrush through her (dyed) blond curls. "Let me bwush your hair.."
"Have a banana," said the Prince.

T H E E N D

back to the beginning...

Hungry for more Fairy Tales?
Click here to read our version of Little Red Riding Hood!
You can also find more Amusing Fairy Tales here