Politically Correct Bedtime Stories by James Finn Garner Read Free Book Online Page A

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 after 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 without getting so excited and picking 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 of 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
    he picturesque little town of Hamelin had everything a community could wish for—non-polluting industries, effective public transport, and a well-balanced ethno-religious diversity. In fact, the town council 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 caravan site.
    The caravan site on the edge of Hamelin was a civic embarrassment. Not only was it a terrible eyesore, with its rusted pick-up vans and rubbish 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 cross-country bikers. With their plastic daisy wind-mills, 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 caravan site, the town council had a meeting. After heated debate, they decided that somehow they had to eradicate the caravan site. But they were at a loss to know 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 councillors 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