**Disclaimer: This is not an acceptable story.
A Phyllis Fairytale
By: Your Mom
Once upon a time, there lived a dunce of a girl named Phyllis. She was sweet in her way, but she certainly wasn’t the brightest blueberry in the patch. She struggled with common household utensils and was frequently discovered using forks, knives and bumbleberry jam to smear, daub and splatter portraits of god knows what instead of using the paint set that she’d received for her ninth birthday. In a similarly unfortunate and misguided manner, she commonly washed her hair with either toothpaste or her mother’s bikini hair removal kit, which, in Phyllis’s defense, did sport the illustration of a bountiful tuft of dark hair writhing on its cover. As an unfortunate consequence, young Phyllis’s head was a patchy abomination, smelling of peppermint and shame.
Phyllis never intended to lead such a mockery of an existence, just as she never intended to upset her mother by setting fire to the lampshades with a lighter in an attempt to make the bulbs “turn on.” The fine distinction between electricity and flame power was lost upon Phyllis for many years, and, as a result, all lampshades were yanked from their bulb poles and tossed with bitter love and regret into the dumpster. Fires and accidental arson were not tolerated in Phyllis’s household, and, since Phyllis couldn’t be tossed into a dumpster, the lampshades were subjected to the dark, rancid fate.
Alas, Phyllis was a dim bulb in a house blazing with exposed, unrestrained voltaic brilliance. She was, however, in possession of one saving grace. She got a donk.