Rumplenarcskin

 

rumplenarcskin

Once there was a Lieutenant who was poor, but who had a beautiful empathic daughter. Now it happened that he had to go and speak to the NarcKing and in order to curry favour with the NarcKing and provide some residual benefits, the Lieutenant said to the king, “I have a daughter who can spin rubbish into mesmerising brilliance, for example, BS into golden periods.”

The NarcKing said to the Lieutenant, “That is a craft which pleases me well, if your daughter is as clever as you say, bring her tomorrow to the Palace of Lost Hope and I will put her to the test.”

And when the empathic daughter was brought to the NarcKing, he took her into a compartment which was quite full of BS, gave her a spinning-wheel and a reel and said,

“I don’t like using my energy, so I need you to spin this BS into golden periods which I can use over my ensnared subjects. If by tomorrow you have not spun all this BS into golden periods, you must be discarded and smeared.”

     Thereupon the NarcKing locked the empathic daughter in the compartment and left her to go and hoover the visiting Queen of Sheba. So sat the poor Lieutenant’s daughter and for the life of her could not tell what to do. She never told lies and was an honest person and thus she had no idea how BS could be spun into golden periods. She grew more and more frightened until at last she began to weep.

But all at once the door opened and in came a little man and he said, “Good evening Mistress Empath why on earth are you wasting all that delicious negative fuel on a room full of BS?”

“Alas,” answered the girl, “I have to spin this BS into golden periods and I do not know how to do it.”

“What will you give me if I do it for you?” asked the little man, rubbing his hands in anticipation.

“I have nothing but my admiration and appreciation to give you,” replied the Lieutenant’s daughter.

“That’ll do,” grinned the little man.

He seated himself in front of the wheel and whirr, whirr, whirr, the reel was full. He put on another reel and then another and so he went on until the morning spinning the BS until all that existed were reels of golden periods.

By daybreak the NarcKing was already there for he did not sleep much and when he saw all the golden periods he was delighted, but his dark heart became only more greedy. He had the Lieutenant’s daughter taken into another room full of BS which was much larger.

“Right, I have a banquet coming up and I cannot be arsed to trot out all my false anecdotes yet again, so I need you to spin some more golden periods for me to pull over the eyes and ears of everybody who is attending. This BS has been festering for time immemorial, blimey, if I knew how to, I would be embarrassed at some of its content. Get this lot into golden periods in the course of one night or I will discard you. smear you and malign hoover you repeatedly.” commanded the NarcKing.

    Dismayed the girl began to weep again and in an instant the little man had re-appeared in the room once again.

“Holy Toledo, are you mad? So much fuel and you are wasting it.”

“I am sorry but I blame myself for everything, that is just the way I am. I have to spin this roomful of BS into golden periods or I am going to have a torrid time of it from the king.”

“I see. What will you give me then if I do it for you?” asked the little man.

“I have nothing but I can only give you my appreciation and admiration again,” replied the girl.

“Nah, had plenty of that from you, it is boring and stale. Tell you what, I will sit and do the spinning and call you all the bad names in the world so you cry and then I will have your tears and misery.”

“Really? That seems a strange thing to do when I could be so gushing and appreciative for you. Honestly, I would always admire you, forever, you have been so kind to me.”

“Save it kid, turn on the waterworks or your ass belongs to the king,” declared the little man.

“Very well,” answered the girl.

Thus the little man set to work and as the girl wept and wailed, he chortled to himself as he worked his way through the A-Z of Devaluing Insults, calling her all manner of awful things. By dawn all the BS had become golden periods.

The NarcKing bowled up and rejoiced with the power sparking in his eyes at the sight of so many golden periods which he could dole out over unsuspecting victims. Still, it was not enough and he had the Lieutenant’s daughter taken into a massive room full of BS.

“Goodness me, who created all this BS?” asked the girl amazed that such a quantity could be accumulated.

“Have you never heard one of my speeches?” asked the NarcKing somewhat irked.

“Spin all of this into golden periods and do it in one night and if you succeed I shall make you my intimate partner primary source, er I mean wife.”

The NarcKing departed to malign hoover the residents of a nearby village and left the girl alone. In time the little man appeared.

“Well I’ll go to the foot of our stairs!” he announced when he saw the mountains of BS around the girl, “I thought I could spout it, but this guy, he takes some beating.”

“What will you give me if I spin the BS into golden periods a third time?” he asked

“I have nothing left. I am all cried out and feel numb.”

“That’s not much good. I tell you what, if you become queen you are bound to get knocked-up by NarcKing so you are bound to him, so I will take your first born child for the purposes of triangulation.”

Who knows whether that will ever happen, thought the Lieutenant’s Daughter and not knowing how else to help herself in this strait, she agreed.

And when the NarcKing rolled in at 6am after a night of seduction, he found all as he had wished and took the Lieutenant’s Daughter in marriage and she became an intimate partner primary source and was treated like a queen.

About a year later she brought a beautiful child into the world and never gave a thought about the funny little man, but one evening, showing a flagrant disregard for boundaries, the little man wandered into her chamber and said,

“I have a huge sense of entitlement so give me what I want.”

The queen was horror-struck and offered the funny little man her character traits and many residual benefits including a full subscription to Netflix and exclusive use of a crystal carriage but the little man refused.

“No, the hoover fuel and triangulation potential of your child are far dearer to me than binging on science fiction shows all day.”

 

  Then the queen began to howl and cry. The little man had not experienced her negative fuel for a year so it made him feel better and he wondered whether he would be best keeping the queen as a non-intimate secondary source who he could keep returning to.

“I tell you what, seeing as I am a decent chap or at least so my façade thinks, I will give you three days and if by that time you find out my name, then you shall keep your child.”

So the queen thought the whole night of all the names that she had ever heard, and she instructed a messenger to ride all over the country to inquire, far and wide, for any other names that there might be. The messenger, who had been through this song and dance so many times decided instead to head to the castle library and do some research about this peculiar little man which the queen had described. He found some tomes by a sagely individual known as T G Hudor. He settled down to read the books which went by titles such as “Fairy Tale Fury”, “Going No Contact and Dispelling Annoying Little Men” and “Begone! How to Beat Funny Little Men.” Rather than waste time finding out names, the wise messenger read and read and then he just picked up the list of names from the last time he was sent on the quest and handed it to the queen for her to use before he headed back to his research.

When the little man came the next day, she began with Soulmate, True Love and Shining Star, and said all the names she knew, one after another, but to every one the little man said, “That is not my name.”

On the second day she had inquiries made on a popular blog as to the names of the people the commenters there knew, and she repeated to the funny little man the most uncommon and curious. Perhaps your name is Tubby, or Dickula, or Narcopath , but he always answered, “That is not my name.”

On the third day the messenger, who frankly found all this name-gathering nonsense a chore, came back again, and said, “I have not been able to find a single new name so I guess you are up shit creek.”

“Oh my goodness, ” cried the queen, “what am I to do, I do not want to lose my child and have it triangulated by Yoda’s uglier brother.”

The messenger had seen this played out many times before but just went along with it usually as the pay at the castle was good and the view from his turret was impressive, so he went through the ritual of this repeated hoovering by the funny little man. After many years though, the messenger had made some important gains in his research and besides he wanted to get through a few box sets so he felt it was time that the charade came to an end.

 

“Your majesty, if I may make a suggestion, when this Rum… er funny little man appears, don’t worry about knowing his name, but instead ignore him.”

“Ignore him, but why?”

“Trust me, I’ve endured this scenario thirty times in my lifetime and to be frank, I need a break from all of the running around on ridiculous quests and errands. If you want this weirdo to clear off, just ignore him. I can guarantee he will not take your child.”

And when soon afterwards the little man came in, and asked, “Now, mistress queen, what is my name?”

The Queen said nothing.

“I said what is my name?”

The Queen stared out of the window.

“My name? My name? What is it?” hollered the little man jumping from foot to foot.

But the Queen took the advice of the messenger and ignored the little man quite completely. No matter what he said to her, how much of a scene he made, she just ignored him until in his ignited fury he plunged his right foot so deep into the earth that his whole leg went in, and then in a rage he pulled at his left leg so hard with both hands that he tore himself in two and was gone.

The Queen smiled and cradled her child as the messenger thanked his own personal god that the merry go round had finally ended.

43 thoughts on “Rumplenarcskin

  1. thepianist20 says:

    Awesome! 10 stars! 🌟

    1. HG Tudor says:

      Thank you and how about a rendition of Moonlight Sonata?

      1. thepianist20 says:

        Yes! A darker version of Moonlight Sonata would do! *evil grin*

        1. HG Tudor says:

          You do that and I will do Toccata and Fugue in D Minor.

          1. thepianist20 says:

            Wow HG! You must be so talented!

            I didn’t know you could play piano! 😉

          2. HG Tudor says:

            I can.

            My piano teacher was the only one who really listened.

          3. thepianist20 says:

            Lovely!

            Piano teachers are amazing. They are versatile too.

          4. HG Tudor says:

            He was old so not so flexible. Pipe smoke reminds me of him. He is long dead.

          5. thepianist20 says:

            Aww sad 🙁 Small things/objects serve as a trigger to remember certain memories.

          6. HG Tudor says:

            Not sad, I just remember.

          7. thepianist20 says:

            I see. It’s alright HG.

  2. Matilda says:

    Just listened to this on YT! Very entertaining, well done! 😀

  3. Narc affair says:

    Hansel and gretel would be good where the wicked witch triangulates them lol

    1. HG Tudor says:

      Watch this space NA.

      1. Narc affair says:

        Cant wait!!

  4. In the youtube recording you sound a bit like Boris Karloff when he was narrating The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.

    1. Windstorm2 says:

      That sounds intriguing, strongerwendy! That rendition of How the Grinch Stole Christmas is one of my all time favorites! Gives me something to look forward to!

      1. HG Tudor says:

        There’s always lots to look forward with HG.

  5. RS says:

    What a great fairy tale! All the good ones, like yours, always have a lesson to learn at the end, and I have learned mine. 😉

  6. Mona says:

    HG, is it really a bedtime story? Sometimes we use fairy tales to process mental woundings or to realise our own behaviour.

    1. windstorm2 says:

      I always thought fairy tales were to frighten/coerce/indoctrinate children into doing what their parents wanted them to. Probably told at bedtime because that’s the optimum time psychologically for a message to be internalized. My mother used to tell me stories at bedtime about shadowy monsters that lived under my bed and would grab my ankles, pull me under and eat me if I got out of bed in the night.

      1. RS says:

        That’s horrible! I am so sorry for you. My mother used to tell me how I was born. Once there was a mommy who sat crying because all of her children were old enough to go to school and she was lonely. A little fairy came through the wall and said “mommy, why are you crying”. She told the fairy and the fairy went back through the wall and brought back a little yellow basket with a beautiful baby girl in it. The mommy was so happy because now she had a sweet little daughter to love and give baths to and feed and tell stories to. Of course my mom embellished this story more than I have but she was the best mom ever. She was making up the the sociopath father I had that she had divorced! 😉

        1. Windstorm2 says:

          RS
          Your mother sounds great! Glad you had the positive influence growing up! My mother was a powerful “non-example” for me as a future mother. As a teacher I have learned that sometimes non-examples are even more important to learning than examples!

          And I derived my own revenge by being a very literal, truth-telling empath that frustrated her constantly! I got around my bedroom in the night by jumping, flea-like from one article of furniture to another. I still remember the look of horror on her face when she opened the door one night to find me walking across the top of the dresser!
          When she went to my father to complain about me he just said, “stop trying to scare her off the floor.” 😝

      2. Mona says:

        Hey windstorm, of course they have a message but not to frighten children. They are often cruel because reality was cruel in former times. Nevertheless It just makes me smile. My mother did not like the ferocity of some fairy tales (she said so) and therefore she always changed the stories a little bit. In her story the children (Hensel and Gretel) did not burn the witch, they only brought her to a prison. I told my version at basic school and was accused to be a liar. So, because of her “good intention” I suffered at basic school. I believe that she identified with the witch a little bit and that was the real motive to change the story. She never apologised for it or showed some empathy for me, only defended her good intention. .

      3. RS says:

        Now my brothers, that is a another story. They used to tell me stories like your mother told you so that I would stay in bed and leave them alone at night. They were so mad when my mom taught me how to tell time because they used to tell me it was bedtime when it was 7pm. 😄

  7. malo says:

    Seriously!!!
    Have you ever considered to write fairy-tales and publish them?
    The Prince will not save you!
    The Prince is the one you have to watch out!
    It would be so helpful for the little girls.

  8. Bedtime stories by HG.

  9. Sniglet says:

    Ah, nice story. I hope this is not an advertisement for Netflix.
    And T G Hudor?!

  10. Natalie says:

    Love this!!! A tale of no contact!

  11. Scout says:

    A really enjoyable read, HG, thanks. Just one very minor point to address: it’s ‘arse’ not ‘ass’.

  12. Miss Teri says:

    Interesting Sir HG Tudor…Wowsers! Love Your ‘Blogs’. Totally ‘Awesome’ like ‘You’…

  13. Indy says:

    Theme here as of recent: “If you want this weirdo to clear off, just ignore….”

    Thank you HG, little smearing insect does not cloud my windshield 😊

  14. naac says:

    Not the king, not the little man, not the fusion of both of them – but …

    (Besides – no need for the queen to change?
    … much, much more than simply ‘no contact’.)

  15. Mona says:

    I took a look at the empath in your tale. She seems to be very weak. She always needs someone to get out of her mess and she thinks that other people are there to help her. She obeys to her father, who is not a lieutenant but a narc, because he sold his own daughter to the mighty king.,.she obeys everyone who promises her help. That is one hidden dark side of this empath, she is weak and not able to make a decision on her own. And she let other people circle around her problems. And rumplenarcskin, is he really intelligent? He worked all night long very hard to satisfy her needs. He worked really hard. But he wants a payment for his efforts.
    The fairy tale is really interesting and fascinating but I see no real happy end. She is still married to the mighty narcissistic king and she did not choose her own way, but obeyed to someone as always. Next time she will do the same again, ask someone for help.

  16. Anonymous says:

    Hmmm.

    1. Anonymous says:

      By the way, it’s Rumpel, not Rumple. Not trying to ignite your fury.

      1. Anonymous says:

        Although it looks like the wrong version is correct, too. But will annoy every German speaker to death.

  17. Mary says:

    OMG… Another brilliant masterpiece!!! Thank you for this, HG.

    I’ve actually referred to my narc as Rumplestiltskin before because he is a troll who preys on vulnerable women.

  18. Missy says:

    OMG love it. Should’ve done it today….just ignore 😔

  19. Emmie says:

    Amazing story and it is all so true,thank you Hg ,i am learning so much about my problems

    1. HG Tudor says:

      Good to read.

  20. Peaceful says:

    FANTASTIC!!!!!!!!!!!!! *****

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