PROLOGUE In the middle of the commotion, Scooter raps his knuckles on the back of the clipboard he's clutching to his chest. Considering the ruckus that everyone's making, and considering his exceedingly soft fingers, the gesture doesn't have much impact. With an exasperated sigh, he turns to Kermit for help. The frog climbs up onto a nearby wooden chair and shouts, "Hey, everybody!" Still no response, so Kermit turns to a shaggy short guy passing by. "Hey, Animal," he pleads. "Could I get a little help here?" Animal eagerly bounds up onto the chair and bellows: "Quiiiiii-eeeeeet!!!" Well, that sure gets their attention, and in the silence that follows, Kermit cheerfully announces, "Five minutes till we start!" The momentary quiet ends, erupting into a clamor as, around them, all manner of creatures frantically prep for the adventurous production ahead: a decidedly Muppet spin on eighteen enduring folktales collected and preserved by an enterprising pair of German brothers. Among the unorthodox sights before Kermit and Scooter are a blond flower child in caftan and Birkenstocks who's collapsing to the floor in a pretend, poison-induced stupor; a wedge of cheese and a blob of chopped liver running lines together; and, curled up on a sofa, a lazy snaggletoothed goat somehow dozing through it all. Amid this, Kermit joins Scooter in helping Pepé the King Prawn locate a missing costume. Finally spying the ensemble on a clothing rack, Kermit passes it to the gangly crustacean. "You'd better hurry and get changed," urges the frog. Scooter points to his watch and adds, "It's four minutes until the first story, and you've got a big part in it!" "Doan rush me, okay?" replies a nonchalant Pepé. "Haven't I been telling you for an hour that I'll be ready in a minute?" He puts a hand on Kermit's shoulder and leans in. "Pepé has been studying the meditation, and one thing I learn is that rushing is no good for you. Because while is true the early bird may get the worm, is also true the second rodent gets the cheese." Nearby, and clearly within earshot, Rizzo the Rat pumps a fist in the air and cheers, "That's right , he does!" Pepé stares earnestly into Kermit's eyes. "You are too stressed, okay, and could use the help. Are you ready for wisdoms?" Kermit nods. Pepé intones: "As the wise man once said to me, 'Do the opposite of whatever I tell you, okay.' So I didn't ." He lets the words hang in the air for a moment, then raises an eyebrow knowingly and saunters off. Kermit is still scratching his head at the prawn's words when he notices a look of concern worrying Scooter's face. "What's wrong?" The stage manager glances both ways, then whispers to Kermit, "Has anyone broken the news to Tom, Dick, and Harry that they're not going to be in this book?" "Tom, Dick, and Harry . . . ," says Kermit, trying to place the names. "Oh! Is that the three-headed monster whose footsteps don't make any sound?" Scooter nods yes. "Gosh," says Kermit, "I thought you were taking care of that." "Taking care of what?" asks Tom, Dick, and Harry, who had somehow just appeared without a sound right behind them. "Uhhhh," stammers Scooter. "How do they do that?" marvels Kermit. Before anyone can answer, Miss Piggy struts over in her white karate outfit and says, "Scooter, I'm sorry I'm tardy, but my martial arts class ran late. We were learning to break boards in half." "Hey, that's groovy," says Janice from down by Piggy's feet and fresh from a fake faint. She lifts up on one elbow. "Like, now you'll be able to protect yourself the next time a board attacks?" "As I was saying," Piggy continues to Scooter, "if you could just point me in the direction of the private dressing room reserved exclusively for moi ." "Well," Scooter croaks, his throat suddenly very dry in the demanding diva's presence, "there are nearly a hundred of us Muppets appearing in these stories, so space is awful tight around here." Piggy blinks three times then says slowly through a frozen smile, "I do not understand how that pertains to moi ." Scooter swallows hard and looks to Kermit for help. "You see, Piggy," begins the frog in soothing tones, "you definitely have a private dressing room . . . though it's not so much a dressing room as it is a storage room . . . and instead of it being private, it's being shared by, well, everyone." The diva's impending outburst is interrupted when a blue blur crashes through the ceiling and hits the floor next to them with a resounding thud. "Gonzo!" cries Scooter as the fuzzy daredevil crawls out from beneath his cape and dusts himself off. Kermit eyes the hole in the ceiling. "Were you skydiving?" "Not exactly. I call it 'cannonballing,'" Gonzo clarifies. "It's skydiving without a parachute." Kermit's jaw drops. "You jumped out of a plane with no parachute?!" "Aww," he counters with a dismissive flick of the wrist, "that's the easy part." "So what's the hard part?" "Hitting the ground." He rubs his shoulder. "But I guarantee you I'll stick that landing eventually. What's that old saying? 'Thirty-third time's the charm'?" Two elderly gents in three-piece suits stand a few paces away, scowling. "You know, Gonzo," says the one called Statler, "my nickname for you is 'the Venus de Milo .'" Gonzo cocks his head. "Why's that?" "Because you're not all there!" "That's for certain," says Statler's old pal Waldorf. "I've got my own name for him: 'peanut brittle.'" "Why 'peanut brittle'?" "Because he's half nuts!" They both break into mirthful chortles. "Aw gee, guys," says Gonzo, blushing a deeper shade of blue, "this is no time for compliments, the stories are about to start!" And off he goes to change into costume. Meanwhile, as the stagehand Beauregard and his assistant penguins hammer away at various set pieces, an urgent and outraged voice cuts through the crowd noise. "Have you read this?!" Beau, the birds, and all the rest stop what they're doing and turn to see Sam Eagle marching across the room holding a sheaf of pages aloft in an upraised wing. The big blue raptor is visibly livid, his unibrow deeply furrowed. "Have you actually read these twisted, bizarre, and violent tales that you're all about to appear in? Is this your idea of good, wholesome entertainment? Children being swallowed alive? Creatures tearing themselves in two? These stories are a hundred percent indecent!" Waldorf scoffs. "And when was the last time the Muppets did anything even fifty percent decent?" The bird thinks for a moment. "Point taken." "Look, Sam," says Kermit, "they're just stories, and the Muppets are born storytellers. These are some of the most beloved tales in the world, passed down for generations. They're the inspiration for countless books and movies, and they've been translated into more than a hundred and sixty languages." " Globalism! Harrumph!" But before Sam can declare another harrumph, Scooter swiftly adds, "We were actually counting on you to be in one or two of them with us." "Oh--what? Really? You want me to be in them?" The eagle is clearly quite flattered, so the stage manager forges ahead, handing him some pages from his clipboard. "Here are the three we've got you slated for." Sam glances at their titles and recoils. "But these are some of the most objectionable stories of the whole lot! Terrible things happen in them!" Kermit chimes in. "These plots are pure make-believe, a marvelous mixture of allegories, metaphors, and symbols." A loud crash from the corner makes them all turn. "CYMBALS!" yells Animal, who's seated at his drum set. He bashes the high hat gleefully with his drumsticks. Scooter checks his watch. "Oh boy, it's go time!" "Then we've got the perfect transition," says Kermit. "Animal, can you give us a drumroll?" The shaggy percussionist nods his head vigorously, then pounds a thunderous tattoo on the bass drum as the narrator takes a deep breath, ready to begin . . . just as soon as you turn the page. We're waiting. You can turn the page NOW. CHAPTER 1: CAMILLARELLA AFTER "ASHPUTTEL" Once upon a time . . . long, long ago . . . last Monday . . . there was a rich Scotsman whose wife took ill. Their devoted daughter, Camilla, a fetching young chicken with a gentle demeanor and fine white feathers, roosted by her mother's bedside day and night. That morning, the chick overheard the doctor tell her father in solemn tones, "Well, Angus McGonagle," for that was her father's name, "the prognosis isn't good." They were talking about her mother's future, because there apparently wasn't going to be much of it. After the doc left, the ailing lady mustered up the strength to stammer, "Always be . . . a good girl . . . my little Camillarella," which was her pet name for her daughter, "and I will look down from heaven . . . and watch over you . . . but not in a creepy way." Then she kicked the bucket. A moment later, her mother asked in a weak voice, "Who put that bucket so close to the bed?" When Camilla's mom actually did pass away, she was planted in the backyard garden, right between the peas and the peppers. The little chicken went every day past the swing set and swimming pool to the grave and weeded and wept and ate the occasional earthworm, and she was always good and kind to everyone, just as her mother had implored. Time passed. The snow fell. Britney Spears had another comeback, fell from favor yet again, and came back once more. But Camilla always made her daily visits to the spot, and by the time the spring arrived, her father, a big-featured purple gent of gargoyle heritage, had gotten hitched again. Angus's new wife, a pleasingly plump glamour-puss called Miss Piggy, brought with her two kids of her own, Andy and Randy. Some might say these, uh, daughters were decent lookers, with their pale pink skin, pointy ears, and supersize snouts, but inside they were unquestionably selfish and arrogant. "I object!" said Andy to Randy. "Because they called us selfish and arrogant?" asked Randy. "No, that's accurate. I object to us having to play girls in this story--we're boys !" "Well, that's not a problem. Good actors can play anything." "Yeah, and the problem is that we're terrible actors." Piggy realized the jig was up and confessed: "Look, I'll level with you. Scooter tried to get Betina and Belinda Cratchit for these parts, but they're booked in Reno. You have to take one for the team." So with the arrival of Piggy and her two "daughters," there began a very sorry stretch for poor little Camilla. One night at dinner, Andy said with a sneer, "It's so yucky how that feather-face eats food through her nose!" Randy, who at that moment was digging a finger in his own, jeered, "Yeah, gross !" Camilla cowered and skulked out of the room. You might wonder about the poor chick's father at this point. Angus McGonagle had remained oblivious to the changes taking place in the household, blinded as he was by his love for Piggy (and here we are contractually obligated to make note of her mellifluous voice(tm), mesmerizing blue eyes(tm), and lustrous honey locks(tm)). The self-centered stepmother was no help, either. She focused only on her phone, obsessed with her Twitter feed. "I just got retweeted by Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson," she once bragged to an empty room. Neither parent paid attention when Andy and Randy banished Camilla from the dinner table, or hid her fine clothes and gave her only an old gray frock to put on, or laughed at her and treated her like the scullery maid. She was forced to do all the hard work, rising even before daylight to bring the water, to wash the clothes, to cold-press Piggy's juices. Besides that, Andy and Randy plagued her in all sorts of other ways, from putting Pop Rocks in her grain to egging her in the yard with her own eggs. They frequently made fun of her nervous clucking and mocked her spotty plumage (she couldn't help it--it was molting season). On the evenings when she was exhausted, which was every evening, she had no cushy hay to roost in, but was made to lie among the ashes on the stones by the hearth. This, of course, made her always dusty and dirty, so her stepsiblings made up names for her. " Ash -ley," shouted Randy. "Get it? She's covered in ashes." Andy chimed in with one of his own: " Soot -zanne!" " Ember -ly!" " Burn -adette!" Piggy had tried to tune out their brainless banter but could hold her tongue no longer. "You might want to try using the word cinder -- duh ." "'Cinder-duh'?" asked Andy skeptically. "Is that even English?" "Just cinder ," said Piggy, with a roll of her eyes. "Use the word cinder to make a name for her." "There are zero names you could make using the word cinder ," said Randy, shaking his head. "Can't be done," agreed Andy. "Impossible," concluded Randy. "Piggy, you're not very good at this, are you?" Piggy shook her head. "If ignorance is bliss, why aren't you two happier?" It was then that Angus announced he was taking a trip. The bagpipe enthusiast was planning to travel to a neighboring kingdom's annual wind-instrument convention. He asked Piggy's kids in his Scottish brogue, "Is there anythin' youse wee lasses would laik me to bring ya back from mah journey?" "Video games!" said Randy. "And any chocolate except M&M's!" said Andy. "What's wrong with M&M's?" asked Angus. "Too hard to peel." "Aye, all right. And dear Camilla," said the father, "what would ya like, me lass?" She thought for a moment, then whispered, "Bawk b-gaw, bawk bawk b-gark." "What'd she say?" asked Randy with a scoff. "She says she would laik the first twig that brushes 'gainst me tam-o'-shanter when I turn back toward home," Angus replied, pointing to his soft woolen plaid cap. "She is an awful simple gal." Randy and Andy looked at each other, marveling at such a silly request, and launched into guffaws. After the convention ended and he'd piped to his heart's content, Angus bought for Piggy's oddball offspring the video games and chocolate they had asked for. On his return, as he steered his bike down a tree-lined path, a dangling twig brushed against his cap, so he snapped it off and tucked it into the pocket of his kilt. When he got home and passed out the presents, Camilla graciously thanked him for the twig and promptly carried it in her orange beak to her mother's grave. There, she planted it in the soil, then cried so much that it was drenched with her tears. Like a magical beanstalk from another brand of fairy tales, it instantly sprouted and became a towering weeping willow. Three times every day she went to it and cried, saving Angus a bundle on the water bill. One afternoon Camilla looked high into the willow's branches and was surprised to discover that something had built its nest there. But the critter that peered down over the side of the nest was surprisingly not of the winged variety. " Hola ," it said while waving with several of its four hands. "I think maybe you was expecting a bird in here, okay. But I am Pepé, and believe it or not, I am your Fairy Godprawn. I will do the watching over you and bring whatever it is you wish for, Camillarella." Her heart jumped: Camillarella! Her mother's pet name! It was proof to her that this peculiar tree-nesting Spanish-speaking sea creature must indeed have been sent from heaven, and that maybe, just maybe, her bad-luck streak was over. (Don't count on it.) Now it happened that the king of that land, a fine blue bachelor named The Great Gonzo, had planned a nightly feast and masquerade party, which was to last three days. By its end, he hoped to have found a bride. "Uhhh, that doesn't make any sense," said Randy. "If he's looking to get hitched, why would he want the babes to wear masks?" Andy chimed in: "'Cuz that way he'll fall for someone's inner beauty, not just a pretty face." Piggy snorted. "'Inner beauty'? That's an oxymoron." Randy laughed and punched Andy. "Ha ha! She thinks you're a moron." Andy punched Randy. "She thinks you're a moron!" "Not true," Piggy corrected with a sweet smile. "I think you're both morons." That evening, the two young pigs made their stepchicken assist them as they prepared for the shindig. Andy refused to say the next line of dialogue, so Randy, who really wanted to go to the party, delivered it instead: "Now, Camilla," he began, in stilted, actorly tones, breathing during only the most unnatural of spots, "come scrub behind our ears, shine our. Shoes, and tie our. Sashes for us, for we are going to dance. At the king's. Feast." "Now you see why I didn't want to say it," Andy explained to the reader. "It sounds too ridiculous." "Well, for this story we're supposed to be ridiculous," rationalized Randy. "You're ridiculous." "No, you're ridiculous." "Take it from me," said Piggy, "you're both ridiculous! Now I've had enough of this bickering. We don't have much time until the party starts--so shake a tail feather, Camilla!" The chicken did as she was told, briskly scrubbing them till their bristly pink hides glowed, and dolling them up in ribbons and bows. When she was finished, she begged her stepmother to let her attend as well. "Vous?!" said Piggy, so startled at the request that she actually looked up from her phone mid-tweet. " Vous who is covered in dust and dirt? Vous who have nothing to wear and who cannot even dance-- vous want to go with nous ?" The bedraggled bird kept on begging, so Piggy at last marched downstairs to the kitchen and grabbed a box of grape-flavored Nerds from the counter. "Fine!" she said, silencing Camilla mid- bawk with a finger to the beak. "How about I throw these candies into the fireplace and if you can pick them out before an hour has passed, you can go to the feast, too." Her stepmother tossed the tiny purple nuggets down among the ashes (they blended in quite diabolically with the cinders) and marched off to give herself a manicure. But the put-upon chick didn't despair. She had an idea. She scurried out the back door, skirted the pool, and went into the garden. At the base of the willow, she cried up to Pepé the Fairy Godprawn in his strange little shrimpy nest: "Bawk b'gawk bawk bawk!" "Is true," he answered as he woke from his siesta and peered down through half-open lids. "I did say I would get you whatever you wish for. And a Fairy Godprawn always keep his word." With that, he hollered in the direction of the horizon, "Here, chickie, chickie, chickies!" Camilla watched with wonder as a flock of chickens from the bordering property scampered over the hill, a wave of white feathers and wiggling red waddles. They arrived at the house chirping excitedly, fluttered into the kitchen, beelined for the fireplace, and set to work, pick-pick-picking at the ashes with their beaks. They soon had plucked out all the Nerds and dropped them into a dish. Long before the end of the hour, the work was quite done. They flapped out again and returned over the hill to their coops. Camilla, overjoyed that she would now be allowed to go to the ball, carefully carried the full dish in her outstretched wings and presented it to her stepmother, who was upstairs blowing on her wet fingernails and lounging with Andy and Randy. She saw hopeful Camilla and the plate of candies and immediately shook her head. "Nope, no way!" she said. "Besides," Andy said, "you can't dance." Randy said, "And you have no fancy clothes." But Camilla didn't stop begging until Piggy returned to the kitchen, took down from the pantry a second box of Nerds, and shook them into the ashes along with the first plateful again. "Fine then," she said pertly. "If you can pick twice as many candy pieces out of the ashes before an hour has passed, you may go." And she left to finish dressing. Camilla again went into the garden and cried out to sleepy Pepé, who roused himself as before and summoned the feathered fleet by calling, "Here, chickie, chickie, chickies!" Over the hill they came, excited and eager to assist. They put their heads down and set to work: pick, pick, pick! They dropped all the Nerds onto a plate and left all the ashes. Before half an hour's time, they finished, winged each other high fives, and flapped again home. Camilla took the plate to her stepmother, all aquiver with excitement. But Piggy, dolled up in a curve-hugging Prada column dress, shook her head and said, "Even if you had clothes, and even if you could dance, you would only put us to shame in front of everyone that matters. Sorry, sweetie, but we don't always get everything we want. I wanted a private dressing room, but did I get it?" And with that, off went all three to the ball in a coach with oblivious Angus. Dejected, Camilla sat down in the parlor. It was true: She had nothing to wear, and all she had in the way of moves was the Chicken Dance. Then, all of a sudden, like a lightbulb flash over her head, she got a grand idea. Well, actually both of those things happened, so after she got a ladder and replaced the broken lightbulb, she went outside to the willow, looked up at the nest, and cried out: "Bawk bawk bawk bgark!" Pepé the Fairy Godprawn peered down, yawning. "Oh, hello, pollo . Sí , is true, Pepé did say he would get you whatever you wish for. And a Godprawn always keep his word, okay, even if that means he never get to take the full siesta." He lowered a basket containing a gold-and-silver dress, slippers of spangled silk, and a sparkly mask. "Pepé bedazzle that mask himself," he boasted. Camilla chirped her sincere thanks, donned the garb, and rushed down the road to the feast. At the castle, no one could place this strikingly beautiful masked stranger, not even her own family. She looked so fine in her rich clothes that they never once thought of wretched Camilla, taking it for granted that she was all alone at home in the ashes. King Gonzo, wearing a lavender tux with matching satin bow tie, soon came up to her and said, "May I have this dance, my attractive, mysterious guest?" Beneath her feathers she blushed. This king was handsome with a capital AND SOME. He took her by the wing and led her to the center of the room. He was utterly charmed by her Chicken Dance. In fact, he never left her side all evening, and when anyone else asked to cut in, he said, "This fine specimen is dancing only with me." The hour soon grew late and she felt she should get home. "I'll call you a taxi," offered Gonzo, hurrying to the curb and whistling. Camilla panicked--she had no money for cab fare!--and she tried to slip away. The king caught sight of her in time, however, and followed secretly at a distance, hoping to find out where this beauty lived. By the time she reached her house, she was wise to her pursuer. She dashed unseen into the canopy of weeping willow branches, changed out of her beautiful clothes and into her gray frock, and sprinted inside. Gonzo couldn't imagine how she'd managed to disappear. He politely knocked at the front door. When Angus answered, the lovesick king told him that he suspected an unknown maiden from the feast had hidden herself in the home. A thorough search turned up no one except a kitchen maid lying by the fire in her dirty frock, her head tucked under her wing. Gonzo left, deeply disappointed but no less determined to find this hottie of a hen. On the second night of the feast, when Camilla's stepmother and sisters were once again gone, the chicken went to the willow and cried out: "Bawk bawk bawk bgark!" And this time the kindly but sleepy crustacean woke and lowered an even finer dress/shoe/mask combo than the one he had given her the day before, calling down, " De nada , okay!" When the beautiful chicken swanned into the ball, everyone crowed--no one more so than Gonzo. They spent another splendid night together, and when the end of the ball approached and she tiptoed away, Gonzo again followed. But she was too quick and, reaching home, sprang away from him all at once into the backyard. Not knowing where to hide herself, she dove into the pool and stayed beneath a blow-up raft floating in the middle with only her beak above water till the king had gone. The third evening, when her stepmother and sisters had left for the feast, she went again to the willow, where her kind prawn pal was already awake and waiting. He delivered a dress even finer than the former one, and slippers that were made of 24-karat gold. They were so pretty. They were so heavy. When she arrived at the feast, no one knew quite what to say: Her beauty was staggering, and thanks to her footwear, so was she. But Gonzo didn't care one whit. He Chicken Danced with nobody but her, and when she wanted to go home he said to himself, "I won't lose her this time--goodness knows, in those shoes she can't run fast or far!" But alas, he played it wrong: When he turned to momentarily greet the members of his house band, the Electric Mayhem, Camilla ditched the shoes and skedaddled in a blink. Realizing he'd been outfoxed, the king strained to deadlift the slippers and grunted, "I will search the kingdom till I find the lady that can wear these! Then I will see the doctor about this hernia." Word of his hunt soon made its way around town, and Piggy's ears perked up. She told her kin that this was their last chance to launch themselves into royalty, so, at all costs, they must make the shoes fit. When the king arrived at their home, Piggy went with Andy into the bedroom to help slip on the slippers. But try as they might, they couldn't get Andy's big toes into the tiny shoes. "Never mind," said Piggy, passing Andy a knife. "Cut them off." "What?!" exclaimed the perplexed porker. "Go on, do it. When you're living in the castle you won't care about toes--you'll have a limo to take you wherever you want." Having a limo sure sounded nice, so Andy did as she commanded: two hacks, and bye-bye big toes! Andy squeezed on the shoes, then limped to the king, announcing, "I win!" And since Gonzo had made a vow, they were married instantly, Vegas-style, by the limo driver/lounge singer and newly minted justice of the peace Johnny Fiama. But, as fate would have it, on their way back to the castle, the newlyweds had to drive by the weeping willow that Camilla had planted and watered with her tears. Through the sunroof they spotted Pepé, stretched out on a branch, strumming his guitar, and singing: "Back again, back again! Check out the shoes! The shoes is too small, and not made for you! King Gonzo! Look again at that 'bride' today, Is an impostor that sit by your side, okay." When Gonzo examined Andy's feet, his eyes bulged even more than usual. What a gory mess! Andy, meekly trying an excuse, stammered, "N-n-new shoes always give me blisters?" The annoyed king suspected otherwise and had Johnny annul the marriage, turn the limo around, and bring the wounded impostor back home. "Oops!" said Piggy, covering. "I made a mistake--Andy's, er, sister is actually the one you're meant for, King Gonzo. Let her put on the slippers!" And dashing into Randy's bedroom, the two pigs pushed and shoved till the shoes almost fit, save the heels. Piggy handed Randy the knife. You can probably guess what happened next. Minutes later, Randy limped in to greet the king and said through gritted teeth, "I win!" They were married instantly, but on their way back to the castle the limo had to pass by the weeping willow, and there on a branch sat the little prawn, shaking maracas and singing: "Back again, back again! Look to the shoes! The shoes is too small, and not made for you! King Gonzo! Look again at that 'bride' today, Is an impostor that sit by your side, okay." Gonzo looked down at Randy's feet and saw that his new spouse's white-stockinged ankles were quite soaked with blood. Randy looked at him with a little grimace and said, "Corns?" The king's face turned from blue to red. Johnny annulled the marriage, turned the limo around, and they returned. "You sure have some desperate daughters," a perturbed Gonzo said to Angus. "Is there no one else living here who might be my true beloved and who doesn't have to do herself bodily harm to slip on a shoe?!" "Nay, I'm effraid there ein't, me boyo," said the father, "noot unless ya mean little Camilla, the child of me first wife." The king insisted they fetch her. She bashfully entered and curtsied to Gonzo. Already bewitched by her now unmasked beauty, he set the golden slippers down on the floor before her. She stepped easily in, first one clawed foot, then the other. They fit as if they had been custom-made for her, which, indeed, they had. "Far out!" he said. "I've found my right bride!" Piggy, Andy, and Randy, seeing how fast King Gonzo had fallen for the chicken, knew their goose was cooked and apologized and made excuses for their hideousness, hoping Camilla would bring them to live with her in luxury at the palace. "Let she among us who is fastest throw the first stone!" proclaimed Piggy. ". . . Or something like that." If Camilla had lips, she would have broken into a smile. The queen-to-be took great pleasure in clucking nothing at all to the terrible trio as Gonzo scooped her up and brought her to his limo. And when Johnny drove them by the weeping willow, Pepé the Fairy Godprawn sang gleefully from a branch: "Home! home! Look at the shoes! Princess, they make you the one he choose! King Gonzo! Take home your bride today, For she is the one that sit by your side, okay!" The prawn bungeed from the branch through the sunroof, landing softly on Camilla's plush feathers. She wrapped a wing around him. Gonzo put an arm around her. Johnny cranked the radio, and off they all cruised to the castle in the most jolly of moods. Excerpted from Muppets Meet the Classics: Fairy Tales from the Brothers Grimm by Brothers Grimm, Erik Forrest Jackson All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
