Stop calling me evil stepmother. That’s not my name. My name is Dorothy and the reason I don’t like Cinderella is because she is the constant whiny reminder of my husband’s infidelity. She’s his lovechild, with my sister, who’s dead from a heroin overdose that she purchased with my college fund. Yeah, I can’t say she’s my favorite thing to look at. Since it’s looking at suck. My husband thought since it was with my sister that I would love her like one of my own since my sister and I share the same DNA. Well, thank you science, once again you’ve proven love is less smart than math.
Yes, I make her do work. She needs to learn discipline. She’s already milking the ‘half-orphan’ title she keeps calling herself. To me half orphan doesn’t seem too bad. If I were half lesbian people would just say I was drunk. Half orphan, well, I’d put her in a half-orphanage if that existed. I’m half Dutch and that’s ironic.
The Prince’s ball, the big fucking ball, No I didn’t want her to go. She’s a slut. No stepmother of a fake half-orphan is going to let her loose labia-ed daughter near an available prince. And Prince Charming? What kind of moniker is that? He is just looking for more bitches to dance behind him in a music video. Letting your slutty daughter near a man named Prince Charming is like telling her to be an intern during the Clinton Administration. (Old joke, I know but I am a frazzled mother of a half-orphan here and accurate is accurate. Fuck off.)
Oh, my daughters, yes, my husband’s other children. I love them. They were begot within the bonds of marriage and all was correct and moral and good. Until the lovechild showed up. How do you tell two little girls that they have a new sister because Aunt Mindy and Daddy shot up an eggshell full of crack and played cave waterfalls of milk. And how do you explain that yes, you are related to this girl and no not normally do families share daddies and no, I’m sorry my lesbian daughter it is not healthy to have a crush on someone that shares the same DNA as you, no matter how much science says you can’t make to four ovaries into one baby.
So Cinderella conjures up the soul of her limbo laden dead mother, puts her glass water pipes on her big toes and crashes the ball. Seduces the prince by fellating his thumb during the counter dance and then running away to meet her dealer and losing a shoe.
Next thing I know, Prince “Wanna writhe on top of my BMW while I rap about tits?” shows up at our door with her fucking glass pipe shoe. My daughters and I make a show about trying them on and making them not fit so he will leave and never come back to make our little half-orphan slut-bag a video vixen. Well, little grunge goddess herself stumbles out of her hangover nap to jam her big toe in the top of pipe and proclaim that it fits.
Prince Charming is so distracted by her open bathrobe and roughly shaven pussy that he agrees and marries her. Cinderella doesn’t move out of the house in to the castle because Prince Charming and Prince Charming’s Ex are still ‘figuring things out.”
If that makes me evil, then fuck it.
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