The Ugly Crow (Mark Twain Style)

It was a fine day. Not too hot as to make the pond dry up, which it often did some sunny afternoons, for it was not a strong willed pond—it came with rains, left again in the wink of an eye, and when it laid, it laid dismally. It was a fine day. Not too hot yet not too cold either, in my account. There was no breeze, no cloud, no whisper of winter. There lived a black crow in a tree beside the pond. I say she was black, for there is no other sympathetic thing to be said for her. Proud as a peacock, as they say, she ruled her branch with utmost severity, propriety, and absurdity. Proud as a peacock, yet with nothing to show for it. On that fine nearly ordinary day, the crow stood eating a small delicacy—a piece of yellow cheese. This was the only event holding as out of the ordinary, as the crow, for all her pride, was not a fine creature. She stood at the end of the branch, as to be in the clearest sight of her neighbors, to savoring, treasuring, idolizing, the small cheese.

“Hello there!” cried a cheerful voice from the ground. A young charming fox walked up, his gait quick and spry, making the blades of grass around him stand a little straighter. “A fine day, Madame, a fine day—and a fine day for you especially, I see,” he said, nodding towards the cheese.

The crow attempted a flirtatious smile at the fox in which attempt she failed dismally.

“A day what could hardly be made better.” Nobody had ever done what the fox did next. He tilted up his chin at an angle of perfection and called, “Lady, you must have a sweet voice to join that sweet voice of yours. Sing me a song, won’t you?”

He had won without hardly a fight, like a young vagabond, who dons knight’s clothing, marches up to seize a city, and arrives on time for his banquet of honor, prepared by his surest enemies. The crow could not refuse him. Many say that truly it was the perfect tilt of pointed chin. The crow’s beak opened, letting out a shriek to make the pond dry up in a moment. The cheese had landed perfectly in the fox’s mouth. No time was taken by him for savoring, treasure, or idolizing. All he said was, “Good day, Mam. And thank-you kindly.”

What became of the crow? She stayed very much the same, although she never ate her dinner on the edge of the branch anymore. The next day the pool was gone. A fortnight come it was back again. What is the foreseen, dreaded, sagely moral of this story? Some have said that it is—Pride comes before the fall. This is a true statement, but I do not believe that it could help the crow very much. The advice I would offer—If you are ugly, the world only wants your cheese.

The Sly Fox and the Prideful Crow (Charles Dickens Style)

One dismal morning a proud little bird sat eating a piece of cheese. This must be distinctly understood or nothing good can come of the story I am about to relate. Did the fox know he was proud? Of course he did. He and the proud crow were neighbors for years.

And on this morning when the crow was sitting on his usual branch, the fox edged his way until he was standing directly below the crow. Smoothing his coat, licking his lips and clearing his throat, he called up to the proud crow in a voice as sweet as butter, “My, how well you look this cloudy morning!” But the crow could not reply because of the piece cheese.

“Your eyes could make angels sing,” continued the black hearted fox, “and your feathers--how black and glossy they are!”

The crow was ever so pleased. And her chest which was swollen to an enormous size with pride. “And I’ve been told that your voice has put all the other birds to shame. And if I could hear you sing I would be satisfied with my life. Please, please sing. Will you?” the Fox inquired.

This was too much for the crow, and she opened up her mouth and let out a screech that made the bugs shrivel in their socks. But as she did so, the cheese fell, tumbling, rolling, spinning, and falling through the air and right into the fox’s gaping mouth. “Thank you ever so much,” called the fox, “Your song was so awful it could have woken a door nail from the dead--but your cheese was delightful!” And with that he trotted into the woods.

Fox and the Grapes (Politically-Correct Style)

One day a non-human fox saw a clump of grapes hanging from a height-endowed vine. The grapes looked pleasing to the eyes, and he very much wanted to place them in his vegetarian stomach. He jumped, thinking how enjoyably tasteful those grapes would be. But he was too vertically-challenged to reach them, and he knew that such a size-diminished vine would not support his firmly blessed body. He wondered if those grapes were really as pleasing as they looked. The more the fox jumped, the more physically inept he became. Soon he simply was too physically diminished to jump any more, and he gave up trying. Finally, he said in a voice-challenged way, “I shouldn’t have bothered to jump so high. I’m sure those grapes are sweet-challenged anyway.”