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.”

Union Giveth Strength (King James Style)

Now there was a man far advanced in years, who, at the point of death called his sons to his bedside to giveth them wisdom. He ordered a servant to bringeth a faggot of sticks to his room, wherefore he might use it to teacheth his sons, and he said to his eldest, “Thine strength is great: breakest the faggot of sticks,” and his eldest son straineth at it, but he could not breakest the faggot of sticks, and to the others he said Thine strength is great: breakest the faggot of sticks.

And although the others strained, they were unable to breaketh the faggot of sticks. The father told them, “Untieth the faggot of sticks and taketh one each for yourselves and breakest it,” and they obeyed their father and tooketh out one each and broke it. “See my sons: union gives strength.”

Union Gives Strength (Hans Christian Andersen Style)

Once upon a time, in a distant and beautiful county where rolling green hills and an ocean of golden poppies stretched as far as the eye could see was a small humble cottage were an elderly man and his two sons dwelled. The wise old man loved his sons and had taught them everything he knew so that they were strong, smart young men. Every day the father, whose hair was silver as the full moon, sat on his three-legged stool and played splendidly on his mandolin while his two sons worked in the fields. His mandolin was his favorite possession and pastime, and when he played, it instilled joy in all who heard it, and birds of all shapes and sizes would divert their flights to perch and listen to the great artisan.

But one day in late autumn, when the last of the golden leaves were beginning to drift toward the ground, and a dusty darkness lay over everything, the mandolin ceased to sing, but was replace by the sound of hollow wind. The father lay languishing in his large oak bed; his health was failing. Each day one of his sons sat by his side while the other labored in the fields alone. But he wanted to teach his sons an important lesson while he still had time.

Calling his sons to his bedside, he asked them to bring a large, tightly-bound bundle of sticks into the room. When they brought it in, carrying it together for it was very heavy; their father commanded them to break the bundle of sticks apart. The eldest son, who was intelligent and knew how to use leverage cleverly, set the sticks on his knees, and pushed. But his trick, which had always worked before, resulted in only an aching leg. Like his older brother, the younger son was a practical son, due to his father’s impeccable teaching, so he grabbed his best saw and tried to saw the bundle of sticks apart. Although it was sharper then an alligator’s teeth and sturdier than a brick wall, the saw broke in half.

They both turned to their father in consternation and he told them, “You see my meaning; union gives strength.”

Small Friends are Good Friends (Hans Christian Andersen Style)

Once upon a time not so long ago in a land far away where the water was as blue as the sky, an ant as small as a speck of dust, woke up as happy as a child on Christmas because the sun was shining as brightly as a diamond, and she went running as fast as a cheetah down to the beautiful stream, which had as many currents as gorillas have fleas and long rocks protruding from the water like knives, while the water leaped and bubbled around it like it was laughing. As she was drinking like a camel which had not had water for many weeks, a wave jumped up like a huge roaring monster and dragged her under.

A dove, who was as white as newly fallen snow in December when children go sledding for the first time and as soft as a fresh pillow, was gliding over the trees that stood as tall as towers with there many branches reaching out like many arms and fingers, when she spotted the ant, who was yelling for help as loud as a trumpet, and dropped the bough she was carrying to build her nest with into the rushing river. The ant climbed aboard the bough and laid there like a shipwrecked sailor who had been brutally thrown around like a potato in the ocean. When the bough floated to shore the ant flopped onto the ground, water-logged as a sponge, and then got up and thanked the white dove.

A couple of weeks later when the leaves, which were turning brown and yellow and falling to the ground, a hunter, who was as mean as a grizzly bear with a toothache, took such a perfect aim at the same beautiful dove that saved the ant, that Robin Hood’s jaw would have dropped like a rock off a cliff, but the ant, who was as angry as a wild boar, stung him so hard that he ran like he was being chased by the Roman army, and he never—as long as he lived—never took a step out of his house. However, the brave little ant and the kind dove learned that the smallest of friends are the best of friends.

The Dove and the Ant King James Style

In 2000 AD an ant woketh up and went down to the stream to sippeth, and she fell in and was carried down the stream. A dove that passed by dropped the bough she was carrying and the ant climbed upon the bough and floated to shore. I am forever in thy debt because thy saved mine life and if thine ever has an enemies I shall smite him and send him where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth: said the ant.

In 2001 AD the dove was flying when a foul man beast approached and tooketh aim with his gun, but the ant was passing by and smote him on the foot and the hunter fell and died and his body was eaten by worms. The dove and the ant learned the lesson: The littlest of warriors is the best of friends.

Original Aesop Fable: An ant, going to the river to drink, fell in, and was carried along in the stream. A Dove pitied her condition, and threw into the river a small bough, by the means of which the Ant gained the shore. The Ant afterward, seeing a man with a fowling piece aiming at the Dove, stung him in the foot sharply, and made him miss his aim, and so saved the Dove's life.

"LITTLE FRIENDS MAY PROVE GREAT FRIENDS."

The Dove and the Ant Uncle Remus Style

One day en ant woke herself up en thawt ter herself, “Wat a butifo mawnin.” En she went a skippin en a hoppin en a hoppin en a skipin happy down ter da rushin riva where all her antish frens be.

“Fine mawnin weed havin. Wud yoodegree?”

To which her frens sez, “Not nothin fine bout it.”

En dey went ter argin bout da wedder til quite sudden, the ant wen slippety on da rocks, en wen a splashin inter da riva. Meanwi, a dove was passin by en spot the ant in da riva, so she went en dropped da bough she was caryn in the stream. Da ant wen en stick herself to dat der bough mighty quik en floated to shure wer she exlaim ter da bird, “I bet my life on it, if it wasn’t for dat der bough that you gone throne inter da stream, I’d ben a goner.”

Days laita der was a killa loosed in the same forst wid ‘is gun, en he took a mighty fine aim at da same dove dat had gone en save da ant, but da ant was passin by en give dat killa a bite on da foot dat it nevuh foget. Dat killa run off like a hut chile, en fo da resuff der lives da dove en ant dey live demselzes a peaceful life en were never bothered agen.

Littlest frens often be the mightiest frens.

Original Aesop Fable:

An ant, going to the river to drink, fell in, and was carried along in the stream. A Dove pitied her condition, and threw into the river a small bough, by the means of which the Ant gained the shore. The Ant afterward, seeing a man with a fowling piece aiming at the Dove, stung him in the foot sharply, and made him miss his aim, and so saved the Dove's life.

"LITTLE FRIENDS MAY PROVE GREAT FRIENDS."

Bundle of Sticks Uncle Remus Style

Once der were a old man wit mar dan a lil wrinkle on his der face dat he look like a prune of sawts. Now he was so old dat he wadint gonna last so mawch time longer, so he calls his grandsons to hiz bed an he sayz shakonly, “Maw gud boys,” he says, “Go you ut to the field and bringer en a gud size bundel o’ sticks."

When dey cawm back, an dey do quick cuz dey big strong muzzles dey got, dey say, “Granpappy we did done like ya says.”
And granpappy says shakonly to da biggst of da two, he say, “Break it apar.”

The firs grandson go tarin and rippin and ripping and tarin but he ain’t no getting dat bundel apar. An with a stridle of sweat runnin’ dun iz face he say, “Granpappy, I ain’t able to.”

So iz brother come fluxxin iz muzzles proud, and he pulled and tugged and tugged and pulled, bud he ain’t able neither. En fac, he does fall un da flawr fum zaustion.

Den grandpappy say shakonly, “Boys, ya untaw dat bundel o’ sticks and tek ut one each.” So dey did es dey were teld. “Now brik et apar’,” says grandpappy shakonly.

And like it were a stick o’ straw dey brek it apar’, an ol granpappy say wise, “Seez—togeder yooz is strong!”

Original Aesop Fable:

An old man on the point of death summoned his sons around him to give them some parting advice. He ordered his servants to bring in a faggot of sticks, and said to his eldest son: “Break it.” The son strained and strained, but with all his efforts was unable to break the Bundle. The other sons also tried, but none of them was successful. “Untie the faggots,” said the father, “and each of you take a stick.” When they had done so, he called out to them: “Now, break,” and each stick was easily broken. “You see my meaning,” said their father.

“UNION GIVES STRENGTH.”