Grandaddy Smeg's Book of Stories

(most of you probably don't understand the "Grandaddy Smeg" joke. It was my alternate persona before Princess Smeg.)
Hey there my grandchildren. This is something Grandaddy Smeg's been meaning to do for a while, and after a few people convincing me to do it(@Lidia @Katy9078 @animalzzz), I'm finally going to publish "Grandaddy Smeg's Book of Stories"
Every week, Grandaddy Smeg will tell a new fairy tale from his point of view. Imma let my grandchildren(you) decide. If you have a suggestion for next week's story, suggest it, and if you agree, just like the post. Don't say something someone's already said. If no suggestions come, Grandaddy Smeg will pick a story himself. Also, suggest only fairy tales. Mmkaaaaaaaay? Let's start.
The sexy peeps I tagged all suggested that I start with what may be the epitome of fairy tale-ness:

Spoiler: Little White Riding Hood

Once upon a time, there was a young girl who went by the name of Marie. Her birth name, however, was Little White Riding Hood. Evidently, giving a child a stupid name like "North West" or "Blue Ivy" isn't as new as you think. At least her name wasn't Little Black Thong, or Little Pink Lingerie.
Marie had been looking forward today for months. It was her grandmother's birthday, and Marie was going to deliver a birthday cake she made all by herself. She put on her shoes, put on her favorite dress, tied her hair up in a high ponytail with a red bow, and was about to leave the house when her mother stopped her.
"Gurl, where you going?" She asked.
"I'm going to deliver grammy-ma's birthday cake, why?" Marie responded, sounding confused.
"Not like that you ain't! I didn't raise no slut!" The mother said. And with that, she put a white cape over Marie to cover her up, despite that "showing some skin" hadn't really been a thing at that time. Marie hated the cape, and also the color white. However, she knew from experience she couldn't win an argument against her mother, and decided to skip away into the trees before she was forced into a legit burqa.
***
It was a bright sunny day. So sunny that the light was in visible vertical beams in between the tree leaves. Marie was still skipping merrily through the trail, and didn't bother to question why she had been allowed out in the woods without an escort. Seriously, back then there were no laws about "child protection" or "sexual predators". She could've gotten snatched up so easily. Oblivious, she sang a little song:

Spoiler: Little White Riding Hood

"La la la,
Skipping in the woods,
Not a dreary though in my brain,
La la la,
Skipping in the woods,
To deliver cake and cocaine!"
Yep. Marie was a drug dealer. She only stopped singing when she felt herself bump into something tall and furry. "Why hello there Mr....?" she said, having to look up into the eyes of the being.
He was a wolf. A very big wolf who seemed to be very bad. Marie was frightened, but calmed down at the Wolf's charming British accent.
"Why 'ello to you miss!" He replied, smiling eerily with his teeth. "Say, where're you 'eaded?"
"Why," said Marie, seemingly flattered at the wolf's interest in her, "I'm headed to my grammy-ma's house to deliver her birthday cake and coc-A COLA! Yep...Coca Cola...No drugs..."
"That sounds lovely. Mind if I stroll along with you?" Said the wolf casually. "You'll barely even know I'm there."
"Not at all, sir!" cried Marie. he lesson of not talking to strangers had been thrown to the wind. She linked her arm with his and they skipped along the trail. All the while, the Wolf silently sang his own song:
"La la la,
Skipping in the woods,
With a girl delivering sweets,
La la la,
Skipping in the woods,
With a girl I plan to eat!"
***
The Wolf skipped with Marie for a while longer, and then stopped so abruptly that Marie fell down. "Asshole!" she said.
"I jus' got the idea that if you picked your grandmum some flowers, it'll make 'er even 'appier!" The Wolf responded. "There're some lilies right there, gimme the basket and I'll take it to 'er and wait for you."
Marie gave the Wolf her basket, which contained a map of the forest. The Wolf followed it to the the Grandmother's house.
He knocked on the door and spoke in a falsetto voice: "Grammy-mum, may I come in?"
"Have you got the stuff?" A sweet old voice asked from behind the door.
"Yes, I've got your cake!" The Wolf replied.
"No, I mean the stuff" The voice answered.
"Yes, I've got that too." Wolf said. Before he'd finished his sentence, the door swung open.
Unfortunately for the grandmother, so did the wolf's jaws.
***
"I know grammy-ma will love these!" Said Marie gleefully. She had just reached her grandmother's house and saw the door already opened. "Must be a forgetful wolf..." thought Marie.
Her grandmother looked rather different. She was bigger, fatter, and seemed to be noticeably furrier. Her glasses were no longer placed on a nose, but on a snout. She was reading a book, but claws seemed to have pierced it. “Oh grammy-ma!” cried Marie. “Did you like your cake? Did you like your coke?”
“Yes…she was delicious…” She answered smoothly.
“Excuse me?” Marie pondered, wondering why food had been called a “she”.
“IT, I mean. IT!” The furry grandmother answered.
“Nice save.” Said a voice seemingly inside of Marie’s grandmother.
“Granmmy-ma, you seem different.” Said Marie. “Your clothes look tighter and you look hairy…”
“WHAT!? GRAMMY-MA CAN’T EAT A LITTLE, AND GRAMMY-MA CAN’T GET A FOLICULAR PROBLEM!?” Howled the grandmother. “GRAMMY-MA DOESN’T WANT TO BE JUDGED!”
“Grammy-ma, your teeth looked awfully sharp when you yelled at me just now…” She said.
Sharp teeth.
Claws.
Fur.
Awfully fat looking for a little old lady.
Marie put the pieces together just as the Wolf swallowed her whole.
***
Marie traveled down the slimy esophagus of the Wolf crying, to land with a SPLOOSH! Into his surprisingly roomy stomach. She saw her little grey haired grandmother smoking a cigarette in a corner, seeming both calm and very pissed off. “What did you learn, sugar lamb?” She asked in a tone only a total badass would use.
“Not to trust strangers.” Marie said sheepishly. “I’m so sorry!”
“Sorry won’t stop us from being turned into wolf shit, you little idiot!” Said the grandmother with cold fury in her voice. “When we end up on the forest floor in little brown coils, I’m going to wring your little poo-neck!” The Grandmother was going to slap the girl, but just as she reached her hand out, an axe blade plunged into the wolf’s flesh, and a loud howl rang through their ears. A sweaty palm reached inside to pull out Marie and her grandma. There were holes in their clothes and skin from having been partially digested. “Are you two ladies okay? I heard you talking inside of this wolf…” The man with the axe said.
“Oh, we’re fine now!’ said Marie, thrusting her arms around her rescuer. “You saved us!”
“Yes, you did!” Said the grandmother. “And you are very attractive, would you like to go into my room and have some…’fun’?”
“Easy there, cougar. I’m just here to save you.” The axe-man said. “Bye bye!” He said as he walked out into the now dark forest.
“I’ll never forget that man’s heroic deed!” Said Marie.
“I’ll never forget that man’s AWESOME six pack…” Said the grandmother.
“Ewwww…..” groaned Marie.
***
They two had been saved from their predator, but what was to become of the wolf? The grandmother wished to sell the house, but nobody would buy it if there was a stank ass wolf carcass inside. She decided to skin the beast and immediately stitched the furry pelt inside of Marie’s cloak. The blood from the flesh began to stain the cape a deep shade of scarlet.
The wolf himself was obviously awake, and had started bleeding out. The grandmopther preferred to watch him suffer, and filled him with stones as he tried to run away. The wolf collapsed on himself. After only two feet. Sissy…
“Come along, dear. I’ll take you home. It’s dark now.” The grandmother said exhaustedly. Marie held her hand as they strode into the cold dark night. Marie much preferred her read riding hood.
On the way there, they stopped and snorted the cocaine. It was the best birthday the grandmother ever experienced, and ever would experience, since she died of overdose seven months later.

THE END

I hope you guys liked that.

 

Oh.
My.
Gawd.
*mindblown*
It was fab!!♥

 

Dude that was awesome!!!!

But there's only one thing: I am the real grandpa here.

 

Oh. HELL. No.

I worked HARDER to earn my Grandaddy Smeg title that I did to earn my Princess Smeg title. Nobody is taking that away from me.

 

#GrandpaWrestleMania

 

I can't compete with this...

... doesn't change the fact that I'm an old man tough

 

You can still be grandpa.
You just need to be okay with
being the less fab grandpa :p

 

Pfffft Ill be a viking or something

 

I'll be Princess Katy of Marcoland

 

Fine. Once somebody suggests a story by Hans Christian Andersen(a Scandinavian writer), I'll find a way to include you as a Viking.

Hmm....let me think of how to put you into a fairy tale...I know! You get to be that princess in the Frog Prince. That's my favorite fairy tale, so you get to be in it.

Don't forget, all you sexy people can suggest stories for me to do.

 

Hooray :D
I'm gonna be famous!
And royalty!

 

Hells yeah! That would be kewl.

 

good god

 

(I hope this doesn't count as reviving an old thread, since it's only been a week)

I've received no suggestions for new stories, so I decided to randomly pick a story myself:

Spoiler: The Pied Piper

Once upon a time, there was a little town in Germany with a very large problem. For those of you who are already like, “Why Germany?”, I’ll have you know that Hamelin(or Hameln in German) is a real place. A real place with an annual reenactment of this story one a year. Mmkay? Good, now that my geography lesson is over, I can continue.
Hamelin was a quiet, humble little village with honest, hard working people who never did anything to deserve such a big problem. The problem involved rodents. Rats, specifically. The rats just showed up one day, and as rodents do, bred rapidly. Those horny little assholes…The more rats there were, the less cheese there was in the village, which was their main export. With no cheese, the people could make no money. Also, the rats spread terrible diseases like the Black Death, Herpes, and Ebola(I had to, okay?).
The rat problem had escalated to the point where everyone in the village was to starve to death from lack of money or die from rat-bourne diseases. The mayor chose to give his people a pep talk to lift their spirits. It was like Martin Luther King Jr’s “I Have a Dream” speech, but about rats. “We’re all definitely NOT going to die! We are so TOTALLY going to live! Yaaas! Totes gonna live.” He said. The people weren’t fooled though, and began to riot. They demanded that something be done to rid the town of the furry beasts. “Let me remind you that to do that, you would have to pay in the tax dollars you can’t even afford right now! You couldn’t even afford it before the cheese industry crashed because I’m such a terrible mayor!” The last part kind of slipped out. “If any of you can exterminate these pests, than I will give you enough gold to buy food and live for an extra week or so until you run out and die of starvation like the rest of us.” Said the mayor.
“I will do it!” Cried a young man called WhatTheHai. “I hate to see this town so infested, so miserable, and so cheeseless!” However, before the mayor could tell him yes, the collective ears of the village were shot with the deafening noise of an overused 80’s movie song:

Spoiler: The Pied Piper

“Something strange in your neighborhood,
Who you gonna call?
Ratbusters!”
A purple truck with the word “Ratbusters” crudely spray painted on it had swerved into the town square, seemingly out of nowhere. A door opened, and a tall man stepped out. He was thin and young looking, and had a cheeky smile that made him look like a douche. His ginger hair was tied back in a ponytail, and on top of it sat a purple hat with a little feather on it. The rest of his clothes seemd to follow a purple color scheme as well, with a pair of black tights to top it off. “’Sup bruh.” He said in a surfer dude voice.
“Uh, hello…?” Replied the mayor sheepishly.
“Heard you dudes had a rat problem, bruh.” The purple clothed man said.
“Yes, but what does that have to do with you?” The mayor asked, gaining confidence.
“I’m gonna get rid of the rats and get the gold, bruh.” Said the man.
“That’s wonderful! But can you please stop using ‘bruh’ as punctuation?” asked the happy mayor. “Who the Hell are you, anyway?”
“I’m the Pied Piper, bruh. I can attract any animal with my sweet music, bruh.” The Pied Piper said. “Watch and learn, bruh.” The Piper pulled out a reed pipe and blew a single note from it, and immediately an old lady’s cat appeared. Another blow later, and a boy’s guinea pig shuffled over. “See, bruh?”
“ERMEGERD, THE LEVEL OF BRUH-NESS HURTS!” shrieked the mayor. “Just go, do whatever. Just get rid of the rats and quit saying ‘bruh’!”
“Mmkay…bruh.” Said the Piper. He blew a different note into the pipe and then played multiple notes to accompany it. Summoning all of the rats took a bit longer than the cat or the guinea pig, but a minute later everyone in the town square felt a rumbling in the ground.
“Erfquake!” Screamed a little boy.
“It’s a ratquake, little bruh! Whoooo!” And a few moments later, the Piper was engulfed by a cloud of rats. He emerged at the top, seemingly surfing the rodent wave. He then held a single not from his pipe and the rats carried him far away from the town, ridding Hamelin of the rodent issue.
The ratwave took the Piper further and further away from the village. The Piper then saw the Weser(a real river in Germany) and hopped off of the rat wave very quickly. The note still sounded, however, and soon they were plunging to their watery deaths, much like how lemmings jump from cliffs. A single rat remained on the shore, mourning its brothers and sisters, only to be punted into the Weser like a fuzzy football by the Piper. He skipped away before Ye Olde PETA could see what he’d done.
After summoning an army of butterflies to float him back, the Piper was back in Hamelin. “There, bruh. I got rid of the rats, bruh. Can I have that gold now, bruh?” He asked eagerly, seeing as he was really a homeless guy who alternated between exterminator and prostitute just to make a living, and desperately needed the money.
“I would give you the gold…except that “bruh” thing is very annoying. NoGold4U.” said the mayor coldly. “Besides, all you did was pipe a tune on your instrument! For all we know the rats could be waiting to come back as soon as you’ve taken your prize! F**k off, Pie Face Piper!” a little girl galloped to the Piper slammed a hot pie into his face.
“You, bruh,” The Piper paused to lick blueberry off of his face “Are an asshole. The rest of you bruhs are all assholes too. It’s shame that your kids, even this little pie b**ch, are going to grow into the same terrible people.” The Piper licked the rest of the blueberries off and got an idea. “Or, maybe they won’t. Bruh.” The Piper marched into the middle of the square and played a new sound from his pipe. Immediately, a new animal flocked to him: The children of the village people. He ascended to the top of his purple van and the kids climbed in at once. He then hopped down, locked the doors, sat in the driver’s seat, and sped away. He left skidmarks on the cobblestone road, as well as his 80’s theme song.
The ratmobile, as Piper called it, drove towards the Weser river where he had been before. He stopped a short walk away from the bank so that the kids wouldn’t get any escape ideas. They followed him out of the van, listening to the sweet tune of the Piper’s pipe, and they were drowned in the river(which was now full of upside down dead rats).
The only children who lived to tell the tale were a cripple boy who couldn’t keep up with the rest of the kids and was left in town, a deaf girl who couldn’t hear the music, and a blind baby who couldn’t see what was happening. There were no more children besides them left in Hamelin. The Piper called the butterflies to take him back once more, so he could swoop down and take his gold. “Later, bruh!” The Piper said to the mayor, as he flew away and was never seen again.
The mayor and the villagepeople were left foodless and childless. They ate the three remaining children, and then proceeded to eat each other. The last survivor was the mayor, who ate everyone else and became morbidly obese. He sat there in the village square until his vital organs were pecked out by vultures. There was no more Hamelin, and the mayor’s dead body served as a breeding ground for the diseases I mentioned earlier. The diseases spread to America over time, and that is how we got Ebola.
THE END

 

Umg @smeghead333!!
You got a gift for storytelling, gurl!
Loved it even more than the last one♡
Was the Pied Piper inspired in anyway by Anra? :P

Your next story should feature
@animalzzz as a raping/pillaging Viking!

 

After a long hiatus from posting stories due to having a life (on occasion), and with @MrDeathWilliam 's permission to post on this middle-aged thread, I present a new story:

Spoiler: The Ugly Duckling

Once upon a time, on a merry little farm, there was a mother duck and a drake. This drake is a male duck, not a character from one of the best Nickelodeon TV shows ever. The mother duck had laid some eggs, and they were due to hatch.
***
"Oh, I wish they'd just crack open already," said the mother duck. "They were supposed to have hatched a few days ago!"
Her husband replied "My love, look! Turn aroun-"
"I'm sick of your shit, Alan! I know you cheated on me with that large breasted blue footed booby!" Interrupted the mother duck.
"Cheryl, it's not my fault. We hadn't shared a bed for a month. I need physical contact! Anyway, please, just turn around!"
"*sobbing* I know our marriage hasn't been perfect, I know I haven't been perfect! I just expected more from you!"
"Quack!" said multiple little voices from behind Cheryl the duck.
"DON'T YELL AT ME, ALAN! CAN'T YOU SEE I'M A MESS!?"
"That's not me, those are our babies!" said Alan the duck
"*sniff* What babies? *turns around* Oh my goodness!"

Behind Cheryl the duck were seven fluffy, chubby little ducklings. They were the cutest little mofos you ever did see. They were crowding around their mother for warmth, as being covered in yolk makes you kind of cold. "Oh Alan, maybe we can make this work! They're so beautiful! Let's see... This one can be Fauntleroy, that one can be Nemo-"
Alan said "This little girl can be Pearl, those two over there can be Sweeney and Todd-"
"And this one with the tongue can be Miley! Then this one- DAFUQ?"
***
Cheryl stopped and saw that one of these things was not like the other. This "duckling" was grey, had a black beak, and was at least twice as tall as the ducklings. "What is this!?" cried Cheryl.
"Honk!" said the abnormal baby. It kept on honking with glee, until he took notice of Alan and Cheryl's upset faces.
"Eww...that thing is NOT the fruit of my loins." Said Alan.
"Let's punt it into the river!" said Cheryl.
"We should name it first, my dear. How about... Fugly?"
"Oh, so fitting for this little fuckup! Off you go!"
Without any hesitation, Cheryl the bitchy duck punted Fugly into the river like some sort of feathery football.
***
Fugly the duck began to cry. He couldn't even comprehend what had just happened. He was lucky to know how to swim instinctively, or he would've drowned. He spent the day splashing about and honking, to see if he could draw any company towards him. Fugly was unsuccessful, reached shore, and wept very hard. All he wanted were some friends, somebody to love him, and then he felt a feathery something over him.
It was a goose, accompanied by several other geese. "Hey there little ugly thing, my name is Clara. Do you wanna spend the night with us?"
"HONK!" honked Fugly excitedly. This was a yes from him.
"C'mon, then! Fly with us!" Said Clara.
Fugly flapped his little fuzzy wings as hard as he could, but got no air. The geese had already flown away without him, and then abruptly fell.
***
A Viking (@animalzzz ) was now carrying bloody carcasses of Clara and her companions, and began to row away on his Viking ship. Fugly waddled around for days afterwards to find shelter. He would often find places and then realize that he hated the people there. At an old woman's house, he got called fat by a chicken and cat. He then became a bulimic. At a farmer's house, his children liked to use him as a volleyball. He just couldn't find a place where he'd not be abused. In these days, PETA wasn't a thing. Ultimately, Fugly lived in a cave on a river. After killing the creature that lived inside before him, stealing its invisibility ring, and using it to hunt wild boars and whatnot, Fugly decided that he was sick of taking care of himself.
***
He ran out onto the frozen lake as a flock of swans were about to land on it. He was hoping to get crushed, but to his misfortune they stopped.
"Kind sir, what the Hell are you doing here? Looking so sad? Pretty people can't be sad!" Said their leader
"But, sir, I'm very fugly." Said the crumpled and whimpering Fugly, now able to speak fluent Ducklish.
"I won't have any of that bullshit! You're gorgeous! Look in the ice!"
Fugly looked down and saw himself . Both he and his reflection shouted "WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!?!?"
***
Fugly was now a full grown swan. The fact that his egg was in Cheryl's nest was a switch at laying that was worthy of an ABC TV show. His wings were beautiful, and as he flapped them he found himself soaring among the clouds. However, the fact that he was so pretty led him to take advantage of it. He starred in several adult Duck movies, and became known as the crackiest crack whore in all of the land. He died that age of forty from drug abuse. As for the other swans, @animalzzz shot them all.

 

Love
Love
It!!! :D♡

 

Hallo that was interesting

 

Omg I wouldn't have killed the the swans if knew the story behind it! I'm so sorry!

 

These stories are amazing :O