How to Rescue a Dead Princess

“Lay me a golden egg now!” demanded the giant.

“Maybe you should walk around with a big lump of gold inside you for a change. You think it's comfortable? Gold's a little heavier than yolk, you know. You feel all bloated, you can barely keep your balance, it feels like passing a kidney stone when you finally lay it—believe me, I've got better things to do.”

The giant was not accustomed to having so many words spoken to him in one sitting, and so sat there with a blank look on his face for a moment. Then he growled and reached out to kill the goose.

Jack leaped out of his hiding spot and tried to yell “Stop!', but before he could the giant scooped him up and swallowed him whole. He slid down the giant's throat, passing a formerly handsome prince who would eventually be kissed in another fairy tale, and landed in his stomach.

“This,” Jack decided, “is really nasty.”

Basic human decency dictates that the actual contents of the giant's stomach not be described. But Jack did not become Stomach Acid Surprise. For the giant possessed the type of belly button known to the general public as an “Innie” rather than an “Outtie.” It was perhaps the deepest “Innie” in verifiable history, deep enough that Jack was able to squeeze through to safety.

The giant had by now fallen asleep. The goose was also asleep in its basket, and since Jack had already fallen down the temptation-laden path of criminal behavior he decided to steal it, figuring the freak show at the circus would pay at least five pieces of gold for it.

Tragically, he dropped the goose on the way down, and had to content himself with a decent meal. But the next day, Jack set off to climb the beanstalk yet again, because by now thievery was an addiction. He snuck into the castle, and watched as the giant picked up a magic harp that was in the shape of a Miss Generic Fantasy Land model.

“Play me a song, magic harp that's in the shape of a Miss Generic Fantasy Land model,” demanded the giant.

The harp began to play a lovely melody. “ROCK ME, BAY-BEE! I WANT YOUR SWEET LOVIN’ ALL NIGHT LONG! YEAH, YEAH, YEAH! BOOP BOOP A DOOP!” As the harp continued to play and sing, the giant was lulled into a sound sleep. Jack hurried over to the harp, grabbed it, and began to run for the door.

But the harp was a snitch. “Yo, giant! This little punk's stealing me! Let's get a move on, willya!”

Jack got out of there as fast as he could, with the giant in hot pursuit. As he slid down the beanstalk, he saw his mother tending what was left of her garden. “Mom!” he shouted. “Fetch me an axe, so that I might chop down the beanstalk before the giant reaches the bottom!”

It was, of course, a genuinely pathetic example of self-delusion. Jack didn't get two steps from the bottom of the beanstalk before the giant's foot came down, squashing him like a wad of chewing gum.

Everyone else, however, lived happily ever after.

Chapter 15

The Escape

(We Apologize If That Reveals Too Much)

“INTERESTING HOW you manage to die at the end of your own story,” Randall remarked.

“I guess the chewing gum simile was a bit exaggerated,” Jack admitted. “He did break four of my toes. Then he filed a formal complaint against me. The king got me for breaking and entering, theft, and unwarranted vegetation creation. So I'm here. Have been for days.”

“Any way to escape?”

“Do you think I'd still be here if there was?”

“I don't know, I've just met you. Lots of idiots in existence.”

“Good point. No, there's no way to escape. Well, there's one.”

“What is it?” asked Randall, excitedly.

“Let them execute you.”

Randall buried his face in his hands. “Aw, what's the use? Even if I did escape, I'd be a fugitive. They'd hunt me down in an hour.”

“Indeed they would. But I would give anything for just one more hour of freedom. One more hour to gaze at the sun, to bask in its light.”

“I just saw the sun ten minutes ago. I don't miss it yet.”

“You will.”

Randall waited a few seconds. “Nope, not yet. Oh, wait, there we go.”

“Do you mind if I ask how it feels to know you'll be killed at dawn? Or would that be too much of a mood- dampener?”

“It's going to happen,” said Randall. “No sense avoiding the issue. But I'd prefer that decomposition be alluded to rather than stated directly.”

“I understand,” said Jack. “Nasty business, decomposition. Not even the most beautiful princess in the entire land is worth gazing at once decomposition has taken its toll. It's just plain rotten. It spoils everything.”

“Thanks for the merriment.”

“Do you believe in reincarnation?”

“I'm not sure,” Randall admitted. “With my luck I'd come back as a vagrant who likes wearing the clothing of very large women.”

“What I'd hate is to come back as a bowel.”

“If reincarnation exists, I don't think it lets you come back as individual body parts. That would mean that all of our body parts used to be somebody else.”

“So we're made of dead people?” asked Jack, uneasily. “My dreams are really going to suck tonight.”

“What if you came back as the one thing you hated most?”

“I'd come back as an iguana.”

“What have iguanas ever done to you?” Randall asked.

“What have iguanas ever done for me?” Jack countered.

“I think I'd come back as an octopus. I don't know why, but whenever I see an octopus something inside me just says ‘I hate that thing.'”

“Does this hatred stretch to all mollusks?”

“No. Just octopi.”

“Not even squid?”

“Squid are fine.”

“That's weird. Well, here's hoping you don't come back as an octopus, then. Did you know they have beaks like a bird?”

“Didn't know that.”

“It's true. And if you put an octopus in a bottle with a mouth just as big around as its beak, that sucker can squeeze right out, no problem.”

“Any special reason you put an octopus in a bottle?”

“I don't remember. Probably a dare.”

“Dares are so pointless.”

“AAAAHHHH! THERE'S AN OCTOPUS ON YOUR SHOULDER!!! No, just kidding.”

“What if there's no such thing as reincarnation?” Randall asked, thoughtfully. “What happens to you when you die?”

“Probably that thing you only wanted me to allude to.”

“Yeah, but I'm not talking about your body. I'm talking about the spirit within your body. The real you.”

“You know what would be creepy?” asked Jack. “If your spirit left your body, but you could still feel what was happening to it. So you'd be standing out there in the netherworld, but you'd get this feeling like worms were eating your guts and stuff like that.” He shivered. “The people who chose to be cremated would sure be miffed.”

“I just wish I had some tangible evidence of what was going to happen to me after I die.”

“Well, I don't mean to be Mr. Bum The Mood here, but you'll find out pretty soon. Want to hear what I really think happens when you die?”

“Is it cynical?”

“Not too much. Okay, let's say that for whatever reason, heart attack, horse crash, appendix malfunction, you