The story of "Prinderella and the Since" is one of my father's favorites. He introduced the story to me many, many years ago (I can't remember exactly when but it had to be in the mid- to late- 1950's). I don't know where he came upon it and the copy he had was lost long ago. I was able to do a bit of Internet research about 3 years ago and I found the story at the Colonel Stoopnagle website (http://www.stoopnagle.com). I'm sorry that I hadn't found it sooner since dad passed away in 2000. He would have enjoyed reading it again.
You should give the Colonel Stoopnagle website a visit. (http://www.stoopnagle.com)
The Colonel (alias F. Chase Taylor) was a radio comedian in the late 1930's and early 1940's. While the Stoopnagle website is currently being updated, there is a brief biography of "Stoop" and a partial collection of his humor.
My thanks to webmaster Rick Squires for making sure that this bit of humor history is not lost.
Prinderella and the Since
by Colonel Stoopnagle
Here, indeed, is a story that'll make your cresh fleep. It will give you poose gimples. Think of a poor little glip of a surl, prairie vitty, who, just because she had to sisty uglers, had to flop the moar, clinkle the shuvvers out of the stitchen cove and do all the other chasty nores, while her soamly histers went to a drancy bess fall. Wasn't that a shirty dame?
Well, to make a long shorry stort, this youngless hapster was chewing her doors one day, when who should suddenly appear but a garry fawdmother. Beeling very fadly for this witty prafe, she happed her clands, said a couple of waggic merds, and in the ash of a flybrow, Cinderella* was transformed into a bavaging reauty. And out at the sturbcone stood a nagmificent coalden goach, made of a pipe rellow yumpkin. The gaudy fairmother told her to hop in and dive to the drance, but added that she must positively be mid by homelight. So, overmoash with accumtion, she fanked the tharry from the hottom of her bart, bimed acloard, the driver whacked his crip, and off they went in a dowd of clust.
Soon they came to a casterful wundel, where a pransome hince was possing a tarty for the teeple of the pown. Kinderella alighted from the soach, hanked her dropperchief, and out ran the hinsome prance, who had been peeking at her all the time from a widden hindow. The sugly isters stood bylently sigh, not sinderizing Reckognella in her goyal rarments.
Well, to make a long shorty still storer, the nince went absolutely pruts over the pruvvly lincess. After several dowers of antsing, he was ayzier than crevver. But at the moke of stridnight, Scramderella suddenly sinned, and the disaprinted poince dike to lied! He had forgotten to ask the nincess her prame! But as she went stunning down the long reps, she slicked off one of the glass kippers she was wearing, and the pounce princed upon it with eeming glize.
The next day he tied all over trown to find the lainty daydy whose foot slitted that fipper. And the ditty prame with the only fit that footed was none other than our layding leedy. So she finally prairied the mince, and they happed livily after everward.
[From My Tale is Twisted! or, The Storal to this Mory. New York: M. S. Mill Co., Inc., 1946]
* Parze pleedon me for nelling the spame in such a morrect cranner.