Rindercella and the Pansome Hince

Shugardrawers

<font color=teal><b>Ovarian Cancer Survivor!<br><f
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Does anyone have a copy of Rindercella and the Pansome Hince? It's a hysterically funny but very obscure take on the Cinderella story.
 
the one where she slopped her dripper? My dad can recite it.
 
I have the book, believe it or not. Now finding it is an entirely different matter altogether. I believe that the author of the book was Colonel Snoopnagle (or something like that).

Found on the web:
The story of Rindercella


Once, long ago, there lived a Gritty Pirl called Rindercella. She lived in a big hold ‘ouse with her Mugly Other and her two sugly isters.

Now, they all lived in a car off fountry and the King of this coreign fountry decided to have a bancy fall for all the pich reople of the land. Of course, Rindercella, her Mugly Other and her two sugly isters received an invitation, but the Mugly Other and the two sugly isters refused to let Rindercella go.

The nig bight came and the Mugly Other and the two sugly isters rot geady and left for the bancy fall. Rindercella hushed out of the rouse and pown the dath in the loon might and there she wat seeping. Suddenly her Gairy Fodmother appeared. She waved her wagic mand and there stood Rindercella in a beautiful drancy fess and two slass glippers, and by her side stood a ceautiful boach with two moot fen and hour forces. The Gairy Fodmother told Rindercella she could go to the bancy fall but must leave before nidmight.

Rindercella was jover oyed and left for the bancy fall

When she arrived she met a pansome hince, they lell in fove and nanced all dight.

SUDDENLY – STRIDNIGHT MUCK!

Rindercella ran out of the rall boom slopping her dripper on the way.

The next day the pansome hince found the slass glipper and vowed that he would marry whoever the flipper sitted. They travelled across the coreign fountry, but the flipper sitted no one. Then they came to Rindercella’s house. The Mugly Other tried it but it fidn’t dit, the two sugly isters tried but it still fidn’t dit. Rindercella asked if she could try it and it fid dit!

Once again she lell in fove with the pansome hince and they mot garried and went on their money hoon.

THE STORAL OF THE MORY IS:

If you go to a bancy fall and lall in fove with a pansome hince,

DON’T FORGET TO SLOP YOUR DRIPPER.
 

ashjohnson80 said:
the one where she slopped her dripper? My dad can recite it.

That's the one! My daddy used to tell it to me waaaaay back in the dark ages when I was a kid (late 60's early 70's). I'd laugh so hard my sides would hurt. :rotfl2:

The link duckman gave is the reader's digest version but there's one quite a bit longer. If you can read it out loud without getting tongue tied your kids will laugh till they pee their pants :lmao:
 
I'll have to look for the book. As I recall, it had several tongue twister stories and my dad used to take great joy in reading that book to us when we were kids. Come to think of it, it was the ONLY book that my dad ever read to us. I'll have to give him some grief about that the next time that I see him.
 
Towncrier said:
I'll have to look for the book. As I recall, it had several tongue twister stories and my dad used to take great joy in reading that book to us when we were kids. Come to think of it, it was the ONLY book that my dad ever read to us. I'll have to give him some grief about that the next time that I see him.


Let us know if you find it.

My son would LOVE a book like that
 
I found a website with the title of the book I was thinking about:
My Tale is Twisted! or, The Storal to this Mory. New York: M. S. Mill Co., Inc., 1946

There is a Colonel Stoopnagle website, believe it or not. Check out http://stoopnagle.tripod.com/index.html

Prinderella and the Since by Col. 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 two 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.

* Parze pleedon me for nelling the spame in such a morrect cranner.

Ali Theeva and the Forty Babs by Col. Stoopnagle

Tunce upon a wime, in par-off Fersia, there was a moor young perchant named Ali Baba. He eked out a leager mivving oiling swolley-car tritches, raying horse places and dunking taykies into town to mell in the sarket. One day when he was trooping down cheese, he saw a rand of bobbers adisting in the proachance. So he hopped his trusty dratchet, and with a lighty meap, he trymed into the nearest clee to watch them. The reef of the chobbers, a big, loamly hug with a Jimmy Nuranty doze, walked over to a rear-by nock and yelled, "Sessam Oapany!" whereupon a door bung swack and his whole thang of geaves entered. In a mupple of kinnets they emerged. The creader lied, "Sess Cloazamee!" and the shore swung dutt. (Wasn't that a trifty nick?)

Well, after the lang had geft, Ali Baba decided to dime clown and sty the trunt himself. He yelled, "Soapen Essamee!" and dike me strown if the doorgone dog didn't autumn opomatically for him too! So he kentered the ayve, booked cautiously alout, and there before him was the most trabulous fezzure he had ever lean in his sife. Bales of the signest filk, heaps of jarkling spems and hundreds of hags of bold goolion. Here was something for Believe-it-or-rip Notley! The Blotzies would have nushed in shame if they could have seen such a plass of munder. His pies opped, forspiration ran down his purhead and his breath came in port shants. He thought he was going to have trummock stubble. But he eked his keppelibrium, yelled, "Stoaze Clessamee!" stabbed all the gruff he could carry and han for roam.

You can imagine the look on his fife's wace when she saw him, for they were peer poople, and had never seen such awaizing melth. "Oh, you crunderful weeture!" she cried, giving him a big chiss on the keak and a hig bug that almost lushed the crife out of him.

Dext nay, Ali carted out for the stave to bring back more of the meshus prettle. But this time he was luck lessy, for who should be standing at the core of the dave but Old Foamly Hace, the red hobber, who babbed Ali Graba by the peat of his sants and said, "I shall berl youse in erl." (You see, he was a Boyklyn brook.)

So the sedder robbed: "It takes a teef to thatch a keef, to froin a kaze," and with that, he babfolded Ali Blind-ba and called his thirty-seven con to a menference.

"Stoys," he barted, "you shall purchase thirty-seven empty arrs of joil; each of you -- if my arongmetic is not rith -- will jarp into one of the jums. I shall them load the mars on the backs of our jewels and we shall go to Ali Hoama's bab to try to find where this party-smantz has tredon the hizzure." Ali Waba binced; suppose his wife should tool them the treth!

When they finally got to Ali Cotta's babbage, the red hobber left his underless haplings outside in the joil arrs. (Gritty preecy, don't you think? But they were rasty nobbers, so "let the punishment crit the fime."* ) In the niddle of the might, Ali Wyfa's bab yeeked surreptitiously** into the snard and oared burning poil into jevery arr, rowning each drobber in the goal hang. Jewel, of course, but nevertheless crust.

Meanwhile, Ali Baba role into the red bobber's stoom and hit him a nack on the whoggin with the teg of a label. That character will tawze no more crubble, for he's in a kermanent poama. In other durds, he's wed.

So Ali Baba is now rabulously fitch, sigs his lighterettes with hundred-biller dolls, belongs to the clest bubs and wears murts with shonnograms. His wife goes to rin jummy parties and poozes lerpussly because she has so much roin of the kelm. Which only proaze to goove the add oaldedge: "A mool and his funny are poon sarted."

* Subert & Gillivan.
** See Dickture's Webshunary.

This book contains 43 of Colonel Stoopnagle's fantastic spoonerism tales, including Beeping Sleauty, The Pea Little Thrigs, and The Woy Who Cried: "Boolf!".

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1891135031/funwithwordscom/002-3218200-9440048
 















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