Once upon a time, there was a beautiful queen who was fair and lovely with hair like long golden silk, and she dressed in gossamer gowns and her skin was like porcelain and her lips were as red as a rose and her asshole was the finest in all the land.  Her husband, the king, was all rippling muscles and wide, feminine eyes, and his beefcake face was as chiselled as a god's, and at the ends of his arms were mighty fists.  The King and Queen would position themselves across their long wooden dining table, and he would splay his magnificent fingers, and she would display her flawless butthole, and they would feast upon roasted rabbits and quaff wine and thank God on his cloud that He had seen fit, in His wisdom, to make them so perfect and beautiful.

At night they would stroll the grounds, arm in arm, while the perfect moon shone overhead.  King Fancy Fingers and Queen Gorgeous Hole.

On one such evening walk, the queen spied a little garden, which she had not seen before.  Growing in this garden were giant glistening zucchinis, plump ripe pumpkins, and the most beautiful turnips she had ever seen.  "King," she said, "by the honor of my glorious anus, pick me one of those turnips, so that I may know if its taste is as good as its looks."  The king had never been able to refuse his beautiful wife and her glorious cornhole, so he plucked a turnip from the ground and handed it to her, and she took a bite.

As soon as this was done, they knew they had made a terrible mistake. The skies became thunderous, and dark clouds rolled over the moon, and a hideous witch appeared to them, and said, "King and Queen, you have stolen from my garden.  You will repay what you've taken from me, or a curse will be visited upon you!"

"Please do not harm us," they said.  "We will do whatever you ask."

So the witch requested to hold the King's marvelous hands, but seeing her warty digits, he refused.  And at this, the witch requested to caress the queen's superlative bunghole, but in this she was also denied.

"NOW YOU'VE DONE IT, MOTHERFUCKERS!" said the witch.  "GO FORTH AND
SUFFER THE HAVOC YOU HAVE WROUGHT!"

So they ran from the garden and back to their golden palace.

In its place was a humble shack, and in place of their piles of riches stood stacks of old newspapers, rotting vegetables, and unseparated recycling.  In place of their soft, comfortable bed was a urine stained mattress, bereft of sheets, lying haphazardly on the floor amid strewn clutter and rolling tufts of animal hair.

The King and Queen knew that they had brought this upon themselves, but they had yet to experience the full vengeance of the slighted witch.  Within hours, the Queen's breathtaking poop chute was erupting like Mount Vesuvius, and there was no toilet paper in their ramshackle hut.  "Curse that turnip," she cried in agony.

Weeks passed, and the action from the Queen's poor damaged dumper never slowed nor ceased, and before they knew it, the frost was on the pine trees and the ground was a blanket of snow.  The King's beautiful hands, once soft as a baby's ass, were chapped and crusted with hangnails, and they could no longer afford hand cream.  Christmas was upon them, and they, too poor to buy gifts, lamented their sorry lot. But as the son of God was born of a miracle in the manger, both the King and Queen knew there was a magical wish-granting deity to help them, if only their hearts were pure, and they cast remorseful eyes at the north star overhead and humbled their souls and made their selfless Christmas wishes.

And in the morning, lo and behold, a miracle had occurred!  The King came bounding into his wife's chambers, his arms laden with roll upon roll of double-ply softness!  "Awake, my Queen, for it is a joyous day!  Your tender pooper may be wiped of its terrible, terrible filth with this gift from the magi!"  But upon seeing this, the Queen began to weep.

"Why do you cry," asked the King.

"Last night I prayed to Jesus for a miracle," she said, "but of course nothing happened!  So I went to the source of the REAL magic, and saw the witch!"  And the King became uncomfortable.

"I traded my beautiful asshole, to buy you this hand cream!" she said, and burst into tears.  And sure enough, where her asshole had once been, was a smooth and unbroken sheet of skin.

The King's beautiful feminine eyes filled up with tears, and he let go of the stack of fluffy TP rolls.  At the end of his arms, the perfect hands were gone, replaced by crudely stitched stumps, still scabbing over.  "My beautiful wife, I too saw the witch.  And I traded my hands to buy you this willie roll."

Now they saw what they had done, and how they had been duped by the witch, and together they gathered up the spoils of their folly, and hunted her down, and lubed with plentiful hand cream, the King molested the witch's butt with his stump while the queen held her down, her mouth stuffed with Quilted Northern to stifle the screams.

And they all lived happily ever after.