Legend of the Fairy Tail

    As we approached the meticulously sharpened instruments of our trade (the keyboard) with the express intention of relating the veritable dastardliness of the tale which is soon to ensue, we were brought up short with two fantastically stunning inquiries. The primary was as follows: how shall we begin?
    Of course a genius such as myself soon (and by soon, we actually mean two days of ignoring its existence until a flash of inspiration struck) discovered the answer: to postulate the philosophical stance of an age old saying. Brilliant, no? Unfortunately herein lies the second of the aforementioned dilemmas (and I must say that this one is a doozy).
    How old is an age old saying, or more precisely, how old is an age? And of course, this leads to countless sub-questions, such as: what is the death and birth of an age? do elves really live longer than an age? how old is the current age? and more importantly, how does it celebrate its birthday?
    Through an intense study of the matter, we were only able to discover the answer to one of these questions, and unfortunately it concerns the nature of the universe, so our reader will forgive us for not revealing such secrets. But! On to the tale.
    There is an age old saying, or phrase, or proverb, or adage (whichsoever suits the culture of our readers), which goes: every legend (slash fairy tale slash fable slash parable slash allegory) must contain a fragment of truth, else it fails to exist. Our position is that this postulation is completely sound (considering the logic of the syllogism and the veracity of the statement meander somewhat shakily along that age old metaphor: hand in hand).
    Consider: the tooth fairy is a legend, no? Yet when the children of this nation place their recently emancipated teeth beneath their pillow, the morning dawns upon a shiny coin! Therefore the tooth fairy must exist (quick ye students of Aristotillian logic! Define the fallacy that has only so recently surrendered itself unto thine eyes)!
    It is our solemn duty, therefore to reveal the truth in the Legend of the Fairy Tail (which is not a redundancy, we assure you; look closely at the words and remove your mind from the fetters of government education). And to waste no more of our reader's valuable time, we shall introduce the first character.
    Bob wasn't what was considered to be a traditional zombie. Oh sure, he had lots of stitches, and he had a tendency to forget where he left things (like his fingers), and he was unnaturally strong, but the rest was just...well...tradition. And Bob wasn't much into tradition.
    For instance: walking with his hands hanging limply from outstretched arms seemed like an extraneous effort to him, as did that particularly ungraceful motion called lurching. Even the word made him want to stumble over his own feet and embarrass himself before the whole world.
    That really was the problem, though, wasn't it? He wouldn't embarrass himself because people Expected certain things from zombies, just like they Expected vampires to disintegrate in light, and werewolves to howl at the full moon. When these racial requirements went unfulfilled people became offended. As though it was bad form to refuse them the allowance of storming one's castle armed with pitchforks.
    Of course, there were ways to avoid such nonsense and remain politically correct. Vampires stopped demanding virgins and drank 2% cow blood. Zombies joined political action committees to vote for humanitarian organizations. Werewolves shaved thrice daily and were a normal part of society. Even poor Dr. Frankenstein's latest monster had at last made some friends at the local tavern (it was said that the doctor was now unsuccessfully trying to create a girlfriend for himself).
    Bob Zombie had decided that he wasn't into politics anyways and so had abolished all conventions. It was then that he decided he needed a stroll in the meadows. And naturally, in the meadows (as is common in such stories) he found a fairy.
    "Hello, little one," he said politely. "Fine day."
    "Excruciatingly so, I believe," was the clipped reply. Fairies are not known for their conversational skills unless mischief is soon to follow. That is why, when confronted with a talkative fairy, it is common practice to check the nearest flagpole for one's boxer briefs.
    "I am Bob Zombie," Bob Zombie said. "I have abolished all conventions, and it is my intention to revolutionize society using only my abnormal singing voice and an electric lyre. What is your name?"
    "My birth name is Cute Little Fairy With A Tail."
    "My deepest sympathies. I should have it changed were I in your shoes."
    'Well that is the issue, isn't it," lamented Cute Little Fairy With A Tail. "Were you in my shoes, your feet would explode, or rather implode because of the size differential multiplied by the space/time disturbance and the Delorian that keeps exploding near my house. What do you think of centralized government?"
    Knowing that fairies are too small to hold much of an attention span, Bob Zombie took this change of subject in stride. "I find it rather disturbing that the individualization of states' rights is abolished," he replied. "I recall in the good old days (the fairy didn't ask when those days were for fear of being impolite to a zombie), we would speak of the United States of Fairyland in the plural. Now it is a singular, all because of linkinistic centralization."
    "Come now!" retorted the fairy. "You don't truly believe that the Linkin Monarchy was totalitarian, do you?"
    "I do. And furthermore, why is it that you have a tail?"
    Cute blushed. "Do you like it?"
    Bob, caught up in the moment, replied. "It looks as though you raided a dragon's nest, stole the tail of one of the draclings, and glued it to your...uh..."
    "Derriere?" Cute supplied.
    "Yes, that! Quite attractive, I must say."
    Cute pondered for a moment. "I have two more questions for you."
    "Very well." Bob Zombie was quite irritated now for no particular reason. It is a zombie's prerogative. "Spit them out."
    "Do you believe in fairies?"
    "Great Danes, little one! What kind of a question is that? Certainly! As much as I believe in apples or dandelions! Which is not-at-all! I don't believe in them. They merely are!"
    Cute Little Fairy With A Tail promptly died. Bob Zombie leaned over her limp form. "Wait a moment! Are you alive? ....pity. She never got to ask the second question."