Cinderella's Big Score

And so Cinderella, with a knife in her hand, slowly climbed the staircase.

Oh I hate them I hate them I hate them. I’ll show them. There’s no reason for them to be treating me like this. Those little bitches, always bossing me around, making me their slave. I’ll show them. We’ll see how they like it when they wake up tomorrow morning and try to slip their warty stinky feet in my glass slipper and find that their toes have been cut off! Ha! Then the prince will have to choose me and once I’m a princess I’ll throw those tramps in the dungeon faster than you can say “CIN-DER-ELLA!” God I hate them. Their stupid voices and their stupid faces and their stupid… fatness. They can’t do anything right. It’s always “Cinderella, I have an itch on my nose—Scratch It” or “Cinderella, this food is too salty.” Well you stupid bitch that’s because the saltshaker’s in your chubby little hand. Ugh. Those goddamned cows, always ruining things. They’ll never call me “Cinder-slut” again. If they hadn’t driven my father to suicide, with their nitpicking and harping and their disapproving snootiness, this never would have happened. Oh Daddy I’m going to make you so proud of me. I’ll be a Princess in the morning, just you see. SHIT! The floorboard creaked and I don’t know if I added enough valerian root in their tea to knock them out completely. All right Cinderella, you can do this. Just breathe Cinderella. You have to do this. The little bitches deserve all this and more—I wonder if I should stop off at the linen closet and pick up something to mop up the blood with… Oh I know! Stepmother’s wedding dress! She ruined my life with that dress, and now I’ll ruin her daughters! I can’t wait until they wake up tomorrow morning and find that they’re missing their toes! The pigs will feast in the morning! HA! The prince will be so disgusted he won’t even look at them—those bitches are toast!