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door that was in the side of a small hill nearby. ‘Step right this way,’ he said as he lifted the latch. But the black door wouldn’t open. Foxy Loxy tugged on it with one paw, then with both. It still wouldn’t budge. He yanked and pulled violently, cursing the door, its mental abilities, and its sexual history.
    Finally the door swung open, and a huge ball of fire shot out. This was really the door to Foxy Loxy’s oven! But unfortunately for him, the ball of fire engulfed his head, burned off every hair and whisker, and left him totally catatonic. Chicken Little, Henny Penny, and Goosy Loosey ran away, thankful that they had not been devoured.
    However, the family of Foxy Loxy caught up with them. In addition to suing the manufacturer of the oven door on behalf of Foxy Loxy, the family brought a suit against the three above-mentioned barnyard fowl, claiming entrapment, reckless endangerment and fraud. The family sought payment for pain and suffering, compensatory damages, punitive damages, disability and disfigurement, long-term care, mental anguish, impaired earning power, loss of esteem and the loss of a good dinner. The three birds later brought a countersuit, and they’ve all been battling in court from that day to this.

THE FROG PRINCE
    nce there was a young princess who, when she grew tired of beating her head against the male power structure at her castle, would relax by walking into the woods and sitting beside a small pond. There she would amuse herself by tossing her favourite golden ball up and down and pondering the role of the eco-feminist warrior in her era.
    One day, while she was dreaming of the utopia that her queendom could become if womyn were in the positions of power, she dropped the ball, which rolled into the pond. The pond was so deep and murky she couldn’t see where it had gone. She didn’t cry, of course, but she made a mental note to be more careful next time.
    Suddenly she heard a voice say, ‘I can get your ball for you, princess.’
    She looked round, and saw the head of a frog popping above the surface of the pond. ‘No, no,’ she said, ‘I would never enslave a member of another species to work for my selfish desires.’
    The frog said, ‘Well, what if we make a deal on a contingency basis? I’ll get your ball for you if you do me a favour in return.’
    The princess gladly agreed to this most equitable arrangement. The frog dived under the water and soon emerged with the golden ball in his mouth. He spat the ball on the bank and said, ‘Now that I’ve done you a favour, I’d like to explore your views on physical attraction between the species.’
    The princess couldn’t imagine what the frog was talking about. The frog continued, ‘You see, I am not really a frog at all. I’m really a man, but an evil sorcerer has cast a spell on me. While my frog form is no better or worse—only different—than my human form, I would so much like to be among people again. And the only thing that can break this spell is a kiss from a princess.’
    The princess thought for a moment about whether sexual harassment could take place between species, but her heart went out to the frog for his predicament. She bent down and kissed the frog on the forehead. Instantly the frog grew and changed. And there, standing in the water where the frog had been, was a man in a golf shirt and loud plaid trousers—middle-aged, vertically challenged, and losing a little bit of hair on top.
    The princess was taken aback. ‘I’m sorry if this sounds a little classist,’ she stammered, ‘but… what I mean to say is … don’t sorcerers usually cast their spells on princes ?’
    ‘Ordinarily, yes,’ he said, ‘but this time the target was just an innocent businessman. You see, I’m a real estate developer, and the sorcerer thought I was cheating him in a property-line dispute. So he invited me out for a round of golf, and just as I was about to tee off, he transformed me. But my time as a frog