Then she turned several shades of yellow, choked and fainted dead away. When she recovered she called for her stretched Mercedes and drove over to her plastic surgeon to have her tummy tucked (again), her cheeks lifted, her lips botoxed and boobs several sizes larger than her head implanted into her sagging chest. From then on every time she saw Snow White she hated her so much she ground her teeth until the caps shattered. In short, she was so consumed with envy and hatred that she spent all her fortune undergoing further surgery in a vain attempt to restore her fading looks. That is, when she wasn't sticking pins in a voodoo doll of her rival, or paying lowlife scumbags to give her a nasty yeast infection.

Finally she sent for a TV presenter down on his luck, who had lost his last job due to his fondness for blowing white powder up actresses' bottoms: "Get that fucking slut out of my sight! Take her into Epping forest and kill her and bring me her pussy and her tits to prove you've done it." The TV presenter obeyed and led Snow White into the forest, but when she took off her skimpy top and bared her chest for his knife, his resolve melted away. Which is more than can be said for his willy, which popped out of his pants with a loud ripping noise and was soon on top of the situation. Well, actually it was Snow White who was on top of the situation, but the willy wasn't complaining because she had her lovely lips wrapped around it. Her breath was soon coming in short pants. The TV presenter came a little faster, but not before he'd promised to let Snow White live. "Run away little girl," he advised as they shared a post-coital cigarette together, thinking to himself that the failed 'C-list' celebs who lived in the forest would do his job for him by putting her in a porno snuff movie.

As luck would have it, at that precise moment a failed 'C-list' celeb who'd grown tired of waiting tables at Burger King, came bounding out of the trees. Confident that the new film she was on her way to audition for, was not a porno snuff movie (her agent lied), she was only too happy slip out of her designer dress to show the TV presenter her expensive boob job. Then, of course, she just had to wriggle out of her thong and show him how pretty her clitoral piercing looked from a low camera angle. Pausing only to make a messy deposit in her love tunnel in exchange for the cab fare into town, the TV presenter choked her with her own designer thong, before cutting off her boobs and her pussy to take back to his mistress as proof that he'd topped Snow White. The evil stepmother had a cordon-Bleu chef flown in specially from Belgium and had them for dinner, convinced she was noshing on Snow White's better parts.

Meanwhile, the poor little waif was all alone in the great forest. Well, apart from a pretty pink, vibrating plastic rabbit, but that's not important right now. Stopping only to rinse out her mouth in a little stream, she began to run. She ran over discarded condoms and through soiled underwear without any of the loathsome germs they harboured harming her, although she did give a hunky lumberjack a quick hand job after he helped her across a deep ravine. She ran as long as her long legs would carry her, which was quite a long time as her legs were not only breathtakingly pretty, but exceptionally strong. Then, just before nightfall, she saw a dilapidated little house and went in to rest. Inside the house everything was tiny, and rather squalid. A rickety table was spread with a cloth that might once have been white but now looked like her stepmother's knickers, and on the table there were seven filthy little plates, each with a cheap, plastic knife, fork and mug that had clearly not seen the inside of a dishwasher for some time.

"Eeww," she exclaimed, wrinkling her pretty nose, "This place is filthy!" But she was so tired, thirsty and hungry (not to mention rather moist and sticky) that she decided to stay. Over against the wall there were seven little beds all in a row, covered with grubby sheets crisped by nasty looking stains in all the same places. As she didn't want to eat up anyone's entire meal, she nibbled a bit of pizza from each plate and took a sip of beer from each mug. Then she had a shower, being careful to scrape the pubic hair off the soap before she used it, and tried not to notice the seven tiny pairs of soiled underpants in a heap on the floor. Afterwards she was so tired that she lay down on one of the beds, taking care to avoid the suspicious looking stains and was soon fast asleep.

When it was quite dark, the owners of the little house returned. They were seven dwarves who went off to the big city every day to play midgets in low-budget soap operas for the BBC, and when midgets were not in high demand, hung around beauty salons impersonating aliens in the hope of picking up bored housewives for casual sex. No sooner had they lit up seven little reefers, than someone noticed they'd been burgled, because mice don't eat pizza or drink beer. Well, allright, they may do, but they certainly don't wear pretty, yellow and blue frocks like the one someone had casually draped over a chair.

The first dwarf said: "Who left this frock on my chair?"
The second said: "Who got lipstick on my mug?"
The third said: "Who scoffed all the olives off my pizza?"
The fourth said: "Who's been swigging my beer?"
The fifth said: "Who's are these knickers?"
The sixth said: "Right, what bastard scraped the hair off the soap? I was saving that!"
Finally, the seventh said: "Who left this pink, electric toothbrush in my bed?"

"It's not a toothbwush, it's my wabbit, and give me my knickers back!"

Seven heads swivelled toward the bed and seven mouths gaped in astonishment
"I'm in love!" exclaimed the dwarves in unison, "What a gorgeous sexbomb!"
Well? What would you say if you were an ugly shortarse who's only chance of scoring was with a mute, inflatable woman you'd picked up on eBay for £29.99 (batteries not included)?

The dwarves were so overwhelmed that they all spoke at once.
"What's your name?"
"Gosh, you're beautiful!"
"Can I keep your knickers?"
"What’s a 'wabbit'?"
"Any chance of a shag?"
"How did you get here?"
"Can I wear your frock?"
"Stop it!" pleaded Snow White, yawning prettily. "I'll tell you my name in the morning if you'll let me stay. I'm so tired I can't keep my eyes open."

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