The Ugly Baby

Inspired by Heather Anne, I too have decided to create my own children’s story. This is the much needed update to Hans Christian Anderson’s antiquated “Ugly Duckling” story.

It was lovely summer weather in the city, and the skyscrapers, traffic lights, and creative expletives colored the beautiful day. At the center of the city stood an old hospital in which a tired old mother had just given birth to trikadekatuplets (13). She was tired from her task, and kicking herself for insisting the doctor at the fertility clinic give her a double dose of embryos just to be sure.

The babies looked out into the nursery and said “how large the world is,” especially compared to the cramped New York apartment that had been their home for the previous nine months. The mother hobbled over to the nursery and noticed that while 12 of her babies were identical, the last one was a little hairy and a lot fugly.

The last baby, much larger than the rest woke up crying. It was very large and ugly. The mother stared at it and exclaimed,

“It is very large and not at all like the others. I wonder if I’m legally obligated to keep it.”

On the next day the weather was delightful, so the mother duck took her young brood down to the park. She set her children down and walked away, hoping the ugly child would not recognize his mother. Unfortunately, it did.

“Oh,” said the mother, “look how he cries out for me. He is my own child, and he is not so very ugly after all if you look at him properly. Come with me now, I will take you home to meet my 12 sisters and your 144 cousins.”

When they reached the shack, the mother instructed them to cry in greeting.

The babies did as they were bid, but the cousins in the house stared, and said, “Look, here comes another brood, as if there were not enough of us already! and what a queer looking object one of them is; we don’t want him here,” and then one spit at him in the face.

“Let him alone,” said the mother; “he is not doing any harm.”

“Yes, but he is so big and ugly,” said the spiteful cousins “and therefore he must be turned out.”

“That is impossible,” replied the mother; “he is not pretty; but he has a very good disposition, and recognizes me now, so it’s too late to give him back. I think he will grow up pretty, and perhaps be smaller; he has remained too long in the womb, and therefore his figure is not properly formed;” and then she stroked his neck. “I think he will grow up strong, and able to take care of himself.”

And so they made themselves comfortable; but the poor ugly baby, who had crept out of the womb last of all, and looked so ugly, was kicked and pushed and made fun of, not only by the cousins, but by all the family. “He is too big,” they all said.

So it went on from day to day till it got worse and worse. The poor child was driven about by every one; even his brothers and sisters were unkind to him, and his mother said she wished he had never been born. So at last he ran away.

“They are afraid of me because I am ugly,” he said. So he closed his eyes, and ran still farther, until he came out on a large moor, inhabited by wild ducks. Here he remained the whole night, feeling very tired and sorrowful.

And so the child had terrible adventures and grew up hated by everyone. It was a dreadful life.

One day, when he was grown, he saw a herd of gorillas at the park. He thought that they were ever so beautiful and decided to approach them.

“I will fly to those royal primates,” he exclaimed, “and they will kill me, because I am so ugly, and dare to approach them; but it does not matter: better be killed by them than kicked by cousins, beaten by the aunts, molested by police officers ((Did I forget to mention that he was molested by police officers? Repeatedly? I may have assumed you would have inferred it from ‘it was a dreadful life.’)) pushed about by my mom, or starved with hunger in the winter.”

Then he ran to the park, and swam towards the beautiful gorillas. The moment they espied the stranger, they rushed to meet him with outstretched arms.

“Kill me,” said the poor guy; and he bent his head down to the surface of the water, and awaited death.

But what did he see in the clear stream below? His own image; no longer a dark, gray baby, ugly and disagreeable to look at, but a dark, gray grown up, still ugly and disagreeable to look at.

Then he looked up at the angry gorillas, ready to pummel him into the ground. They did. It was dreadful ((more molestation)). He died of internal bleeding some time later at the hospital.
The moral of the story: Do not approach loose gorillas or dreadful things will happen.

Inspired by Heather Anne, I too have decided to create my own children’s story. This is the much needed update to Hans Christian Anderson’s antiquated “Ugly Duckling” story. It was lovely summer weather in the city, and the skyscrapers, traffic lights, and creative expletives colored the beautiful day. At the center of the city stood…