And wouldn’t you know it, Princess Isabelle, running away from an unjust marriage and to some grand adventure, runs right into Jack’s house-just before a rivulet of water touches that magical bean underneath the floorboards. Shortly thereafter, a storm descends upon the kingdom, water spilling through all those unthatched holes in Jack’s roof. We can’t buy thatch for the roof with beans! He hollers.
And in a fit of anger, he flings the beans across their hovel, where one slips through a crack in the floor. His significantly more cynical uncle (with whom Jack lives) is horrified at the trade. But Jack-a trusting sort of lad-accepts the beans anyway. That sorta nixes the idea of Jack planting them, eating them or even setting them on the edge of the local wave pool while he goes for swim. It’s really the most impractical trade imaginable, given that the monk cautions Jack to keep the legumes far away from water.
With credit cards not readily available, the monk offers Jack collateral-a bagful of beans. He’s trying to sell his horse when he runs across a very harried monk who promises to pay him “10 coppers” for the nag-only he doesn’t have the cash with him. And if history teaches us anything, it’s that if someone holds a bean of mass destruction, there’s the temptation to use it.įast-forward several hundred years and meet Jack. And with his newfound clout, the king sent the giants back home.īut no one thought to, y’know, get rid of the beans. The ensuing years were filled with great discomfort (perhaps gastrointestinal in nature for the giants) until some forward-thinking human king crafted a magical crown that gave him the power to rule over his ginormous enemies. Alas, they did not: They scaled the beany vines and found a picturesque land populated by giants who, regrettably, were looking for more variety in their diets. Had these monks bothered to read Genesis, they would’ve realized the whole effort was a waste of time (and might’ve channeled their magic into giant Chia Pets or something). It all began in ages past, when a bunch of monks conjured a bevy of fast-growing beans-hoping to use them as an organic elevator to heaven. After all, they’d still be minding their own business if we hadn’t launched those beanstalks at ’em. But while we can take issue with them wanting to spread our innards over massive Triscuits, we must shoulder a bit of the blame ourselves. They do want to eat all of mankind, after all. On some level, you gotta feel a little bad for the giants.
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