An elementary-school principal in Somerville, Massachusetts is out to abolish Halloween, among other innocuous celebrations, because it is “insensitive” to witches or something. The school will, however, continue to teach six-year-olds how to put condoms on bananas. Extra credit if you can do it with your mouth.

Somerville is a short drive from Salem. Yes, that Salem, infamous for witch trials whose guiding principle (according to legend) was this: If you drowneth when we tie a rock to thee then you are clean; float and we burneth thee alive as a witch.

The leftist mind is a curious and perverse thing. The same mindset that wants to teach children about fellatio before they can spell it wants that child to still be a tax write-off for his parents at 26.

Is Peter Pan a liberal? The BOY WHO NEVER GREW UP is so in vogue in America right now that anorexic, smelly man-boys are not only getting laid, they’re getting it precisely because of their loser trappings.

One can see how the concept of the harem developed—it was to keep guys like this from procreating. Just make sure that his dumb and desperate repository isn’t your daughter. If so, it’s probably your fault. Quick, somebody get the matches!

Now that the progressive tax structure has pushed both parents into the work force, kids increasingly look outside of their parents for authority figures. Like, for instance, the joyless principal who takes away the one day a year many kids anticipate the most. Word is she’s got a petition floating around about canceling Christmas and has authorized a hit on the Easter Bunny.

This principal didn’t want to stop with Halloween. She would like to see a world where we don’t celebrate Christopher Columbus because, well, some Indians got a little sick when he visited. History’s messy, biatch; that doesn’t mean you can ignore it. But liberals played hooky during history class, which is why so many of them embrace socialism.

This trend of dismissing historical figures because they are not perfect has to stop. By this distorted logic we should ignore the fact that Thomas Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence because he liked black women. And Winston Churchill? Suffered from male pattern baldness. Dismissed. But we can still celebrate Hitler—he had good posture and liked vegetables.

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And Jesus? You know he wore sandals so his feet could breathe, right? It was the athlete’s foot—little-known fact—and that’s gross, so erase the man from history. We can replace him with Paris Hilton because, well, she colors her hair real nice. And her dog fits in a purse. How cute is that?

It’s not like kids need us to save Halloween for them. When it comes to the bond between a child and his chocolate he will find a way to make it happen. Remember Charlie from the Willy Wonka movie? Not the disgusting Johnny Depp version, but the brilliant Gene Wilder one?

As boys cling to this annual dress-up-for-candy ritual it is good training for the transition later in life into raising money for what is also now Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Out to save the world one breast at a time and all that.

Did anybody ever doubt that the breast would be responsible for curing cancer? Sure, the real hero will be working long hours all goggled up in a lab somewhere, but we know what motivated him.

What about the lightbulb? Take one look at one of those and it’s not hard to imagine what Edison was thinking about. And the Internet? It never would have caught on if breasts hadn’t swooped in and saved the day in the early years. It was all part of Al Gore’s grand design.

Breasts can even define a culture—the French prefer those that fit delicately inside a champagne glass while Americans want a matching pair that can collectively plug a toilet.

The downside of breasts is they can cause car accidents and make men lose their houses. They can be inconvenient for women, causing backaches and poor posture.

And alas, some women will be objectified and not appreciated for everything they have to offer (in addition to their breasts).

But that seems a small price to pay to cure cancer.

Your friendly neighborhood feminists—in a book I refuse to name—want to blame fairytales such as Cinderella for creating unrealistic expectations in American women. Why all the rancor, feminists, over not having a penis? Some of my favorite women don’t have a penis.

Feminist sensibilities have brought us heroines such as Samantha on Sex and the City: materialistic, self-obsessed, defined by work and, oh yes, someone who abandons a man to find a more experienced male model.

The argument goes something like this: Women are seeking out divorce in record numbers because there isn’t enough husband material with Fabio hair, a noble steed, and a return address that simply says THE CASTLE.

Stories are the best way to teach. Even the transvestite hookers on Sex and the City understand that.

I’ll take Sleeping Beauty any day. At the end of her story she knows that our behavior has good and bad consequences that affect the people around us.

Like when I was eight and my best friend was a girl. We were destined to kiss one day; that much was obvious.

It happened when we were ten, playing in the fort/makeout palace in my backyard. She was wearing brand-new braces—they were the awkward, goofy ones, not the kind that a cheerleader makes into a sexy accessory. They made her feel self-conscious and homely and, frankly, I agreed with her. But the best romantic stories don’t only happen to beautiful women. They also happen to plain, pigtailed, freckled girls who make their living as tomboys.

I sucked it up in that moment, looking beyond her appearance, knowing it would be over quickly and she would be grateful the way a long-suffering husband is to his wife on alternate Tuesdays. When I kissed her, my tongue gently rolled over the metal that covered her teeth in one grand, awkward gesture.

I pictured it as a fairytale. Beauty and the Beast taught me that I—the miscast Beauty—could have pity on my tinsel-mouthed Beast. And so I did.

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And there were more lessons from more stories. The Boy Who Cried Wolf has a timeless, universal message about the unintended consequences of lying. That is valuable to men and women. Did the author need to have a subplot about unionized female ninjas who are powerful in their own right?

Cinderella, the broad who started this whole mess, taught us that hard work, turning the other cheek, and faith are virtues worth celebrating.

Harking back to the aging wicked witch that is Samantha, feminists have given us a world with the HEROINE AS PROACTIVE WHORE. Instead of waiting patiently for Prince Charming, this feminist Frankenstein climbs out the window while her parents sleep. She fornicates with unworthy, sunken-chested poseurs who lube her up with designer drugs and cheap beer. She inevitably ends up pregnant and the “father” splits town.

The baby is born addicted to drugs. The welfare money buys steak the first five days of the month, then ice cream and Cheetos. The kid commits petty crimes and ultimately gets into college on a scholarship because the dad he never met is one-eighth illegal alien.

He drops out after a semester, but at least he was able to buy a new car with the money the state gave him for school. The local party girl thinks he’s going places—he has a car! She spreads her legs and the cycle repeats itself.

And all because the girl never read fairytales.

The Little Mermaid taught us we need to sacrifice for the one we love. The problem here isn’t the fairytale’s message. No, the trick is in teaching our daughters how to recognize good men from bad ones.

Thankfully we have Little Red Riding Hood, who shows us that sometimes the sweetest tongue is also the sharpest.

By the way—that schlub you’re about to divorce could be the real Prince Charming. Just so happens he’s prematurely bald, allergic to horses, and castles are out of his price range.