Three Little Pigs

I know you know me. I'm the wolf who was persucuted for the murder and destruction of the private property of pigs. The truth is, yeah, I did blow their houses down. Let me tell you why I did what I did.

It's like this. I live on the street, see? I wont tell you my whole life story, but let me just say that I had a hard childhood. To make a long story short, I was so hungry that day. I had no money and no narcotics to exchange for food. I like pigs, not necessarily to eat, but merely for their personality. There just happen to be three pigs living on the street I was on at the time. I walked over to the first pig's messy stronghold. Little did I know that he was retarded, hence the house made of straw. I truly did not know this at the time, so I walked over and rang the bell which broke off in my hand. "Little pig, little pig, may I come in?" I shouted, placing the bell switch on the mailbox.

The little pig answered "not I the air uh I inny in in!" in his stupid, hard to comprehend voice. I admit, I didn't know exactly what he had said at the time, but I could sense his bad attitude, see?

Now I admit that I did begin to get a little angry; I am known to have a bad temper, see? It's all my father's fault. Stupid old lupine! He always Kept yelling at me, saying how I would always be a god-damned little pup. Called me the Alpha male's bitch, he did! … But … where was I? Oh yes, the pigs. See, the thing is, this time I really did try to keep my temper. Like I said, I like pigs, but the truth is, this little swine sort of sounded like my father, you know? I mean, after he'd had a few beer roots in his belly. Alpha male my ass! Anyway, the point is, I tried, and actually succeeded. But this is where it all started going wrong. Before I could turn and leave I felt a sneeze coming on. I couldn't stop it. It burst out like an eruption from a volcano and before I knew it, the house was in shambles. I felt pretty bad, until I saw the little porker lying on the ground dead. I hadn't forgotten his attitude, so I ate him. He was tender and juicy and….never mind.

I left the ruins of the house; I can be a real jerk sometimes. I staggered to the next pig's house. Little did I know that he had Turette's syndrome. He had, never the less, built the house out of sticks; smarter, but still a few loose screws apparently. I reached the door and knocked.

"Little pig, little pig, may I come in?" I shouted, a little more urgently this time.

The pig answered "Not by the haaiiiiir of myyyyy chiiiny chiny chin!"

Now, see? I'm not a wuss or anything like that. I do have a reputation of being The Alpha Male of the street after all, but, that scared the crap out of me! It sounded so forceful, and this time, I really did get angry,once I got over the shock (maybe I really am a bit of a wuss after all.) Just who does this porker think he is? I remember asking myself. I also remembered what my sneeze had done to the first little pigs house. I decided to try it on this one as well. This was the last straw, pardon the pun. I took a piece of straw that was stuck to my fir, jammed it up my snout and wiggled it around. I huffed and I puffed and horked up a snotball and then it came. It erupted like an even bigger volcano. When I opened my eyes, I saw that the little hut was in shambles. The mouthy little pig lay dead. I ate this one as well, just to teach him a lesson. The meat was a little hard, but tasty none the less.

I couldn't believe it. I was still hungry and angry too. I stomped over to the third little pigs house. Little did I know that he had a phone. He was also smart, making his house entirely out of bricks. I walked up and banged angrily on the door.

"Little pig, little pig, let me come in." I didn't even bother asking, because I'd had enough!

A slot in the door opened, and a little snout popped out. "Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin!" he said, even going so far as to snear at me! What gull, what nerve! Have you ever been sneared at by a mouthy little pig? No? … I didn't think so. Well then, you have no idea how it feels, I'm a freekin wolf for Cerberus' sakes! This less-than-polite gesture made my blood boil. I began to shake with rage. And my face turned redder than the bricks on the house. Why did the more fortunate look down on the homeless as if they were insects? I made up my mind, this little pig was getting cooked. I took the straw, jammed it up my snout, and wiggled it around. I huffed and I puffed and horked up a fur ball (damn pigs and their fir.) Then, I sneezed, the air erupting like five angry volcanoes---but the little house of bricks remained standing. The little pig was gone, and a moment later, I heard sirens.

"Oh great," I growled; "Now I'm in for it."

Two gruff looking pigs (that comparison is there for a reason, people, and it has nothing to do with donuts,) appeared and said" you're under arrest for murder and destruction of private property." They handcuffed me and took me away. The third little pig stood in his doorway and laughed at me.

So now you know the whole story. I did blow down the houses, and I did eat the little porkers. All I wanted was a little food. Is that so wrong?