the three little pigs, retold: a wolf’s story

Via Comic Vine

the three little pigs, retold: a wolf’s story

by jessica levine

*

“Presently came along a wolf, and knocked at the door, and said, “Little pig, little pig, let me come in.”

That, friends, is the only part of the folktale the English didn’t spin to pigs’ gain.

Here’s the brief, three-part truth of the matter:

But let’s start from the top. Indeed, I came along, and knocked at the door, and said, “Little pig, little pig, let me come in.” A house made of straw surely wouldn’t hold against gales of rain, I noted; before I said as much as “here’s my business card,” however, the pig chivvied me away. Admittedly, and much to my mother’s chagrin (sorry, Ma), I set out to point-prove. Get ready, folktale fans of the world, you know the next part: I huffed, puffed, and blew his house down. Couldn’t even withstand an angry whistle, pal.

Via Documenting Reality

Tweaked, but not resigned, I walked to the neighbor’s stick-made home. A fire trap waiting to happen, I knocked at the door. “Little pig, little pig, let me come in,” I said. Tipped-off by his neighbor’s now-pile of hay, I presume, this guy actually slammed the door without even receiving my extended paw. Frustrated, I (you guessed it) huffed, puffed, and blew ‘is house down. Sue me (he did).

My resolve waning, I stopped at the street’s only house built of brick. Per my usual spiel, yet with a bit less vigor, “Little pig, little pig, let me come in.” Mr. Brick Pig’s six-year-old daughter, as it were, has a swift roundhouse. Fed up, I took a big huff and puff—only to incense Mr. Brick Pig’s (seriously fierce) gray tabby. Nobody needs to see those scars.

*

Who’s the victim, here? Who’s been forever besmirched in lore?

Disclaimer: ‘urp. 

Via Woman’s Day

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