Freely Offered

My name is Big Wolf, and I am here to tell you about the great injustice done to me by those three slimes of pigs Fred, George, and Professor Harold Hill. The story those dogfaces have been spreading around accuses me of trying to devour all three of those swine; actually, I was only trying to get a dinner they owed me. Let me tell you the way it really happened.

I was strolling along one day when I spotted George, who thinks straw is the best building material to come along since adobe. George was puttering around in his garden, singing about the wonders of Spam and planting some tomatoes when he caught site of me. Evidently George does not know the first thing about wolves, or he would have known that it is normal for us to slobber and foam at the mouth. As it happened, George took one look at me and bolted into his house, slamming the door on the way, which set his entire house a-shaking. I am most sorry to disappoint you, but none of that "huff and puff" stuff ever happened; I simply walked to the door, rang the bell, and asked when would be a good time for dinner. George must have forgotten he owed me a meal and assumed I was going to eat him, because he started screaming through the door about police and dog catchers. I tried to calm him down, but he had not been having a good day and there was nothing I could do to subdue him. Meanwhile, one of Farmer Brown's cows wandered by and decided George's house would make a good snack. The house started to collapse shortly thereafter, George took off for his brother Fred's house, and I followed.

Fred has been repotting geraniums when George arrived and briefed him on the events of the past fifteen minutes. Fred saw me coming down the street and took off for his house, which appears to be built with pretzels but is actually constructed with sticks and branches the lumber yard could not use. Fred slammed the door as soon as George was inside; the house did not shake as much this time.

I was starting to get mad at this point, but I was willing to make one more try at being rational. However, Bud Beaver and his family decided Fred's house was a giant pretzel, and it did not take long for Fred and George to fly out of the house, jump into Fred's car, and take off for their other brother's house.

Harold (who think he is smart) was tuck pointing his house and singing about trouble in River City when his brothers made their appearance. Harold took one look at their faces and fell off his ladder onto his prize petunias. By the time he got up Fred and George were inside his house trying to figure out how to arm the security system. Harold sent them over to the tactical computers and then went about the process of powering up his radar-activated weaponry and generally getting ready for World War III. I could see this activity through Harold's picture window and was thinking that it was a good thing I always carry some C-4 plastic explosive with me when one of the guns spotted me and started shooting. I got safely away and was back fifteen minutes later -- in my custom Blackhawk chopper. Harold's advance warning system spotted me and sounded the alarms (which needed tuning), and the battle was on.

Harold and his brothers put up a good fight, but they were no match for my Gremlins and me, and the three brothers eventually surrendered. Of course, by this time every news team within fifty miles had arrived and were busily creating a media circus. Evidently all of the media was as inexperienced in the department of wolf relations as were the three pigs, because not one person interviewed me. The pigs, however, were interviewed by everybody, and they conveniently forgot several parts of the story, from whence came my bad reputation.

So that’s the real story of the three pigs and their most memorable day; any other version is a flat out lie. Come to think of it, I never did get my dinner. Maybe if I disguised myself....