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This is a little exercise in creative writing.  The brief was to reimagine the Three Pigs from a different perspective.   The original is a parable about the virtues of forward thinking, providence and hard work, so that only the most abstemious pig survives the metaphorical wolf.  I thought it was a bit tough on the middle pig who is just trying to find a balance between work and play.   So here is my version:

 


 

I know it’s a bit alternative but I like my little wooden house.  It took next to no time to build and after all I just need a place to lay my head.  And our forest has lots of nuts to eat. Yes, I got plenty of nut'in; and the nut'ins plenty for me.
So what’s the point of a lock on the door when the things that I prize, like the stars in the skies, are all are free.

 

They call me Porky. My best sow and I have formed a duo: ‘Porky and Best’.  She and I perform/squeal Gersh-swine songs down at the Wallow, our local hangout frequented by the more laid-back porcine-Porsche crowd.

 

I got the sun; I got the moon; I got the shade of a tree.

I’m not like nerd-pig, my pseudo-intellectual brother, who’s got no time to dance and play and sing the night away. 

 “You call that a house,” he said. “It’s more like a pile of sticks.  You don’t need windows.  I can see right through the walls.”

Then he went on to speculate what would happen to it, and me, in a bushfire. “Smoked pork! Tinder ‘n Crackling!” he concluded. 

What a boar, always expecting the worst!  What happened to 'live for today'? 

But we both agreed, it's a palace compared to hippy-pig, our other brother’s place. 

As an alternative lifestyle in-activist he decided on straw-bales.  Some of his friends from the commune even contributed a load but after he smoked a bit, and chilled, it was all too hard. 

So, he just piled the bails in a sort of U and stretched the tarp, that came with the load, as a make-shift roof.  When he gets the munchies, he eats his house.

 

 

“Did you choose this spot deliberately?” asked nerd-pig meaningfully when we both went to see.  “Naw,” hippy-pig grunted: “That’s just where they fell off the truck.”

“As I thought,” said nerd-pig sarcastically, “Right in the watercourse down the hill.  You’ll drown in the first good storm.”

Nerd-pig really gets up my snout sometimes. He can be a real swine. His favourite saying is: “Two legs good, four legs better.”  As if we need to be better than birds.

He’s building a huge brick sty on top of the hill, complete with a fireplace in the kitchen.  He has no time for enjoyment.  But he has invited me around to dinner tonight, so he’s not all work and no play.

Speaking of birds, what did that little bird just say?  “Hippy-pig is gone - in a huff and a puff!”  Well, the puff is not unexpected. What’s that: “Big Bad Wolf blew in, no door, no roof!”     

Wait 'til I tell nerd-pig tonight. I’m longing to see his beady little eyes, when he finds out he was wrong about the drowning.

“Hey bro,” I squeal at his big oak door. “Can I come in?” 

“Yes of course,” he replies.  “You’re just in time for wolf, leek and potato stew.”

Well, that’s a surprise. Wasn’t I supposed to get eaten first? 

Obviously, the electric fence I put around my house worked as planned.  I'm not completely stupid, incompetent or helpless.  

 

 

Consequently, the shocked and disoriented Big Bad staggered up the hill; onto nerd-pig’s roof; and straight down the chimney into his cooking pot.

“What delicious swill bro,” I grunt piggishly, as I get my snout into his trough.  “This puts hairs on my chinny chin chin!”

 

 


 

 

 

 


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