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Little Pig, Little Pig...

by Ásgrímur Hartmannsson

The big bad wolf was hungry, as so often before. And when he saw one of the three little pigs who lived near by, he figured: bacon.

And so, he ran toward the pig, who, as small critters do when faced with a threat, ran away from the wolf.

The wolf, who had a three pack a day habit, could not run for very long, nor could he run very fast, so the pig got away, and he saw it disappear into its straw house.

The wolf walked toward the straw house, and figured he’d just knock. “Yeah, that’ll work.” He said to himself.

And the wolf knocked.

“Who’s there?” asked the little pig.

“This is... uh... Little Red Riding Hood. Yeah. I have come to give you a cookie.”

“You lie! I can hear it in your raspy voice! You are the big bad wolf! I will not let you in!”

And the big bad wolf pounded on the door, but to no avail. He only got tired and more hungry.

“Dammit,” said the wolf, and threw his cigarette at the pig’s house, figuring that if he could not eat the pig, he’d just dis its house instead.

But then it so happened that the house burst into flames, and the big bad wolf got himself a nice roasted pig an hour later.

The very next day, the wolf was hungy again. And he spotted another pig, as before, and he chased it as before, until he was gasping for air, as before. He considered quitting smoking, but remembered how his habit had saved him the day before, and quit quitting.

As before, the pig had hidden in its house. This little pig had a house made of wood.

The wolf tried to knock:

“Who’s there?” asked the little pig. “This is... the fairy godmother... yeah. I have come to grant you three wishes.”

“You lie! I can hear it in your raspy voice! You are the big bad wolf! I will not let you in!”

And the big bad wolf pounded on the door, but to no avail. He thought he’d have an heart attack. His arm was stinging, just like when one has a heart attack, and he felt like sitting down.

He had a smoke to calm his nerves, and threw his cigarette at the pig’s house, figuring that it might work like the day before.

But it did not.

By that time, the pig had called the police, and the wolf hid when he saw the flashing lights approach.

The wolf wondered how he might get the pig, and cook it at the same time, like before. An idea came to him:

He doused the pig’s house in petrol, and then set fire to it. That worked perfectly, but the pig was a bit overcooked when the fire died out two hours later.

And the next day he was hungry again. And as before, the wolf spotted a pig, and chased it. It took him a while to feel better this time. He wondered which was to blame, the pork or the smoking. Probably all that running, he figured, and started moving again. Slowly.

He tracked the pig’s footsteps to a brick house. He did not bother knocking but instead just doused the place in petrol and set it on fire. In 15 minutes, the fire died down. There was nothing wrong with the house that would not wash away in the next rain.

“Dammit!” cursed the wolf, and began thinking a better way to get the pig. Fire was clearly not enough. But how about explosives then?

Mmm... explosives... The wolf went to Nobel’s explosives shoppe and bought himself what he figured was enough to open up a brick house. He figured 50 kilos of dynamite would be about right, and had the stuff shipped to the pig’s house.

And the pig was very surprised to have explosives delivered to its house but signed for the shipment anyway. Who could be giving me dynamite, thought the pig.

But the wolf had no use for the pig having explosives. Enraged, the wolf pounded on the pig’s door, demanding to be let in. The pig was disturbed and called the police.

When the police arrived, the wolf was having a seizure on the front porch. They got there just in time to save his life.

And the next day it was all over the papers in Lala land: the pig had rescued the big bad wolf. The big bad wolf was slightly irritated, but he no longer had the strength to chase the pig. Besides, he was under doctor’s orders to stop smoking and eat only low-fat foods if he wished to stay alive.

Bloody hell, thought the wolf. This is no way to end a fairy tale.