Extreme Fairy tales: Three little pigs and a wolf

Warning: This one comes with strong language, so if you are offended don’t read.

There was an old sow with three little pigs, and as she had not enough to keep them as they ate like a, err, pig she fucking kicked their ass and told them to be on their own.

Cursing under its breath, the first that went off met a man with a bundle of straw, and said to him:

“Please, man, give me that straw to build me a house.”

To which the man yelled, “I got a fucking name.”

And the frightened pig asked what his name was. “It’s Mann,” said the man, “Michael Mann, you know, like the film director”

The pig then proceeded to ask for the straw and the man impressed by the pigs courtesy and not helped by the factor that he seriously digs bacon, gave some of the hay.

And the little pig built a house with it, though he had no fucking architectural knowledge. Presently came along a wolf, and knocked at the door, and said:

“Little pig, little pig, let me come in.”

To which the pig answered:

“No, no, by the hair of my chiny chin chin.”

The wolf then answered to that:

“The fuck is that? Since when did pigs have fucking goatie? Anyway, let me in or I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in.”

After an awkward pause when he thought about the “blow” part, he actually did that. We mean, not like that blow, he actually huffed and puffed and blew the goddam strawhouse in, and ate up the little pig. Documents does not exist as to what he did with the meat, so we are assuming that he roasted it slowly after seasoning with cumin and fennel powder, salt and pepper.

Anyway, the second little pig met a man with a bundle of furze, and said:

“Please, man, give me that furze to build a house.”

Before you scratch your head, let us do the homework. Yeah, awesome, furze is another name for Gorse it seem. What the hell is Gorse? More homework, hang on. The internet is slow; meanwhile we’ll playing game apps on our Android phone.

Crap the server is down. Anyway, let’s assume furze is some kinda animal fur. You know the type if you wear one, the animal rights people would skin you alive?

This time the furze man just gave the furze away after sprinting off to his village to prepare for pork feast.

He’s too late, because the same damned wolf came and you know what’s gonna happen right?

“Little pig, little pig, let me come in,” he said, rolling his eyes because we gave him the same line. Fuck you, wolf, just do your character.

“No, no, by the hair of my chiny chin chin.”

To which the wolf retorted, “Jesus Christ. What the fuck is with that chin hair? Open up or I’ll huff…Nah, I’ll fucking tear the place down.”

Since the pig resisted, he did tear the piece down and grabbed the pig and since he was full from eating the first one, he shared it with the village folks and just ate the shoulder part.

So, there’s one more pig right? Smart, you have been paying attention.

Right, the third feller met a guy with loads of bricks.

The pig asked what it was.

The man said, “Something I shat.” The pig didn’t respond to that. “It’s a joke, you fucking idiot,” the man said.

Then the pig said, “Actually they look like it did came from where you joked it came from. Nobody’s going to buy shit-shaped bricks so you might as well give it to me.”

Humbled, the man gave away some bricks. His name is John Huntington the third, but at this point of time, we don’t fucking care.

As per his siblings, the pig used the brick to build a house. Not much of a house, but hey, a home is a home huh?

This happened like a month after the second pig incident, so the hungry wolf tracked him using his GPS system (smelling urine more like it) and found the third pig’s place.

“Little pig, little pig, let me come in despite the fact that you house looks like it was built with hardened shit.”

“You know,” said the pig from inside the house, “In India they actually use cow dung_”

“Fuck cow dung,” hissed the wolf. “You are letting me or are you gonna do the hair chin routine your two late brothers did.”

Shocked, the pig asked, “My brothers died?”

“Yeah, they’re in my belly, you should meet them”

“Shouldn’t they be digested already?”

“Wow, we got a fucking scientist here. You gonna open the door or you want me to blow it down”.

“Go ahead make my day,” said the pig, grinning at the Clint Eastwood poster on his wall.

Well, the idiot wolf which sat three times for third grade, did the huffing and puffing until his lung almost came out and bitch slapped him for making it work hard.

Out of breath, the wolf said “Little pig, I know where there is a nice field of turnips.”

“Where?” said the little pig. The fucking glutton.

“Oh, in Mr. Smith’s Home-field, and if you will be ready tomorrow morning I will call for you, and we will go together, and get some for dinner.”

“Very well,” said the little pig. He agreed. The idiot. “I will be ready. What time do you mean to go?”

“Oh,” said the wolf looking at his cheap Rolex knock-off, “ at six o’clock.”

Well, the little pig got up at five as he had to take a leak around that time, and got the turnips before the wolf came (which he did about seven o’clock as forgot to set the alarm) and who said:

“Little Pig, are you ready?”

The little pig said: “Actually I left early and got the turnip. I couldn’t stay, I had left the stove on in the kitchen.”

The wolf felt very angry at this, but getting angry is useless, he needs to strategise, like getting a tank or something.

“Little pig, I know where there is a nice apple-tree.” That’s right, wolf does the same routine. Knucklehead.

“Where?” said the pig not envisioning himself on a dinner table roasted with an apple between his mouth.

“Down at Merry-garden,” replied the wolf, “and hey, you wake up early, I wake up early too. Five am it is.”

It is, you dick. The pig got up at 4 am and grabbed all the apple he can and went back home, while you stood there at 5 am like an idiot.

The next day the wolf came again, and said to the little pig:

“Little pig, there is a fair at Shanklin this afternoon, will you go?”

“Oh yes,” said the pig, “I will go; what time shall you be ready?” He might as well said, "what time you want me to put my head in the oven".

“At three,” said the gleeful wolf, who actually watches the show Glee.

So the little pig went off before the time as usual, and got to the fair, and bought a butter-churn for no reason at all, which he was going home with, when he saw the wolf coming.

Shocked, he got into the churn to hide, which is about as same effect as closing your eyes so the fucking lion in front of you will go away.

But since he’s supposed to be the hero here, let’s modify the story a bit and say that the butter-churn it rolled down the hill with the pig in it, and apparently it frightened so much, that he ran home without going to the fair.

He went to the little pig’s house, and told him how frightened he had been by a great round thing which came down the hill past him with a screaming pig in it. Then the little pig said:

“Hah, I frightened you, then. I had been to the fair and bought a butter-churn, and when I saw you, I got into it, and rolled down the hill.”

“Hey, douchebag, the wolf said, “You are repeating what I told you, I know that pathetic scream must be yours. It’s that huge butter-churner scared me. But fuck it, it’s this. I am going to eat you and if I have to use the chimney, I goddam use the fucking chimney.”

The pig heard that, and he immediately boiled a pot full of water right below the chimney. The wolf got to the chimney, took out the cover, dived in straight to the boiling water. This time, the pig ate the wolf. Fucking A.

Who are we kidding? The water was not boiled yet when the wolf got in, so the wolf killed the pig, lived at that house with a supply of pork meat for a month. That one is one big mother.

Coming soon: Three Little Pigs and the wolf pt2: The one without the pigs.

Rajini: Converting Fans of All Ages.

Before leaving to Singapore for further medical treatment, a frail sounding actor Rajinikanth issued a voice message to his fans, saying he’d be back, blah, blah, blah. But the most interesting part of the message was that he’s baffled by the amount of love poured by his fans.

Frankly, Rajini may remember his pals from the bus conductor days, still love and respect brother, and the rugged childhood he grew up into, but he certainly forgot how he rose as a star and became not just an idol, but a family member in the households of many south Indians or those of that origin all around the world. Not to mention a bunch of Japanese. But they are weird, so let’s leave them out of the equation for now.

When he first appeared in a supporting role Apoorva Raganggal, he was just another guy in torn jacket who dies standing. When he appeared as sadistic anti-hero in Moondru Mudichu who’s responsible for Kamal’s death, he already made a three year old boy cry. I still remember the tears. Then, he went on, appearing in one film after another, building fanbase, converting nay-sayers and fair-skin worshippers, appearing with other stars and conquering their fans, moving forward shoulder to shoulder with his buddy/rival Kamal, till the Tamizh film fans, which has lost MGR to politics, and endorsed a brilliant actor called Sivaji Ganesan to wear silly wigs and sillier costumes, realised that these two are a force to reckon with.

While Rajini proved that he can be a damned good actor if he damned well pleases, he was more concentrating on crowd pleasing stuff. Armed with cigarette flipping gimmick that nobody got tired of for decades, he created the orphaned illiterate persona that takes on big guns. An underdog bent on avenging his murdered parents, sister, brother, buddy (restricted to human being, though he spent an entire movie chasing after a baby elephant not for retribution purpose).

That’s the image of late 70s early 80s Rajini – his teeth bared to express intense displeasure of having kick bad guys ass again, messy hair showing life does not warrant time to go to the hair saloon, simple costume when who needs fashion when it’s going to be splattered red. Needless to say, males of his age then (20s/30s) were his biggest fans when they are not picking fights with the Kamal fans of the same demography.

Post marriage (1980) Rajini was slowly shedding off the “I am an angry orphan, hear me roar” image to something more family friendly. Though there were comedy sidekicks in his movie, comedy became his sidekick. It was his dagger when he was not blowing the shotgun. His costume got better, his hair a lot more in place and he smiled a lot. Killing bad guys was no longer a major pre-occupation. His characters accept challenges like living as a simpleton in a village, or to convert a woman into queen. He occasionally goes back to his root like going vigilante in Nan Sigappu Manithan or though once, he let go of a bad guy in the end of Kai Kodukkum Kai (at the same climax a bull killed another bad guy in what may be termed as a separate incident). With brilliant composer Ilayaraja’s backing, he gets to mouth many beautiful melodious songs and that won many music fans.

Female fans who are deeply disturbed by Kamal’s penchant to do mouth to mouth rescucitation with conscious heroines, took to Rajini as their ideal hero. Still, kids were torn between the two, with my family sticking firmly to Kamal. We had a great time making fun of Rajini, whatever foible he had then, picking up fights with his fans, especially those who are smaller. I still do that with my hardcore Rajini fan wife.

Towards late 80s, Rajini parted his hair in the middle, perhaps symbolically as he took dual acting assignments, one in Tamizh, and another in Hindi film, which may have contributed a lot to the amnesia that he was fine actor. Suddenly my brothers and I, hardcore Kamal fans then, started to grudgingly admire him. I suppose this happened to Kamal fans of that time elsewhere too. Admit it, Rajini is not going to win an Oscar anytime soon, but dammit he does have something in him doesn’t he.

By this time, his smile has become more charming. The everyday man look has evolved into a manly handsome matinee mug. His urgent style of walking was included in his “style” list. He started mouthing searing dialogues, the way Eastwood would do with his .44s. He even can manage few easy steps of dancing. And his comedic skill, most of all, won us. And he was really working on it in the late 80s shitty films like Panakkaran, Siva or Dharmattin Talaivan which we watched repeatedly for his comic antics. He’s no threat against the post Nayagan Kamal. We can always go to two theatres, or rent two VHS tapes.

As he entered the 90s, he took last few shots in the dramatics; beating the crap out of his brothers with teary eyes in Dharma Dhurai; making sacrifices for his buddy in Thalabathi; refusing to be henpecked in Mannan and willing to be totally in white traditional garb in Ejamaan. His biggest break, as if he needed one, came when he played a don in Badsha. Till then, my dad, an MGR fanatic and hardcore Kamal fan, broke down and pledged loyalty to Rajini. Imagine what it would have done to the others. His fans are now everywhere. A year later, a bunch of Japanese took to liking Muthu and retitled it Dancing Maharaja. That’s like retitling Nayagan as Singing Godfather.

What followed was lazy foray into occasional acting gigs with scripts he endorsed. Arunachalam was tolerable, but not the hedonistic women hating Padaiyappa. Yet, fandom was growing. Younger heroes declared, directly and indirectly, than they want to become the next Rajinikanth. Becoming the next great actor was a thing of the past; becoming Rajini is the current goal. They are fans of him, these young stars. Imagine their own fans.

He became an everyday subject of conversation in most families, in the same tone you’d use on your uncle, or a brother, or in my wife’s case, a father. Little toddlers love him, and eats only when his song is played on TV. People hardly say Rajini now; they have joined the chorus of those who say Rajini-sir or Rajini uncle, and even Rajini-taataa. During the last ten years there were scores of stage events featuring the Tamizh Nadu chief minister, with Rajini and Kamal as the main guests. The TV shows of the stage shows would edit it in a way that both of their speech would appear right at the end; and we would all wait, sitting through idiotic dances, boring speeches, stupid jokes; sacrifices we make so that we could see our two beloved stars’ speeches.

So, Rajini, no need confusion as to why the fans love you so much. Just get better, come back and do what you do the best: entertain us. And those weird Japanese.