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.”
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
“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?”
“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.