Old Grouch Fable Collection pt4

Our Feature Presentation

The Fox and the Grapes

A Fox named Cox one day caught a sight of a beautiful bunch of ripe grapes hanging from a vine over the branch of a tree like the bossom of a dame in an old painting. I should remind you dear readers that we continue to refer to him as a Fox named Cox because in the near neighbourhood there was a duck named Cox. We don’t want confusion with the Coxes, you see. Why are you giving me the dirty look?

Anyway, the Fox named Cox noticed that the grapes seemed ready to burst with juice, and the Fox’s mouth watered as he licked his tongue about his lips, thinking of how he would suck the very juice. Hey, wait a minute. It is beginning to sound dirty. 

The bunch hung from a high branch, so the Fox named Cox had no choice but to jump for it. The first time he jumped, he missed it by a long way and landed on his ass so hard that he may have lavatorial issues for several days, said the medical observers.

Right on, then, the Fox named Cox now walked off a shorter distance and took a running leap at it, only to fall again on his ass. “Anymore ass and ground meeting, Fox named Cox will have to defecate through__" I had to shut the observer off and send him back to Arkham Asylum.

And there you go. Fox named Cox was trying again and again till his ass looked like what exactly Flat Earthers had imagined the world looks like. 

Finally, he just sat down, tired, and looked at the grape with disgust.

“What a fool I am,” he said. “Here I am busting my chops just to reach a bunch of sour grapes that are not worth gaping for.” Or was it “gapes that are not worth graping for”? Gotta check the notes 

Whatever it is, he walked away very, very scornfully—dejected and feeling like shit—which is something this narrator can never understand. How does one qualify that statement, feeling like shit? Is the person saying he feels that he stinks or that he has felt shit delicately and understood what it is like, which is exactly like a loser fox? I don’t know

Moral: Just because you couldn’t marry a princess doesn’t mean that she suddenly becomes an ugly witch who doesn’t deserve you. You just couldn’t get her. simple as that, so eff off. 

Our lesser presentation (Budget constraint).

👠🔋🧵🥊✈️🚲🍌🐈‍⬛🤘

Goatherd and the Wild Goats.

It was a cold, stormy night when ghosts—oh, hang on. Different genre. 

Well, it was one cold, stormy day actually, when a Goatherd drove his goats for shelter into a cave. While hanging about freezing all their collective butts off, a number of wild goats also entered without even knocking because, you know, caves ain’t got no doors. Man, that is a hilarious joke, said nobody. Sorry.

The shepherd was, of course, delighted. Here are some assets walking right up to his lap—only not literally, or he would not be able to reproduce anytime soon. But there they are. With them onboard, the shepherd started feeding the wild goats really well. As for his own original flock, he fed the scraps just to ensure those sons of guns were alive enough.

When the weather finally cleared and the shepherd led all the goats out...dammit...whaddya know! the wild goats scampered off running to the hills. 

Disappointed, the Shepherd groaned “So much for gratitude, after feeding and treating you well,” said that whiny bitch. 

One of the wild goats heard that, reversed (no, not actual reverse; goats can’t do that; they don’t have R gear), turned and said, “Hah, you want us to join your flocks,” pausing for dramatic Shakespearean effect and continuing, "We know that if some new goats come in, you treat us like shit like how you did with your own goats." After spewing some profanities, that goat too left. 

Moral: Just because you got a new set of friends, relatives, or playmates (not the Playboy ones), you neglect the old ones, or would you? Damn, it’s humbling to get these lessons from future lamb chops and mutton varuval. Anyway.

A Tail of Fox 

(Actual title of this fable is Fox and the Tail.) I was just being…er, never mind.

A fox caught its tail in a trap and lost all of it, and there he was with bare butt walking around, not sure how to show its face in the fox community.

But he had an idea—to put up a bold face. So he called the other foxes for a general meeting. The others were confused. Is it election time? Has any fox chick run away with a cat or something?

The tailless fox started preaching about the uselessness of the tail. “Look, if you are chased by a dog, it can just reach your tail and bite the shit out of it. Why do you even need one?” he launched.

Plus, he also lamented that animals with tails can’t sit on their asses properly because of the bloody tail in the way. 

Listening to all this crap, the oldest, wisest of the foxes shook his head sadly and said, “You lose your tail, you lose your tail. That’s all. Don’t try to hide your shame by glorifying the lack of an ornament. In another word, why don’t you go and...” At that time a lion roared or something, so the profanity was gladly muted.

Moral: There are always some knuckleheads who are just too happy to bring you down to their level when their shortcomings are too glaring. Just tell ‘em the same thing the wise old goat said. 

 Old Grouch Fable Collection pt1

 Old Grouch Fable Collection pt2

 Old Grouch Fable Collection pt3

Old Grouch Fable Collection Part 5

Old Grouch Fable Collection pt1

The Strange Orange Cat.

One day a strange Orange cat came to the Catville. The other cats walked over to him and said, “boy, that’s strange”.

The strange Orange cat didn’t understand that. “Dear brethren, what art thou meaneth by being strangeth?” he asked.

“Well for a start, you talk strange. I mean, who speaks like that anymore,” said one of the cat, the older one. He had a Hitler moustache and a Calvin Klein eyepatch, though it read Kevin Kline.

“Alright, I speak the way you speak, which is the way the village idiot back in hometown speaks,” said the strange orange cat.

“Who are you calling Village?” shouted a young cat, a rebel cat.

“Calm down,” said the strange orange cat as he pointed its index finger ala-jedi, only quick to realise that it has mere paws. The rebel actually calmed down, sucking his mother’s milk.

“Your bearing,” said the older cat, “it’s strange”.

Realised what they were talking about, the strange orange cat launched, “that’s right folks! Come over. I have here some ball bearings you can use to replace your old ones in your vehicles. These may look strange but they are awesome…”

Moral of the story: Never judge the cover by its book. Both may not be related to each other, but boy, does it have a story to tell.

The Stubbon Octopus

Mother and Father Octopus had a big headache in their, well, if you call that gigantic alien head thingy head. Their son is stubborn.

“You are stubborn, junior,” the dad told him after helping himself to a scuba diver. “Why are you so stubborn,” he asked after picking a piece of oxygen tank off his teeth.

“How do I know? Where do you think I inherited it from? The cuttlefish?” the son retorted. There was a gulping sound, though he was not sure where it came from.

“You can’t be stubborn all the time, junior,” said the red-faced Mother Octopus. “Even god took a break on Sundays.

“That explains,” exclaimed Father Octopus, raising all its seven arms (he lost one during the 7 Days Octopus/Scallop War). “Junior was born on Sunday!” He hi-fived with his wife, though Mother Octopus’ eighth arm slipped and slapped him in the face.

Moral of the story: Answers to some mysteries should come within. Like checking stuff out in the toilet if you forgot what you ate yesterday.

The Sleepy Snake.

On one fine morning where rain didn’t threaten to fall and flood the entire jungle, a young tree frog was leaping towards the jungle Cafeteria. The menu was themed Lobster and it brought with it extra butter.

But it literally stumbled into something causing the butter hit a chameleon which immediately roasted its own tail smothered in butter and ate gleefully.

The “thing” that the frog stumbled on was a snake! Frightened it froze, and it admitted itself into a microwave to thaw. It came back and looked at what frightened him. The snake was there and it was snoring.

Thoroughly embarrassed, the frog woke the snake up using a .45 Smith & Wesson shot in the air, killing the chameleon instantly (Funeral day will be announced shortly).

The bang woke the snake up. “Why didn’t you, like, give me a chase or something? I would have escaped and have an awesome table conversation with my buddies over lunch.”

The snake said, “I was cursed. I was supposed to sleep for 200 years before a fairy serpent comes to take me away”

“Oh crap,” said the frog realising that he shouldn’t have interrupted the snake, “I broke the curse. What will happen, now?”

The snake shook a little, looked up in the sky fearfully and said, “It’s going to rain, let’s go and grab some lunch.”

“Sure,” said the frog and both headed to the Cafeteria.

Moral of the story: Lobster is the key to the happiness of many

The mute goat.

The mute goat made its living by selling dried fish in the vegetable market. It did poorly as, though it knows sign language, using front hoofs make it fall forward and hurt its chin.

It was always in pain and it tells itself, “Bear, bear” to bear the pain. That’s why goats make that sound. Get it? Beaaarrr.

One day the owner of the market came to the mute goat and said, “Look, you need to pay the rent. So do something about your fall and sign-language thingy, most patrons think you are begging. By the way, this is a vegetable market. Hullo? I see you here with those dried fishes, you don’t want to know where I’m gonna shove it in and trust me the Brahmins aunties won’t like it either”.

The goat was very sad. Selling dried fish is the only way to make a living, though some of his friends suggested equally thankless jobs sanitation worker or being a prime minister.

One day it went to the mountain to see the wise and sage mountain goat. It explained its problem. The mountain goat said, “Go back to your routine tomorrow, your problem solved!”

The next day it went to the market and started to sell the dried fish. As client came and he lifted his hoofs, it fell forward. This time the pain was minimal. There was pain, but not like before. Why? Voila! It had grown a beard on its chin to cushion the impact of the fall. The goats you see these days are all from common ancestor, ie the mute goat.

Moral of the story: What moral? Old Grouch was just giving you the origin story. Does it have to have message all the time?

The series has been continued after 13 years. Here are the other parts:

Old Grouch Fable Collection Part 2

Old Grouch Fable Collection Part 3

Old Grouch Fable Collection Part 4

Old Grouch Fable Collection Part 5

Old Grouch Fable Collection pt5

 

The Owl and the Grasshopper

The Owl always sleeps during the day. Then after the bloody sun buggers off, and shadow rises slowly through the wood, and a haunting whistle hums through the hushes of…. Hang on, the narrator got the story mixed up.

Well, when it is dark, she comes out from the old hollow tree she was sleeping in, making the Who sound. No, I don’t mean that The Who. So, the who-who-who sound echoes through the quiet wood, bounces against a branch, and kills a fruit bat. But that is minor collateral damage. Plus the other bats hate this particular preachy vegan and do not miss the bugger.

And so the Owl begins her hunt for the bugs and beetles, frogs, mice, and hopefully possibly some veal cutlet. But her day sleep routine is bloody important for her.

Now, during one warm summer afternoon as she dozed away in her den in the old oak tree, the Grasshopper hopped over and, seeing that it was a glorious day, started singing. He sang one particular song which he felt folks liked because they kept giving him vegetables, despite the fact the items came flying in his direction and usually were beyond the expiry date. He wondered why.

As he started crooning and frightened a squirrel, out popped the old Owl's head from the opening in the tree that served her both for door and for window. Why would she want them separately anyway?

"Get away from here, sir," she said to the Grasshopper. "You are rude. Here I am, old and tired, and I need to sleep in quiet.”

The Grasshopper snickered and said he can be any bloody place any time; all the places under the sun are his, including where it doesn’t shine. And then, he went on to sing even worse songs.

The wise old Owl knew quite well it’s no point arguing with the Grasshopper or anyone for that matter. Even if she wants to pick the grasshopper apart, her eyes are not sharp enough during the day. For all you know, she might be picking a chip of wood apart. So, she relented and spoke kindly to the bloody insect.

"Well, sir," she said, "if I must stay awake, I am going to settle right down to enjoy your singing. Now that I think of it, I have a wonderful wine here, sent to me from Olympus, of which I am told Apollo drinks before he sings to the high gods. Please come up and taste this delicious drink with me. I know it will make you sing like Apollo himself."

The dumbass Grasshopper fell for it. A single jump to the Owl’s den, and she was waiting with her beak open, and in went the stupid insect. That settled the Owl’s breakfast.

Moral of the story.

When folks start throwing rotten vegetables at you when you are singing, it is a sign that vegetable prices have gone down. I mean, you can afford excessive veggies and keep them around till they rot.

 

Anansi And His Legs

In a faraway jungle (about three blocks next to your car park), there was a spider named Anansi. Initially, his mother named him Annasi, but a neighbour told her that Annasi is "pineapple" in Tamil language. This would be embarrassing for the kid in the future because many folks don’t like pineapple in their pizza.

Indeed, Anansi wasn’t like other spiders. He had a big head, a round body, and eight thick bloody legs. The other kid spiders would ridicule him, though they too had big heads, round bodies, and eight thick bloody legs. They didn’t have mirror technology.

So, this Anansi loved food and parties more than anything else. Well, not true. He likes movies, music, and farting in any general direction. Yes, the narrator will do anything for a laugh.

Anyway, someone told Anansi about four big parties. “Where are they?” asked Anansi. “In the parliament,” said Someone, trying to hold his laugh. That’s his name, Someone Pulleg. But then, Someone cleared his throat and said, “I was pull—err—kidding. There are four big parties going on now”

Speaking of which, Anansi announced to Someone that he wanted to go to all of them. Only there was one problem: all the parties were happening at the same time. “Why is that so?” asked Anansi. Frustrated, Someone said, “Why ask me, the organisers must have gone to the same astrologists seeking the auspicious time.”

Undeterred, Anansi came up with a clever plan. He tied a rope around each of his four pairs of legs. “Whatever you gonna do, bro,” said Someone, “I’m so outta here”.

After the bloke left, Anansi went to his friends—Rabbit, Monkey, Turtle, and Bird—and gave them the other end of each rope.

“What the—” said Rabbit

“If you wanna hang yourself, why drag us?” said Monkey.

“Are you roping us in for something, haha,” said Turtle. Nobody laughed. The Bird held on the rope of the end with its beak with that “whatever dude” look. And so did the others.

Anansi told them to go to a party each, “When the food is ready, pull the rope. I’ll feel it and come quickly to join you!” And so they left.

Anansi sat in the middle of the jungle, waiting for the parties to start. Suddenly, he felt a pull on his legs. “The parties have started!” he shouted excitedly.

But then, all the ropes started pulling at the same time. All his friends' parties had started! Anansi was being pulled in four directions at once. “This isn’t what I planned!” Anansi cried out. “Also, is this what it feels like marrying four times?” and thought of the fate of his fiancés.

His thick legs started stretching because of the pulling. By the time the parties were over, Anansi’s legs were no longer thick. They were long and thin, and he hadn’t eaten any food. Though he did marry all his fiancés, had a miserable life as expected, he did sire thousands of goddamn babies who all inherited the skinny legs and so do most spiders these days.

“What a boring tale,” said Someone.

Moral of the story:

If someone says your story is boring, you should stop. Also, stick to one spouse. Really. The world is overcrowded enough

A Woman and Her Hen

Once upon a time, there was a woman who owned a hen. This Hen was special because it laid one egg every single day. That makes it special like, err, special needs children? I mean, one egg a day? Girl!

Initially the woman was happy with this, as she follows the Tamil proverb “pOthum Endra maname, pon seyyum marunthu” literally translated as “A contented mind is a medicine that turns everything into gold.” Actually, it talks about moderation, about not being greedy. But it has the word “gold” there and you know where this is going.

Because the woman started wondering if she could get even more eggs from the Hen. And how do you do that? You can’t simply do a motivational training or feed some sort of steroid to the chicken. The hen might become Schwarzenegger-ish and break out of her coop.

Well, the woman thought, "Just feed the Hen more food, it might produce two eggs a day instead of just one." So, the next day, she gave the Hen twice as much food, hoping it would lay more eggs.

The Hen happily ate the extra food and started to grow bigger and heavier. It looked healthy and content and on the verge of being obese. Also, something unexpected happened. Or not. Instead of laying more eggs, the Hen stopped laying any eggs at all.

So, the woman who used to get one egg per day now will never have none. Not to mention the prices of eggs has gone up.

Moral of the story:

One egg per day will keep greed away. Or something like that. Also, did anyone notice this story sounds similar to the goose that laid the golden egg? Albeit a Diet Coke version. Anyway, I am tired, and I am bored. Till we meet in another telling of Old Grouch Fables.

Read the other fables here:

Old Grouch Fable Collection Part 1

Old Grouch Fable Collection Part 2

Old Grouch Fable Collection Part 3

Old Grouch Fable Collection Part 4

Old Grouch Fable Collection pt2

The beginning of 1485 Italian edition of Aesopus Moralisatus (From wiki)

Note: Hopefully I can do more of this. The first part was written in 2011....a sequel 13 years in the making. You can find the first one here.   

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Tortoise and Hare 2: The Hare-y Vengeance.

Ever since he lost to a tortoise in a race, the hare was a broken...hare He vowed that he would have another race, correct the whole damn thing, and win this time like he should have in the first place.

Therefore, one day he went looking for the tortoise and found the later chewing on some garbage.

“Hey, tortoise,” he greeted the tortoise, who at this point had given up on swallowing a crumpled mineral water bottle.

Tortoise spat the crumpled plastic out and said, “I have a name, you son of a bitch. It’s Murray.”

At this point, this narrator is ashamed for not even checking up on those names. What’s yours, Hare, I asked.

“Harry,” said the Hare before adding the “duh!” and rolling its eyes.

Harry then confronted Murray and said, “Hey, how about another race?”.

Murray snickered and said, “You think you're gonna win this time?”

“Hell yeah,” said Harry. “I ain’t gonna do no sleeping no more.”

“That’s a shitload of double negatives,” said Murray. “Alright, let’s try it out.”

“Cool,” said Harry, looking at me. “Hey baldy, you wanna be the official; start the race off.”.

“Sure,” I said, producing a.44 magnum (the most powerful handgun in the world). Once they were in the starting line, I shot the monster of a revolver upwards, making the blast sound that deforested a few acres. Immediately, Murray, shocked by the explosive sound, jumped and turned over to his back. Harry, seeing that, laughed uncontrollably.

And it happened. The bullet I shot in the air returned, and the kinetic energy knocked the shit outta Harry, who didn’t die, but has enough brain damage that he thinks he is a gay dolphin.

As for me, I was arrested ala Alec Baldwin for the "accident.”

Moral: Always check the revolver chambers for live rounds.

 

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The Butt Ugly Duckling

Once upon a time, about 3 in the afternoon, a farmer had a duck. He had the same duck at 2.45 pm too, but what the hell?

The duck laid ten eggs; it was the quota at that time, apparently because the decimal system was just invented and implemented alongside the metric system; there was a strict regulation of laying eggs in tens. Any number lower or higher would result in well... crips braised duck legs with aromatic vegetables.

Soon all the eggs hatched; one by one the ducklings popped out and immediately started quacking incessantly till the mother smacked them with her wing. But wait a minute.

The tenth egg cracked, and out came one ugly mother of ducklings. It’s so ugly that the mother felt guilty about the secret rendezvous she had with the neighbour’s drake.

The other ducklings started laughing at this ugly duckling. So, did the farmer. They even had a sit-com laugh track to enhance the scene.

Unable to take it, the ugly duckling ran away and ended up in the city. It was adopted by a dude who turned out to be a plastic surgeon. He performed surgery on the ugly duckling, and voila! It still looked ugly. The surgeon, realising he had failed, became an alcoholic and sent the uglier duckling packing, and the duckling travelled, gathered experience and wisdom, and grew up to become an adult—still an ugly duck—with all that knowledge and world-wise insights, he became a highly sought-after guru, calling himself Swami Vaatthanandha, though he was later implicated in a sex scandal, but that’s a story for another day.

Moral: Don’t overcompensate and stay away from gals if you are a Swamiji.

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The Fisherman and the Fish.

There was once a fisherman whose whole livelihood currently depended on the investments in several companies's. All the companies folded because they were scams. So, the fisherman was back fishing anywhere he could—the sea, the river, the pond, the neighbour's  kitchen, anywhere.

One day, he caught a small fish. The fish….fearing for its life, yelled, “Please leave me, kind sir. I am, but too tiny; you can’t even make fish and chips outta me, let alone steamed Chinese style. Drop me back in the river. We can become Facebook friends. In fact, let me grow; I will become big and fat, and then you have something for the entire family. You can drop by this spot, say, in a year’s time. Let me go!”

The fisherman’s jaw dropped. A talking fish!

“Well, fish. You are talking about the future. I just lost shitloads of money on scam investments. You think I’m gonna listen to you giving me prospects, you son of a bitch?”

The stunned fish that really pleaded for its life, “Please, sir, let me go. I don’t even taste good; you can wiki my species.”

But the fisherman had an idea.

The next day, he set up a stall at a local market and brought the fish in a bowl and started yelling, “Come on over, come on over. A talking fish. For some measly sum, it will predict your future.”

The fish and the farmer lived happily ever after, prosperously…well, not actually. The fish, feeling miserable being used like that, one day jumped out of it’s bowl and into the toilet bowl to kill itself. Though the farmer who used the toilet, not noticing the small fish, had flushed and sent the fish straight to local sewage. The fish lived there henceforth and made friends with tubifex worms—or sludge worms, as they are popularly known.

Moral of the story: I just learnt there’s a creature called Tubifex worm...damn and eww….

Old Grouch Fable Part 1

Old Grouch Fable Part 3

Old Grouch Fable Part 4

Old Grouch Fable Part 5

 

 

Old Grouch Fable Collection pt3

 

This bugger's story is the best, right at the end. Yes, there's violence.

The Bear and the Two Travelers

Two men—let’s call them Jim and John—were travelling together, walking through a forest despite the fact that taking a bus would be cheaper and safer. By the way, their real names are Reginald and Thanggaswamy, but it saves me time if I call them Jim and John. Shit, now I wasted time typing all that. Damn

Upon reaching the thickest part of the forest, suddenly a bear appeared in front of them.

"Boo,” said the bear.

Terrified, Jim quickly climbed the tree, while John remembered that bears do not attack or eat dead creatures. Quickly, he fell flat on the ground and held his breath. He tried to recall the faces he saw in the coffin and put up the appearance of a serene corpse. He did keep his mouth gaping open so that he could breathe through that. Clever feller, right?

The bear came to him and started sniffing him. God knows what Jim ate, but the moment the bear smelt the mouth area, it gagged and vomited heavily.

“Deyy, what did you eatlah, lah? That’s some stinky piece of shit breath you got there,” cried the bear.

“Oh,” said Thanggaswamy, his voice emerging from the leafy branches, “he had nasi campur with tempoyak, sambal belacan, ikan masin, and durian for dessert.”

Hearing that, the bear rushed to the tree, actually climbed it (it did a quick Tree Climbing 101 course during the summer break), and ate Thanggaswamy.

Moral: You know…there’s a racial stereotype right there if you noticed.

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The Milkmaid and Her Pail

Patty the Milkmaid was going to market carrying her milk in a pail on her head. In Tamil, Patty is Granny. But still, in English, patty is that meaty thingy between buns. But did that bother Patty the Milkmaid? Nope.

Despite the fact that she has yet to get royalty from the condensed milk company, Patty had dreams. While carrying the pail, she started calculating as to what she would do with the money from selling the milk.

“I'll buy some fowl from Farmer Brown," said she. Actually, Farmer Brown offered to give the fowls for free, for which he said, “I can show you something even more brown; you get it, huh? Huh?”. The horny bastard.

Nah, Patty ain’t falling for it; besides, she already made deals with Farmer Abrahamovic, who sells geese. A geese in exchange for pus... Anyway, let's get on with the story.

And so she continued with her fantasy. The chickens, she imagines, "will lay eggs. each morning, which I will sell to the parson's wife.” Wait. Who?

“Parson,” she told me.

You mean, person?

“Parson. A priest, dum-dum. What kinda narrator are you?”

Well, that’s embarrassing. Anyway, she continued, “With the money that I get from the sale of these eggs, I'll buy myself a new dimity frock and a chip hat." Yes, dear readers, I too have no idea what the hell they are.

She went on, “And when I go to market, won't all the young men come up and speak to me! Polly Shaw will be that jealous, but I don't care.“

Wait, Patty. Who is Polly Shaw, a character? Out of nowhere. Patty ignored me and continued, That arrogant wench:

“I shall just look at her and toss my head like this.”

And as she spoke, she tossed her head back, the pail fell off it, and all the milk was spilt. So she had to go home and tell her mother what had occurred.

"Ah, my child," said the mother, "do not count your chickens before they are hatched."

Moral: Wait, the mother explained already; why do you want it from me? Though I don’t know about chicken thingy, Patty deserves it for calling me dum-dum.

 

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The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

Once upon a time, blah, blah, blah… the usual opening, there was a wolf that was hungry like an err. Wolf (Yes, I stole that from Duran Duran). As it trudged along by the side of a field, it spotted a fleck of shops.

Oh wait. Hang on.

I meant a flock of sheep. It licked its lips, teeth, roof of the mouth, and that little droplet thingy at the back of it.

“This will be what they say, sap-sap-suey...easy peasy.”.

But the wolf was wrong, because taking care of the flick of shape...err...the flock of sheep was a shepherd and a couple of dogs. The dogs look like they had eaten the entire buffalo for breakfast and are still hungry.

“That would be a bad move,” thought Wolf, who does his thinking in English though its mother tongue is Romanian.

As it wandered around hungrily, later, it encountered the skin of a sheep that had been flayed and thrown aside. I know this sudden twist in the story is so convenient, like in old Tamil films, but bear with me.

So, it put the sheep skin on and strolled down back to the fluke of shape—aww, come on—I meant, flock of sheep. But guess what... remember the skin was flayed... yeah, the owner lamb was there and identified.

“Motherf_ is wearing my goddamned fur, the cheek,” it thought in one of the Slavic languages that I hadda google translate.

The lamb then began to follow the Wolf in the sheep's clothing, but dammit, the wolf caught her and made a meal of her. Soon, the wolf was serially killing the others. Reports appeared in the New Sheeps Times with headlines like:

Lamb Killing Own: Police Baffled, Surprised, Shaken But Not Stirred.

Actually, the story ends here. With the message being about not getting deceived. But I did see another version that has apa nama tu, an alternate ending.

That version had the shepherd thinking about having lamb varuval or something for dinner and decided to slaughter one of them in the flex, I mean, flock.

He picked up the knife, and so happened he got hold of the wolf in the sheep’s clothing and killed the goddamned wolf. The rest of the sheep were shocked and ashamed. Shocked because of the killing and ashamed because, well, they have been taken for a ride by the wolf, haven’t they? And so they all fled and lived on their own, the fur growing so thick and round that they no longer walked but rolled and rolled and rolled...

Moral of the story. I don’t know. Go to the barber regularly, I suppose.

Old Grouch Fable Collection Pt 1

Old Grouch Fable Collection Pt 2

Old Groucho Fable Collection Pt4

Old Grouch Fable Collection Part 5