The Three Little Allies
Once upon the 1940’s there lived
three jubilant, little pigs that often played tricks on their mother. That is, until they had a little mishap with
a blowtorch and a Roman candle.
“You boys are nothing but
trouble!” Mom cried. The cigarette that
she held in her pink hoof smoldered. She
lifted it up to her small lips and took a deep breath. The ash grew to twice its size and fell to
the floor as she lowered her hoof. The
three boys sat on the couch and watched her nostrils flare as she
breathed. “I can’t stand it
anymore. I know that I shouldn’t do this
but I’ve had it up to here,“ she said, holding the cigarette above her
head. Ash dropped down in to her beehive
hairdo. “I’m kickin’ you out.”
“What?” Frankie cried. He was the youngest out of the group and
easily the most handsome, with his oblong face and petite snout. “You can’t just kick us out! Where are we going to live?”
“You can go out and build your
own homes to live in for all I care.” She walked them to the front door. “Go make something of yourselves,” she said,
shooing them out. “And watch out for the
big bad wolf,” she warned before slamming the door shut.
And with that, the three little
pigs were thrust out into the world.
They walked the streets, trying to figure out what to do. They were so deep in thought that they didn’t
even notice the big bad wolf stalking the trio in hopes to learn a little
something about them. Joey, the middle
brother, looked to the eldest for a few words of wisdom. Winston was always good for that.
“Oh, Winston,” he said. “What are we going to do?”
“We are going to move forward
and build our own home. We shall not
flag or fail,” Winston mumbled. He
puffed on his cigar and stood, deep in thought.
“I don’t know if I can…” Frankie
started.
“Don’t worry about it, little
brother,” Winston said. He patted Frankie’s
head. “Come now, let’s drink away our
sorrows for the night. We can deal with them
at the dawn.” He led his brothers into
the Yalta Pub for a little scotch and a few words.
The next morning, disheveled and
hungover, the brothers made their way to an alley in the suburbs where they
could start building their new home.
“A nation that destroys its
soils destroys itself. Forests are the lungs of our land, purifying the air and
giving fresh strength to our people,” Frankie cried out. “I will not cut down any of these precious
trees! I will build my house out of
straw.”
Winston looked at the scattered,
adolescent oaks lining the sidewalk and puffed on his cigar.
“What about the…” Joey’s voice
wavered. “The big bad wolf…” he
whispered. “He’s going to huff and
puff…”
“He can feel free to smoke crack
somewhere else while I’m building Frankie’s Fortress of Love. Now go away, I’m busy,” Frankie said, shooing
away his older brothers. He clapped his
hooves together.
Winston chuckled and pulled Joey
aside. “Leave our little brother,” he
laughed. “We can build our own house
that will be able to withstand the huffs and puffs of the environment.”
“Yes.” Joey smiled in agreement. “I have this wonderful home, in mind, made of
sticks.”
“Sticks?” Winston gave his
brother a cockeyed stare.
“Nevermind. You build your house
and I’ll build mine,” he said. He
pointed across the street. “Go build
over there.” Joey grunted and walked
away.
The next morning the wolf stood
on the front porch of Frankie’s straw house.
“Little pig, little pig, let me
in,” he called through the front door.
“Fuck you,” Frankie called out.
“Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff
and I’ll blow your house down!”
And that’s just what he did.
Frankie sprinted to Joey’s home, which was built of sticks. Joey welcomed his brother with open
arms. He was just about to explain what
happened when they heard a voice from the front door.
“Little pig, little pig, let me
in,” the wolf called.
“Fuck you!” they cried out in
unison.
“Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff
and I’ll blow your house down!”
And that’s just what he did, just as he had done before. The boys immediately rushed to Winston’s
brick house. Winton welcomed them with
open arms.
“Little pig, little pig, let me
in,” the wolf called.
“Fuck you!” they cried in
unison.
“Then I’ll…
“You’ll what?” Winston asked,
opening the front door. He held a
shotgun to the wolf’s chest. “We shall
go on to the end,” he whispered. “We
shall fight on the porch. We shall fight
with growing confidence and growing strength in the air. We shall defend our home, whatever the cost
may be. We shall fight in the fields and
in the streets. We shall fight in the
hills.” He paused to cock his gun. “We shall never surrender.”
Adolf looked into Winston’s eyes. “I just wanted to know if you’ve found God…” His voice was meek. He handed Winston a pamphlet.
Winston stared at the German
words scrawled along the cover. “Mein
Kampf?” he read. “Get off my porch,” he grunted.
Winston slammed the door in his face and turned to his brothers. “Well,” he said, leaning his shotgun against
the door. “Who wants some tea?”
“You’re just going to leave him…” Joey’s voice trailed off.
“I think I have some crumpets left on the counter,” Winston added as he
filled the kettle and set it in the fireplace.
“We’ll have to talk about the living arrangements.” The wolf grumbled as he shimmied down the
chimney. They turned toward the noise
just as the wolf landed on the hot kettle and bolted straight up the chimney like
a cork out of a wine bottle. Winston nonchalantly
turned back toward his brothers. “I get
the master bedroom and I have a tendency of sleeping naked.”
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