The True Story of the 3 Little Pigs
نص القصة المصورة
- The True Story of the Three Little Pigs.....
- The tale of the three little pigs is no stranger to anyone. I want to give the people insight as to what actually occurred that day and why I had to do what I did....
- I am the Wolf, Emmigen A. Wolf. You may call me Emmi for short. First things first, I want to clear the air and paint a new image of myself for you because clearly I am being misread......Think of “The Big Bad Wolf.” Then, replace “Bad” with Curious or Clumsy. Now that is a more accurate description that I am satisfied with.
- I am labeled “big” and “bad” simply because of my species. How is that fair? Fair to any of the wolves? We cannot control our natural instincts and what our stomach growls for. Now back to what I was saying… this whole concept of me being “Big” and “Bad” ends here and starts with a new beginning. The story is about finding out that I had developed uncontrollable muscle spasms and not using utensils for their intended use.
- I was looking for something, anything, to stir around the batter that I made to put in the oven. I realized I used any utensils that I owned, I used to wash, clean, and brush my fur the last bathing session....
- Once Upon a Time time, I attempted to bake my granny a birthday cake, but something was off as soon as I opened the flour to start making the recipe
- So the first thing that came into my mind was to go across the street and ask the neighbor if they had anything I can mix my cake batter with. This neighbor definitely striked me as a character as his house was made out of squashmallow pillows. I knocked on the door and I said “little pig little pig. Are you here?” No answer. I am looking to borrow some thing to mix my cake batter with. All of a sudden, I felt this strong, sharp sensation run up my leg. I twitched, and I growled, and then my body fell into the house. And you can only imagine what happened next. The house fell down and the pig suffocated under the squashmallows. I wasn’t going to leave that perfect ham sitting there, so I decided to eat him.
- My brain couldn’t even begin to process why my body was having uncontrollable muscle spasms. Knocking down a squashmallow house isn’t rocket science, but still, enough to suffocate a pig. I still do not have anything to mix my cake batter with.
- I decided to go to the second neighbor's house. This pig was the first little pig's brother. He seemed a little brighter, but not by much. His house was made out of soft pretzels. I thought he was smart in this sense because he can eat his surroundings and continue to add onto it as he nibbles away.
- I knocked on the door and I said “little pig little pig. Are you here?” He yelled back to me “you cannot come in. I am shaving my hair on my chinny chin chin.” As I began to grab the doorknob, I felt this strong, sharp sensation run up my leg again. I twitched, I growled, and once again, I fell into the house. The ending was just as similar to the visit at the first pig’s house, with the pretzels collapsing and landing on pig number two. However, if anyone asks I am blaming his death on his choice of living and overeating.
- I decided to not let the second pig's body go to waste just because I know how valuable and scarce pig meat is in society. I did everyone a favor by consuming him. The thought of me not having a utensil to mix my cake batter with for Granny’s birthday still agitated me. I was aware that the first two little pigs had one other brother who I have yet to pay a visit to.
- I decided to be on my way. As I was arriving at the third little pig’s house, I began questioning whether or not he was even part of the same bloodline as his brothers. He had his house built out of concrete. I knocked on the door, “little pig, little pig. Are you here?” The rude little porker responded with “Get out of here, Wolf. Don’t bother me again.”
- I just found that to be very impolite. He probably had boatloads worth of kitchen utensils and he couldn’t spare one for me? That pig. I was just about to give up and head home until I had the sharp pain run up my leg again. I twitched, I growled, and once again, fell into the house
- I heard the pig say “and granny can sit on a pin.” That’s when the demon lit up in my eyes. I immediately thought to myself no one and I mean NO ONE speaks of granny wolf in that manner. I braced myself and actually tried to knock down the concrete house with my body weight.
- Nothing came of it and the cops came within minutes. When the press released what happened to the first two pigs, I was immediately labeled a criminal
- God forbid a wolf forgets to eat a banana to control his muscle spasms and goes looking for utensils to bake granny’s birthday cake. So that’s my story. The REAL story of how Emmigen A. Wolf was framed.
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