The Three Little Pigs - Twisted Fairy Tale

Last August, I entered Long Story Short's Twisted Fairy Tale competition and actually won Honorable Mention! Yeah, I know. I was flabbergasted too. Anyway, here is the story in it's entirety. Enjoy.


The Three Little Pigs

Once upon a time, there were three little pigs. Well, they were little when they were born, but as they got older, they grew and grew, until their mother couldn’t afford to feed them any longer. The two oldest, Curly and Moe, were so lazy they just wanted to stay home. The youngest pig, George, yearned for the future, so he readily agreed to move out and start his life.

After landing a job at the local construction company, George bought a hillside hut near the ocean. It was not too safe considering news of a big, bad wolf prowling around the woods nearby, but George was saving his paychecks, buying bricks and wood, and building a new house in his spare time. Finally, his home was built. It was a brick two-story with gables and a sunroom. Mother Pig was so proud of George. She constantly bragged about him until Moe and Curly had had enough.

"Come on Curly, we can be as successful as The Runt. Why should he get a headstart on us anyway?"

"Yeah Dude! Let’s go!"

So off the two pigs went. In town, they landed jobs at the local Piggly Wiggly bagging groceries. Moe bought a log house in the woods. It was old and about to tumble down, but Moe didn’t care. It had a roof, a dirt floor and it was all his. Besides, he liked the rustic look. Curly’s house was on the beach a la’ Gilligan’s Island. He had a hammock, a sand floor and an ocean view.

One day George called his brothers and invited them over to see his new house. They watched NASCAR and drank beer, and when it was time to leave, George cautioned them about the wolf lurking nearby.

"Dude! Lay off! Moe and I can handle that wolf. Right Moe?" Well, Moe wasn’t as sure as Curly, but nodded anyway.


At the edge of the woods nearby, two wolves watched, one in anticipation, one with dread.

"Dad?" Fluffy Wolf asked.

Mr. Wolf turned his head slightly, never taking his eyes off the strolling pigs. "Yes, son?"

"Do I have to do this?"

"You know you do. All the Big Bad Wolves in our family have eaten pigs. Now it’s your turn."

Fluffy Wolf shuddered. He hated meat. In fact, he was a vegetarian, but he couldn’t tell his dad that. He’d flip for sure! How in the world was he going to attack and eat those pigs?

"Son, did you do your breathing exercises? You know if you are going to blow down those houses, you have to have optimum lung capacity."

"I know, Dad."

"Did you remember to stretch? How about we go through one last round of yoga? Get all limbered up. Let’s start with ‘down dog’."

"No Dad, I already did my yoga today, I did my breathing, so just let me get on with it." And off trotted a very nervous, nauseous Fluffy Wolf.


Inside his beach house, Curly was having a cocktail when he heard a snuffling sound followed by a cough. His hairy pig ears perked up as he heard, "Hey Little Pig! Uhhh, can I come in?"
Curly stumbled over to the peephole and spied a scrawny-looking wolf.

"Not by the wax on my surfboard! Go away, furry man!"

Fluffy stiffened. "I’ll have you know that I can blow this house down with one breath!"

"Dude! You just go on and try," Curly laughed and swallowed his drink.

Outside, Fluffy was so upset that he started having an asthma attack. He leaned against the house and took out his inhaler, but his weight caused the house to tumble down onto the beach.
A very tipsy Curly screamed, thinking he was being attacked. He crawled out from under the debris and ran off towards Moe’s house. Finally, gaining his brothers home, Curly ran inside and began to explain what had happened to an amused Moe who was sitting at his table eating pork-and-beans for dinner.

"Whoa! What are you talking about?" he said between chews.

"The Big Bad Wolf is after me. He’ll be here soon. We have to hide!"


Meanwhile, Fluffy’s cell phone was ringing.

"Hello, Dad. Yes, I know he got away. I’m sorry!" (Dad’s voice loudly emerging from phone)

"OK, OK. I’m going."

And off he went, dragging his tail and gagging at the thought of eating the pigs. I’m going to have to move to California, he thought. Out there, a wolf can be a vegetarian without fear of ridicule.
Once he got to Moe’s log home, Fluffy cleared his throat and picked up his megaphone, hoping it would make his voice a little stronger.

"Little pigs? Hey little pigs! You better let me in now!"

"No way, Jose!" Moe yelled.

Inside, Moe and Curly were frozen with fear. They didn’t know that outside, Fluffy was setting up a giant wind-maker that his dad had gotten from ACME Film Studios and was turning it on to full-blast. The resulting winds blew Moe’s log home to bits. The two pigs scrambled out from under the debris and high-tailed it up to the hill to where George lived.

"Dang!" Fluffy exclaimed. "Those pigs are fast!"

George opened his door to let his brothers in. After hearing what was going on, he went outside to see a forlorn Fluffy trudging up to the house.

"Fluffy is that you?" he asked.

"George?"

"Why are you chasing my brothers?"

"Dad."

"Ahhhh!" George understood. Fluffy and he were friends and he knew about Mr. Wolf’s expectations. "Come on in, Fluff, and I’ll tell you what we’ll do."

Later that night, they all sat around George’s fireplace and celebrated. George had sent a note to Fluffy’s dad telling him that Fluffy had joined the Marines. Mr. Wolf retired to his vacation den in sorrow. As for Fluffy? He was liberated and had a one-way ticket to Los Angeles.


© 2005 Dana Sieben

A Favorite of Mine...

I wanted to share this with y'all since it is one of my favorites. Mr. Hughes wrote poetry like I wish I could. Absolutely beautiful.


Daybreak in Alabama

When I get to be a composer
I'm gonna write me some music about
Daybreak in Alabama
And I'm gonna put the purtiest songs in it
Rising out of the ground like a swamp mist
And falling out of heaven like soft dew.
I'm gonna put some tall tall trees in it
And the scent of pine needles
And the smell of red clay after rain
And long red necks
And poppy colored faces
And big brown arms
And the field daisy eyes
Of black and white black white black people
And I'm gonna put white hands
And black hands and brown and yellow hands
And red clay earth hands in it
Touching everybody with kind fingers
And touching each other natural as dew
In that dawn of music when I
Get to be a composer
And write about daybreak
In Alabama.

Langston Hughes

Sizzle

July is scorching.
The grass is crusty and brown.
The heat rises
Off the streets in the downtown
Where herds of people
Walk,
And live,
And bake,
And are desperate for autumn,
But in denial of winter.
Then chairs will denote
Parking spaces saved
And plows will
Block the driveways with snow.
For now though,
Summer holds court.
The cicadas are buzzing loudly,
And the highways make
The slow-moving cars
Sizzle.

© 2006 Dana Sieben

Bottle Tree

Bottle Tree

My mama’s bottle tree stands tall,
Made up of nothing at all, but
A small, thin cedar tree
With partially amputated limbs
And covered in glass bottles
Of all shapes, sizes, and colors
Of the rainbow.
Old brown beer bottles,
Green River Soda bottles,
Cobalt blue…all sprinkle the sunlight
Over the garden.
The wind whistles through
Their tops like a flautist
Playing a country symphony,
Calling the spirits of family home.

© 2006 Dana Sieben