Once upon a time there were three little pigs. Their names were Smokey Crispy and Crackle. They lived in three cute little houses on the outskirts of an enchanted forest. Smokey's house was a hole in the ground which was just big enough for him to snuggle into at night out of the cold wind. Crispy lived in a pile of sticks which he nestled into each night to sleep and Crackle built himself a lovely little house of bricks with a steel grate on top and this gave him protection from the wind but allowed him to see the stars at night. One day the big bad wolf came into town and the three little pigs ran into their houses and remained as quiet as they could hoping that the big bad wolf had not seen them frolicking in the woods that day. Smokey covered himself with leaves and closed his little eyes and tried desperately to think nice thoughts. The big bad wolf although not brilliant was not a complete a moron and noticed the hole in the ground with the quivering leaves. He carefully laid some sticks on top of the leaves and set fire to them and listened and laughed as the little pig squealed and screamed while being roasted alive. The big bad wolf had a hangi that night. Crispy, the second pig, had spent a sleepless night shivering and crying to the sounds of his brother being roasted alive. Crispy, not being particularly bright pig, decided to wait until morning to sneak off into the woods. The big bad wolf as previously stated was not the brightest but none-the-less was extremely alert and saw the little pig trying to skulk away. Grabbing a metal rod, conveniently left lying around, the big bad wolf rammed it firmly up Crispy's arse and then tied both ends to the tree. The big bad wolf then spent his day watching the tormented little pig squirm and twist slowly in an agonising death dance. As night fell the big bad wolf lit the pile of sticks which had been Crispy's house and spit roasted the little pig for dinner. The third little pig, Crackle, was brighter than the other two pigs but unfortunately for him, no Einstein. He realised that he couldn't outrun the wolf or outfight the wolf and so he tried to reason with the wolf. This of course proved completely futile and with an agility and dexterity not normally associated with wolves, the big bad wolf pinned the little pig to the ground and began to tear strips off the squealing little pig. After an hour or so of agonising torment the little pig finally layed still and the big bad wolf finished filleting his carcass. That night the big bad wolf lay the strips of meat across the steel grates of what had been Crackle's roof, lit a fire underneath and had a barbecue for dinner. The big bad wolf decided that this was a wonderful neighbourhood and took up residence in the hope that more pigs might settle in the area. After what seemed an eternity, but was in fact one week, another pig strolled out of the woods. It was mother pig coming to visit her babies. The big bad wolf who was decidedly hungry wasted no time and leapt from his hiding place behind a bush and ravaged the mother pig, tearing her throat out with his massive fangs. Not caring about lighting another fire the big bad wolf sank his teeth into the steaming flesh and ate the mother pig raw. About three months later in another part of the forest the big bad wolf lay doubled up and emaciated howling with pain. While inside the wolf's stomach parasite gnawed and fed on his entails and vital organs. One week later the big bad wolf lay dead its face a twisted death mask of pain and bewilderment. And so the moral to this tale is a simple but important message, Don't Eat Raw Pork. © 1998 portal2000@hotmail.com