Fairy Tales From Hell Presents:

The Three Little Pigs

By

Max Booth III

The first little pig lived in a small plastic trailer. His name was Ham.

The second little pig lived in a small wooden bungalow. His name was Bacon. The parents didn’t think it out too much when they got a wooden house. They never thought about all the termites.

The third little pig lived in a large two story brick house. His name was Pork. His family was the richest of the pigs.

All of the three little pigs were best of friends. They did everything together. They caused hell to their family together. They played with fireworks together. They played video games together.

The rich pig, Pork, had bought himself and the other two pigs walkie talkies so that they could talk to each other at night. Chat about television and the next prank they would pull.

They were the three little pigs.

It was Christmas Eve night.

The parents were asleep and the three little pigs were wide awake and yapping away on their walkie talkies. They were talking about all the great Christmas presents they would receive in the morning when all of the power in the town went out. The little pigs’ television sets and video games went out. The lights went out. Everything went out.

“Hey, what’s going on?” wondered Ham.

“I dunno. I’m scared!” cried Bacon.

“Relax, its just all the snow. It probably just knocked down a couple of the power lines,” assured Pork.

“What about monsters?” Ham asked.

“There is no such thing,” said Pork.

“What if some wolf tries to eat us or something?” whimpered Bacon.

The ’wolf’ was a man named Guy Wolfinghousen. He was a junkie that lived on the street. He didn’t have a job. He mostly just robbed houses for money. Anything for his next fix.

Well, on this faithful Christmas Eve night Guy had a giant monkey on his back. He was really jonesing, but he had no money to feed his hunger. Guy, dressed in a dirty Santa Clause suit, was stumbling down unknown roads, swaying back and forth, bumping into cars and setting off the alarms. He was freezing to death. He needed something to keep him warm. Like a nice shot of H. Yeah, that would do the trick.

He somehow made his way to a trailer park. The first trailer he saw he started banging on the door. Normally, he would crawl through a window or something. You know, the professional way. But he was withdrawing like a fat forty year old house wife not being able to watch a reality TV show and relive her good ole glory days.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Let me in!”

Ham heard the banging on his door and was terrified. He spoke into his walkie talkie, “Guys, somebody is knocking on my door.”

“Well, let him in. It’s probably Santa delivery your presents. You’re lucky, Ham,” said Bacon.

Ham got up from his bed, went to the living room, and looked out the window to see Guy Wolfinghousen.

“Oh my God,” Ham said into the walkie talkie, “It is! It’s really Santa Clause!”

“But why would he be knocking on the door?” Pork wondered.

“Because I don’t have a chimney, duh,” Ham sighed. “I’ll go tell my parents.”

Ham sneaked in his parents’ bedroom and shook them awake.

“What? What do you want?” they snapped.

“Santa is knocking on the door,” Ham replied.

“It’s only a dream, Ham. Go back to bed.” And with that the parents were back asleep.

Ham left the room and went back to the living room. “I don’t know, I guess I’ll let him in,” Ham said to the walkie talkie.

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Pork said. “Something doesn’t seem right.”

“Let him in, Ham! Don’t be stupid. You might not get your presents if not!” Bacon said.

“Okay, good point,” Ham agreed.

He opened the door and asked to Guy, “Are you Santa Clause?”

“Sure, kid, yeah, I’m Santy Clause. Whatever, just let me in.”

“Where are my presents?”

“Umm…I…LET ME IN!” Guy shouted.

Ham slammed the door shut and locked it. “Oh my God he doesn’t have presents, guys!” Ham exclaimed in the walkie talkie.

“Call the police!” Bacon said.

“The power’s out, moron,” Pork said.

“So?”

“That means no phone.”

“Oh yeah.”

Guy was punching the door. He was shouting, “Little pig, little pig, let me in! I need some money for some heroin! Let me in or I’ll curse and shout and kick you door down!”

“Not by the hair of my bally ball balls!” Ham replied.

“Fine, then. Have it your way.”

When Guy kicked the door down Ham was nowhere in sight. But then he saw Ham running down the cold street. “Oh, I don’t think so,” muttered Guy, and began to follow Ham.

Ham was on the run. Dashing through the streets he was completely oblivious to the fact that the wolf was chasing after him.

He soon made it to Bacon’s wooden bungalow. Pounding on the door Ham was shouting, “Bacon! Its me, Ham! Help!”

The door swung open to reveal Bacon. “Ham? Are you okay?”

“No, Santa Clause is trying to kill me and he doesn’t have any presents! Let me in, quick!”

“Oh my God. Come on in.”

They shut the door behind them and locked it.

“Why is it so cold in here?” Ham wondered.

“Stupid termites made holes in the house.”

“Oh.”

Bacon turned his walkie talkie back on and filled Pork in with all the details of what was going on. “So, what should we do?” Bacon asked.

“I don’t know. You guys are screwed. No presents for you I guess.”

Suddenly somebody was knocking away on the front door.

“Who is it?” Bacon and Ham asked.

“Its me, Santy Clause,” said Guy.

“Go away, Santy Clause!”

“Little pigs, little pigs, let me in! I need some money for some heroin!”

“Not by the hairs of our bally ball balls!” shouted Ham and Bacon.

“Okay, then,” said Guy, and he kicked the termite infested door down. But Ham and Bacon were already gone and on their way to Pork’s house. And Guy was following.

“Pork! Let us in! Hurry!” the pigs shouted.

“Hold on, hold on,” said Pork, as he opened the door. He let them in and closed the door again. He locked it with three different types of locks and pushed the sofa in front of it for good measure.

“You better not have brought pissed off Santa over here or else.”

“Or else wh-”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCKETY KNOCK!

“Oh no, see! Why didja have to come here?” Pork yelled. Then he turned to the front door and said, “Go away, Santa! We don’t want you here! Come back next Christmas!”

“Sorry but I’m coming in!”

“No you’re not!”

“Oh, little pigs, little pigs, let me in! I need some money for some heroin! Let me in or I’ll curse and shout and kick your door down!”

“Not by the hairs of our bally ball balls!” the three little pigs shouted.

“Fine, then. I warned you, though!”

Guy Wolfinghousen cursed and shouted and kicked with all of his might, but the door did not budge. Not even an inch.

“Ow!” Guy cried, rubbing his toe. “This is the last straw, piggies! I’m gonna getcha!”

Guy climbed the ivy trellis to the roof of the house.

Pork already knew his plan, though. He ran to the fireplace and lit it ablaze. A nice warm cozy fire.

This will teach those bratty piggies, Guy thought, as he slid down the chimney. He was halfway down it when he felt heat rising form below. He looked down to see fire. Guy panicked, and almost lost grip on the bricks. But at the last second caught back on. He started climbing back up when he saw Pork’s face at the top of the chimney.

“Hello, Santy Clause!” Pork shouted.

“Get me outta here!” Guy shouted.

“But I thought you wanted to come in?”

And with that the three little pigs started dropping bricks down the chimney. A couple hits to the face and the Big Bad Wolf went tumbling to his burning death.