“What do I want? More money! When do I want it? Noooowhooow!” The Big Bad Wolf repeated his chant as he paced up and down outside the Third Pig’s house. First and Second Pig were watching through the window.
“He’s huffing and puffing a lot,” observed Second Pig.
“But not in the direction of the house,” added First Pig, because their brother was looking concerned.
“If he tries anything,” Third Pig said grimly, “I’m ready for him. The cauldron of hot water is boiling in the fireplace.”
The other two pigs returned their attention to the wolf.
“What’s he doing now?” said Second Pig.
“He’s holding up a placard,” said First Pig. He squinted, trying to read the words scrawled across the sign.
“Fair pay for Wolves!” said Second Pig, who had better eyesight. “That’s a laugh. All those wolves do is eat other characters.”
“Or try to,” said Third Pig. “He won’t get us, don’t you worry.”
“Remember that time we thought Grandma Pig had come to visit?” said Second Pig. “But it just turned out to be the Big Bad Wolf wearing her nightie.”
The other pigs smiled fondly at the memory.
“And he wants fair pay? He gets all the free bacon he can eat – not that he’s getting any here today,” Third Pig hastened to add.
All afternoon, the Big Bad Wolf continued to pace and chant. The Three Pigs were growing bored. Stuck in the house with only a pot of boiling water for entertainment, they were going stir crazy.
“He can’t stay out there all day,” said Third Pig. “Can he?”
“I want to go to the pub!” wailed First Pig.
“This is worse than when he tries to get in,” said Second Pig. “At least then we could get on with the story and have our happy ending.”
“Yes,” agreed Third Pig. “This is just dragging things out. I’ve got things to do, and I can’t do them until he either buggers off home or climbs down the chimney.”
Another hour passed.
“Sod it,” said First Pig, “I’ve got a darts match on.” He thrust his front trotters into his jacket and plonked his beret on his head.
“You can’t go out there,” Second Pig tried to hold him back. “He’ll eat you!”
“He’s on strike,” said First Pig. “I’ll be fine.”
They looked to Third Pig, who was always the sensible one. He scratched the hairs on his chinny chin chin and nodded. “Go on, then. Bring us back some crisps.”
“Will do!” First Pig saluted. He opened the front door and went out.
Within seconds, the Big Bad Wolf was upon him, tearing his throat out with his big teeth.
Second and Third Pig slammed the front door and barred it, as their brother squealed and squealed and then squealed no more.
“Little pigs, little pigs,” the Big Bad Wolf crooned through the keyhole, blood dripping from his fangs. “Let me come in.”
“Fucking scab,” said Third Pig.
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