The Three Little Pigs (rewritten)

Okay, the story actually went like this. Once upon a time, there was a normal, law-abiding citizen (me). One day, I met this crazy old woodcutter with an axe who, surprisingly enough, was trying to kill me. Isn't that hilariously stupid? He kept on screaming stuff about the size of my belly, too. I mean, who does he think he is? I know I'm not the slimmest guy on the planet, but come on! He doesn't have to point it out!

Anyway. Back to the story. I was running away from said crazy old man, when I saw this lumpy cottage thing made out of straw. So, after checking that the woodcutter was gone, I ran up to it, because by this time I was really tired and everything, and asked politely, "Excuse me, please my I come in for a nap or a quick meal?"

"No!!!" came the reply, a shrill squeal that nearly ruptured my eardrums. I shrugged resignedly, still panting hard from my run, and was about to leave when a particularly long exhale of mine wafted gently towards the house and, with no small amount of bangs and thumps, knocked it down. There was a squeak of indignation and the owner of the house, a plump, obviously overfed pig, clambered out of the mound of rubble, still shaking straw out of his nose. We stared at each other for a moment. I snarled. He gave a short scream and scurried off, singing inanely. I strained to hear the lyrics and immediately wished I hadn't. My ears! My poor, poor ears!

"I sue you, you sue me, zero one two four five six three..." the pig was singing in an awfully high, warbling soprano. I swear, he was out of his mind. Besides, what reason could he possibly have for wanting to sue me? The damn house was falling down anyway! I just sped the process up a bit. A teeny, weeny, barely noticable little bit. I shuddered and started following the obviously mentally impaired pig at a safe distance. Not because I wanted to eat him or anything, just so that I could keep an eye on him. In case he tried to do anything stupid. Insane people are liable to do stupid things. And, of course, to make sure he didn't actually sue me. Couldn't have that, could we now!

We hadn't been walking for long before another house appeared. This one was made out of sticks. The first little pig scuttled in, crabwise, and I caught a brief glimpse of a second pig before the door was slammed in my face. Prancing up to it, I called, "Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in!" Wincing internally at how stupid and lame the words sounded, I waited for the response.

"No! Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin!" One of the pigs piped up. I blinked. Wow. They were even lamer than me! I wondered idly if the rhyming answer was deliberate or just a freakish coincidence. Well, there was only one way to find out.

"Aw, come on. Please?" I whined, eyes sparkling.

"No! Not my the hair of my chinny-chin, er, that is, chinny, er..." The poor creature trailed off, its brain in seriously danger of being melted and pushed out of its ears by the effort of thinking so hard.

"KEYS!!!" The other pig yelled triumphantly. "Chinny-chin-keys!!!"

I shook my head sorrowfully and, resigned to my lonely, hungry fate, turned to go. And it was at that exact moment that I - oh, the horror and the humiliation of it all - farted. And the house fell down. Naturally. It's called karma. And it's bad. Soooo... Let's see. The pigs escaped again, cue the ear-drum-murdering, frankly scary singing, and ran, presumably, to find a third pig, also presumably with a stronger house, and I followed them, again. Only this time, I kept my paws over my ears the whole way. I'm quite fond of my ears, thank you very much. And my hearing.

Soon, we arrived at a third house. This one was made of bricks. The pigs darted in, I glimpsed yet another pig, the door was closed in my face (very rudely, I might add), and you know, the standard stuff.

I strode up to the door. "I say, may I enter?" I asked purposefully phrasing my question so that it would be harder for the pigs to come up with a rhyming answer.

"NO!!! Not my the hairs of our chinny-chin -" there was a brief, hushed conversation. "Dentures?" one of the pigs hazarded bravely. "But you can do whatever you want if you manage to climb in down the chimney, he added in what he obviously thought was a sly voice. It made him sound slightly ill. Okay, scratch that. It made him sound like he was seriously constipated and trying desperately to excrete waste out of sewn-up bottom.

I winced. "I wouldn't have to actually come down the chimney if I wanted to come in," I explained slightly apologetically.

"And whyever not?" the pigs shot back suspiciously. I could practically sense the instinctive narrowing of their eyes.

"Well, the thing is -" I faltered, fidgeting nervously. "It's the door, you see," I finally blurted out wretchedly." I couldn't help but notice that, well, it's not actually physically attached to the frame, so I could, um, enter through there. If I wanted to, that is," I added.

There was a stony silence.

"You see, if I just do this," Delicately, I stretched out a paw, poked the brittle wooden door gently and watched as it toppled inwards, crashed to the ground and disintegrated into hundreds of sharp little splinters. "Then it does that," I finished with a flourish and the air of a successful lecturer who has finally managed to pound a lesson into the thick skulls of his students.

The three plump little pigs that had been cowering behind the late door (now deceased) stared at me, mouths agape. "But that door was made out of brick!" they cried in unison as one little pig.

I perked up at that, glad for a chance to demonstrate my infinite wisdom. "No, the house was made of brick. The door, on the other hand, was made of wood,"I grinned, contorting my face into what I rather hoped was a clever, intelligent and just slightly sinishter expression.

The pigs looked at each other and shrugged. Turning back to me, they shrieked, "WE'D RATHER DIE THAN SURRENDER TO YOU!!!" Then, without further ado, right before my very eyes, the first little pig grabbed a piece of door and drove it into his heart, the second pig grabbed a coil of rope which had mysteriously appeared out of nowhere in his time of need and hanged himself from the lightbulb (also mysteriously appeared out of thin air), and the third little pig's eyes darted around wildly for a moment before I finally took pity on him and gestured weakly at the pot of boiling water placed strategically under the chimney. "You could use that," I offered helpfully. He flashed me a grateful smile and I turned my head away to give him some privacy as he dove into the pot, resolutely ignoring the sounds of sizzling flesh and the appetizing aroma of fresh bacon.

And so ends the story of the three little pigs, killed by their steadfast refusal to just provide their unwelcome guest with a bed and a small, quick meal.