Fairytale of New Pork

31 December 2001
Does George have to swear on a Bible or something?

Ok. Now the deal's this - three little pigs, living together for a long time in a house with brick wall, a straw roof and a door made of sticks. Twigs, if you will. Best of all worlds - when the Big Bad WolfTM construction company illegally tried to knock the place down a few years back, they had a hard time doing so.

Kinky stuff? I don't think so, they were just - friends. Not brothers, but close as. They'd known each other their entire lives, and living together was a natural progression for them. No ham sandwiches for them. No, they had separate bedrooms, and separate servants. Mice. One mouse each, and they were as old as the pigs were. The mice really shouldn't have been allowed to keep on working at that age, with their sight and hearing going, but I suppose it would've been even crueller to lay them off. Where would they have gone? And the mice were as close to each other as the pigs were.

So, you've got all that then; pigs, mice, house. Here's the card for it if you want it for records. Isn't it nice? Hand - sorry, trotter - printed. Made a big impression with all of the customers, and they always returned. I did too, but you know that. Best B'n'B I've been at in all my travels, even if the fry-up breakfasts were vegetarian. What with that steady flow of businessmen going through the woods from the High Castle to the Shining Lake, the business did well.

So.

It was in the middle of winter, but you know that, don't you. Times, dates, position of the moon. It was a freezing night - don't know if your reports show that? About minus five or so, with frost and glitter everywhere. The place was nearly full when I arrived. Guess a lot of guys thought that it'd be better to stay the extra night than get stranded in the middle of the forest in the ice. I had my usual room. Unpacked, long bath - and they give you complementary bath salts, which is nice - then down to the bar. One of the little pigs acts as bartender and does a mean Bloody Mary. I had a neat Glenmorangie that night to keep me warm. I'd just been warming the glass in my hands when the noise started in reception where another little pig was working. Didn't think too much of it at first, and no, neither did the rest of the crew in the bar. Not unusual last thing at night, that sort of commotion. But after five minutes or so, when it hadn't died down, I went for a recce.

That's the statement I made about it afterwards? OK...mmm. Yes. There was a right ruckus going on there when I arrived. Loads of short men barging around and shouting: shouting at the little pigs, shouting at the guests. It seemed like there were dozens and dozens of those short guys, but I guess that really, there can't have been more than ten of them. All three mice were scampering up and down the reception desk and it looked like one pig was trying to phone the forest police. The other two pigs had come to reception too, and were trying to calm down the troublemakers. I weighed in and tried to lend them a hand too, but carefully. The short guys are always the most vicious, you know? - but I suppose you already know that in your line of work. And I didn't want to be headbutted in the nads or anything.

So we'd all got them held and calmed down, of a manner - one of the guys was being hemmed in from both sides by two little pigs and a bear - and there was a pause. Then their ringleader, the most smartly-dressed, started shouting. "Where is she then? The slag? C'mon, you know who I mean, the tart in the dress with the hair. Where've you put her?" At that, the rest of the men started yelling again too, all about the "tart, the "slut" who they were looking for. One of the little pigs broke in. "Gentlemen!" he squealed above the noise. "Firstly, I do not appreciate you speaking of any of the guests of this establishment in such a way. Secondly, customer confidentiality is all here, and I cannot break that trust I have with our guests."

The short men started yelling again, this time with the little pig shouting too, "Gentlemen, please! I cannot help you! Please, calm down!" It looked as though there was going to be another brawl, and I held on to the braces of the bloke that I was restraining tightly. As the noise levels grew again, two women came in from the bar area and the whole place quietened down again. You've got the mug-shots, haven't you? They don't do either of them justice. The younger dark-haired one had this sort of glow about her, and the older one just had an air of authority that made you shut-up and behave. The younger one did all of the talking though. I can't remember what she said exactly, too busy looking at her, but she apologised to the pigs first, saying it was all her fault. Then she got angry, in a quiet way, with the men, asking what they thought they were playing at and all that. She was fine, she was safe, and she was an adult and allowed to do what she wanted. And what she wanted was to be with the other women.

The men didn't sound like they were happy with this situation. They all started yelling again, and it sounded like as well as being angry that the young girl had left them, they were worried about what would happen when the girl's evil stepmother caught up with her and her friend.

The girl smiled again. "But you see, she is my stepmother. And it's not illegal. And she really isn't evil."

That was when the furniture started flying again, and that was when I got hit by something. And I really can't tell you much more than that. The doctors say the bruising will go down in a few days. Have you got the rest in custody? Nice one. Then I'll be off then.

I'll just sign here.

Current clown:

18 December 2003. George writes: This List

Most recent ten:

15 December 2003. Jamie writes: Seven Songs
11 December 2003. Dan writes: Spinning Jenny
8 December 2003. Victor writes: Rock Opera
4 December 2003. Matt writes: The Mirrored Spheres of Patagonia
1 December 2003. George writes: Charm
27 November 2003. James writes: On Boxing
24 November 2003. Jamie writes: El Matador del Amor; Or, the Man who Killed Love
20 November 2003. Dan writes: Rights Management
17 November 2003. Victor writes: Walking on Yellow
13 November 2003. Matt writes: Disintermediation
(And alas we lost Neil, who last wrote Cockfosters)

Also by this clown:

1 December 2003. George writes: Charm
10 November 2003. George writes: Dead beat
20 October 2003. George writes: Shortening
29 September 2003. George writes: Manhattanites are Cleavage-Starved
11 September 2003. George writes: How to Bring Us in Line With the Future
18 August 2003. George writes: Slashtastic
28 July 2003. George writes: Underground Independent Small Press Comic Fight Club
7 July 2003. George writes: Careering
16 June 2003. George writes: Choose your own adventure
26 May 2003. George writes: Revelations
8 May 2003. George writes: Picture Perfect
14 April 2003. George writes: MetaPirate
24 March 2003. George writes: Preparation X
3 March 2003. George writes: F of x
13 February 2003. George writes: Three is the magic number
23 January 2003. George writes: Recorded Delivery
30 December 2002. George writes: Meat Bingo or Death
12 December 2002. George writes: Royal Inquisitor
21 November 2002. George writes: This Clown is Cancelled
28 October 2002. George writes: Shopping with God
3 October 2002. George writes: SaferSpoony
16 September 2002. George writes: Supercalanthropomorphicexpealidocious
26 August 2002. George writes: The deformed animal menagerie
5 August 2002. George writes: Plaice that Funky Music, Whitebait
15 July 2002. George writes: Safe as Houses
24 June 2002. George writes: Two Lions (DB/DS)
30 May 2002. George writes: Series 8
9 May 2002. George writes: Market Stall
11 April 2002. George writes: I, the Enlargened, Crunchy Product
18 March 2002. George writes: Cakexterminator
21 February 2002. George writes: Fiction Suit
28 January 2002. George writes: Spunk Gunk
31 December 2001. George writes: Fairytale of New Pork
10 December 2001. George writes: Circular
15 November 2001. George writes: A Man With No Ass Is No Man At All
22 October 2001. George writes: One Night in Heaven
27 September 2001. George writes: Uncut
3 September 2001. George writes: Porn Pants
9 August 2001. George writes: Names of the Roses
19 July 2001. George writes: No Fun Here
21 June 2001. George writes: All Your Elections are Belong to Us
28 May 2001. George writes: Pierced as Fuck
3 May 2001. George writes: My Lovely Horse
9 April 2001. George writes: Eight Hundred and Forty-Three
12 March 2001. George writes: Kill 'Em All
19 February 2001. George writes: Formal
25 January 2001. George writes: Sticks and stones
11 January 2001. George writes: A Thought on Morality
11 December 2000. George writes: You can't put that into a soufflé
13 November 2000. George writes: Lyrical Genius
19 October 2000. George writes: Wet wet wet wet wet
25 September 2000. George writes: Built on an Indian burial ground
31 August 2000. George writes: This Way
31 July 2000. George writes: Runt of the Litter

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