The Three Little Wolves and the B.B.H.H.

Once upon a time there was an old sow who was desperate to hold on to her tarnished youth, and she had three little wolves called Roz, Hinkley and Mack. She had lost their father in a freak accident involving a wet-suit and electrodes but that is another story and he probably wasn’t their real father anyway.

Old Mama Wolf spent her nights in the nightclubs looking for a rich fox to take her away from the drudgery of her life, and she spent her days nursing hangovers and sneaking chain-smoking chihuahuas out the back door so the neighbours couldn’t see. Most mother wolves would teach their offspring how to catch low-flying sheep but since all the other wolves had become helicopter pilots, sheep were scarce. But Old Mama Wolf was not your average wolf mother, she simply had no aptitude for motherhood. She taught them nothing.

Fearing that her cubs were cramping her style and hampering her from finding herself a nice sugar daddy, she kicked them all out once they were able to look after themselves. She was a pretty useless parent.

“Go seek your fortune or something,” she shouted as they reluctantly walked away. “Don’t bother me with your whining. It is your fault that I have so many wrinkles!”

One of the wolves opened their mouth to speak but Mama Wolf cut in, “If I wanted to hear your opinion, I’d slap it out of you! Now go!”

So off the wolves went, sad and rejected.

The first wolf that went off was Roz. She was keen to have a life of her own and did not want to become as loose as her mother. She was two towns over when she met a man with a bundle of newspapers that he was taking to the recycling depot.

“Please, random stranger, give me those newspapers to build me a studio apartment,” said Roz.

The man, puzzling over her grammar, gave her his newspaper bundle. It saved him having to carry them all the way through the Forest of Spiders to the depot.

Roz the little wolf contracted an architect to build a studio apartment using newspapers. It took six months to build and when it was finished, she moved into the studio apartment of newspaper.

Presently came along a boar called Caractacus who was known as the Big Bad Hipster Hog. The one thing you have to know about the B.B.H.H. was that he considered himself to be porcine perfection and lick-the-mirror gorgeous. To him, the initials stood for Big Beautiful Handsome Hog. He knocked at the newspaper door and when that failed to make much of an impression soundwise, he bent over and shouted through the keyhole, “Hello, hello! I am here to seduce some housewives. Are there any housewives here in need of seduction? I have cherries!”

To which there was no sound from within. Caractacus called again but to no effect. So he crept around the house and peered into the bedroom window where he spotted a little pig dressed head-to-toe in leather with a wolf dressed in a latex nurse outfit but what happens between consenting wolves and pigs is another story and shall be published later this year as Fifty Shades of Pork (available to buy in a brown paper bag from any disreputable delicatessen).

The B.B.H.H. knocked on the glass of the window and called out, “Look, I can’t hang around here all day. I have other housewives to seduce and so little time. Now, do you have any housewives or not? Is your friend a housewife?”

To which Roz the wolf answered, “No, no, not by the hairs of an old woman’s chin! I have no housewives in need of seducement!”

Caractacus was rather put out by that. “What, no housewives at all? Not even a small one?”

“No!”

The B.B.H.H. then answered, “Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your studio apartment in.” So he huffed, and he puffed, and the newspaper house did not even shudder. Caractacus was even more put out by his inability to blow the house down, so he got into his car and drove right through the newspaper house. Then he ate up Roz the little wolf with a side salad and a glass of white wine. The pig was allowed to go after a short discussion on the wear-and-tear of whip leather.

Hinkley the second little wolf was south of the river when he met a weasel dragging a bundle of cheese behind him.

“Please, random weasel, give me that cheese to build a boathouse.” Which the weasel did. It saved him having to try to sell at the annual Jerry Lewis Retrospective held in the Swamp of Frogs.

Hinkley the little wolf contracted a shipwright who specialised in cheddar. His boathouse was built within four weeks and when it was finished, he moved into the boathouse of cheese.

Presently came along Caractacus the Big Bad Hipster Hog. The other thing you have to know about the B.B.H.H. was that he was always hungry for food and, indeed, housewives but sometimes the two appetites collided. This had given him a bad reputation amongst his peers. He tried to knock on the door but his fist just submerged into the cheesy mass. When he eventually pulled it out, he stooped to the letterbox and called out, as he did to the other little wolf, “Hello, hello! I am here to seduce any spare housewives that you may have stashed about the house. I am not fussy, defects can be considered too!”

To which the wolf answered, “No, no, by the hairs of my furry fur butt, I have no housewives here, not a single one!”

“Then I’ll puff, and I’ll huff, and I’ll blow your houseboat in.” So the B.B.H.H. huffed, and he puffed, and he puffed, and he huffed, and at last he blew the houseboat down the river where it crashed into rocks. Clambering over the rocks, Caractacus pulled the nearly drowned wolf from the wreckage of the soggy dairy product, and he ate up the wet bundle of fur with some oysters and a glass of cider.

Mack the third little wolf met a tiny mouse with a load of bricks, and said, “Please, random mouse, give me yourself to build a house with.” So the mouse, who was rather stupid, sold himself to the wolf.

Mack the little wolf contracted a wizard who specialised in transcendental dimensions and interior design. His house was conjured up within a few hours of chanting and sacrificing of black cockerels. When it was finished, he moved into the house of mouse.

Presently came along the B.B.H.H. The last thing you should know about Caractacus was that, romantically, he was all mouth and no trousers. Even if he could find a housewife, he wouldn’t know what to do with her. He went to knock at the door but there wasn’t one. This threw him. He walked around the mouse in a state of mild bewilderment. He was about to leave when Mack the little wolf sauntered past him, and with a click of his claws, walked straight into the mouse.

Caractacus was really confused now. He learnt down and gently opened up the mouth of the mouse and called out, “Erm… Hello, hello! I am here to seduce your housewives. Are there any housewives in the mouse? Um… All sizes catered for!”

From within the depths of the mouse came the voice of the little wolf, “No, no, not by the hairs of my mousy mouse house! I have no housewives! Now puddle off before I call the police, pervert!”

“Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your…er…mouse in.”

Well, he huffed, and he puffed, and he puffed and he huffed, and then he puffed and huffed some more; but after all the previous consumption of wolfy meals he could not blow the mouse down. All his exertion and indigestion collided and caused him to slump over. Clutching his stomach and rolling around, he said, !I regret nothing!” And he expired…

Mack the little wolf, seeing the death of the Big Bad Hipster Wolf, crept out of the mouse and pulled the corpse of the boar inside. There was good eating on a boar, especially a big fat one such as Caractacus. He was somewhat surprised when the B.B.H.H. promptly got up and gulped him down. GULP!

“Sucker,” said the boar. “They always fall for the fake death.”

And they all lived happily ever after (except for Mama Wolf who ended up married to a poodle, and her wolf cubs who was all eaten by the Big Bad Hipster Hog.

THE END!

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About greebohobbes

All-round irritant, expert swordsman (loves lopping off the heads of ghouls), professional charlatan and outrageous wearer of black cocktail dresses...
This entry was posted in BekHobbes, fairytale, fiction, humour, shortstory and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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