Politically Correct Three Little Pigs

Once there were 3 little pigs who lived together in mutual respect and in harmony with their environment. Using materials that were indigenous to the area they each built a beautiful house. One pig built a house of straw, one a house of sticks, and one a house of dung, clay and creeper vines shaped into bricks and baked in a small kiln. When they were finished, the pigs were satisfied with their work and settled back to live in peace and self-determination.

But their idyll was soon shattered. One day, along came a big, bad wolf with expansionist ideas. He saw the pigs and grew very hungry in both a physical and ideological sense.

When the pigs saw the wolf, they ran into the house of straw. The wolf ran up to the house and banged on the door, shouting, "Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!"

The pigs shouted back, "Your gunboat tactics hold no fear for pigs defending their homes and culture."

But the wolf wasn't to be denied what he thought was his manifest destiny. So he huffed and puffed and blew down the house of straw. The frightened pigs ran to the house of sticks, with the wolf in hot pursuit. Where the house had stood, other wolves bought up the land and started a banana plantation.

At the house of sticks, the wolf again banged on the door and shouted, "Little, pigs, little pigs, let me in!"

The pigs shouted back, "Go to hell, you carnivorous, imperialistic oppressor!"

At this the wolf huffed and puffed and blew down the house of sticks. The pigs ran to the house of bricks, with the wolf close at their heels. Where the house of sticks had stood, other wolves built a time-share condo resort complex for vacationing wolves, with each unit a fibreglass reconstruction of the house of sticks, as well as native curio shops, snorkelling and dolphin shows.

At the house of bricks, the wolf again banged on the door and shouted, "Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!"

This time in response, the pigs sang songs of solidarity and wrote letters of protest to the United Nations.

By now the wolf was getting angry at the pigs' refusal to see the situation from the carnivore's point of view. So he huffed and puffed, and huffed and puffed, then grabbed his chest and fell over dead from a massive heart attack brought on from eating too many fatty foods.

The three little pigs rejoiced that justice had triumphed and did a little dance around the corpse of the wolf. Their next step was to liberate their homeland. They gathered together a band of other pigs who had been forced off their lands. This new brigade of porcinistas attacked the resort complex with machine-guns and rocket launchers and slaughtered the cruel wolf oppressors, sending a clear signal to the rest of the hemisphere not to meddle in their internal affairs. Then the pigs set up a model socialist democracy with free education, universal health care and affordable housing for everyone. {My note: well it is a fairy tale after all.}

Please note: The wolf in this story was a metaphorical construct. No actual wolves were harmed in the writing of the story.

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A TACTICAL SHOOTER'S CHRISTMAS
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'Twas the night before Christmas, cold, dark and foreboding,
As I sat at the work bench, quite busy reloading.
The empties from autumn were polished so clear
For primers and powder, and bullets from Speer,
And Sierra boat-tails, and Nosler's Partitions
(My bench ain't no place for brand name omissions!).
All sat in their boxes, right next to the press
With dies from Midway, and RCBS.

When all of a sudden there came such a jolt,
I grabbed for my Mossberg and whipped out my Colt.
As I spilled Hodgdon's powder all over the shelf,
I scrambled for cover, just to protect myself.

From up on the rooftop, came hoofbeats and snorting,
Like the noise out of L'il Rock, from Clinton's cavorting!
I eased off the safety, to press-check my auto,
With 230-hardball, I'd knock 'em all blotto.

Were these rogue federal agents, sent by Schumer and Reno?
Or a staggering Ted Kennedy, in bad need of vino?
My question was answered with a knock, and some sneezing,
"It's Santa, you moron, lemme in there, I'm freezing!"

I flipped off the dead-bolt and threw the door wide,
To find St. Nick a'shivering, Rudolph by his side.
He eyeballed my Thompson, with a nod of approval;
"You're all set," he said, "for dirtbag removal."
"But this is no raid, we're not here to harm you,
Or persecute, prosecute or even disarm you."
Instead, said dear Santa, he needed to borrow
My .357, 'till day after tomorrow.

"It's okay," he assured me, with a hint of frustration.
"I'm enrolled in the National Rifle Association."
He showed me his card, 'twas a Life Member rating;
"I've had this since me and the missus were dating!"

"And you see, ol' buddy, I've gotten real nervous
Since Feinstein was elected, with a promise to serve us."
So henceforth as I'm out there, my presents a'stackin'.
"I want to assure you, I'm legally packin'."
"And my gift for you this year, should give you a hoot:
"I've told the Supreme Court to give Brady the boot!

"Now, Rudy and I must be on our way,"
He said, as he climbed back on the seat of his sleigh.
With the reins in his hand, and my Smith in his pocket,
He jingled the sleighbells and was off like a rocket.
With a pair of speedloaders, and ammo to spare,
I knew he'd be safe, he was loaded for bear,

As he faded from view, I could still hear him calling,
"From D.C., where 'P.C.' is already falling,
"To bad guys in L.A., Detroit and Atlanta:
"I'm licensed to carry. Don't be messin' with Santa!"

And one for the lawyers on FR:

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A VISIT FROM SAINT NICHOLAS (IN LEGALESE)
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Twas the nocturnal segment of the diurnal period preceding the annual Yuletide celebration, and throughout our place of residence, kinetic activity was not in evidence among the possesors of this potential, including the species of domestic rodent known as Mus Musculus.

Hosiery was meticulously suspended from the forward edge of the wood burning caloric apparatus pursuant to our anticipatory pleasure regarding an imminent visitation from an eccentric philanthropist among whose folkloric appellations is the honorific title of Saint Nicholas.

The prepubesent siblings, comfortably ensconced in their respective accommodations of repose, were experiencing subconscious visual hallucinations of variegated fruit confections moving rhythmically through their cerebrums.

My conjugal partner and I, attired in our nocturnal head coverings, were about to take slumberous advantage of the hibernal darkness when upon the exterior portion of the grounds there ascended such a cacophony of dissonance that I felt compelled to arise with alacrity from my place of repose for the purpose of ascertaining the precise source therof.

Hastening to the casement, I forthwith opened the barriers sealing this fenestration. Noting thereupon that the lunar brilliance without, reflected as it was on the surface of a recent crystalline precipation, might be said to rival that of the solar meridian itself; thus permitting my incredulous optical sensory organs to behold a miniature airborne runnered conveyence, drawn by eight diminutive specimens of the genus Rangifer...

piloted by a miniscule aged chauffer so ebullient and nimble that it became instantly apparent to me that he was indeed our anticipated caller.

With his ungulate motive power, travelling at what may have been more vertiginous velocity than patriotic alar predators, he vorcified loudly, expelled breath musically through contracted labia, and addressed each of the octet by his or her respective cognomen: "Now Dasher, now Dancer", et al..

Guiding them to the uppermost exterior level of our abode, through which structure I could readily distinguish the concatenations of each of the 32 cloven pedal extremities. As I retracted my cranium from its erstwhile location, and was performing a 180 degree pivot, our distinguished visitant achieved -- with utmost celerity and via a downward leap -- entry by the way of the smoke passage.

He was clad entirely in animal pelts soiled by the ebon residue from oxidations of carboniferous fuels which had accumulated on the walls thereof. His resemblence to a street vendor I attributed largely to the plethora of assorted playthings which he bore dorsally in a commodious cloth receptacle. His orbs were scilliant with reflected luminosity, while his submaxillary dermal indentations gave every evidence of engaging amiability.

The capillaries of his molar regions and nasal protuberance were engorged with blood which suffused in subcutaneous layers, the former approximating the coloration of Albion's floral emblem, the latter that of the Prunus Avium, or Sweet Cherry.

His amusing sub- and supra-labials resembled nothing so much as a common loop knot, and their ambient hirsute facial adornment appeared like small tabular and columnar crystals being.

Clenched firmly between his incisors was a smoking piece whose gray fumes, forming a tenuous ellipse about his occiput, were suggestive of a decorative seasonal circlet of holly.

His visage was wider than it was high, and when he waxed audibly mirthful, his corpulent abdominal region undulated in the manner of impectinated fruit syrup in a hemispherical container.

He was, in short, neither more or less than obese, jocund, multigenarial gnome, the optical perception of whom rendered me visibly frolicsome despite every effort to refrain from so being.

By rapidly lowering and then elevating one eyelid and rotating his head to one side he indicated that trepidation on my part was groundless.

Without utterance and with dispatch, he commenced filling the afore-mentioned hosiery with various of the afore-mentioned articles of merchandise extracted from his afore-mentioned previously dorsally transported cloth receptacle.

Upon completion of his task, he executed an abrupt about face, placed a singular manual digit in lateral juxtaposition to his olfactary organ, inclined his cranium forward in a gesture of leave-taking, and forthwith effected his egress by renegotiating, in reverse, the smoke passage.

He propelled himself in short vector onto his conveyence, directed a musical expulsion of air through his contracted oral sphincter to the antlered quadrupeds of burden, and proceeded to soar aloft in a movement hitherto observable chiefly among the seed-bearing portions of a common weed.

But I overheard his parting exclamation, audible immediatly prior to his vahiculation beyond the limits of visibility:

"Ecstatic Yuletide to the planetary constituency, and to that self-same assemblage, my sincerest wishes for a salubriously beneficial and gratifyingly pleasurable period between sunset and dawn!"

(A year old, but still funny...)

'Twas The Week After Election Day
(by Marlene, Theron and Ashley Bartlett)

'Twas the week after Election Day and all through the land,
All the votes had been counted, some recounted by hand,
They counted and counted, recounted some more,
But Bush/Cheney were ahead, and not Leiberman/Gore.

The Florida democrats had caused quite a stir,
When their candidate of choice had lost it, for sure.
They wouldn't admit to their narrow defeat,
So they demanded a hand count or the election repeat!

"It's not fair, it's a lie, it can't be!" they all shouted,
And they whined and they fussed and they cried and they pouted,
"The ballots were confusing, we punched the wrong chad!"
But the rest of the country knew they were just mad.

They were made to look stupid, all the fuss that they made,
When a child could have done it without any aid.
The ballot was simple, there is no excuse,
So why put our country through all this abuse?

And just when we thought all the media was through,
Who should appear but ol' "you know who,"
A man with no eyebrows, as stiff as a tree,
(Some even believe that's what he might be)!

With a voice loud as thunder, he called to us all,
"You ain't seen nothing yet! I won't take the fall!
I'll fight till the death, I will not give in!
We'll recount every ballot until I DO win!"

Then, to his advisors he turned without shame,
He whistled and shouted and called them by name,
"Now, Wexler! Now, Daley! Now Dershowitz, go!
On Warren, On Jessie! Let's give quite a show!"

"To the top of the votes! Drop Bush to his knees!
Edit those ballots, no matter the sleaze!
So pull out your votamatics and don't drop the ball,
Dash away! Dash away! Cast away! All!"

More faster than lightning, their forces they grew,
And before very long, they had quite a crew,
They tore at the laws, the Constitution they shredded,
And walking thin lines they brazenly treaded.

"Recount by hand!" (but just counties Gore leads in)
"Who cares about Harris? She's a 'hack' beyond reason'!"
So they grabbed at the ballots, the chads everywhere,
The Supreme Court Judges did not seem to care.

And throughout it all, Gore continued to say,
"It's the Will of the People! They must have their way."
So the electoral votes all hung in the breeze,
Who would have thought they'd get caught in palm trees?

The media ran rampant, they couldn't understand,
Why the popular vote winner may not run this land.
Then Hillary Clinton decided to speak,
(the media hadn't looked at her in maybe a week).

"As my first act of duty, when I'm sworn in by oath,
I'll change the Constitution, our democracy...both!
The Electoral College should be put to bed,
Our Founding Fathers have long since been dead!"

The more folks discuss it the angrier they grow,
Just who are these democrats and what do they know?
This could have been over a year or so ago,
Had they kicked out the other man in the show.

No lawsuits, no bickering, no fires to diffuse,
No sweating bullets during Election Day news.
If they'd packed up Bill Clinton, and sent him by bus,
Al Gore would have replaced him, without all this fuss!

They made their own bed, in it they should lie,
But why must the rest of us curl up and die?
Clinton and Gore, you've done quite enough,
Let our country be, we're sick of your stuff!

It's time to fix up all the messes they've made,
Their corruption, their lies, the tax dollars we've paid.
Perhaps now our country will lean more to "The Right,"
Happy Election Day to all, and to all a good fight!