Once Upon a Bedtime Weary… (a.k.a. When Bedtime Stories Attack)

Cartoon by Gaspirtz (cc) via WikiMedia

Once upon a time, there were three little pigs who left their mother’s house and wen off to build houses of their own.”

“Mom, did the pigs have names?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, then I’m gonna call them Curly, Bart and Petey.”

“Uh, okay. So the first pig went to build his house.”

“Which pig?”

“Um… the first one?”

“Mom, you gotta use the names. The story’s not the same without the names.”

“Okay. So, the fir– Curly built his house out of straw.”

“Outta what?”

“Straw.”

“That would take a long time, wouldn’t it?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, did he leave the paper on, or take it off?”

“What paper?”

“The paper on the straws.”

“No, honey, it’s not that kind of straw. This kind is like hay.”

“So, you’re telling me Curly made his house out of grass?”

“Yes.”

“He wasn’t very smart, was he?”

“It’s a story, okay?”

“Okay.”

“The second little pig… what? Oh. Bart, I mean Bart. He built his house from sticks.”

“Mom, these pigs were poor weren’t they?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because they built their houses out of grass and sticks. I bet Petey made his house out of dirt.”

“Ha! No, Petey build a house of bricks!”

“Mom, you do know bricks are baked dirt, right?”

“Um… yes.”

“Told you so! These pigs were poor!”

“Yes, Curly, Bart, and Petey were poor. They had to live in houses made of grass,sticks and dirt and they never got pizza for dinner and had to eat brussel sprouts all the time. It’s probably because they didn’t go to college.”

“What about the Wolf?”

“I don’t know if he went to college or not.”

“No, I mean the Wolf part of the story.”

“The wolf knocked on Curly’s door and said, “Little pig, little pig, let me come in — What now?”

“You gotta do the voices, Mom.”

“LITTLE PIG, LITTLE PIG, LET ME COME IN!”

“Why did he do that?”

“Because he wanted to eat the pig — er, I mean Curly.”

“Mom? What’s this story rated?”

“What?”

“Is it PG-13? Because if it’s full of scary stuff like cute little pigs that get eaten, maybe we should stop now. It’ll give me nightmares.”

“Okay, I was wrong. The wolf didn’t want to eat Curly. He wanted to sell him something.”

“So, he’s like the guys that come to the door selling meat off a truck?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, what did Curly do?”

“Curly said, ‘Not by the hair of my chinny, chin-chin.'”

“Why would he say something stupid like that?”

“Look, kiddo, you said it yourself. He’s not very smart.”

“Oh.”

“And the wolf said, I’LL HUFF AND I’LL PUFF — for the love of Bob, what now?”

“Too scary. Who’s Bob?”

“Never mind. What the wolf really said was, “Litt– er — LITTLE PIG, LITTLE PIG, LET ME COME IN AND SELL YOU A NICE SIRLOIN. Better?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, let’s see… where was I?” Not by the hair of his chinny-chin… sell a nice sirloin… Okay, so Curly didn’t have any money because he always spent his allowance as soon as he got– WHAT?!?”

“I get it already, Mom. Just tell the story.”

“Curly was broke, so he ran next door to Petey’s house.”

“The brick house?”

“No, the one made of sticks.”

“That’s Bart’s.”

“Curly went to Bart’s house.”

“To borrow some money?”

“Sure, fine. And the wolf followed him and knocked on the door and said, ‘LITTLE PIGS, LITTLE PIGS, er… How about a nice steak? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Did you know your face gets all wrinkly like Grandpa’s when you talk like the wolf?”

“Do you want to hear this story or not?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well Bart didn’t have any money either because the allowance thing ran in the family, so both pigs ran to Petey’s house and the wolf followed them. By now the wolf was getting tired of following pigs around and knocking on doors, especially since he didn’t even get to say his good line or use his really big voice, so for fun he decided to climb down the chimney. The end.”

“Mom, do salesmen ever really come down the chimney?”

“Only the persistent ones, and only during dinner.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.”

“Mom, I just want to know one thing. The Wolf’s a guy, right?”

“Y-es?”

“So why did he try on the Grandmother’s underwear?”

“It was her nightgown.”

“Same thing.”

“That’s a whole different story.”

“Can you tell me that one?”

“Not tonight.”

A slightly different version of this originally appeared in Today’s Woman.  magazine.

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2 responses to “Once Upon a Bedtime Weary… (a.k.a. When Bedtime Stories Attack)

  1. We have a chicken named Curly… why do little boys name their chicks and piggies Curly? It’s a mystery.

  2. Curly must just be one of those popular names. In my house I always blame the Stooges.

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