Once upon a time in flyover country, there was a big bad wolf and three little pigs who didn’t believe in him. The pigs were devoted watchers of Vulpine News, which kept telling them that the Big Bad Wolf was a hoax invented by panda bears to make pigs just like them look stupid. “Check your junk mail for bamboo fibers,” the Vulpine News hosts would suggest darkly.
The first little pig built his house of straw, the good old-fashioned plastic kind, because only bedwetting tree-huggers worry about filling the entire ocean with trash. The night he moved in, the Big Bad Wolf came to the door and roared, “Little Pig! Little Pig! Let me come in!”
“Go away, you poorly disguised panda!” the first little pig said. “I have done my own research, and I know that wolves are nothing but a myth concocted by liberal scientists and the hair on their chinny-chin-chin!”
“Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll stage a break-in!” shouted the wolf, who was thrown off script by the first little pig’s unexpected improvisation. With his house collapsing around him, the first little pig barely had time to grab his MAGA cap before fleeing for his life.
The first little pig ran to the house of his brother, which was built of sticks. The two little pigs agreed this would provide much stronger protection against freak windstorms like the one that had knocked down the straw house, so they weren’t worried at all the following night when a voice suddenly growled out of the darkness, “Little pigs! Little pigs! Let me come in!”
“No way! Our stick house is coated with ivermectin!” chuckled the two little pigs.
“Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll eat your pigskin!” This time, the two little pigs were clonked on the head by falling sticks, so they made a fine supper for the Big Bad Wolf.
The third little pig was saddened to hear that Jesus had needed his brothers for a pink and smelly sunbeam, but consoled himself with the thought that they had refused infringements on their freedom such as heading for shelter. That, said Vulpine News, was the way to own the libs! As for himself, the third little pig knew he need fear nothing, because he slept soundly in his papier-mâché house with an AR-15 under his My Pillow, which he used to protect himself and his family from the fierce pork-eating deer that infested the neighborhood. When a deep growly voice interrupted his sleep the following night with the demand, “Little pigs! Little pigs! Let me come in,” the third little pig didn’t waste time responding. He simply grabbed his rifle, accidentally shooting his wife in the head. As he fumbled with the weapon in the dark, additional rounds took out his six little piglets, and a piece of shrapnel penetrated his right eye. The Big Bad Wolf was so pleased at the ready-made banquet, he invited his friends the Vulpine News hosts to join him.
Moral: Never believe a word Rupert Murdoch pays for.
Emanuel Goldstein 