True Story of the Three Little Pigs

The True Story of the Three Little Pigs

This assignment aimed to give us experience at public relations "spin"

Below is a statement from the Wolf, the defendant in One Little Pig et. al v. Wolf, pending in U.S. District Court.

My attorneys have requested, due to my condemnation in a less legally-binding court – the court of public opinion, that I issue a statement telling my side of the story. Though I have tried reasoning with my detractors, my arguments have been as pearls before swine. Three little swine in particular. Oral tradition has not been kind to this wolf, to be sure. Authorities only ask the pigs their side of the story, never bothering with mine. In the interest of full disclosure, I give you the true story.

I had heard from mutual friends that the Little Pigs were starting off on their own. I was very happy for them, as I knew them to be friendly overall. So, I decided to stop by each of their houses on the way to my usual hunting territory. I suppose that was my first mistake: going hungry. I arrived at the first pig’s house, and was surprised to see it was made of straw. I knocked on the door and, so as not to frighten him, I said “Little pig, little pig, let me come in”. And what did I get as a response? “Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin.” Not only was he mocking me with baby speak, but I believe he may have been drinking. Have you ever heard a sober person say the phrase “chinny chin chin”? I think not. This angered me, as it would any rational wolf, but I also wanted to help this pig who seemed to have a drinking problem. So I said “Do you need my help? I’ll huff and I’ll puff if you don’t let me in.” I was taking this seriously after all. I got no response so, fearing alcohol poisoning, I began to huff and puff. I must emphasize that this huffing and puffing was not to get in the building, but because I was simply furious. But, as a result of my strong seething, his house of straw collapsed by sheer accident. I went over to the pig, who was cowering in the straw, and he was so scared that he died of fright right there. I was so hungry that I could not help myself. I admit it, I ate the pig. But if he had built his house out of something stronger, such a thing would have been impossible. Besides, you don’t blame the wind for blowing. Why blame me for blowing, then eating the occupant of the house I blew down?

Afterwards, feeling sheepish, I decided to go to the next pig’s house to try to explain to him my actions. I knocked on the door of his house of sticks and said “Little pig, little pig, let me come in.” in my sweetest voice. He replied as the first pig did: “not by the hair on my chinny chin chin.” This was disconcerting. Here I was trying to welcome them to the neighborhood, and they must have intentionally practiced mocking me from inside their little houses. This made me angrier than before, and I shouted “I just want to welcome you in person. If you won’t let me in, then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff.” This wasn’t much of a threat, I agree, but I was just so insulted that I couldn’t think of any better tactic to renew my pride than to garner pity. Hearing nothing, I stood there seething. Suddenly, a great wind blew past me. Suddenly, without warning, the house of sticks collapsed. I was shocked, and ran to the pig, but he was already dead. The whole pile of heavy sticks fell on him. Never one for wasting food, I ate the second pig.

After doing so, I felt even more embarrassed than before. I’d been present for the death of 2/3 of the Little Pigs. I knew that I would be held responsible, so I needed to go tell the third pig my side of the story. I knocked on the door of his brick house, and said even more innocently than before “Little pig, little pig, let me come in.” He replied with an all-too familiar phrase: “Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin.” Well, that did it. I yelled “Then enough is enough, your bros’ houses blew in. Open this door!” But I heard nothing. I began seething again, and luckily this house was made of bricks. No amount of breathing was going to bring this brick house down. However, this was the end of the line. If I didn’t convince him that I was just a victim of circumstance, I’d surely be pegged by the neighborhood as the wolf that devoured three little pigs in one afternoon. So I looked for another way in. I even climbed on the roof, where I saw the chimney. I started to climb down the hole in the roof, but when I got to the bottom, I found I had fallen into a giant pot of boiling water. Needless to say, I didn’t take the time to explain my case. I ran right out of that house, wanting never to return. In fact, my attorneys and I are currently working on a countersuit for mental and bodily damage in this case. The police didn’t bother to look for eyewitnesses who could verify my story, deciding instead to take the pig’s word as truth.

And so the lies spread, he was the clever victim, and I was the Big Bad Wolf.
I am not proud of my actions on that day, but they were not the result of any malice toward the three little pigs. They were the result of being at the wrong place at the wrong time, and working with the wrong building materials. I implore the court to take my story into consideration, which is more than I can now hope from the public. I thank you for your time.