Inkpotamus

This is a tale that’s grim but funny
Of a big bad wolf and his big bad tummy.
It’s also about a trio of brothers,
The three little pigs, who live at their mother’s

One day their mother made it known
That each of her pigs should build a home.

“But if the wolf should happen to meet you,
Take care he doesn’t catch and eat you!
I’m sure you know and have not forgotten
How he caught your dad and bit his bottom!”

The little pigs trembled, and one did a wee,
Such was their fear of the wolf, you see.
For the wolf had taken their own dad’s life,
And left as a widow their mother, his wife.

The third little pig built a house of bricks;
The first pig, straw; the second pig, sticks.
Then each little pig said, “Now you’ll see:
The big bad wolf won’t catch and eat me!”

The big bad wolf came along next day
To the house of straw and blew it away!
He made his way to the house of sticks;
And blew the second pig’s house to bits!

“These houses aren’t so strong and big!”
Said the big bad wolf as he ate each pig.
The third pig saw the wolf come near,
So he locked his brick house front and rear.

The wolf came up, looking quite off his rocker;
And knocked on the door with its big brass knocker.

“Little pig, little pig, let me come in!”

“No!”," said the pig: “By the hair of my chin.”

“Then I’ll huff and puff and I’ll blow your house in!”

“Do your worst Mr Wolf – for you’ll never get in!
I know who you are and I’ve not forgotten,
How you caught our dad and bit his bottom!”

The wolf stood back, taking breath anew,
And he blew and he blew, and he blew and blew.
But the house of bricks, it still stood tall,
The wolf hadn’t hurt it, not at all.

“This house, it is too strong and big!
I must be clever to get this pig.”

“Hello!” said the wolf, outside the front door.
“Hello?” said the pig, sounding unsure.

“Now little pig, let me tell you some news,
The farmer has apples he doesn’t use.
I’m going to his tree at six on the dot,
Come with me and we’ll eat the lot.”

“OK,” said the pig, “I’ll come along, sure,
You come at six and knock on my door.”

Next day, the pig, he awoke at dawn,
He went to the orchard, stifling a yawn.
He climbed a tree full of apples so lush,
When up came the wolf in a terrible rush.

“Aha!” said the wolf, “You’ve filled your basket,
Let me help you down, you’ve only to ask it.”

Then up came the farmer, his gun in his hand,
Saying, “Hey, Mr Wolf! Get off of my land”
He pointed his gun, and took good aim,
Shot the wolf’s bottom, who howled in pain.

The pig ran off and got home soon,
But the wolf came back in the afternoon,
He was dusty and dirty, and the cheeks of his bottom,
Were still very sore where the farmer had shot ’em.

“Little pig, I’m gonna eat you for my snack,
I’m coming in down the chimney stack!”
Before the pig knew just where to begin,
The big bad wolf had broken in.

The pig tried to fight with a squirm and a squeal,
But soon the wolf ate him, “What a nice meal!”
Who could say, or could pretend,
That this was anything but the end?

The third little pig was startled to discover,
He wasn’t dead, nor his dad, nor his brothers.
They were sitting inside the wolf’s big belly,
Which was furnished with sofas, lights and a telly.

The third pig said, “This is most confusing,
How does the wolf fit all of yous in?”

His dad waved his arms and tried to explain,
“The inside of a wolf is really quite strange,
It’s bigger and wider and lots’ll fit in,
Much more than you’d think from outside of his skin.”

The third pig said, “No need to go on,
I won’t even ask where the telly came from!
But we’ve gotta get out - out of this beast,
You must have tried once, surely, at least?”

“Yes indeed!” his daddy said, “I tried it just one time,
But I cannot tell you it because it just doesn’t rhyme”
“There must be some way out of here,” said the third pig to his dad,
“We can’t just sit around in here, watching TV, feeling sad.”

On Sunday, Mother Pig cooked the food,
That her sons have always chewed,
But they didn’t come, so she got worried,
And off to the first pig’s house she hurried.

The first pig’s house was a pile of straw,
With no walls, no roof and no front door,
Mother Pig was horrified,
Convinced her son had surely died.

She rushed on to the house of sticks,
But found there only splintered bits,
Of wood all scattered everywhere,
And of her son not hide nor hair.

Full of fear of what it meant,
To the house of bricks she quickly went,
She tried the door but it was locked,
Grabbing the knocker she knocked and knocked.

“What do you want!?” said the wolf with a roar,
As he quickly opened up the door.

Then Mother Pig punched him on his nose,
And stamped upon his bad wolf toes,
She turned him over and smacked his bottom,
“Where are my sons? I know you’ve got ‘em!”

“Hang on a minute,” said the wolf to the pig,
“I’m the one who’s fierce and big!
I don’t need to be smacked by you,
I ate your sons and I’ll eat you too!”

The wolf, he snarled; his claws, they glinted,
His razor-sharp teeth looked freshly minted.
The pig, she stumbled and then ran for cover,
As the big bad wolf ran after the mother.

The wolf, he roared, “I’m coming for you!”
Mother Pig thought, “I need a poo!”
Her spine, it tingled with apprehension,
She feared she’d never draw her pension.

She leapt over shrubbery, down a small hill,
Still she could hear him, he was ready to kill.
The bad wolf was looming, towering above,
Licking his lips at the thought of her blood.

Suddenly he stopped and he stood stock still,
He looked very pale, he looked very ill.

Inside of the wolf, some minutes before,
The third little pig sat down on the floor.

He was filled up with gloom and woe and despair,
Then suddenly jumping, he picked up a chair,
He hurled it right over the room in a rage,
It hit the big telly and set off a blaze.

The other pigs panicked and started to shout,
As smoke filled the room and they staggered about.
The billowing smoke made the wolf quite queasy,
Coming up through his nose and making it sneezy.

The wolf felt all trembly, nauseous and scared,
His eyes, they grew wide, his nostrils, they flared,
From his face an explosion, a sneeze just so big,
That out of his nose came the first little pig!

Inside of his mouth it felt hard and not soft,
So spitting and spluttering, he coughed and he coughed,
He was coughing out smoke, oh what should he do?
Then out of his mouth came pig number two!

“Help!” cried the wolf and he gave a great burp,
Out shot the third pig, whole and unhurt.
The three little pigs hugged their dear, dear mummy,
As the big bad wolf hugged his big bad tummy.

Bent over double, he did a loud trump,
Out of his bottom flew dad with a bump!
The pigs started dancing, they were so excited,
To be once again, altogether, united.

“Help me, help me!” the wolf, he cried,
“I’m burning, I’m burning, in here, inside!”
Finding some water in a pool nearby,
Mother Pig helped him not to die.

“I’m truly sorry,” said the wolf, now beaten,
“For chasing you, madam, and the pigs I’ve eaten,
I’ll be a good wolf; yes, more like a dog,
I’ll not chase pigs, I’ll not eat hog.”

True to his word, the wolf remained good,
Kind to all creatures, who lived in the wood,
His throat was still sore, so he ate only cream,
And yoghurt, and soup, and sometimes baked bean.

He lived with the pigs, which is odd, don’t you think?
He shaved off his fur and began to look pink.
His nose got snoutish, with less of a point,
And after a while, he started to oink.