Wizard’s First Riding Hood
Once upon a time, there was a naïve little girl, who read a lot of books (especially by Europeans), but knew nothing about the harsh realities of the world. Her grandmother kept and coddled her, telling her that the people of the world could get along with one another and work toward something better, and that spaghetti would bounce. The girl loved her grandmother with blind devotion, as only a blind devotee can do. She was called Riding Hood, because she constantly would jump onto the lord of death and ride him around*.
One day, her mother gave her a basket of treats that were made by the bakery around the corner to take to her elderly grandmother. The treats would be foul in the mouth of any child living in the Middle-lands, but Riding Hood did not know any better, as she lived in Imperial Soviet-land. The bakers who made the treats were lesbians and liked to hit men because they were kinky like that, and also liked to watch men eating balls. They also had handheld electric sex prods and wore skintight latex suits, which should make your wieners hard, but if it doesn’t, you’re gay or a woman. But this was not the reason the treats tasted bad: they were horrible because the sexy torture babes, Mord Sith** as they were called, protested wars at peace rallies, which soured everything they touched.
On the way to the grandmother’s house, Riding Hood was spotted by the raptor-like gaze of a large forest wolf. This wolf was large, larger than another wolf who was larger than it, and the wolf in question was larger than most wolves. The wolf coveted and lusted after both Riding Hood and her basket of pacifistic pastries, for his own reasons, which were many and varied and too detailed to describe.
The wolf ran to the old woman who was related to the girls house, taking care to not use the term for the old lady, so it makes it seem like he owned a thesaurus. He easily swallowed up the old woman and dressed in her clothes, but not in a gay way, but more of a Robin Williams way, where it is okay to dress up as a woman but still considered manly, and promptly made a speech about how everyone should mistrust fire*** .
The wolf got into the grandmothers bed, and when Riding Hood came into the cottage she said
“Oh grandmother, what big ears you have.”
"The better to hear the lies of communists, my child," was granny-that-was-not-a-grannys reply.
"But, grandmother, what big eyes you have," she said.
"The better to see how a country called America is wrong.", said the wolf
"But, grandmother, what large hands you have."
"The better to rape and maim unbelievers with."
"Oh, but, grandmother, what a terrible big mouth you have."
"The better to devour your sweet lying self with!" exclaimed the wolf incarnate, and swallowed up the naughty little girl, smacking its lips in a very satisfied and sort of creepy sexual way that is titillating to readers.
A woodsman, who was in the neighborhood, heard the commotion at the pathetic, faith-having old lady, and dropped in. The wolf, whose belly was distended with the poisonous fruit of non-Randian thought, was sleeping on the bed. The woodsman, in his woodsman outfit, covered with symbols teaching him how to chop woods, tie vines into things, and what berries cure diarrhea****, leapt forward, and with a quick and silent and pretty badass swing, cut open the wolfs stomach with his Axe of Certainty. Out leapt Red Riding Hood, who was hurled across the room by a spectacularly executed roundhouse kick to her pale, frail, childish jaw.
She cried out, asking what she had done. The woodsman stared her down like the frightened little girl she was, and said “You represent people who follow ideologies that I don’t like.”, and chopped her in half.
The criminal grandmother emerged from the felon-sized hole in the wolf (who hadn’t woken up yet), and as her blood flew from her throat and arms and torso from a whole passel of axe cuts, the woodsman thundered “You represent the people who follow ideology I don’t like, and might have known better, and probably lead OK lives, but I know for certain have not, because I believe in my knowing!”
The wolf looked up from his sleep, and said “I tried to eat them, doesn’t that make me sort of like you in that we both tried to destroy them, and offered them an ‘our way or death’ choice?” The woodsman laughed, the corpses of the ladies laughed, all the trees in the forest laughed together.
The woodsman stepped forward and as his axe swished down in a manly fashion, he said “Nuances in thought do not exist because they might contradict something I believe. Wolves travel in packs, and since I’m an individual, that makes me right, so you die now.”
*Hood, Lord of Death, © 2007, Tairy Goodkind Industries Incorporated LLC XXX. Suck it, Erikson
**Mord Sith, and any property rhyming with the phrase (e.g., Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith) are henceforth property of Sword of Litigation Enterprises.
***Mrs. Doubtfire is now owned (and pwned) by the Yeardi
****Blueberries: anyone ever who has had diarrhea, or knows what the word means, now owes Tairy Goodkind a picture of their grandmothers left nipple.