The Third Pig Detective Agency

June 19, 2007

The Past is a not so Foreign Place

Filed under: Books,humour,Irishblogs,Writing — thirdpig @ 11:20 am

Now here’s the thing…I’m a brilliant, famous, fearless detective (as you all know). As a result, I’ve clocked up more than my fair share of notable successes (actually, only a few successes, some not so noticeable, but who’s counting).You’d think therefore that when people see me in a bar, enjoying a quiet beer after a hectic days detecting that they’d want to ask about my latest heroics; that they’d like to know the truth behind the spider infestation at Miss Muffet’s Curds and Whey B&B (watch this space and I’ll reveal the full sordid tale soon);  maybe even get the inside track on the Hansel and Gretel case.

But no, it’s always the same question, “Hey, ain’t you that pig that lost his two brothers in that housing scam?”.

When I roll my eyes, heave a big sigh of resignation and point out that I didn’t lose anyone but that my brothers had basically taken the cheap solution when building their houses, they nod furiously and then get to the nub of the conversation – what they really want to know is, was that wolf really stupid enough to fall down the chimney into the pot.

Now, apart from the implication that I somehow took out the wolf with a high-powered sniper rifle while he cavorted harmlessly on my roof and concocted the pot story to cover it up, I’m a bit tired having to tell the same story over and over.  It’s past history, why not ask me something more important, more recent; something that allows me to puff myself up and regale the listener with tales of how great I am.

I mean, does anyone still go to Princess Cinderella and say “glass shoes with that dress, darling? Whatever were you thinking?” or to Goldilocks and ask “if they were that hungry, how come the bears didn’t eat you after you scoffed their porridge?”

Do they, heck!  So why do they persist in asking me about the Big Bad Wolf Incident? It’s old history; surely no-one cares anymore.

Anyway, I’ve made a decision. I’m going to reveal all (metaphorically speaking – a naked pig is not a pretty sight). Coming soon – the truth about the Big Bad Wolf and the Small Innocent Pig. Maybe I should call it When Harry Met Wolfie – it has a nice ring, don’t you think.

Keep watching, the truth is coming.

June 13, 2007

Jack Attack – The People of Grimmtown

Filed under: Books,humour,Irishblogs,Writing — thirdpig @ 3:18 pm

Grimmtown seems to have its (un)fair share of Jacks – most of them singularly useless at whetever they try and put their minds to.  Off the top of my head I can come up with: 

Jack (no second name):  none too bright kid who swapped a prime dairy cow for a handful of magic beans (I rest my case).  Had to help him out with a giant problem he was having.  If I have the time, I’ll tell you about it someday. 

Jack the Giant Killer:  an exception to the rule.  No relation to the previous idiot.  As the name implies, he’s a useful guy to have around.  Runs a primo bodyguard service for our town’s rich and famous celebs. 

Jack B. Nimble:  another useless waste of space who has the most pointless party piece in history: he puts a candlestick in the middle of the street and spends the rest of the day jumping back and forth over it.  As a result has an entry in the Grimmtown Book of Records for most recorded leaps over a single candlestick.  He’s been living off it ever since.  If you ever see him in a bar, avoid like the plague or be prepared to die of boredom.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you. 

Jack (and Jill). If you are ever in need of medical assistance and you see this guy coming towards you, play dead.  If not, regardless of what you may be suffering from, he will try to cover your head with vinegar and brown paper and recommend bed rest.  Was kicked out of medical school. 

Jack Horner:  irritating schoolboy, wannabe detective and useful to have when you’re in a tight corner.  When I was in the clutches of the Wicked Witch of the West Side, he was the one who rescued me.  Never stops talking.  Sees himself as my sidekick – as if I needed one. 

So if you have a newborn boy and you’re struggling for a name, please don’t call him Jack.  Being constantly ridiculed and compared to the above is a burden he shouldn’t have to carry for the rest of his life

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