The Three Little Pigs and the Gold-Digger Wolf

My Dad was a psychologist. He told us kids stories like the Three Little Pigs and the Gold-digger Wolf.

The first little pig was a writer in New York.

The second little pig was a famous director in California.

The third little pig was a farmer in Ohio.

And the wolf sounded exactly like Mae West.

We loved it and we loved the way Dad told it*—we loved telling him how to tell it, too.  If I can pinpoint the origins of my love of storytelling—and probably my sense of humor, such as it is— this would probably be the place.

I always thought I’d do a picture book with this story, once social mores mutated just a little bit further, but now I’m thinking podcast—it wouldn’t be half the story it is without the voices . . .

Wonder if Dad would be up for one more Mae West impression?

*You haven’t lived until you’ve experienced my bearded father’s  impersonation of Mae West.   He does the shoulders and everything.

 All xkcd cleverness belongs to Randall Munroe.