‘Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!’ the wolf cried, sitting cross-legged outside the straw house.
‘Oh shit, the Vishnu thing is back,’ the philosopher-priest pig told the science pig. ‘Or Jesus Christ I’ve heard it call itself.’
‘It was Viracocha last week and Amun-Re last month,’ the poet pig said.
‘Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!’ the wolf repeated. ‘Or I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house down!’
‘Smash your head on a rock because it won’t be by the skin of my cock!’ the poet pig sang.
‘Your little musings won’t do much to placate its wrath,’ the philosopher-priest pig said. ‘You’ll need to tone it down.’
The three little pigs hastened to the cellar, locking the door behind them. They knew they would soon lose all memories of their soon-to-be former lives.
‘You must be completely wrong about your wormhole theory,’ the poet pig told the science pig. ‘That would explain the Vishnu thing’s noonday appearance.’
‘I’ll get it right some day,’ the science pig sighed. ‘But let’s not forget your crappy theories on the supposed coming of a spiritual age were the reason we lost our sand castle last month.’
‘Stop squabbling!’ the poet pig said with its arms crossed. ‘You two can both thank me that we haven’t disappeared down the Vishnu thing’s black hole into another dimension again. Thanks to my ingenuity, of course. I was the one who dreamt of building the cellar, remember!’
‘That’s true,’ the philosopher-priest pig agreed. ‘I’m not sure I can handle being sucked into another whacky place like planet earth again!’
‘That’s where you got your degree in philosophy, isn’t it?’ the science pig said. ‘What’s taking it so long? My memories are still intact.’
‘Maybe it’s sleeping,’ the poet pig said.
‘It’s not sleeping,’ the philosopher-priest pig said. ‘It’s there. Listening, just listening. I’m well attuned to my third eye now. I can feel it’s presence at the door.’
‘Go right ahead and blow it down!’ the science pig screamed. ‘We don’t need it anymore!’
‘I’ll never leave you in peace!’ the wolf roared back. ‘Whatever you build, I’ll always have the power to blow it down,’ he snarled. ‘I’ll always have power over you and your pathetic illusions! When you finally realise that all you’re doing is descrying another shore in a mirror, I’ll destroy it and you’ll have to go to another, until you eventually go mad. You’ll go mad. I guarantee you will.’
‘Fuck you, Vishnu!’ the philosopher pig screeched. ‘Do as you wish. Blow it down because it’s all for the best anyway. Nothing new can begin without first having blown away the old!’ He turned to his brothers. ‘I hope I never regret having said that.’
‘Trust me you won’t,’ the poet pig said, spinning towards the science pig. ‘Any ideas, Einstein?’
‘Hmmm…How about we try wood next?’ the priest-philosopher pig said.
‘What if it doesn’t work though?’ the poet pig said. ‘I guess nothing comes without risk, does it?’ He sat onto the ground, scratching his head and looking at his brothers with a blank stare.
’Ha!’ the science pig said. ‘As if wood will work,’ he chuckled. ‘Next he’ll be suggesting we use bricks.’
