Ernest Lupus

      Disregard what you have been told, and forget everything you know. I am here today, with news that will change your life forever. I am here to tell you that your whole childhood has been filled with deception and fraud.  I am here to reveal the awful truth: Mother Goose and the Grimm Brothers are nothing but a bunch of crooked liars.
          My name is Ernest C. Lupus, though unfortunately you probably know me as the “Big Bad Wolf.” I may be a wolf, but in all honesty, I’m not that big, and I’m most certainly not bad.
         The sun shone brightly and the birds sang merrily that fateful day. The three pigs had invited me to their home for lunch; or so I thought.
         Imagine my surprise to find their quaint little cottage replaced by a jerry-rigged, straw abode. Now, the pigs knew I had acute hay fever; those back-stabbing porkers were about to launch an elaborate plan for publicity and insurance pay-off.
         I walked up the dirt path to the door. Before I could even knock, I went into a horrible fit of sneezing. In my itchy, eye watering misery I remember vaguely hearing one of the pigs shouting about chins, and running off. By the time my fit subsided the cottage was in shambles. Upon inspection, I found that nothing had been holding their “house” together.
         Confused, I decided to find the pig brothers and ask them what this was all about. I found them all at Darrel’s, the eldest pig’s home. I knocked on the door incessantly, demanding to know why they had done such a thing. Floyd came to open the door, which he quickly shut and locked after shoving a handful of straw in my face.  I began sneezing up a storm again. The pigs called the police, and I found myself spending the night in the slammer for vandalism and attempted burglary.
         The pigs wanted me in prison for life, so they made up some bizarre rumor about me trying to eat them. Now, they couldn’t hold a case against me, no witnesses; but that didn’t stop half the world from believing I’m some evil monster that goes around eating cute little piglets for lunch. The rumor grew and grew, and that ridiculous part about the stick house, or me trying to climb through the chimney and getting roasted; complete fabrication by that trio of malicious swine.
         My public image was already ruined, but of course someone else had to cause me trouble. That trouble came through the form of a seemingly sweet young girl, namely, Little Red Riding Hood.
         Ever since the pig incident, I had been making efforts to serve the community. I had personally founded the Friends of Insects organization, where we strive to give insects a better quality of life and freedom from the fear of being squashed.
         I came across that spiteful child during a walk in the woods. She was running around stomping on anthills. I tried to reason with her, but the brat just stuck out her tongue and skipped away to her grandmother’s house.
         Since the child wouldn’t listen to me, I decided to speak with her Grandmother. It was a rather pleasant chat. She assured me she would talk to Red Riding Hood, and that she would stop destroying the ant’s homes. The nice old lady even invited me to dinner, but I declined, since they were having pot roast and I am a staunch vegetarian. I went home that night, happy I had done my part to help my insect friends. I had no idea of the shock I would face in the morning.
         I woke the next morning to the disturbing headline of “Wolf Attacks Grandmother and Child.” Somehow overnight the Riding Hood family had managed to malign my character, and get a two page cover story in the newspaper. The paper described me as a “Vicious man-eater” saying I deliberately planned the assault, and would have consumed the Riding Hoods if not for the intervention of a valiant wood cutter. I was absolutely floored by the atrocity of it all.
         Within two months they had sent a copy of the news story to every big name in publishing, marring my name forever in the minds of all the world’s children.
         That is the truth, the reason why my reputation has become what it has today. It doesn’t matter that I read to the kids at the library every Saturday, or clean up the parks, I’m still that mean awful wolf who terrorizes innocent forest folk.
         The real mean ones are those enjoying fame and fortune, terrorizing an innocent forest wolf, all for their personal gain.
         Maybe, just maybe, through my memoirs the world will begin to understand, and the blame will be placed on the truly big and bad ones. Until then, my infamy remains.
         Sincerely yours,
                             Ernest Canis Lupus