Dealing With the Wolf at the Door (A Tribute to "Fractured Fairy Tales")

He's back, that well-known wolf at the door, making his usual fuss. He's not a bad guy, but all that huffing and puffing is getting on my nerves. (Ginny claims that it's my own snoring, but I still blame the wolf.)

I asked Snow White's stepmother to whip up one of her special apples for me (no poison, of course, just some strong laxative). The wolf gobbled it down, but all I got was an angry wolf and a messy door.

So I called Red Riding Hood to see if her woodsman friend could fly over with his axe, but it turns out that the wolf took out a restraining order. Besides, the last time he tried to take his axe on the airplane people just threw a fit.

I thought Prince Charming might convince the king to issue an edict, but Cinderella said the Prince's foot fetish has flared up, and he's out pretending to be a door to door shoe salesman again. Cindy's put up with an awful lot since the wedding. Those two will end up on Maury's show someday.

I checked with Robin Hood, but he said that the whole robbing from the rich thing worked so well that the government wanted him to prove how much he gave to the poor. Now, it's audit time, and he didn't get a single receipt from anyone he robbed. I wonder if he can deduct part of Sherwood Forest as office space?

 As I was heading home, I bumped into Peter Piper and we all know what those pickled peppers do to his breath. I figured that one good exhale would send the wolf off for good. Wouldn't you know that Pete just signed a big endorsement deal with Tic-Tac.

 Given my fondness for bacon, I hesitated about asking the three little pigs, but nobodyhas more experience dealing with this wolf, so I headed for the brick house. Nope, they're going to market, to market, and then wee, wee, wee all the way home.

My fairy godmother has been in rehab ever since trying to keep me out of trouble wore out her bibbity-boppity-boo. I thought I saw her down on Hale Street, but when I got closer, the shaggy red beard altered my impression. The guy was nice enough to offer help, but wolf fur kicks up his allergies something awful. (Hale St. and I have a history.)

I finally called my mentor, Don Quixote, but he said, "Man, talk about those impossible dreams. I may tilt at windmills, but you're just nuts. I can't wait to tell Sancho this one."

If I could get in touch with Oprah, she might convince Dr. Phil to come over and moderate some intervention so the wolf can overcome either the huffing or the puffing. It's also possible that Martha Stewart might be able to suggest some wolf-suitable holiday entertaining made from household odds and ends.

Maybe Rachael Ray could suggest a meal that would bring us all together, something with cheese, of course, lots of cheese. Maybe everything's better with Blue Bonnet on it, but cheese is the duct tape of foods, useful in so many ways. Pass me that cheddar.