“Fairy tales are stories that warn us against the dangers of our time.” (the Writers Bible of Fiction)

“Fairy tales don’t exist.” (President Whatshisname after the elections)

Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away, there were three little pigs: the triplets Albert, Bob and Charles. Their father, an old boring boar, was tired of seeing how his sons turned their rooms into a pig sty every day. One day he said: “Boys, you are old and pig big enough to live on your own, to clean up your own shit. Also, it’s time for me to retire, but if the King finds out I live together with three young and strong blokes who might contribute to my costs of living, he will cut my pension. So I suggest that you move out before the weekend and I hope to see you on Father’s Day when you are welcome to visit me. Don’t forget to bring me a crate of Sweineken beer when you come.”

Albert, the first born, started to panic: “Oh, dear. How am I going to live on my own? I don’t have any savings, no skills, no education, I never learned a profession. All I did was play Angry Birds (losing every time), watch dirty movies and lie in the mud. All this is the fault of my father, who gave me this wonderful childhood without problems…”

His brother Bob had a different opinion. He was the piglet with the initiative. He studied pigmentation and knew you had to work hard if you wanted to achieve something in life. He was the only one in the family who had read THE classical masterpiece in swine literature, ‘Animal Farm’ by George Orwell, so he knew how to solve this problem: “Don’t worry, boys. We can work it out. We, the pigs, are the most intelligent animals on this planet, next to the humans and the Miami dolphins. When we make a good plan, when we work together and when we work hard, I’m sure this story of us will become a classic that people will read their children until the end of times.”

Charles, Chucky for his brothers and friends, was not good with books. All he knew was that Swine and Swindle were very close in the dictionary. Thinking was what Chucky did best. He did his best thinking when he lay in a pool of mud, with his eyes closed. He thought about what his father and his brothers had told, opened one eye and said: “I have a good idea. You should go ask Adrian Visor, the owl. He’ll know what to do.”

Bob was excited: “That is a very good idea, Chucky. I’ll go right away.”

“You should go into the food business, vegetables for example.”, Adrian Visor said: “Everyone needs to eat, so all you have to do is buy a square mile of land, plant and sow and water it, harvest the crops and sell them on the market. It will be hard work, you will have to take some risks too, but it will give you something to do with your time and when everything works out fine, when you dominate the vegetable market, you’ll have a nice future without problems.”

“Thanks, Adrian. That is indeed a very good advice. I hope I can call you ‘friend’.”, Bob replied.

“You can call me ‘Ad’ if you like. And one last advice: make sure you sit down when you receive my invoice. Good advice is expensive, you know.”, Adrian Visor answered. After all that hard work he closed his eyes and took a nap (in Dutch I would say “he snapped a little owl”, which is funny, but in English it is quite an effort to make jokes with the language).

Bob returned to his brothers with the good news: “Good news, boys. All we have to do is buy a square mile of land each, plant and sow and water it, harvest the crops and sell them on the market. Our future is safe and our life will be like a fairy tale.”

Albert, usually called App, after App Athy, one of the Gods everyone worshipped, opened the newspaper on the financial pages and read out aloud: “Wasteland costs 1 pound per square mile. Land for building costs 100 pounds per square mile. Land to plant and sow and water costs 20 pounds per square mile. What a pity. We don’t have 60 pounds. I think it’s best to forget the whole thing and start crying for help. If we cry loud enough, perhaps someone will hear us.”

Chucky was not convinced: “I can arrange 60 pounds. I know someone who works at the piggy bank. I might convince him to grant us a loan. If Bob can arrange the plots, I will arrange the money to buy them. But, Bob, you must take care that these are great plots. If you can’t come up with a great plot, nobody will ever read our story.”

Bob knew the country and he knew three great plots, with fertile soil and alongside a beautiful river: “Imagine. We can even build our own houses on those plots. We’ll have work and a place to live. What more can we ask for? And we have one advantage: we can do this together. When one of us has bad luck, there’s always his family who will help him. I think we should do this, boys.”

Chucky was not so easily convinced: “Before we take such a big decision, I want you to do the maths. You should calculate how many vegetables you can grow on one square mile of land and multiply that against the current prices on the market. You should calculate the costs of interest and plants and seeds and water. You should consider the benefit of bigger crops, thanks to the dung that we produce ourselves. When all those numbers give a positive result, I’m on your side.”

Bob did the maths and the result was positive. Chucky agreed. App, finding out that the majority had decided, felt like he had no other choice and also agreed with the plan. The three brothers said goodbye to their old farter father and made their first steps into the big wide wild world, on their way to manhood swinehood.

Starting a business is a decision; it takes one second. Investing time and energy in that business to make it a success, that is a different story and also a long story. This is a short story. We don’t have the time to see our characters develop. Action is nice, but we have something better to do. Our story needs conflict. Our story needs a bad guy. Our story needs… Winston Wolfe.

Winston Wolfe started his career in fiction like everybody else: at the bottom. He started with pulp fiction. Winston was good at it. Winston became a star. His director, Quentin, saw a great future for him in the movie business. Quentin said: “I see your future. I see a taxi ride. I see that you’ll have an important role in Snow White…”

“You mean in Little Red Riding Hood, no?”, Winston replied.

Quentin was furious: “You do as you’re told, Winston, or I’ll lock you up with your cousins, the reservoir dogs.”

Winston was tired of being treated like a dog. He wanted something else. He said: “I want to howl at the full moon with the other wolves in the woods. I want to make a switch to musicals. I want to work for the Lion King. Goodbye, Quentin.”

When Winston arrived at the house of the Lion King, the King was not at home. His wife (and former secretary) invited him in. She winked naughtily and whispered: “Oh, Winston, what a big mouth you have. And what a big tongue you have. Do you want to give me oral pleasure?”

Winston was shocked. He came to look for a job, but not for a blow job. He said: “How dare you talk to me like that. I don’t do those movies anymore. In this world, it’s eat or be eaten. I want to be on the side that always wins. I want to work for the side that makes the rules. I want to work for the government. I’m looking for a job where I can use all my talents as a wolf. I want to be a taxman.”

Now the Queen was shocked. Winston seemed such a decent man. She explained Winston what the Lion King would say: “Everything is okay, as long as you give me my share.” So Winston got the job.

Meanwhile, App had some trouble finding his way in the vegetable business. The plants took their time to grow and all that time App had nothing to eat. No food: no dung. No dung: no crops. No crops: no food. No food: no shit! The plants didn’t grow. App was in deep shit, for not having it.

App went to his brother Bob for help, but Bob had no time: he was starting his own business too and needed all his time and energy to make it a success. So App went to his brother Chucky.

Chucky found a nice pool of mud on the bank of the river. There he did all his thinking, with his eyes closed: “I will help you. I have a solution. I’ll buy your land from you. It’s wasteland, so I’ll give you 1 pound for it, a fair price according to the financial pages of the newspaper. With that money you can go to the market and buy all the food you like.”

App was saved. All that planting and sowing and watering was hard work and his stomach told him that it was better to relax a bit and enjoy. He went to the market and invested his money in food, which he had to eat to avoid that it would rot. One month later App’s stomach warned him again: it was time for a refill. It was used to being full and didn’t accept hungry anymore as an alternative.

First, App went to see his brother Bob. Bob was busy with the harvest and needed all his spare time to build a nice wooden house with a pool and a carport and a bathroom with a bubble bath. Bob also rented Chuck’s land. Chucky didn’t do much with it, but now he could at least pay the interest on the loan with the rent of the land. Bob worked twice as hard to get a double income, so he could get rich in half the time. Therefore, he had no time to help his brother App.

So App went to his brother Chucky, who had helped him before. Chucky thought deeply about the problem, opened one eye and said: “The food is not your only problem. There is also the problem of the interest for the loan for the land.”

App didn’t understand: “But… I sold the land.”

Chucky explained: “Yes, you sold the land, but you spent all your money on food, so the loan still stands. The loan has even turned risky now because you no longer have the land as a guarantee, so the interest has doubled. Your problem is that you don’t have enough money. You should go to the Social Security, the SS. They will help you out.”

App was delighted with that advice. He went to see Winston Wolfe. Winston had just started his new career and was overjoyed that somebody already needed his help. He told App: “You have never studied, you don’t work, all you do is eat and produce shit… Of course, we’ll help you. We’re the government. We help the stupid and the poor. That’s our job. From now on we’ll give you 1 pound per month, so you can go to the market and buy all food you need.”

App sputtered his doubt: “But… I also have this loan, and the interest has just doubled…”

Now Winston lost his good mood. He showed his teeth and grumbled: “We give you money, every month, and you give nothing in return, but instead of saying ‘thank you’ you complain and ask for more? Do you suggest that we should not only give you money, but also teach you how to handle it? Are you pigs ever satisfied?”

App thought that leaving was the wisest thing to do. You should not bite the hand that feeds you, especially not when that hand has bigger teeth than you. He went back to his brother Chucky and explained the situation. Chucky thought about it and found a solution: “It’s simple. You give me half of your payment. That way you have money to eat and I’ll take care of the other half of the interest. You can return that favour by working for me. You can make bricks of the mud and bake them in the oven, you can mix cement and you can build a nice brick house for me. But you have to work hard because in the meantime you also have to plant and sow and water the land that I bought from you. And don’t forget to shit on your own field, because that will give better crops. Oh, and I hope you don’t tell all this to Winston, because if he finds out, he might cut your monthly payment. It’s all for your own safety, you know.”

App was disappointed, but he had no alternative. No work: no money. No money: no food. No food: no life. He went back to his little house of straw and started to work.

Meanwhile, the Lion King had returned from his trip to Africa. His vacation has been a success: he had managed to extinct three different species and had hardly paid any money for that great entertainment. But his good mood disappeared like snowflakes in the African sun when he found out what had happened: “Winston! What did I tell you? You were supposed to bring me money. All you did so far was spend it. Why did you give that pig a monthly payment?”

The Lion Queen added a little firewood to the fury of her husband: “That’s not all, my love. Winston dear also gave a monthly pension to the old boar and I need money for new tiger skin underwear and a new hat and my nails urgently need a manicure. Oh, and Winston dear also wants his salary for all his hard work.”

The Lion King did what every good leader does: he solved the problem. He said: “Well, Winston dear. I suggest that you find someone who has money and that you take that money from him, or you’ll be without a job.”

Winston was in doubt: “Isn’t that stealing?”

The King answered: “When others do it, it’s stealing. When I do it, it’s the law: the Law of the Jungle, the leader gets it all. Do you understand?”

Winston understood. The King had shown him how good leaders solve problems: you give them to someone else. The Lion King was a good leader.

Winston didn’t bother to visit App or his old father: they already lived on minimum wage. Stealing from someone who has nothing is a waste of time, and he could simply cut their payments when he wanted. So he decided to visit Chucky.

“Hello, Chucky. I’m here for the taxes. I see you have this nice new big pig house, made of solid bricks. The tax…”

Chucky interrupted: “Sorry. This house is not mine. It belongs to the Caimans, that family that lives on the Caiman Isles. I just take care that criminals don’t break in.”

“Ah, so they give you a salary for that. The tax on that salary…”

“They don’t pay me any salary. This is a volunteer job. As you see, I’m not really working.”, Chucky explained.

“No, but your brother App works for you, so the income tax…”

“App doesn’t work for me. I did App a favour so he pays me back by doing me a favour. No money involved. If you want to tax imaginary income, we’ll pay you with imaginary taxes, as you can imagine. You know this is fiction, so fictional income and fictional taxes are well accepted in this country. There is even a law that allaws you to get privileges because of the fictional income you did not receive…”, Chucky explained.

Winston didn’t want to give up yet: “I see… But there is also the value of the land and the crops…”

“Sorry. The land also belongs to the Caimans, and so do the crops that grow on it. It’s all part of the deal. The land was financed with their money, you see. I have it all on paper here.”

Winston looked at all the paperwork, official documents, all with the stamp of the feet of several caimans on it, and he could not find anything wrong. Winston was wasting his time here. He decided to visit Bob.

“Hello, Bob. I’m here for the taxes.”, Winston announced.

“Taxes? What taxes? I don’t want anything from the government, I don’t use anything from the government, I don’t need anything from the government, so why do you think that I want to pay taxes?”, Bob asked astonished.

“Sorry. It is not something voluntary. It is the law. It’s the Law of the Jungle, the law of Eat or Be Eaten. If you want to sell your crops, you have to make sure that others have the money to buy them. So you have to pay taxes. It’s all for your own benefit, you know.”, Winston explained.

Bob was devastated. He fell on his knees and wept bitter tears, enough to water his own land and the land of his brothers too: “But… I studied, I worked hard, I’m an honest pig, I never cheated anyone, I’m the only one in this country who works and… I’m the only one who pays taxes… Why do I have to pay the fine? What crime am I guilty of?”

Winston smiled: “You produce. And you should realise one thing: this world is a peaceful world because everybody has enough to eat. When you stop producing, there will be no more vegetables on the market and that means that pork chops, sausages and trotters will be on the menu. This is not a fairy tale. This is the real world, the world of eat or be eaten. If you don’t work harder tomorrow, it will be B.B.Q., Bring Back Quota, more taxes and less freedom. You know how it works. But don’t worry. There is a solution for everything. We’ll sell your wooden house and your land. Your brother Chucky knows some people who want to pay a fair price for it. With the money, you can pay your taxes. Of course, you have a choice. This is a democracy, you know.”

Bob knew what the alternative would be: pork chops and trotters. A pig has to do what a pig has to do to survive. His land and house were sold and he moved in with his brother App in his house of straw. Bob’s only hope was his brother Chucky, his smart brother who lived in the biggest house of the country, who owned and rented out all the other houses, who dominated the market of the vegetables and therefore always had enough to eat. But Chucky didn’t want to help him. Chucky had changed his vocabulary. He said: “You have nothing I need, nothing I’m interested in. I advise you to work harder and produce more, or I’ll give your job to someone else who works twice as hard for half the money.”

Bob cried until he had no tears left: “What is my crime? I never did anything wrong. I always worked hard.”

Chucky explained it to him: “It’s your own fault. Your brother App came to you for help. You could have listened to him, taught him how to do it, given him a hand, but you were only interested in yourself, in a bigger house with a bubble bath and a pool. So App lost his faith in you and found another solution. Now the law tells you that you have to pay taxes, and those taxes are used to take care of your brother and your father. You owe it all to yourself.”

Bob cried: “It’s not FAIR!”

Chucky replied: “No. Life is not fair. This is not a fairy tale. This is not fiction. This is reality. But you can always blame the wolf for being the bad guy. He’s the one who collects the taxes.”

Bob went home, to the house of straw that he shared with his brother. Winston Wolfe lived in his nice wooden house, checking every day if Bob had worked hard enough and had paid his taxes.

On his way back Bob thought of ‘Animal Farm’, that masterpiece by George Orwell. In that story, the happy ending was for the pigs.