The Little Red Hen and the Grain of Wheat, 1984 Redux

(I wrote my original version of this story in 1984, Natch!  This one is updated to reflect our current national nightmare.)

One day the Little Red Hen, was scratching for a living in the Supreme Collective Worker’s Paradise Farmyard, when she found a grain of wheat that had somehow eluded the grasp of the Obama Barnyard Guard as they were collecting food for the Pigletburo.

“Oh dear!” she thought to herself. “What should I do. If I take the wheat and plant it for myself and the OBGs find out, it’s the stew pot for me for sure.”

But then she had an idea. She thought that if she announced to everyone her intentions to take the wheat and plant it, and if she, in the best socialist fashion, got them to help and let them share in the bounty, maybe she could get away with it and have a little extra to eat.

She thought to herself again, “What a clever idea that I’ve had,” and she announced to everyone, “Look! I have found a grain of wheat.”

She then asked, “Who will help me plant the wheat.”

“Not I,” said the duck, who had just returned from a re-education camp to which she had been sent for laying an egg for herself. “I’m not about to enter into anything that could possible be construed to be a counter-revolutionary activity that only the running-dog, capitalist, war mongers would be evil enough to perform, and I’m sure I would be happier to stay here and continue on with the heroic task that I have been so lucky to be chosen to perform,” said she, very loudly so that a couple of OBGs leaning against the barn could hear and take note that she had been properly re-educated. They didn’t seem to notice though, so the duck went back to her task of hauling a large ball-and-chain around, given to her by the Obama Barnyard Guard for successfully completing her re-education.

The Little Red Hen was worried. She hadn’t expected such a put-down from a fellow fowl, so she looked over at the cat, whom she had never trusted, with a questioning look on her face.

“Not I,” said the cat. “I’m too busy with my job of checking on the progress of The Glorious Communist Barnyard and reporting it to the members of The Piglitburo.

“Well!” thought the Little Red Hen. “The cat didn’t answer so sharply, but I still don’t have anyone to help me.” Just then she spied the dog watching her, and she looked at him as if to ask for help.

“Not I,” said the dog,” having watched closely and knowing what she wanted. “I have to get to work writing out all the work assignments for tomorrow. If the Piglitburo ever found out that someone like me, with a strong mind and a weak back, was ruining himself with manual labor, it would be the re-education camp for sure.”

The Little Red Hen was beginning to think that opening her beak had been a bad idea. However, the OBGs over by the barn had not taken notice, so she thought that maybe they didn’t really care about the grain of wheat after all.

“Very well, then,” said the Little Red Hen. “I will plant the wheat.” So she went off and planted the wheat all by herself.

After some time the wheat grew tall and ripe. The Little Red Hen went and found the others.

“Who will help me cut the wheat?” asked the Little Red Hen.

“Not I,” said the duck, and she repeated everything that she had said before, more loudly than before.

“Not I,” said the cat, and she repeated everything that she had said before, being slightly irritated at the inconvenience.

“Not I,” said the dog, and he repeated everything that he had said before.

“Very well then,” said the Little Red Hen. “I will cut the wheat.” So she went off and cut the wheat all by herself.

She was still worried slightly about what the OBGs thought about her endeavor, and as she cut the wheat she debated with herself whether or not she should keep pestering the others to help her. Her good nature told her to keep trying to get the others to help since they could only benefit from it. Also, she probably had better keep it all out in the open, letting everyone know her every move. Being secretive around the BGs could arouse suspicion and could be dangerous. So she went back to the others after she had finished cutting the wheat.

“Now,” she said. “Who will help me thresh the wheat?” But she got the same answers as before, so she went off and threshed the wheat all by herself.

When the wheat was threshed, she went back to the others, and she said, “Who will help me take the wheat to the mill to have it ground into flour?” Again, she got the same old story.

“Very well then, I will,” said the Little Red Hen. So she took the wheat to the mill all by herself.

When the wheat was ground into flour, she went to the others and said, “Who will help me make this flour into bread?” But she had no luck. As she expected, the others answered as before.

“I’ll fix them,” she thought to herself. “I’ll fix this flour into bread myself and my chicks and I will eat it ourselves, but I’ll give them one more chance to help.”

So she said to the others, “Very well then, I will make this flour into bread,” and then she went off and baked a lovely loaf of bread.

She took the loaf, went back the others, and said, “Who will help me eat the bread?”

“Oh! I will,” said the duck.

“Oh! I will,” said the cat.

“Oh! I will,” said the dog.

“Oh, no, you won’t!” said the Little Red Hen. “I will.”

But before she could go off, the cat went and told the OBGs about the Little Red Hen and how she was hoarding food and acting counter-revolutionary, and they came and tackled her, clipped her wings, and dragged her before Premier Obama and the Piglitburo.

The Piglitburo decided that she was a white-boned-demon, a running dog of the capitalist war-mongers, and probably an admirer of Ronald Reagan. She was allowed to donate her bread to the Piglitburo, her chicks were taken away and sent to the re-education camp, and the pigs dined on creamed chicken on toast that night.


Eat The Rich


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