Goldilocks (The way it really happened)
Once upon a time, in a land not so far away, there lived a very bad little girl named Goldilocks. Goldilocks had long, wavy blonde hair, wore torn fishnets, a mini-skirt and a corset and was a notorious burglar, graffiti artist, and nymphomaniac who when bored or pressed for cash, would often do odd jobs such as those we call "blow". One day, while running from the police after having helped Red Riding Hood in killing another wolf, she came across a large house in the middle of a forest. She saw that the door was open and stepped inside, nearly tripping in her platform heels. As soon as she shut the door behind her, Goldie noticed familiar scent. Porridge: the lumpy, gray gruel that she had grown to loathe in prison. But Goldie had been on the run for days, and maybe this would be a better brand, besides the fact that she was starving. There were three big bowls of the stuff, and all for her! Any food, even porridge would be good right now, she thought. She ran into the pristine kitchen and picked up the largest bowl in her grimy hands to slurp up the gruel and dropping it just as quickly, causing porridge to fly everywhere and pottery shards to cover the Swiffered floor. It was disgusting. Worse than the prison food even. Not only that, it was hot as hell! Goldilocks decided to find something else to eat. First she looked in the pantry, but all she found was more of the whole-grain, reduced fat, low sodium porridge. She then looked the giant refrigerator, raiding it of nearly its entire contents, which is impressive for a tiny girl like her, but she thought it was just right. Soon she was very full, which made her tired, so she decided to take a nap. She decided to try the antique chairs in the living room out, as she was too lazy to climb the stairs to what she presumed were the bedrooms. The first one was way too hard. The second one was too soft. But the third was just right...until it broke under her recently increased weight. Kicking the pile of wood, she went to the bedroom in a huff. Goldie tried all three beds, getting the well made sheets rumpled and covered in dirt, but finally decided that the third and smallest one was just right. She fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, but not before masturbating vigorously first, soiling the sheets even more due to her lack of underwear.
About a half hour later, the girl was awoken by a loud, angry roar. "Shit! What was that? Whoever woke me up is gonna pay bigtime" she thought and pulled out her trusty pistol from her bra. She started to hear hulking footsteps and steadied her gun. More quickly than she could have guessed, a gargantuan brown bear broke down the door to the bedroom, screaming something about having no food but that awful porridge left, a hundred year old chair of his grandmother's ruined and what the hell was a filthy slut like her doing in his son's bed. Without a second thought to the matter, she shot and, hit her target, as it was rather large. As the bear slowly died, writhing in pain, a much smaller one bolted into the room, crying over his father in a manner that was vaguely human. But what did Goldie care? Her next move was to shoot the baby bear as well. She didn't need any witnesses ratting her out. she'd learned that from Red's story about the lumberjack ratting her out for poaching stupid wolves. While wondering what to do with the bodies, Goldie heard sirens. Sirens were never good. She then realized that if there was a baby bear, and a papa bear, there must be a mama bear. Mama Bear had called the cops. Goldilocks was taken back to prison and is there now, sulking and with only her hand to keep her libido in check. The moral is that good little children do not wield pistols, trespass on other people's property or engage in highly scurrilous behavior. And everyone who was not dead or in jail lived relatively happily ever after.
The End.