when the big bad wolf got out of prison after serving two hundred and fifty-two years, little red riding hood was waiting for him outside the gate with a bunch of flowers.
“nice flowers,” said the big bad wolf.
“glad you like them,” little red riding hood replied. “now what?”
“i could use a decent cup of coffee,” said the wolf.
“we’ll go to grandma’s,” little red riding hood said. “she’s got the best coffee on the highway.”
when they were safely ensconced in a booth at grandma’s with their coffee, red riding hood asked the wolf if he had any plans.
“not really,” he told her.
“i didn’t think so. o k, i got two options for you. one -
i talked to old sarge, and he can get you into the legion. as the lowest of recruits, of course.
now in the legion you can expect agony and hardship and danger and brutal discipline, in freezing tundras and burning deserts and raging oceans. but you might also find buried treasure, beyond your wildest dreams, and meet the most beautiful and sensuous and abandoned women in the world, and drink wines forgotten by so-called civilization, and see vistas of sea and sky beyond anything the greatest artists who ever lived could conjure up and see golden suns come up over hidden empires just waiting to be plundered.
or
i can get you a job right here at grandma’s, and you can spend the rest of your days flipping burgers and eggs and pouring java.
what’s it going to be?”
“let me think about it,” the wolf replied.
and he stirred his coffee, which was certainly better than any he had ever had in his two hundred and fifty-two years behind bars.
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