
By Mike Barnett
Once upon a time there was a little red hen. She lived with a food activist pig, a tree hugging duck and a bureaucratic fat cat.
They all lived in a pretty farm house which the little red hen kept tidy. She worked hard every day but the others never helped. The pig liked to complain, the duck liked to protest and the cat liked to raise unreasonable expectations.
One day the little red hen was working in the garden when she found a grain of corn.
“Who will help me plant this grain of corn?” she asked.
“Not I,” grunted the food activist pig. “It might be genetically modified.”
“Not I,” quacked the tree hugging duck. “It might leave a carbon footprint.”
“Not I,” purred the bureaucratic fat cat. “We might raise some dust.”
So the little red hen picked out a spot and planted the seed.
During the summer the grain ripened in the sun until it turned a golden brown. The little red hen saw the corn was ready to harvest.
“Who will help me cut the corn?” asked the little red hen.
“Not I,” grunted the food activist pig. “You sprayed it with pesticides.”
“Not I,” quacked the tree hugging duck. “Global warming has made it too hot to work."
“Not I,” purred the bureaucratic fat cat. “You hired the kid next door and that’s against the law.”
“Okay, I’ll do it myself,” said the little red hen.
And she did, working hard in the hot sun to harvest the crop.
“Who will take the grain to the mill, so that it can be ground into cornmeal?” asked the little red hen.
"Not I," grunted the food activist pig. “The cornmeal won’t be local because the mill’s too far away.”
“Not I,” quacked the tree hugging duck. “The mill uses coal-generated electricity.”
"Not I," purred the bureaucratic fat cat. “The mill can’t meet proposed emission standards.”
So the little red hen asked the miller to grind it. He sent the bag of cornmeal back to the farm house.
"Who will help me make the cornmeal into bread?" asked the little red hen.
"Not I," grunted the food activist pig. “That’s processed cornmeal."
“Not I,” quacked the tree hugging duck. “Trees died so that cornmeal could be packaged.”
“Not I,” purred the bureaucratic fat cat. “The stove is old and doesn’t meet Section 4, Paragraph 6, Item 8 of the Oven Reform Act of 2002.”
“Very well,” said the little red hen. “I’ll make the bread myself.”
And it smelled good. The aroma filled the house and the pig, duck and cat came running.
“Who is going to eat this bread?” asked the little red hen.
“I will,” grunted the food activist pig.
“I will,” quacked the tree hugging duck.
“I will,” purred the bureaucratic fat cat.
“Oh no you won’t,” said the little red hen. “You are shallow, unreasonable and tied up in bureaucratic red tape. I’ll eat it myself.”
And she did.
And the pig, duck and cat starved to death.
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