The Updating of Little Red Riding Hood

There once was a young adolescent of the female gender named Little Red Riding Hood (who preferred to be called “Diminutive Equitation Cowl of the Carnelian Hue”, but that would make this ridiculously long fairy tale even longer) who lived on the edge of a large forest full of endangered spotted owls and rare plants that would someday provide a cure for cancer if only someone took the time to study them and enough federal funds were available to pay for a study grant.
Red Riding Hood lived with a nurture-giver whom she sometimes referred to as “mother,” although she didn’t mean to imply by this term that she would have thought less of the person if a close biological link did not in fact exist, or ignore the fact that a male could not nurture as well as a female. Nor did she intend to denigrate the equal value of nontraditional households, for she knew that Hansel and Gretel, for instance, had two mothers.
One day her mother asked her to take a basket of organic, pesticide free fruit, fresh rolls baked with Bulgher wheat germ and rolled oats and cruelty-free mineral water to her grandmother’s house.
“But mother, won’t this be stealing employment from the unionized workers who have struggled for years to earn the right to carry all packages between various peoples of the woods?” Red Riding Hood’s mother assured her that she had called the union boss and gotten a special compassionate mission exemption and promised a special unity hug for all oppressed workers worldwide to counter a synonym for corruption and futility with the last two decades’ shift to private-sector dominance.
“But mother, aren’t you oppressing me by ordering me to do this?” Red Riding Hood’s mother pointed out that it was impossible for women to oppress each other, since all women were equally oppressed until all sisterhood was free.
“But mother, then shouldn’t you have my brother carry the basket, since he’s a dominant, male oppressor, and should learn what it’s like to be oppressed by the jack-booted thuggery of world domination by the warlike male gender?” And Red Riding Hood’s mother explained that her brother was attending a special rally on behalf of PETA for animal rights, and besides, this wasn’t stereotypical women’s work, but an empowering deed that would help engender a feeling of community and generate a new public narrative.
“But won’t I be oppressing Grandma, by implying that she’s sickly and hence unable to independently further her own selfhood?” Red Riding Hood’s mother explained that her grandmother wasn’t actually sick or incapacitated or mentally handicapped in any way, although that was not to imply that any of these conditions were inferior or less in status to what some people called “health.” This errand was to counter the popular impression that we live in a perpetual and annihilating present that severs our kinship with the past. Thus Red Riding Hood felt that she could get totally behind the idea of delivering the basket to her grandmother, and so she set off.
Many people believed that the forest was a dark, foreboding and dangerous place, but Red Riding Hood knew that this was an irrational fear based on cultural paradigms instilled by a patriarchal society that regarded the natural world as an exploitable resource waiting to be raped, and hence believed that natural predators were in fact intolerable competitors. Other people avoided the woods for fear of thieves and deviants, but Red Riding Hood felt that in a truly classless society all marginalized peoples would be able to “come out” of the woods and be accepted as valid lifestyle role models.
On her way to Grandma’s house, Red Riding Hood passed a wood chopper (who preferred to be called an “arboriculturist” in deference to those opposed to clear-cutting of the old-growth forests), and wandered off the path, in order to examine some flowers. She was startled to find herself standing before a Wolf, who asked her what was in her basket.
Red Riding Hood’s teacher had warned her never to talk to strangers, but she was confident in taking control of her own budding sexuality and her ability to draw distinctions between appreciable and negligible discourse and chose to dialogue with the Wolf. The Wolf said, “You know, my dear, it isn’t safe for a little girl to walk through these woods alone.” Red Riding Hood replied, “I am taking my Grandmother some healthful snacks in a gesture of solidarity. I find your sexist remark offensive in the extreme, and your leering gaze grows tiresome, but I will ignore it because of your traditional status as an outcast from society, the stress of which has caused you to develop an alternative and yet entirely valid world view. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I would prefer to be on my way.”
Red Riding Hood returned to the main path, and proceeded towards her Grandmother’s house. But because his status outside society had freed him from slavish adherence to linear, Western-style thought, and, thinking outside the box with an efficient new paradigm, the Wolf figured out a quicker route to Grandma’s house. He burst into the house and ate Grandma, a course of action completely in keeping with his nature and affirmative of his status as a predator. Then, unhampered by rigid, traditionalist gender role notions and discarding the prevalent homophobic feelings of the day, he put on Grandma’s nightgown, enjoyed the slinky feelings of the nightclothes, crawled under the bed sheets, and awaited developments.
Red Riding Hood entered the cottage and said, “Grandma, I have brought you some cruelty-free snacks to salute you in your role of wise and nurturing matriarch.” The Wolf said softly, “Come closer, child, so that I might see you.” Red Riding Hood said, “Goodness! Grandma, what big ocular units you have!” “Babe, you forget that I am optically challenged.” “And Grandma, what an enormous, fine nose you have.” “Naturally, I could have had it fixed to help my acting career, but I didn’t give in to such societal pressures, my child.” “And Grandma, what very big, sharp incisors you have!” The Wolf could not take any more of these speciesist slurs, and, in a reaction appropriate for his accustomed milieu, he leaped out of bed, grabbed Little Red Riding Hood, and opened his jaws so wide that she could see her poor Grandmother cowering in his belly. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Red Riding Hood shouted bravely. “You must request my permission before proceeding to a new level of intimacy!” The Wolf was so startled by this statement that he loosened his grasp on her. At the same time, the wood chopper, ahem, “arboriculturist” burst into the cottage, brandishing an axe. “Hands off!” cried the arboriculturist. “And what do you think you’re doing?” cried Little Red Riding Hood. “If I let you help me now, I would be expressing a lack of confidence in my own abilities, which would lead to poor self esteem and lower achievement scores on college entrance exams, not to mention my LSAT.” “Last chance, sister! Get your hands off that endangered species!” screamed the arboriculturist, and when Little Red Riding Hood nonetheless made a sudden motion, he executed a clean stroke with his Taylor-made, double-bit axe and cleared a good 250 yard drive with Little Red Riding Hood’s head. Then, in a fit of necrocannibalism, he consumed her.
“Thank goodness you got here in time,” said the Wolf. “That sniveling brat and her mothball-tasting grandmother lured me in here. I thought I was a goner.” “No, I think I’m the real victim here,” said the arboriculturist. “I’ve had issues with my anger ever since I saw her picking those protected flowers earlier and I’ve had to rely on meaningless surrogate protocols. Do you have any aspirin?” “Sure,” said the Wolf. “Thanks, man. I feel your pain.” And the Wolf patted the arboriculturist on his back, gave a little belch, and asked, “Say, do you have any Maalox?”