Mr Wolf, the well-known resident of the dark woods, arrived for his appointment in the City. Life had not been treating him carefully. The press was against him, for all reasons he could not fathom.
‘Why me?” he asked himself repeatedly.
He paused and checked out the buildings, high and straight—the city workers dashing here and there, ready for another day’s toil. Outside a building he read a banner headline, Beware of False News.
“It’s everywhere,” he muttered, everywhere, “people forming opinions on topics based on their own facts. I must speak to my MP and get a petition going to scribe a law against false news.”
In the elevator, his appearance drew concerted looks and a little whispering from three young ladies. Being a wolf, his sharp ears picked up the words.
“Do you recognise him?” said one lady to another.
“Yes, it’s Mr Wolf, and he’s in trouble for deviant behaviour.”
But he is handsome, cooed another woman, checking him over. “I wouldn’t mind a piece of him.”
“More like he’ll take a sizeable piece out of you.”
“He can take it and enjoy it if you know what I mean.”
Giggles erupted all around.
Mr Wolf followed the signs to reception, where the white smile of the receptionist, Miss Mary Lamb, greeted him. “Mr Wolf, we’ve been expecting you.”
“Indeed.”
“Go straight in Mr Flirty is waiting.”
On the door, he read a sign.
Mr D. R. Flirty Press Agent. Media Enterprises.
Inside the office, Mr Flirty jumped up, all smiles and joyous. “Ahh Mr Wolf, glad you could make it.”
“Nothing would stop me getting here today.”
“I am your obedient servant.”
Mr Wolf snarled, “I need help.”
“Your image has taken a recent beating, and you need my expertise to clear up any mis-understandings.”
“Indeed. Who have you represented?”
“Mr Dumpty until he got smashed one evening drinking with soldiers and couldn’t be fixed.”
“Terrible what a fragile ego does to you.”
“Mrs Hood, enjoyed good publicity, then allegedly met you…”
“It wasn’t me, t’was another Wolf, not even a relative or a fella from my pack.”
“OK, OK, err, let’s say she ventured into those woods as a publicity stunt and came off not as expected.”
“The Hacks got the story and blamed me. Life ain’t fair . They make it up.” complained Mr Wolf, slamming his hand down on the desk. “I’m a decent bloke, with big teeth, but I don’t hunt for women men or children.”
“What do you hunt for, Mr Wolf?”
“Balanced reporting and I ain’t talking BBC type reporting where every journalist thinks they are an expert. It grinds my teeth?”
Mr Wolf sniffed the air and opened his mouth, giving Mr Flirty a glimpse of shiny white fangs.
‘Would you like something to eat?”
He drawled a “Yes, I’m feeling peckish.”
“What’s your fancy?”
“Beef, Lamb, pork, chicken, rabbit, that sort of thing. Fussy isn’t me.”
“What about vegetables?”
Mr Wolf chewed a few times, clicking his teeth together, “I’m not so keen on those, make me fart and belch and poop all over the place.”
Mr Flirty shouts an order to his secretary to order food. “Ok to summarise, everyone hates you?”
“Everyone,”
“Wolfy, Wolfy, don’t worry, cubby.”
The press agent gave him a broad grin. “Listen, being unpopular can be superb for your career. Look at my most successful clients.”
“And who are they exactly?” The wolf eyed him sceptically.
“Tony Blair, Dave Cameron, Jimmy Savile. For a few weeks I tried to steer a fella called Michael Clark. he got too big for me.”
“Who he?”
“Keep your eyes open.”
“Impressive.” The wolf smiled.
“I’m sure we can turn things around for you, cubby, and make you acceptable.”
“Now let’s see. What do we have here?” The agent opened a dossier and read a headline from The daily World.
“Wolf Attacks Grandmother.”
“I attacked no one,” growled the wolf. “That took place in the Light Woods. I ain’t even been to that forest. Hansel and Gretl were out that day with a woodsman. My theory is the woodcutter, and the kids got wind of her fortune and did granny over.”
“OK, cubby, we can work with that. What about this one from True Fairy tales?
Wolf eats shepherd boy.
“I ain’t been near those hills. That mouthy kid took to rousing the villagers from their slumbers for fun. I heard he appeared before the village elders who banished him to the Hen coop. He saw Foxy and cried fox, and no one came.”
“It wasn’t him. He’s got a bad rep for bustin’ into chicken coops and killing every bird and murdering a few sheep at a time.”
The agent shook his head. “It wasn’t him.”
“You seem sure?”
“You know me, pup. I listen to all sides and give a non biased reply.”
“Then we have the big un, the creme de la creme of theories, conspiracies and all that.”
“Don’t tell me, DON”T TELL ME.”
“Go on.”
“The three little pigs?”
“Ah yes, well, that was me,” Mr Wolf admitted.
“It was?” The agent’s smile faded slightly.
“Yeah, I was doing some publicity arranged by my last agent, and those pesky pigs arrived carrying placards.
No More wolves in sheep’s clothing. It disturbs the mental health of pigs.
“Shame on them, Mr Wolf, denigrating your fine name.”
“Those pesky pigs erected many structures with no permissions from the local councils planning committee.”
“So you didn’t eat the little piggies as the press implied?”
“No, course not. The press huffed and puffed and blew it all out of proportion. Nobody got eaten, because I got chased out of Town.”
“Wolfy babe,” sighed the relived agent, “We need a new angle. How about this angle? The caring, sharing Wolf is your friend? What do ya think?”
“Yeah, I like it. Carin’, sharin’ that’s me.”
“I’m glad you came to me, Mr Wolf. I don’t think your last agent made the most of your assets. When you’re up there with the big boys, I’m sure he’ll regret that.”
“That conspiracy theory I mentioned.”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“My last agent.”
“He’s dead, ain’t he?”
“Between me and you, yes.”
The agent sees his receptionist, Mary Lamb, smiling. “What do you want, Mary? I told you to stay outside and not bother me. You know what I do when you don’t listen.”
Mary placed her index finger on her lips. “You spank me?”
“Yes, and so much more. I like a little grope.”
The agent smiled at Mr Wolf, “That’s how I handle my female staff.”
“All of them?” asked Mr Wolf. “how many you got?”
“She’s my fifth. They keep walking out on me.”
“I wonder why?” smirked Mr Wolf.
“Any way back to your last agent.”
“Of course, he’s dead.”
“What killed him?”
Mr Wolf stared at the agent with shiny eyes and opened his jaws to display his white fangs, as Mary watched with glee.
“Oh, please, Mr Wolf,” urged Mary, “I do like a little blood. Don’t keep me in suspenders.”
And with that, a horrified agent begged for mercy as Mr Wolf tore off his head and spat it out.
“Thank you, Mr Wolf.” Mary kissed his snout. “All the girls called him the dirty Flirty groper.”
“Appropriate.”
“As discussed, Mr Wolf, I will handle your publicity and act as your agent and representative. Now that filthy little groper is gone, I can do a proper job.”
Mr Wolf turned and bade her farewell, sniggering. Bad press indeed. He only got rid of the gropers and pokers, and from now on, the best publicity would guarantee he could do no wrong.