Once upon a time in another cottage in the Black Forest, just down the road from Granny's, turn left at the post office, there lived a family of three brown bears, the Harrisons.
Pa Harrison was a formidable character, like most bears, and he had a steady job at Phil the woodchopper's place, as a security guard. Ma Harrison was essentially a housebear, although sometimes she did help out old Mrs Besterly at the greengrocers, for a very small, and often non-existant, wage. Every day, Ma would prepare Pa's lunch in a big iron lunchbox, which he would eat every day by the gate outside the woodchopper's. And every day, Ma would take their son, Junior, to school, with his little lunchbox, and bring him home again at half past three. And every day that Ma helped out old Mrs Besterly at the greengrocers, she would take with her a medium-sized lunchbox, often with very little food inside, which she would eat in the back room, with a cup of tea that old Mrs Besterley at the greengrocers would make for her.
Except at the weekends, when the Harrison family spent, as Ma had called it, "quality time" together. Every Sunday morning, the porridge would be too hot, and the Harrisons would go for a long stroll in the woods, on an empty stomach, to let it cool down.

Right then. So you thought that little Red, in her riding hood, was a trouble maker. Oh, she's rude and foul-mouthed, but at least she's generally honest and law-abiding, unlike the blonde girl who lived on the far side of the forest. She wasn't an only child, by no means. Her parents had bred like rabbits. Well, her two parents together hadn't, but her mother had. In total, there were fourteen children; eight girls and six boys. Only two of them, the twins Twinnay and Twinbee, had a father in common. So it wasn't a surprise, considering her upbringing, that the unlikely-monikered Goldilocks (because of her blonde hair, of course) had turned out the way she had: a thief, a liar, and a violent, short tempered lump of obscenities in human form.
In one of her many tantrums, Goldilocks, or Ripper to her gang mates, had stormed out of the house, vowing never to return, or at least not until lunch time. It was a Sunday morning, not that that would stop her from screaming a string of swearwords at her mother, and before breakfast, so Ripper was rather hungry.
She stormed through the forest, ignoring most of the old people who frowned at her for being young, and swearing loudly at the rest. When the smell of porridge struck her nose, Ripper's stomach jumped somersaults and groaned very audibly. Not one to give up the chance of free food, she followed the smell, and identified it's source as a cottage, with a well-kept garden, and apparently noone home. (To test that, she used the reliable method of loudly stamping on the petunias and kicking the cat. If nobody threw plant pots at her and told her to "gerrofoutofityerthugyououghttobeatschoolagirlofyourage (mutter, mutter, it's terrible, we weren't like that in my day, I blame the parents, my father would have given us a good smacking)", then she knew that there was noone at home.)
So she smashed a window and climbed in.
There were three bowls of porridge on the kitchen table, the one in front of the high side chair being the smallest, followed in size by the one nearest the kitchen sink, then the one with the newspaper next to it, the largest. Ripper climbed into the big chair behind the big bowl, and had a spoonful (of the porridge). She spat it straight out onto the carpet, and swore. It was far too hot! So she went to the medium sized bowl at the other end of the table, and had a spoonful of that as well. She spat that one out too. It was too cold, and had too much salt on it! Finally, out of desperation, Ripper went to the smallest bowl, and tried some of that porridge. That was just right, so she ate it all.

"Oh look, Pa, a squirrel!" said Ma, enjoying the walk in the woods, "Ain't it cute?"

The problem with porridge, Ripper discovered, was that it really made you need the loo. So she located the privy, and to her surprise and considerable disbelief, found in the large shed three toilets; one small, one large and one halfway between the two. Also, rather quaintly and a little too twee, there were three toilet rolls, their sizes in the same increment as the bowls and the toilets. Ripper sighed, lifted the lid of the smallest bog, pulled down her -
Well, you don't need the details. We all know what goes on.

"Look, Ma!" said Junior, "I've caught that squirrel!"
"Oh, Junior, your paws are covered in blood."

Leaving the silence of an unflushed toilet behind her, Ripper returned to the cottage and had a look in the living room. There were, pretty much as she'd expected, three chairs pointing towards the TV, the remote control on the arm of the largest, which also had ownership of an ornate mahogany pipe, a bag of finest tobacco and a newspaper. On the cushion of the medium sized chair was a bag of wool, some knitting needles and a few patterns, all of which Ripper threw into the fireplace, and watched it burn. There was a half-demolished chocolate bar on the arm of the smallest chair, which Ripper munched on while she was trying to stuff some tobacco into the pipe. She didn't quite have the knack, so she snapped the pipe in two and threw that onto the fire too.

"Man, am I looking forward to that porridge!" Pa said gruffly, "If I find anyone has eaten it and is sleeping in our beds, I'll be angry!"
Ma looked at him oddly. "What a bizarre thing to say."

All her vandalising had made Ripper tired, despite the fact that it was still before nine o'clock in the morning, so she strolled into the large bedroom that the family shared, and saw, to absolutely no surprise whatsoever, three beds of three different sizes. Yawning, half with fatigue and half with boredom at the unoriginality of this family, she tested the largest bed. It was far, far too hard. In fact, when she looked under the sheet, the mattress turned out to be a concrete slab. Ripper then went on to give the medium sized bed the bounce test, and it turned out, just as she'd expected, to be too soft. And so, fitting to the plan that this whole cottage seemed to live by, the smallest bed was just right. And she fell asleep.

"Ah, we're home." Ma said. Pa nodded and went into the privy instead of the house. Junior followed, and so, eventually, did Ma.
"Who left the lid up?" Ma complained.
"Who picked at my loo roll?" Pa complained.
"Ugh!" Junior yelled, "That's disgusting! Somebody didn't flush!"
"Wasn't me." Pa mumbled, "I'm a bear. I go in the woods."

Ripper slept on...

"Hey!" Pa shouted when they got to the kitchen, "Somebody's spat some of my porridge on the floor!"
"Ooh," Ma moaned, "I only washed that yesterday."
"Oi, somebody's scoffed all me porridge!"

...and on...

"Did you leave the fire on, Pa?" Ma asked.
"It's burning well," Pa commented, "That smells like tobacco, and mahogany."
"And wool."
"My pipe! Somebody's burnt me bleedin' pipe!"
"My wool!"
"My chocolate! It's all gone!"

...and on...

"Some b@$#@*d's messied up me bed!" Pa hollered.
"There's shoeprints on my bed," Ma said, "Like someone's been bouncing on it."
"'kin' 'ell!" Junior screamed. "There's a thief in me bed! Aaaaaaaargh!!!! Thief! Thieeeeeeeeeeeeef!!!!!!! Sorry, burglar! Burglaaaaaaaar!!!!!!"

...and woke up. She looked around at the three angry bear faces, and swallowed hard.
"Oh," she said, "Sh-"
Three bears, one small and just right, one medium-sized, and the other very, very large and very, very angry. There wasn't much left of Ripper when they'd finished. You could say, in fact, that she got Ripped.

And the moral of this story is:

Next tale...

THE TALES

OF THE

REAPERS

GRIMM

If you can see this, I'm only making space.