The Three Little Bugs
Once upon a time there were three bugs. Their names were Squirmy, Wormy, and Splat. One day their mother said it was time they live on their own. The three bugs set off to build their houses.
Squirmy, the first little bug, went to Mrs. Bungalow's garden and picked soft lettuce. He was soon situated in a comfortable, leafy villa.
Wormy, the second little bug (a bit smarter), traveled to Mr. Larson's briveway and collected pebbles for his home. In little time, he ws in a sturdy, affordable apartment.
Splat, the third little bug, and by far the smartest, thought over building plans. He turned down both leaves and pebbles, being at high risk of destruction. After nearly an hour of contemplation, Splat chose garbage. Trash was sturdy, being compact, and it kept away predators, such as birds, mice, rabbits, and little boys. Though the condo was not as homey as motherbug's hole under th iris, it would be comfortable and show Splat's artistic talent. Along with other benefits, garbage would keep away unwanted aunts and grandparents. It was a young bug's dream house.
Squirmy was reading the
Sunday Clover when he heard a noise outside his villa. It sounded ike a giant footstep. He peeked out of his window. To his utter horror, a wigging, pink nose appeared through the space, then broke through the wall with its chopping incisors. In two munches, the leaf house was gone and a squished Squirmy lay, legs wiggling, on hte bare ground.
Wormy was preparing an afternoon meal when he noticed the sun was not coming through his windows. He looked out. To his shear terror, a wet, red tongue hung panting outside his apartment. With two loud scrapes, the ground fell from underneath him and a large, white object fell on top, and dirt again covered the plot, now a grave. Under dirt, pebbles, and a dog bone, Wormy lay motionless, a victim of a happy dog. Ignorance, once again, prevailed.
Splat was enjoying a quiet evening in, when he heard a startling thump. Out of his window he saw fat Aunt Thelma lumbering towards his garbage house. At first he panicked, imagining higs, kisses, and bad fruitcakes, but then he remembered: his house was TRASH! Aunt Thelma was a clean freak. She wouldn't come within five inches of a trash-house.
Luckily, Splat was right. As soon as Aunt Thelma causeght a whiff of the garbage hut, she was ten feet away, back in her prim, neat hole in Oak Tree Super Apartment Complex. It may seem that this plan was flawless. It may seem that Splat was a brilliant architect. It may seem that good judgement won.
But alas, even smart bugs' I.Q.'s are barely above 76 (or 43?).
The truck stopped with a squeal. Mr. Bolant adjusted his Tidy Walk Trash Removal Company hat and scanned the area. It was pretty clean, except for one small pike of cans and paper about ten feet form the big oak tree. Mr. Bolant walked over, lifted the pile, and laughed at how it looked like a house. Glancing down, he saw a wiggly little bug. Mr. Bolant hated insects and immediately stepped on and squished the creature.
"Sometimes I wonder why I got into this line of business." With that Mr. Bolant frove away to the next street.

Epilogue

All of the three little bugs died, victims of stupidity. Although Splat was smart for a bug, no bugs are smart on the architectual line, or any line for that matter.
There is na important lesson to be learned in this story. One of goodness, common sense, and nice thoughts your grandmother sews on pink, flowery samplers.
I cannot find it. You try. It's quite hard. If you can find it, call me, so I can publish it. And give you (some) money.
Anyway, lesson or no, this story should leave you with a warm feeling in your heart, if that's not mother's Burrito Surprise Casserole. Most stories have morals that are heartwarming. Most Mexican foods have contents that her heartburning.
To conclude, I hope you learn from this story common sense and/or to avoing hot peppers.
Story Info:

i wrote this in fifth grade, then reused it in 8th grade. it is obviously a remake of the very famous well-known classic children's tale "cinderella", which as you know profiles the life of charles manson and his rogue band of merry murderers.

in the 8th grade version, my teacher made a bunch of ridiculous corrections, as detailed below:

1. "...and nice thoughts, the kind your grandmother sews..."
2. "...from this story's common sense and/or have learned to avoid hot peppers."

there are more, but not major. well, these corrections show she obvioulsy did not understand my writng style and read it quickly. she actually tried to change the tone of the story. erg.
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