Quoth the Pig Part 3. Fat as Hell and Not Taking It Anymore

“Drain the Swamps!” Mel screeched!” “Full throttle ahead!”

“Leaping lizards!” I said. “You’re a disgrace!” My portly pig rocked like a bucking bronco. “It’s supposed to be—‘Up your ass in alligators’--Not the other way around!”

“Well, ex-squeals me!” Mel rained wrath on the ravenous reptile. “What do I got to lose? Why don’t you just call me Typhoid Mary?”

“She’s a lady! You’re a pig!” I gasped. “That’s a gator!”

“You’re no different,” said Mel. “You know you’d like to.”

“I’m not like you,” I said, “I’m not a Republican.”

“Why me?” Mel blubbered. “Gators do worse things!”

“You’re a little impulsive. Steve Irwin was better looking.”

“I’m depressed,” Mel began to cry crocodile tears. “They’re going to fry me, aren’t they?”

“You can’t flaunt the laws of nature,” I could smell Mel’s sizzling bacon. “They’re saying this piggy plague is because of factory farms. Your dirty living conditions.”

“Factory?” Mel screeched. “I’ve never worked a day in my life!” He flayed his hooves. “Do these look like calluses to you? Why don’t you try New York City! That’s a pretty good HUMAN factory farm! Maybe YOU gave it to Us!”

“You’re changing the subject!” I said. “No swamp monster is out there infecting people! The evidence points to you, Mr. Piggy! You can’t flog yourself out of this one!”

“OH YEAH?” Mel sprang into the mangroves. “Watch me!”

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