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"It's a federal offense to tamper with the US Mail!" I said.
"Not in a revolution, it's not!" Mel squealed. "I'll tamp it good!"
"You're nuts!" I said.
"That, too!" Mel fixed me with a baleful glare, and proceeded to pound. "But this Mail-pig delivers! Whee!"
"What right do you have to revolt? You don't belong to a union."
"I'm a postal porker!" he screeched. "And I'm going postal! Fuk the government! Take their postage stamps, late charges, mortgage foreclosures, junk mail, and junk bonds!-And stuff it!"
"You're obscene!" I said. "Get your feet off that mailbox!"
"I'm flogging a fiduciary foreclosure between my forelegs," he bellowed.
"Get off your toes," I said. "You're embarrassing me."
"Yeah?" he said. "Cloven hooves, huh? Why don't you just say it? Curse me like the Bible! A clove-footed, clod-hopper from hell!"
"God did have a point," I said.
"Wrong! He forbade man to eat us!" said Mel. "That's a blessing! Sorry about your luck, cows! Cloves, the spice of life!" he gibbered. "Feast your eyes upon the Chosen Pig!"
"You're making a fool of yourself. I'm sorry if your pig slop has not been up to snuff. But, if you don't behave," I threatened, "I'll cut your food down!"
"Downsize this!" he screeched, and pounced on a melon. "I'll show you some genetically altered food!"
"No!" I gasped in horror."
"Try some of this seed modification!-Monzanto Morons!" Mel screeched. "You're not the only big boys in town! You want to F--- with nature?-You F--- with me! I'm your worst nightmare!"
"A mare is a horse," I said.
"Well, excuzzzzz meeeeeee!" he squealed. "Wheeee! Ride this little piggy to market, Mustang Sally!"
Mel was clearly disturbed. He was not the same pot belly I had bought a few weeks ago, supposed to only get to 27 pounds. His whole persona had taken on a weird political bent. He was cork-screwing out of control. He had become a Possessed Pig of the Apocalypse. I had to try something.
"Mel," I said. "Remember when you really cared? You demonstrated against the war?"
"Oh, yeah." Mel's face flickered with a glimmer of recognition. "The pipeline in Afghanistan. The real reason Americans are dying."
"Exactly!" I cried.
"It does seem exploitive"-Mel rocked on the melon-"sending young men to die, so Cheney and Halliburton can retire on their riches."
"Mel!" my eyes softened. "You're right!-the big oil boys! It really is you! You're coming back, baby!"
"Baby Back?" Mel's eyes suddenly hardened. "My daddy was right! I'll show you coming!"
"Daddy?" I puzzled.
"Drill, baby, drill!" Mell swiveled onto my globe. "The world is my oyster!"
"No!" I gasped in horror. "Not Alaska!"
"Yes! That's right! ANWAR!" Mel balanced his beastly legs like oil derricks 'I'll be rich!"
"But you're hitting the Arctic!" I cried. "You're a little off!"
"So what?" said Mel. "So is Sarah Palin! The North Pole is melting! And she can see Russia!"
"Russia?" Something suddenly clicked. "You turncoat!" I said. "You Corrupt Commie! You Pig Provocateur! You KGB swine!
Mel blinked. I was on to something. I searched my computer screen. Then I found it. A Russian laboratory where they bred brain-washed hogs, and implanted neural software networks, similar to Cheney's, and sent them to infiltrate America, and desecrate everything sacred. Re-pig-licans, they called them. I hit the play button. I swear: Java the Hut quivered to a synthesized Slavic folk dance beat.
Something came over Mel. He blinked dark lashes. "My daddy!" he stammered, and began to blubber. "I remember now! I was just a little piggy! I didn't know any better! The KGB said if I became a Re-pig-lican, I could root up the world! I could have everything! I confess! We were genetically altered to become Re-Pig-licans, to infiltrate America, spread our genes, and destroy the world!"
I would say you came close," I remarked. "Now, could you please remove yourself from my globe? It goes on my mantle."
"I'm sorry!" he blubbered like the Lion in Wizard of Oz. "I'm a breeding fool! But I can change! I'll take a shower next time I feel the urge!"
"Why?" I said. "Will that help?"
"I've been a rutting rube!" He swept toward me with passion. "Forgive me!
"Mel! It's not your fault!" I leapt toward him. "Come to me! My Prodigal Pig!" I could feel passionate pig breath upon my ankles. Maybe he could overcome his beastly tendencies, his porky impulses, to dither on the dark side. Maybe he could be saved with a kind of swine salvation. Maybe the lion and lamb could lay down in the grass, like the donkey and elephant...but what kind of hideous beast would that produce? I noticed Mel seemed to be growing. Twenty seven pounds, my ass. Could a Re-pig-lican really change? His cloven hooves grasped me tightly. I could feel his weight...his pig heart pounding on my little toes...my shoes began to tap...to some Slavic beat....
"Please!" Mel pleaded. "Dance with me! To the Nutcracker!"