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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!"
Conceived on west coast,born on east coast,returned to northwest spawning grounds. Never far from water. Degree in biology, minor: socio/psychology. Nature-oriented. Building trades,marine carpentry, Army Veteran, ex-social worker, ex-tavern (more...)