Up To Our Asses in Alligators and other Pig Phobia

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“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!”

“SWAMP THING!” Almost speechless, I watched Mel ravish the repulsive movie monster.

“Try some of this demon seed!” he screeched.

“That doesn’t prove anything!” I blurted. “It’s Junk Science!”

“You’re a bar owner!” Mel suddenly sprang. “Nobody believes you! You hang out with strippers and whores! Here! This Bud’s for you!!”

Shocked, I watched him mount the polished shrine of my stubby display bottle, the icon of all that is sacred and holy, the touchstone on modern mankind’s mantle. “Stop!” I said. “An image like that could destroy the beverage industry!”

“Exactly!” said Mel. “Then I’m coming after the WORLD!”

“What have I done to deserve this?” I pleaded. “I raised you like a son!”

“What about my sister Sally?” said Mel.

“That’s different,” I said. “She was a tasty tart. You should be the last to complain about sausage!”

Mel rotated on the bottle and fixed me with a piggy glare. Could it happen?—I wondered? Could Mel, with pernicious pig-purpose, single-handedly destroy the world? Take every icon and reduce it to palpitating pig PornHOGraphy? I shuddered. “Mel?” I said. “You do and I’LL TELL EVERYTHING!”

He turned. His gleaming eyes and foaming snout seemed to guard some viral vituperative secret.

“You haven’t seen anything, yet,” he said with a pugnacious hiss.

Authors Bio:

Conceived on west coast, born on east coast, returned to northwest spawning grounds. Never far from water.