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Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Pig's Good Day

We should eat animals, but, show them a good time first. We have broken a sacred trust with these animals. The cow, the chicken, sheep, and duck. Factory farms are an abomination. A $.99 cheeseburger is not worth the cruelty.100 chicken nuggets for five dollars is a joke. No respect for life there. Yes, eat an animal, just don't be such a jerk about it.

My ideal would be this. All animals are allowed to live on that perfect farm we all have in our heads, implanted there from watching cartoons. Red barn. White fence. Hills of green sun-kissed pastures and shady trees. All farmers should have straw hats, blue overalls, and should at all times have a stalk of wheat tucked in the side of their mouths. In this environment, animals are allowed to roam and play. Meet someone special. Fall in love. Have some babies.

Only after that, as say the pig grows to middle-age and is content to rest under a tree in a cool puddle of mud, do we send in the counselor. The counselor is expected, the pig knew this day would come, but it is okay. The counselor sits with the pig and through some sort of technology that has yet to be invented, talks with the pig about its life, are there any regrets he has, anything left undone?

With this information, the counselor takes the pig out for the time of its life! No dream left unfulfilled! A festival of dancing and song and clandestine rendezvous. Pure magic. A lifetime of joy crammed into 12 hours.

Then, as the sun sets on the farm, pig and counselor sit on the high hill and watch the sky turn a golden vibrant pink and orange, like fire painted across the heavens. The counselor holds the pig's hoof, asks if the pig had a good day. The pig watches the sunset. A tear forms and its eye, making it sparkle, and the pig takes a breath, and says, "This was the most perfect day of…" He never finishes. A man in a long black coat, wearing black leather gloves has been standing behind him the whole time, waiting for this moment. A pistol with silencer pointed to the back of the pig's skull. "This was the most perfect day of… " The trigger pulled. It's all over. The pig sleeps. That is how bacon should be made.


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