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Thursday, 12 March 2009 |
Based on the graphic novel by Alan Boar. If you haven't read the graphic novel, you cannot criticize this video.
Did I ever tell you about the time I shot a couple of snapping turtles? Oh, don't go all PETA on me. PETA would have shot them too. They're mean fuckers. (Get it? I didn't say if the snapping turtles or PETA or the mean fuckers.) The snapping turtles often beat up the pigs, taking their lunch money. That's how I met them—they tried to take my lunch money. I wasn't gonna stand around for that. So I screamed at them, “You think I look like fucking a pig? ”
“Shut up!” they snapped. They do that. But to me? Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin. Don't they know who I am? You don't fuck with The Farmer's family. So I dragged them both out to the dirt road to bust a cap in their ass with my grandpa's 22.
I didn't really bust a cap in their ass. I shot them in the head. Then I went for a stroll down by the hog pen and I whistled a merry tune of motherfuckin' victory. The pigs glared at me with their pig eyes.
Orville was there, the son of Wilbur, from Charlotte's Web. He's not actually the son of Wilbur, but their stories are pretty similar, and that's why we called him the son of Wilbur. I'll have to tell you his story another time.
But Orville comes up to me and demands that I apologize for what I said about pigs. I say, “Shut up!” and take their lunch money. Hey, The Farmer's family will gladly protect this neighborhood without thanks, but I won't do it for free.
“How do you think we feel?” they asked. “We don't want to be compared to you. How would you like it if we compared your writing to the TV show, Lost? Your stories are certainly as ridiculous as Lost. Oink.”
That did it. I grabbed my grandpa's 22 and met the pig army at the dirt road. I took aim. The pigs raised their guns and took aim. I almost squeezed the trigger when the pigpen and the farmhouse exploded in blue flames.
The pig army cried out, “Oh no! We've incurred the wrath of Babe, the big blue ox!” And they ran home to see what was left of their shattered families.
I would have ran to the farmhouse, but I knew my family was dead. And I knew that this just couldn't be the work of Babe, the blue ox. It must be some super villain like the big bad wolf. But I didn't say anything because, hey, it saved my ass. Plus, I really have no principles or convictions, or any consistency to my character. I was faking that.
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