Hulloo! How are you all loonies doing? Bad? I’m elated to hear that! I really would want to see how badly you are doing right now; there’d be no better feel-good stuff than knowing I’ve been luckier than one or two people. I feast on your pains, I do.
I would really say more if not for the fact that I’m a prisoner right now and I only have a few minutes to escape to the blog-o-world. So I’d leave this ‘lil cheery story of a pig instead (since I realized almost all the stories I post here can be classified as, uh, I’m still looking for a better than word than gloomy but I think that’ll have to do for now).
Remember though that happiness is NOW a disease. And the sun is really made of cheese.
See you on December 18.
Once upon the early days of Time, a very interesting creature was born, one of the firsts among his kind. He was named after the god who had just crossed the sky on the very second of his birth, Apollo was.
But Apollo is a pig.
There would not have been any use of the “but” if not for his contempt of the minute detail of being a pig; he laments how very unfair it was to be given the chance to exist but only having the sole purpose of dying to fulfill the bacon desires of us who comfortably sits higher on the food chain, and in his own grunts, how he was merely “born to die”.
This minor fact of worldwide unfairness was such a blow to the young Apollo – before, he sings, oh yes, his grunts indeed have a melody (if a bit grotesque for the unfamiliar ear), he brushes the legs of the same boy who feeds him day-noon-night like a cat welcoming you upon coming home if she’s in a good mood, only better (since Apollo is always in a good mood…well, was), he even tries to play tag with the chicks in the barn who never have enough IQ to realize that he’s only trying to play and not to swallow them whole (yes, they’re dumb but have enough vanity to think that those lower appendages really are “feet” and not back scratchers) – cheerful, charming, always playful. That was our Apollo.
Now, it would seem that the smile would be forever gone from the pig’s face.
Apollo, this time the god, heard the cries of his namesake one boiling day near the bacon season. The whole city was filled with the sound of butchers sharpening their knives, but above it all he heard the lone, unmistakable cries of a lamenting pig. Apollo (still the god), who really was the curiousest if not the brightest among them Olympians, resolved to see what the matter was all about.
“Oh, hello, Apollo. It’s nice to see you.”
“It doesn’t show on your face, pig friend.”
“You are? For what?”
“For not looking nice.”
“So why have you come to see me?”
“Well, you sounded like you’re crying.”
“Pigs don’t cry. Pigs grunt.”
“I was grunting because I was sad.”
“I see, but why?”
“I hate being a pig. My life is useless – born, fed, die. How would you like that, god Apollo? Three words defining your whole life?”
“Hmm. Born, fed, die. I don’t see why that’s such a bad concept at all! In fact, that’s the greatest way anyone could ever live – no pains, no hassles, no sufferings. Just get out of your mum’s body, indulge, and die. We all die anyway. Yes, even us Olympians, but don’t tell! Bah, I really don’t see what’s so bad about that. Oh, I would sing jubilations if I were you, pig.”
“Well I know I used to. But I don’t see the use now. They want me to eat, not to sing, after all.”
“Bah, I hate singing! People always expect me to sing. Stupid, stupid people. Singing is for ladies. I am Apollo, most manly among the gods, and I won’t sing for a seaweed-smelling nymph. Or two. But you, you who are expected to do nothing but eat and sleep all day, and you’re complaining? That’s the thing about involving yourself with society. You’re almost convincing me you’re as stupid as them people, pig.”
“Manly among gods, sir Apollo, you really think I am in a very enviable position right now?”
“Why, yes! Silly pig.”
“Would you think it would be fine for anyone to, let’s say, switch places with me?”
“Any day, pig. Any day.”
“Could you…would you do it, like, now? Right now?”
“Of course! Jeez, and they say asses are stupid…”
And so after that one cheerful conversation in the early days of Time, Apollo the god was known to be the patron of songs, cheeriness, youth, and playfulness amongst other charming stuff. On the other hoof, the pig creature was to be known as a creature of utter contentment for all that’s left of time.
Well, unless you don’t feed him, that is.
And come bacon season, too.
When pigs sing…
When things go right…
…sometimes, they also go wrong.
(Click: Apollo the Pig does exist!)