THE DEMISE OF PORKY

Porky the pig was worried.

He'd seen loads of his chums go off on this wagon, and then, only days later, a lorry had delivered hundreds of packets of sliced bacon to the supermarket next door to the lovely little farm where he had been born and raised.

Porky had, until this worry set in, been a happy pig, and whenever he got to worrying what it was all about and why people on two legs fed him twice a day with delicious mush he pushed it to the back of his mind and had a darned good wallow.

Now he was being pushed onto the wagon and he had a little worry gnawing at the back of his mind.

What if something really bad was going to happen to him?

What if it was payback time for all the delicious bowls of mush he'd eaten?

What if, in a few days, that delivery of sliced bacon to the supermarket would be made again?

It was all getting to be too worrying, and he found himself squealing quietly to himself.

And when one of the wagon drivers started talking about pork chops and apple sauce he started shivering, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't stop. Pork chops sounded bad.

Then the wagon, with Porky and a lot of his chums squashed on it, set off.

It was going, according to the half-heard conversation of the man driving the lorry and talking to the second man who was sitting next to him, a place called an abattoir. Porky didn't know what an abattoir was, but the sound of the word worried him.

An hour later he had a real cause for the worry that was already flooding through his head to grow enormously and get positively overwhelming.

Porky was being killed!

He'd heard his chums being slaughtered, the popping of a stun-gun followed by the sound of fresh blood slopping everywhere, and the stink of it in the air.

And as Porky's worries became unbearable there came that popping sound again, and in a fractured instant it all ceased. The noises, the squeals, the smells, all stopped in the least of moments. All the thoughts of pain and trouble that had been flooding through his porcine mind went totally away.

And they stayed away.

You see, when he opened his eyes (and he did open some eyes, though they may have been different eyes, not the ones through which he'd seen the muddy wallows back on the farm, but new and vibrant eyes made for seeing fluffy stuff) when he opened those eyes he saw that he was in a place of magic.

“Where am I?” he squealed.

A very fat and very jolly pig sidled up to him, smiling in the special way that jolly pigs have.

“You're in Heaven,” it told him.

“What's Heaven?” asked Porky, suddenly afraid that his troubles might not be over yet.

“It's a place where very good pigs go when they die,” whispered the fat and very jolly pig. “It's a place where nothing can ever go wrong., It's where all pigs live through most of Eternity, loving their fellow pigs, both boy pigs and girl pigs, there's no distinction between straight and gay here, and where the wallows are plentiful and filled with troughs of sweet stuff, where the big Lord Pig rules with absolute benevolence " and where no men on two legs ever come because Heaven isn't for them, no sirree, not for them! It is Paradise! It is a world of sheer perfection, and here we stay for Eternity.”

“You said good pigs?” enquired Porky. “What about … bad pigs?”

“Ah! Those swine! Come, and I will show you!”

The fat and very jolly pig led Porky to a chasm at the far end of Heaven.

“Look down there,” he growled.

Porky looked in to the chasm.

It was filled with pigs of every size and hue, and gigantic flames were playing over their porky flesh and they were squealing so that the sum total of all their agony was almost deafening. And, sadistic and brutal, a man was walking between them, whipping them with a many-thonged flagella, and cursing them endlessly in a Birmingham accent.

“That's Hell,” murmured the fat and very jolly pig.

Porky looked around his new Heaven. There were pigs carrying harps, walking on fluffy stuff that looked like cotton wool, singing sweet and remarkably sickly songs about sugar and spice and all things nice, bowing down before the gigantic Big Lord Pig and having their genitals tickled by special tickling pigs until the sheer delirium of physical delight made them whimper. There were other pigs at troughs, gorging themselves, quaffing wine from goblets made of pure s**t baked until the smell was delicious, and yet more pigs with gossamer wings fluttering around and grinning inanely.

“Heaven,” muttered Porky.

“And Hell,” whispered the fat and very jolly pig, sneering at the chasm.

“Eternity, you say?” asked Porky.

“Eternity,” agreed the other.

“Sod it,” whimpered Porky, and with one bound he leapt the small gap into the abyss, and sunk down into the fiery depths where mighty flames licked his flesh and the agony was excruciating.

“That's better,” he sighed as his lungs were filled with the deliciousness of roast pork with, and this delighted him especially, an undertone of apple sauce.

Reviews

[roarke]

Um.... yikes? So Porky was a masochist of a sort eh? Man, the "long pig" Porky, the caricature. Kind of a Willy Wonka of the bacon factory tale.... Ya pulled no punches here P.R.