An account of my interview with the esteemed Mr. P. Wadsforth.
"Ah, excellent. I'm so glad you could join me. Please, sit." I greeted my guest. Mr. P. Wadsforth sat down and I flashed him my winning smile. He smiled back.
"Why, thank you, Kenny. I'm quite elated that I could join you. After all, it's not every day that humans interview pigs." He told me.
Yes, Mr. P. Wadsforth was a pig. I'm not entirely sure what breed he is, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't know what breed of human I am.
"Well, Mr. Wadsforth…" I began.
He cut me off. "Please, call me Bartholomew."
"But your name is Mister P. Wadsforth."
"Well, do know this; the alphabet of pigs is quite different from yours. I don't suppose you speak Pig Latin?"
"Well, I do, but that's not…" I answered, before he cut me off again. Apparently it was a rhetorical question.
"Shall we continue with this interview?"
I sighed. Some pigs have no manners. It's like they were raised in barns.
"Yes, I'm trying to clear up some common misconceptions about pigs, and you are an expert in pig culture, which probably stems from the fact that you are a pig, right?"
"Yes," Bartholomew replied. "I have a plethora of knowledge regarding pig mannerisms and culture, and I am happy to share it with you, Kenny. Some humans are very ignorant, and you know how we pigs berate ignorance."
I gritted my teeth. "Yes. You all hate ignorance."
Bartholomew was appalled. "Hate? No! Good heavens, we don't hate a human flaw! We do wish to get rid of it, but hating human ignorance is akin to hating pig eating habits! You learn to deal with it."
I gave an exasperated sigh. "Well, my first question is this: Why do pigs roll in the mud?"
Bartholomew smiled. "Well, the days to tend to get rather warm and arid, and a mud bath is just the perfect way to cool off."
I could feel my anger fade away. Maybe Bartholomew wasn't so bad. A few more questions later, and I felt much better, and Bartholomew seemed to enjoy himself. That was, until I reached my next question.
"What are your thoughts on human pork consumption?" I asked.
His smile (I think it was a smile. Pig emotions are hard to read) disappeared.
"Well, I will admit this is a touchy and highly controversial topic, but I must speak my mind."
"Well, go ahead, if you're comfortable."
"Well, here's what I do believe. I do not condone it, but I do not condemn it, either. I believe it is a natural course. There's really nothing we can do. But that is nature's way. Why, polar bears eat humans sometimes, and you guys accept it as life. I believe pigs must do the same."
He finished talking and turned to me. "Do you have any more questions?"
"None anymore. I thank you for your honesty." I turned to the camera. "Everybody, Mr. P. Wadforth."
In the break room, I opened the fridge and pulled out my lunch. A beautiful pulled pork sandwich. As I turned around, I saw Bartholomew facing me.
"What are you doing?!" He asked me angrily, his stubby pig arms flailing around.
"What's in the sandwich?"
"Exactly! You're eating a pig!" Bartholomew stormed towards me.
"What's your problem? You said it was nature's way!"
"What, you believed me?"
I stomped towards him until we were face to face. "Well, yes. You were being honest!"
"No I wasn't, you moron! What pig in their right mind would not say pork consumption was an atrocity?"
"Well, too bad. I'm going to eat this sandwich."
His eyes turned red and murderous. "You wouldn't dare!"
"Watch me." I raised the sandwich up to my mouth.
"No!" Bartholomew punched me in the face. I staggered back, and he charged towards me. I picked up a chair and smashed it into him. He fell, but he got up really quickly. I ducked as he threw a punch, and I jabbed him in the stomach. I rolled away while he clutched his stomach in pain. He turned towards me again, and he roared. As he rushed towards me, I jumped and dropkicked him. He staggered backwards. As he fell, his head hit the counter and the microwave fell on him.
I shielded myself as the microwave exploded, taking off his head. Now there was a body of a pig in the break room, and I instantly knew what to do with it.
"Did you bring home dinner?" My wife asked as she heard the door open.
"Yes I did. How do you feel about ham?"