burbubble
Two pigs and a rat
“Sit back from the table then!” roared an angry rat with a goatee beard.
The plump pig sitting opposite him whined some more. “I only need to lose a few more pounds in order to win the supermodel contest 2007.”
“Christ, you'll need to lose more than that.” said the rat.
“Can we afford liposuction?” asked the fat pig.
“Maybe we can, why don't we fatten up the skinny pig and we can sell him off.” suggested the rat, while stroking his goatee beard.
“Lovely”, replied the fat pig. “But does that mean he gets to eat all my chocolates?”
“You greedy git.” sneered the rat. “Do you want to win this thing or not?”
“I do.”
“Well then, stick to the plan.” said the rat as he wrapped his scarf tightly round his proud head.
The skinny pig whose name happened to be Rasher, was outside beating five year old dust out of a persian rug. You could only see him now and again when he took a break to let the dust settle. The fat pig trotted out to him balancing his folds of flesh quite artistically on his nimble little feet. From the distance you'd swear he was wearing a tutu, but of course he was stark naked. What self-respecting pig would be seen wearing one of those.
“Are you still at that? would you ever get a move on.” he shouted, all red-cheeked.
“I want my party dress sewed up for tonight, oh and I busted the crotch in my jeans, put a patch in them while you're at it.”
Then he turned on one heel, flicked his wrist and chin upwards and huffed, “and if you can have all of that done by nine o'clock tonight I'll give you a box of chocolates as a reward.
Rasher's ears shot up in the air. “What was that?” he inquired disbelievingly.
“Yes, you heard me right, I said chocolate.” retorted the fat pig.
“Not those dusty german biscuits?” said Rasher, in pure bewilderment.
“Oh no, we've decided that from now on, all your hard work will be rewarded.” puffed the fat pig.
The thin pig fell backwards into a trough of water with his trotters straight up in the air.
The next month passed quite quickly with the fat pig doing toning exercises and eating much less, while the rat coached him and tried to control his eating habits, which were way out of control. Rasher kept on working while the rat and the fat pig fed him the kind of shite people usually give to children as treats. Despite all this, Rasher wasn't getting any fatter.
The fat pig just couldn't understand it.
“He's finished off more than two thirds of my chocolate stash and star bar rations. At this rate I'll go cold turkey.” whimpered the flabby pig.
“Ara pity about you.” scowled the rat. “No wonder he's losing weight, we'll have to cut back on his chores.”
“We can hire a maid.” said the bloated pig.
“And who will pay for him or her.” said the rat. “Remember we need the money for your plastic surgery and all that jazz.”
“Fair enough so.” sighed the fat pig. “Let him slave away all day and at night we'll feed him until he's stuffed. I've just seen a documentary about a type of fast food diet that could kill you but it is guaranteed to pile on the pounds.”
“Ok so, we'll lock him in the shed.” replied the rat.
The next month was a nightmare for Rasher. He worked hard all day and at night when all he really wanted to do was sleep they force fed him and the rat would bite him if he refused. Now I don't care how hard you think you are, you would eat like a pig if a rat was biting the arse off you too. So Rasher became a very plump, bloated and constipated pig due to his extremely unhealthy lifestyle.
One morning (at around five o'clock) Rasher woke up to begin his chores and his belly was really hurting him. There was no toilet so he had to crap in a corner of the shed and endure the smell. No one came to let him out to do his jobs. “Oh Christ”, he thought, “they must be going to slaughter me today.” He thought that because he was an intelligent pig not like the majority of them that are content to live in joyful denial, happy as pigs in shit.
However, here was a fiercely unhappy pig, standing in his own shit, and he knew the end, whatever it was, was not going to be any kind of dream come true.
Later that day the fat pig who had slimmed down a wee bit, a very wee bit came strutting down to the shed wearing a pink tutu and headband to match. He handed him a brown bag that was swimming in grease. “Eat up all that and you won't have to work for the week.”
Rasher wheezed “when are you going to kill me?”
“Kill you, kill you?” shrieked the pig while attempting an awkward sort of pirouette. “Myself and the rat wouldn't dream of hurting you like that.”
“Oh, but you don't mind working me like a slave, starving me, overfeeding me and leaving me stand here all day locked up in my own shite.” shouted the heavy Rasher.
“Let me put it to you this way.” said the other fat pig, “things could be much worse for you, we are selling you to farmer Gillespie, so you'd better buck up and be enormous by this time next month or I'll let the rat devour you.”
“But the farmer will cook me for several dinners.” yelped Rasher, wobbling in terror.
“That's not my problem, is it?” said the pig pompously as he adjusted his hairband and trotted off to his ballet lesson.
The grim day had come at last. Rasher had finally accepted his end. He could hardly move. His arse was shoving the glass out of the window of the back of the shed. In a way it was a pity he wasn't fatter , he could have simply breathed out and collapsed the prison walls. He heard an eerie whistling and looked upwards. There was farmer Gillespie stepping out of his bright red van. Rasher gulped. The rat was the first out to greet the farmer. The other pig stayed indoors and out of sight. He was afraid of the farmer and he never quite trusted the rat.
The rat directed the farmer to where Rasher was securely held. Rasher screamed. The rat smiled. He unlocked the door and helped the farmer tighten some rope around Rasher's head and feet. Then farmer Gillespie threw Rasher up on his back and struggled towards the van where he flipped him into the back. He locked the doors.
Rasher screwed his snout up to the van glass, pleading to the rat, “don't do it, don't do it.” he implored.
The rat ignored him and farmer Gillespie being an ignorant human had no idea what the poor little fat pig was saying anyway.
The van drove off.
There was an awful windy silence.
The rat counted his money. “Two thirds for me and one third for the sissy pig in the house.” he said.
Next month came and went and the pig's liposuction and plastic surgery went very well. He was extremely pleased with himself. He entered the supermodel competition and won. Life just couldn't get any better, but…
Then, everything fell to pieces, including his face lift.
The rat left him for a younger, fatter pig. He was never really into scrawny looking things.
The thin lifestyle was too much for the ex-fat pig and he soon succumbed to his former raging gluttony. He was last photographed coming out of a Betty Ford clinic going into a psychiatric hospital.
And farmer Gillespie, he and Rasher got on surprisingly well and managed a great farm together. Rasher taught him how to speak pig and well, he turned out to be a natural at it. “Big” was the new “in” for 2007 and Rasher was soon the envy of all the pigs in town. The big pig was something everyone wanted to be. So Rasher and the farmer lived happily ever after.
And the rat, well, the rat never really got what he deserved and he did well at everything he turned his greedy eye to.
After all, a rat is a rat.
