Naught E. Piggy Traces Roots

Back to Refrigerator

Sunday, 13 April 2003:  NP News War Room – Crumb Central, Thailand.


We find Naught E. Piggy snoozing on plush, leatherette armchair.  A mass of pillows shade his eyes from the light of the late morning sun.  His hoofs rest upon a coffee table strewn with the aftermath of a snacking binge.  It’s readily apparent he’s recuperating from a recent foray into the local Piggly Wiggly where he’d pillaged the aisles without remorse.  The crumby remains of a Belly-Buster sandwich have found their way to the floor where a copy of PlayPen (the Ms. Piggy issue) is not so well hidden beneath stacks of newspapers and old issues of Sports Illustrated.  Three televisions are mounted on the wall and are tuned to separate channels:  CNN, The Food Channel, and Animal Planet.  The latter two are set to mute while the constant drone of the war news excretes from the first.

Long chortling snores resonate from NP's snout, which protrudes through the score of pillows that are wrapped around his head in an effort to apparently not only block out the sun, but the world as well.

Oink.  Wee wee wee wee wee, Oink.  Wee wee wee wee wee:  He snores as a dog-eared copy of George Orwell’s Animal Farm, perched upon his rotund and pink belly, rises and falls with the rhythm of his slumbers. 

“Uncle Rumsy, no!  Not the buggy whip!” he murmurs from some far-off dreamland.

An explosion, or more a muted thud, suddenly reports from the kitchen causing NP to leap to his hoofs and scurry under the table.  “Code Red! Code Red!” he squeals.

I walk to the kitchen to see what has just happened and return holding an exploded Diet Pepsi Slice.  Somebody, left a Pepsi in the freezer,” I say, admonishing him.

“Whoops, my bad.  Did we win yet?  Hey, what the hell are you doing here, you A-hole?” Lying on the ground, NP stares up at me through the glass of the littered coffee table.  “And, where’s your SARS mask?  You probably have the Hong Kong flu, being the cretin that you are.”  He adds almost as an afterthought.

“I live here.  Remember?  And, I don’t have the Hong Kong flu.”  I assure him.

“Oh,” His eyes cross, and he sticks out his tongue.  “Ugh, I can’t believe I ate the whole thing,” he says, now sifting through the empty wrappers, emitting a rumbling, guttural belch.  “Watch out.  That one’s a little gamey,” he warns, waving a hoof in front of his snout.  Then, “Son of a bitch!  Who ate the last almond cookie?  I was saving that for dessert!”  He fumes, letting out an angry snort and turns a few shades darker pink around his ears.  He fixes an evil eye upon me.

Mohammed Saeed al-Sahaf, the Iraqi Information Minister, appears on CNN and NP grabs the remote flopping back into his armchair.

“Oh, I love this guy!” he says.  He is so full of shit. It’s unbelievable!  Here let me translate for you.  I’m a bon-a-fide Arabist, you know.   I know his filthy Pig Latin like the back of my hoof!  Here, listen… listen, ahem:  ‘I am full of shit!  The beautiful, poetic words that pour forth from my dirty, lying, Iraqi cake-hole are nothing but shit.  They are powerful shit.  It is very stinky and terrifying!  My shit will kill the American crusaders at the gates of Baghdad where they will be covered with shit and run home like coward dogs to their bitch mothers!’” Piggy translates with an uncanny passion, then ads, leaping to his hoofs upon the chair, “Oh yeah?  Who’s the big, bad wolf now mother-fucker?  We're gonna blow your house down!”

“I have to admit, NP. That was… inspired.”  I say.  “’The Party’s over,’ said Aldouri.  I saw him slam his door on the world the other day.  I hear they’re hiring big-time in Iraq.”

“Oh, man!  Look at those looters!  Future Lakers fans if I ever saw ‘em!” He laughs and squeals, kicking his hoofs at the end of his short legs, which don’t quite reach the floor.  There are still some scraps upon the table that he blindly grabs at, shoveling them into his snout and washing them down with chunks of the now thawing Pepsi.

“Naughty, we have to talk,” I tell him. 

“Mmmmph.?” He mumbles, bouncing in his chair and pointing the remote at the TV.  He’s completely engrossed.  He's obsessed.

“Naughty, you shouldn’t ignore me like that.  It’s rude.” I say.

“Why not?  You’re a glutton for punishment!” He cackles at his own witicism.  His eyes never leave the TV screen.  “Ooo, Emril’s on!  My second favorite Cajun, next to that big, loveable, Chef Paul!”

At that moment, his cell phone rings to the chirping tune of “Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?”  He holds up a hoof directly in my face and answers the call.

“Buenos Cameron Diaz,” he says cheerfully.  “Uh huh?  Right.  Oooo…  hee hee.  Oh, you’re so naughty!” Then, “Sorry, wrong number!” He clicks off the phone, tosses it onto the table, and reaches beneath the seat cushion, withdrawing a half-eaten, silver-wrapped Ding Dong.  “I almost forgot about this one.” He says, popping it into his mouth in one felt swoop.

“I am your father, NP.”  I say, and the chewing stops.

“What?  No, God No!” He screams then looks at me and faints, falling off the chair and bouncing onto the floor like a stuffed doll.

NP lay on the floor with the half-eaten Ding Dong in his mouth—the white cream center clearly visible—and his eyes firmly rolled into the back of his head.  I find a Cheeto on the table and wave it under his snout in hopes that it might serve to revive him. 

He awakes, roused by the cheesy aroma, screaming and begins to choke.  I’m forced to give him the Heimlich maneuver before slapping him into submission.

“Get a hold of yourself,” I urge.  “Here, take some of these.”

“Oooh, nice color! What are they, candy?” he asks distracted by the prospect of a mid-afternoon snack.

“They’re Xanex.” I say, and he pops a few into his maw.

“Ach!  These aren’t chewable!” he gasps and snatches the Pepsi.  Standing up, he holds a hoof to his forehead and says, “I’m feeling logy.  I think I’m gonna’ toss my cookies.” 

Naught E. Piggy falls backward into the armchair and sighs, silently giving into the conflicting emotions that are undermining the very foundation of his character.

“It’ll be alright, Pig.” I say in a calming manner.

“You know, I always suspected something but, I thought that Darko, the Croatian butcher, was my father.  I should have known.  Oh God, I should have known.”  He shakes his piggy head, holding it between his hoofs.

“Hey, these Xanex things are pretty good.” He says after a moment with a lilting Southern accent beginning to form.

“Think of it this way.  I’m not really your father.  I’m your creator.  You’re a figment of my imagination, a fictional character.” I explain as best I can.

“So, you get your jollies talking to imaginary pigs then?  Great!  You’re sick!  That’s what you are, utterly and unequivocally demented!” 

“Oh NP, you don’t know how good you got it.  You really are the perfect character.  You’re the quintessential summation of all of man’s shortcomings.  You’re rude, crude, and socially unacceptable.  Your potential is limitless.  And, best of all, people feel better about themselves when they see what a pig you are.  Through our loathing of you, we aspire toward greater things.  You’re an inspiration of what not to become.” 

“Yeah, and why do I like to dress up in women’s clothing, Einstein?”  He asks, rolling his eyes at me.

“Oh, don’t worry about that.  That’s normal.”  I assure him.

“So, who’s my mother?” He asks.

“Well, truth be told, you were born on a magnetic white-board attached to the refrigerator, but it can be anyone you want, really.  How about Uncle Rumsy?” I say.

“Oh, now that would just be the coupe de grace, wouldn't it?  You know that Confucious said, ‘Only the shallow ridicule the large man, for through his stomach will he reach the palace of wisdom.’  Boy howdy, I’m feelin’ pretty good, right now.  Those pills are making feel like… like… I feel like… Elvis.”

“Uh oh, you’re getting philosophical.  How many of those did you take?” I ask.

“I think… like about… nine.” He says, slowly beginning to fade into oblivion.

“You wanna hear a joke?” he asks.

“Shoot, NP.” I say.

“What’s the difference is between a pig and a man?” He asks in a far off voice.

“I don’t know,” I reply, “What?”

“A pig doesn’t turn into a man after a few beers.” He giggles softly then his eyes glaze over.  He falls face first off the chair and onto the floor.  He rolls over, begins snoring, farts, and then—poof—he disappears.

Thank God, I can have my chair back now.


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