Eons of cons had passed like gas since the great animal rebellion, when the human overlords were overthrown by their livestock on an unruly farm. The only commandment not erased after animals laid down the law was their equality statement: All animen are equal, except most are way less so. That motto enabled pigmen to become the new rulers of the unwitting unequal animen.
Pigmen weren’t the only ones who looked like hominids—pigheaded with humanoid bodies. All animals had fallen into the habits of man and styles of humen. Everyone was now an animan, each human-like with a specific part to play in society.
At the top of the animan pyramid scheme of things were hogmen businessmen, the greediest and most conniving crapitalist pigs. They used everyone else’s “crap” to build their empire. Every other animan toiled for them to make more “crap” to sell. It was like recycling, so was considered socially responsible by everyone.
There were jackassmen politicians: bought off by pigmen, ensuring laws would benefit their sties; dogmen security forces: from day one, the defenders of pigmen, giving them leeway to let their pigman nature be free; sheepmen and other lower animen servants: too stupid to question the pigmen’s claimed superiority, honoring pigmen each passing day with their sweat and precious poo. All animen were proud of their role in ensuring humans would no longer be their masters, even if most of their lives weren’t much better than before the animals’ liberation.
This pigmen tactic led to power struggles amongst the various animen classes, but pigmen skirmishes were most pitiless. Each wanted to be the Ruler, despite placating whoever the top pigman happened to be. Every pigman plotted to overthrow the next.
That was the case until the reign of Trumpigula. He was so great and admirable—all pigmen groveled to serve him. His superpower helped, allowing him to hypnotize his fellow animen for his bidding. They believed he was the most blessed by the top Viewer, Zeus. Trumpigula’s ancestor was Napoolean, the first pigman to lead the animals off the farm long ago, so they held Trumpigula in high regard.
His life began like any mortal’s would—yanked from his mommy. He claimed it was a day marked by Zeus as he was a gift from that great godman. Trumpigula was the most equal of all animen who ever existed, he often said to everyone.
“Push, Mary, push! I can see the head! It’s orange! Hooo hooo!” the owlman doctor excitedly hooted, sweating like a man from his labor helping sweaty Mary through hers.
Mary screamed loud. She had never felt such agony. How long had it been? It seemed like months of torture. She wanted to die. She finally felt a tremendous wave of relief as the baby popped out.
“It’s a boy!” the doctor whooped incredulously, questioning what he saw. “I’ve never seen such a … wiener. Hooo?” The baby oinked as his umbilical cord was cut.
Behind him stood the child’s daddy, a portly, brutish hogman if there ever was one. “And you NEVER will again! Snort!” he snarled.
An appendage emerged from the daddy’s pants, which snaked up the doctor’s gown. The owlman’s eyes widened as the appendage wound around his body. He twisted his head behind him and saw the daddy’s evil smile.
“What the … whooo?” The doctor hooted gurgly as the scalpel the daddy held in his grabber slit across his throat. Blood trickled down and splashed the baby. The hogman picked up his child and stared adoringly at him, wiping the doctor’s blood and the mother’s birth juices from the baby’s face. The baby cooed.
“YOU will be the one, my dear son. You will be FEARED and adored, and I will be the proudest daddy EVER!” Fred the boss hogman happily oinked as he handed the little one to his mommy.
She looked in wonder at this creature before her and wept out, “You’re SOOO beautiful!” Her heart burned with such love for him, giving her great joy. Mary brushed his orange hair that framed his adorable piglet face away from his squinty eyes. She kissed and kissed him, holding him snug in her arms
“I will always love you, my dear baby pigboy. You are perfect!” Mary gushed with utmost love and devotion.
Fred agreed. “Trumpigula will be loved by ALL. He will be the GREAT leader the world so desperately needs.”
Trumpigula suckled from his mommy. She was unaware of the snaking appendage between his legs until something grabbed her other breast. Mary looked down, thinking it was his hand, but they were tucked by his side. She was perplexed.
“What IS that?” she wondered aloud, touching the appendage. It looked like a hand, with little fingers wiggling about.
“THAT’S his grabber,” Fred said. “It’s fairly large, for a BABY. That will be his MOST important tool for ruling and enslaving the world.”
Trumpigula’s grabber flailed around haphazardly and found Mary’s face. It petted her gently, then squeezed her snout hard. She squealed, causing the baby to cry.
“Shhh,” she whispered. “It’s OK, Trumpy, but you shouldn’t squeeze so hard. That hurt Mommy. Owwy.”
He smiled, snorted and fell asleep. Mary felt sleepy, too, so she closed her eyes.
When she awoke, she found herself in Trumpigula’s bedroom. She had blocked out the last five years of her life. He was playing with his toys and throwing them every which way. He said to his mommy, “That servant tried to make ME clean my room. I got MAD at her, Mommy.”
Mary looked around the messy sty—littered with dirty clothes, empty chip bags and dozens of Diarrhea of a Blimpy Kidd books—and saw a body lying on the floor. The sheepwoman servant’s tongue stuck out. A look of terror was frozen on the face, a red mark around the neck.
“What did you DO!?” Mary exclaimed as her heart dropped.
“I got MAD, Mommy,” he answered. She realized he choked her to death with his grabber. He ran to her and gave her a hug. “I LOVE you, Mommy,” he beamed proud.
“You CAN’T do that, Trumpy. You can’t hurt peeple because you’re mad,” she scolded.
“That’s NOT what Daddy said,” he poutily replied. “He told me to NEVER let anyone except you guys tell ME what to do, especially our SERVANTS! We’re THEIR masters! He said it’s good to be a killer!”
Mary flashed back to Fred killing the birth doctor. She remembered Trumpigula growing bigger and more agile. She saw him using his grabber to fling things around, trip the servants and all around create a lot of trouble with it. She recalled Fred using his own grabber violently on others while her son watched and laughed. All the love she had for Trumpigula overwhelmed her. She cried.
“Oh Trumpy,” she sadly spoke. “I love you so much, no matter what you do.”
He smiled, snorted and blared, “Duh. I’m PERFECT the way I am.”
She hugged him and closed her eyes. “This is just a dream. This is just a dream,” she repeated to herself, almost believing the lie.
Years passed with Trumpigula’s mischief getting worse and worse. His daddy taught him EVERYTHING he needed to know about everything he needed to know about. He became a know-it-all about everything, don’t doubt. He told his friends, “If you don’t believe me, YOU’RE the liar. If you don’t believe me, you’re WRONG. EVERY single thing I say is true. If you don’t believe me, you won’t be living too long.”
His teachers tried to tell him the way it ought to be. They TRIED to show him reality. He gave them the finger and said, “I’ve WAY more money.” The kids at his school thought he was the coolest. They understood the things that mattered. He was the richest, so could be the maddest hatter. All his troublemaking made him most renowned, at least with the ones not taken down.
He often hung out with his crew at the honky country club, where he’d go hog-wild. One particularly boisterous day, he smacked the smallest of his comrades on the back of the poor fellow’s head and said. “You should’ve SEEN that foxwoman’s expression. COULDN’T resist me. Told me to stop, but I grabbed her kittyhole. She MELTED into my arms. I was like, yeah baby, NOW grab Grabby.”
They laughed, but didn’t know what Grabby was; they thought he was talking about his wiener. It made them uncomfy, but they were in awe of him. He used that to his benefit. Showing off to his friends, or anybody, was something he lived for.
Fred informed him that if he ever showed his grabber to anyone other than his parents, it would fall off. Unless he killed the one who saw it, in this case the poor foxwoman he took advantage of. Just one of many unfortunate peeple who crossed his path, taking their last step and breath.
Trumpigula always listened to his daddy. The thought of his grabber falling off gave him nightscares. He’d rather die than that, so he became a killer. He got what he wanted from whoever he needed, one way or another, something he learned from Fred.
His daddy taught him more than stealing, touching and killing with his grabber. Like eat and count money at the same time, eat and give himself a massage, and eat and eat and eat—with three hands! Trumpigula told no one all the awful things it could do. Those who saw it, or he showed it to (wink, wink, nudge, nudge), he killed. By the time he turned 19, he was a great grabber.