SCENE
A sun kissed pigsty at Zuckerman’s farm. A group of pigs are speaking to one another inaudibly and wallowing in their own filth. The sound of a crowd can be heard gathering at an adjacent barn and taking pictures. Enter Pete, the pig.
DOUG: Hey, how are you Pete? Where have you been?
PETE [dejected]: I was just over at Wilbur’s barn. You know what it says now?
DOUG: What’s that?
PETE [incredulous]: “Some Pig.”
DOUG: Unbelievable.
PETE: I know, right? Can you believe these people? Fooled by a spider and a pig with no loyalty to his own kind.
DOUG: Well, that’s America for you. Last week, it’s Heidi Montag and this week it’s a different pig altogether.
PETE [laughing]: Nice one, dude.
DOUG: Yeah, I thought of it this morning over slop. It might not be so funny in a couple of months though, when we’re headed to the shambles, and he’s still doing back-flips like some kind of jackass.
PETE: You know what he is—he’s a damned Uncle Tom.
[Enter the goose]
GOOSE: Well, I never—Those are the words of a racist-acist-acist. I’d have thought better of you lads.
PETE: I’m sorry Goose, but I know an Uncle Tom when I see one, and that there’s an Uncle Tom-Om-Om.
GOOSE: Oh, that’s terrible-errible, making fun of my speech impediment-ediment-ediment. I can’t wait for Zuckerman to make bacon out of the both of you pillow biters.
[Goose goes out]
PETE: What a bitch.
DOUG: Seriously.
PETE: Look at that blue ribbon up there. It’s all a damned lie. Uncle was the best pig in the county. Everybody knew it, too.
DOUG: What really chaps my ass is how he won—with the word “Humble.” Yeah, it’s easy to be humble when you have a goddamn eight-legged promoter watching your ass at every turn.
PETE: It’s a fucking travesty is what it is. Uncle’s dead and gone, and Wilbur’s dancing for the people that ate him. It’s worse than the 1988 Olympics.
DOUG: What?
PETE: You know, Roy Jones Jr. He lost to some South Korean in South Korea even though Jones beat his ass and everyone saw it.
DOUG: Oh, well that makes sense, then.
PETE: Jesus, Doug, I thought you liked sports.
DOUG: I’m more of a mixed martial arts guy.
PETE: Oh well, to each his own, I guess. The point is, that Wilbur is a bastard of a pig.
DOUG: You said it buddy.
[Enter Charlotte]
CHARLOTTE: Salutations.
PETE (sarcastically): Salutations, Charlotte.
CHARLOTTE: How are you boys on this lovely summer’s day?
[Doug looks away in disgust]
PETE: Oh, yeah, it’s pretty good there Charlotte. You know, just wallowing around in mud, hanging out, wishing I wasn’t going to be slaughtered and picked apart in a few months.
[Charlotte is taken aback. Looks at Pete quizzically]
PETE: Say, uh, Charlotte. You wouldn’t know any way I could, you know, avoid being slaughtered and picked apart for human sustenance, would you?
CHARLOTTE: I’m afraid I wouldn’t, Pete. I apologize.
PETE: Oh, no problem, it’s just that, you know, I heard...
[Doug cuts him off]
DOUG: Now, no need to--
PETE (speaking over Doug): I heard that you were doing some promotional work for Wilbur over there, saving his life, preserving the innocence of that little girl Fern, you know, all that.
CHARLOTTE (embarrassed): Oh, well, no, I’m afraid you misheard.
PETE: Oh, cut the crap Charlotte. We already know.
CHARLOTTE: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
PETE: You know, Charlotte, I’ve spent most of my life wallowing in shit, but I’ve never even heard of a load like the one you’re giving me right now. So why don’t you just level with us. We’re all adults here.
CHARLOTTE (exasperated): Okay, okay, look: When Wilbur came here, he was just a frightened runt and he was ever so cute. Anyway, the old sheep told him he was going to be killed and I had to do something to calm him down. He was just so...vulnerable. And cute.
PETE: Right, right, and we’re neither vulnerable nor cute.
CHARLOTTE: Now you’re putting words in my mouth. Let me finish. So I started weaving these webs with words we found around the barn, you know, “radiant,” “terrific,” you know, all those. And the people started showing up. I didn’t know for sure if it would work, and I certainly didn’t mean to offend you fine pigs.
PETE: Yeah, yeah, we live here too, Charlotte, or did you forget? We know the damn story about the damn radiant pig and the damn dumb-asses who flock to see him every damn weekend.
CHARLOTTE: Well I don’t see any need for hostility...or language.
PETE: Of course you don’t, you busybody. You get to live a full, natural life. We get to go to the slaughter as soon as that fat fucker Zuckerman gets hungry.
DOUG: Yeah, just because we didn’t make a show of being ‘vulnerable,’ and ‘cute.’
CHARLOTTE: Look, I said I was sorry. What do you want from me?
PETE (looks at Doug): We want the Wilbur treatment. Like, “Two Kick-Ass Pigs,” right there on top of the barn.
CHARLOTTE: I’m afraid I can’t really do that.
DOUG (shouting): Why not?
CHARLOTTE: I’m getting up there in age, and, you know...
PETE: No, and what?
CHARLOTTE: Well, if every pig at Zuckerman’s farm was “radiant,” or, in your words, “kick-ass,” the promotion might lose its intended effect a bit.
PETE: Oh, I get it. So you can’t keep us from being slaughtered because it might put Wilbur’s not being slaughtered in question. Yeah, real nice Charlotte. Thanks for being such a friend.
CHARLOTTE (ascending her web): I really am terribly sorry, boys.
PETE (yelling at Charlotte): You can take your sorry and shove it up your ass.
DOUG: What a bitch.
PETE: Yeah. And Wilbur—what an asshole.
DOUG: You said it brother.
A sun kissed pigsty at Zuckerman’s farm. A group of pigs are speaking to one another inaudibly and wallowing in their own filth. The sound of a crowd can be heard gathering at an adjacent barn and taking pictures. Enter Pete, the pig.
DOUG: Hey, how are you Pete? Where have you been?
PETE [dejected]: I was just over at Wilbur’s barn. You know what it says now?
DOUG: What’s that?
PETE [incredulous]: “Some Pig.”
DOUG: Unbelievable.
PETE: I know, right? Can you believe these people? Fooled by a spider and a pig with no loyalty to his own kind.
DOUG: Well, that’s America for you. Last week, it’s Heidi Montag and this week it’s a different pig altogether.
PETE [laughing]: Nice one, dude.
DOUG: Yeah, I thought of it this morning over slop. It might not be so funny in a couple of months though, when we’re headed to the shambles, and he’s still doing back-flips like some kind of jackass.
PETE: You know what he is—he’s a damned Uncle Tom.
[Enter the goose]
GOOSE: Well, I never—Those are the words of a racist-acist-acist. I’d have thought better of you lads.
PETE: I’m sorry Goose, but I know an Uncle Tom when I see one, and that there’s an Uncle Tom-Om-Om.
GOOSE: Oh, that’s terrible-errible, making fun of my speech impediment-ediment-ediment. I can’t wait for Zuckerman to make bacon out of the both of you pillow biters.
[Goose goes out]
PETE: What a bitch.
DOUG: Seriously.
PETE: Look at that blue ribbon up there. It’s all a damned lie. Uncle was the best pig in the county. Everybody knew it, too.
DOUG: What really chaps my ass is how he won—with the word “Humble.” Yeah, it’s easy to be humble when you have a goddamn eight-legged promoter watching your ass at every turn.
PETE: It’s a fucking travesty is what it is. Uncle’s dead and gone, and Wilbur’s dancing for the people that ate him. It’s worse than the 1988 Olympics.
DOUG: What?
PETE: You know, Roy Jones Jr. He lost to some South Korean in South Korea even though Jones beat his ass and everyone saw it.
DOUG: Oh, well that makes sense, then.
PETE: Jesus, Doug, I thought you liked sports.
DOUG: I’m more of a mixed martial arts guy.
PETE: Oh well, to each his own, I guess. The point is, that Wilbur is a bastard of a pig.
DOUG: You said it buddy.
[Enter Charlotte]
CHARLOTTE: Salutations.
PETE (sarcastically): Salutations, Charlotte.
CHARLOTTE: How are you boys on this lovely summer’s day?
[Doug looks away in disgust]
PETE: Oh, yeah, it’s pretty good there Charlotte. You know, just wallowing around in mud, hanging out, wishing I wasn’t going to be slaughtered and picked apart in a few months.
[Charlotte is taken aback. Looks at Pete quizzically]
PETE: Say, uh, Charlotte. You wouldn’t know any way I could, you know, avoid being slaughtered and picked apart for human sustenance, would you?
CHARLOTTE: I’m afraid I wouldn’t, Pete. I apologize.
PETE: Oh, no problem, it’s just that, you know, I heard...
[Doug cuts him off]
DOUG: Now, no need to--
PETE (speaking over Doug): I heard that you were doing some promotional work for Wilbur over there, saving his life, preserving the innocence of that little girl Fern, you know, all that.
CHARLOTTE (embarrassed): Oh, well, no, I’m afraid you misheard.
PETE: Oh, cut the crap Charlotte. We already know.
CHARLOTTE: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
PETE: You know, Charlotte, I’ve spent most of my life wallowing in shit, but I’ve never even heard of a load like the one you’re giving me right now. So why don’t you just level with us. We’re all adults here.
CHARLOTTE (exasperated): Okay, okay, look: When Wilbur came here, he was just a frightened runt and he was ever so cute. Anyway, the old sheep told him he was going to be killed and I had to do something to calm him down. He was just so...vulnerable. And cute.
PETE: Right, right, and we’re neither vulnerable nor cute.
CHARLOTTE: Now you’re putting words in my mouth. Let me finish. So I started weaving these webs with words we found around the barn, you know, “radiant,” “terrific,” you know, all those. And the people started showing up. I didn’t know for sure if it would work, and I certainly didn’t mean to offend you fine pigs.
PETE: Yeah, yeah, we live here too, Charlotte, or did you forget? We know the damn story about the damn radiant pig and the damn dumb-asses who flock to see him every damn weekend.
CHARLOTTE: Well I don’t see any need for hostility...or language.
PETE: Of course you don’t, you busybody. You get to live a full, natural life. We get to go to the slaughter as soon as that fat fucker Zuckerman gets hungry.
DOUG: Yeah, just because we didn’t make a show of being ‘vulnerable,’ and ‘cute.’
CHARLOTTE: Look, I said I was sorry. What do you want from me?
PETE (looks at Doug): We want the Wilbur treatment. Like, “Two Kick-Ass Pigs,” right there on top of the barn.
CHARLOTTE: I’m afraid I can’t really do that.
DOUG (shouting): Why not?
CHARLOTTE: I’m getting up there in age, and, you know...
PETE: No, and what?
CHARLOTTE: Well, if every pig at Zuckerman’s farm was “radiant,” or, in your words, “kick-ass,” the promotion might lose its intended effect a bit.
PETE: Oh, I get it. So you can’t keep us from being slaughtered because it might put Wilbur’s not being slaughtered in question. Yeah, real nice Charlotte. Thanks for being such a friend.
CHARLOTTE (ascending her web): I really am terribly sorry, boys.
PETE (yelling at Charlotte): You can take your sorry and shove it up your ass.
DOUG: What a bitch.
PETE: Yeah. And Wilbur—what an asshole.
DOUG: You said it brother.
Fin
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