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    Pig Farm Down The Rabbit Hole
    Pig Farm Down The Rabbit Hole
    Pig Farm Down The Rabbit Hole
    Ebook98 pages1 hour

    Pig Farm Down The Rabbit Hole

    By D. P. Publius

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    About this ebook

    Laughter in the Time of Anomie. Alice, the only woman on the Board of Directors of Cain-R-Plubes Inc., a large vertically integrated pork producer, follows the Board down a rabbit hole as it pursues a great white boar.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherD. P. Publius
    Release dateSep 15, 2020
    ISBN9781393946977
    Pig Farm Down The Rabbit Hole

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      Book preview

      Pig Farm Down The Rabbit Hole - D. P. Publius

      ACCOLADES FOR

      PIG FARM DOWN

      THE RABBIT HOLE

      A ham-fisted, plagiaristic mash-up

      •  Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, Famous English Author

      I agree

      •  Eric Arthur Blair, Famous English Author

      Me too

      •  Alexander Hamilton, Famous American Author

      Defamatory slime

      •  Devin Slapp Ooze, Litigious Congressman, Gerrymandered Congressional District

      Five Fists!

      -  Pacca Piece, Military Coordinator North American Operations, Antifa®

      CHAPTER ONE

      A Long-Expected Party

      A drawing of a person Description automatically generated

      ONCE UPON A TIME - On a Dark and Stormy Night - A Long, Long Time Ago - In a Planetary System Half a Solar System Away -

      Full Stop. Who are we kidding? In reality, it was bright and warm and calm. In the not so distant past. And our putative heroes were nominal adults.

      The Board of Directors of Cain-R-Plubes, Inc., a large vertically integrated pork producer, was having its quarterly meeting. Somewhere east of Dallas, west of Houston and north of San Antonio. Far, far away from Plubes’s pig farms, pigsties and slaughterhouses in Missouri, Mississippi and South Carolina. On the outside deck of an upscale restaurant. Where their Hispanic servers had been serving - platters of BEEF! Kobe® filet mignons, to be precise. Graced with Caspian caviar, and accompanied by first-growth Bordeauxs and dark chocolate truffles from an Italian chocolatier.

      The twenty-one Directors, most of them, were grunting and squealing with satisfaction. And slurping up the backwashes of wine remaining in their Trump® branded wineglasses.

      Alice was getting tired of sitting at the table. As the only female Director. With nothing to do, other than nod and occasionally wring her hands. She glanced, again, at the quarterly report in front of her, full of colorful graphs and pictures, but no words. What’s the use of a quarterly report, Alice wondered, that had no words?

      The truffles tasted like shit, Mack Mann, the august plain-spoken Director sitting next to Alice, said through his teeth.

      Alice uncomfortably nodded. She didn’t like the word shit, but the truffles did taste like crap. She ate two of them anyway; Alice was nothing if not polite.

      Ready for the song and dance? Mann said, again through his teeth.

      The Chairman (and CEO) stood up cleared his throat. Though it wasn’t obvious he had a throat, layered as it was by folds of sagging skin. Time for the company hymn! he cheerily announced. He raised his pale, bat-winged arms, hummed a note, and the Directors, a cappella, sang:

      All that is gold glitters

      All who wander are lost

      Those without purpose whither

      So we’ve cut a deal with Faust!

      Wealth is a sign of virtue

      So says Faust’s prophet Osteen

      Look up his sermons on YouTube

      And you will see what we mean

      Kumbaya!

      The last word was derisively shouted, and everyone laughed. Except Alice and Mack Mann. Plubes was ungodly profitable, Alice acknowledged (to herself), but she still thought it was a stupid song. With only two verses. And no chorus!

      The Chairman (also CEO) glanced at the public entrance to the deck, where a cache of nervous managers had lined up. Exeter, you’re first! the all gut and no butt Chairman shouted, before adjusting his chair to better accommodate his paunch and double-checking his plush chair cushion. (Despite his girth, he had very little natural padding on his sit bones.)

      Trevor Exeter was Plubes’s reproduction expediter. Wales-born, Oxford-educated, usually imperturbable, he now looked awkward. He took several steps towards the table, then hesitated. He asked, Where do I stand? There wasn’t a lectern or a speaker’s podium, and all of the seats at the table were occupied. There wasn’t even a flat screen for PowerPoint® presentations.

      Not behind me, The Chairman/CEO said.

      I need to read your lips, tweed-jacketed Dr. Claque Van Trapp said as smoke from his tobacco pipe curled out of his nose. (Heavily invested in his image as the most erudite Director, his first degree, an A.D. in Cosmetology, no longer appeared on his CV.)

      "I-need-to  see-the-whites  of-your-eyes," A.K. Forte, a frustrated arm-chair warrior and assault weapons enthusiast, said in burst mode.

      A picture containing drawing Description automatically generated

      NO-AH ME, DRAWLED Flip Kracker, a former frat boy, turned county prosecutor, turned impeached county prosecutor, turned counselor for the rich and famous.

      Nor me, the remaining Directors - other than Alice and Mack Mann - said in unison.

      As a result, Exeter stood behind Alice. Alice was REALLY getting tired of being the only female on the Board. She heard Exeter nervously shuffle papers. Then he said, Ah, hmm, yes, okay, erhm.

      Get it out, man! cried hulking Rupert Ufuk Beenuts, who recently had been expelled by Forbes from the ranks of the world’s billionaires. (He was suing Forbes for defamation.)

      Yes, Exeter said. Okay. Well. Alice heard his papers shuffle again. "Might as well get right to it. We have reproduction expense issues. Which, despite our profitability, are impacting that profitability. Something we now need to worry about, as our lead as the most efficient pork producer is eroding.

      Historically, we have shunned artificial insemination. On the basis that it violated the biblical injunction against spilling seed. Even if the spilled seed was animal seed, and a machine masturbated the animal. Blah, blah.

      Stop, STOP, cried Director Rickie Graitt with a grin. A college sophomore and current frat boy, still coated by an ample layer of baby fat, Graitt was on the Board for one reason only - his dad was Plubes’s largest shareholder. Graitt pulled an enormous condom out from under the table and pulled

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