The Pig, by Roald Dahl
In England once there lived a big
A wonderfully clever pig.
To everybody it was plain
That Piggy had a massive brain.
He worked out sums inside his head,
There was no book he hadn’t read.
He knew what made an airplane fly,
He knew how engines worked and why.
He knew all this, but in the end
One question drove him round the bend:
He simply couldn’t puzzle out
What LIFE was really all about.
What was the reason for his birth?
Why was he placed upon this earth?
His giant brain went round and round.
Alas, no answer could be found.
Till suddenly one wondrous night.
All in a flash he saw the light.
He jumped up like a ballet dancer
And yelled, “By gum, I’ve got the answer!”
“They want my bacon slice by slice
“To sell at a tremendous price!
“They want my tender juicy chops
“To put in all the butcher’s shops!
“They want my pork to make a roast
“And that’s the part’ll cost the most!
“They want my sausages in strings!
“They even want my chitterlings!
“The butcher’s shop! The carving knife!
“That is the reason for my life!”
Such thoughts as these are not designed
To give a pig great peace of mind.
Next morning, in comes Farmer Bland,
A pail of pigswill in his hand,
And piggy with a mighty roar,
Bashes the farmer to the floor…
Now comes the rather grizzly bit
So let’s not make too much of it,
Except that you must understand
That Piggy did eat Farmer Bland,
He ate him up from head to toe,
Chewing the pieces nice and slow.
It took an hour to reach the feet,
Because there was so much to eat,
And when he finished, Pig, of course,
Felt absolutely no remorse.
Slowly he scratched his brainy head
And with a little smile he said,
“I had a fairly powerful hunch
“That he might have me for his lunch.
“And so, because I feared the worst,
“I thought I’d better eat him first.”
Woke up this morning with a pain in my thigh
Throbbing deeply, seemingly from the bone,
But it is not entirely unfamiliar as I am prone
To the occasional affliction of mysterious origin
And so I hobble into trousers before leaving to buy
A paper at the local shop and give thanks with lowered chin.
A drab and cloudy day has seen no change;
My leg is no better or worse but the ache
Remains along with an inclination to bake
Lemon cookies which means purchasing flour.
Unless my leg improves a little, I guess I can arrange
To lie on my arse, which doesn’t help (little does), feeling sour.
Upon sighting a cheese
I may want to lick my lips
And raise my hands
So as to get to grips
With great yellow hunks
Of bliss. Just to press
Upon on my tongue
An Edam slice and caress
It with my teeth sounds
Sordid, yes, but one feels
Such a thrill. At once my
Mind, so lofty, swiftly reels
Back down to earth. It would
Seem that the man behind the glass
Display does not appreciate my
Slobbering everywhere, thinks it crass
Of me to soak the cabinet with the
Drippings of my cheese lust.
Fine, I’ll leave, but I will return
With renewed vigour and thrust
Myself over the counter, knocking you
Aside as I inhale deeply and in my head
Begin to swim in melty Cheddar currents:
Fulfilling cheesy desires best left unsaid.
There was a vagina from Bod
Who didn’t believe in a God
It picked up a rope
Strangled the Pope
And appropriated his scepter (or rod)
In a little pudding house,
Sat a little pudding boy.
Our pudding boy was very round,
turning stale and oh so coy.
He liked to stay inside all day,
Sit by the window and look at birds.
But the closest that he ever got
Was a window splashed with sparrow turds.
He happened to watch an inspiring film
And decided to change his ways.
He put on his finest sugar coat
To meet the birds and put on a display.
But the birds gobbled up our little pudding boy
And gobbled up his little pudding home.
Take heart, for though he may not have known,
He was in some sense no longer alone.
I fear that one day my tum
Will drop lower than my bum
And tarnish the sacred duty
Of my butt - to promote beauty
Er, may be the case
That I am short of material
Uh, stare at my shiny face
As we talk over cereal!
Such a fabled rear-end
Is said to be made of brisket
Matters not: for it shall bend
To the will of just one biscuit