Once upon a time there was a college of little pigs. All of these pigs were so lazy, not even one wanted to build a house, not even out of straw. Instead, they applied to their Pig Senate for theme housing.
“I want a Tea House!” said one pig.
“I want a Flea House! said another pig.
“Oink! Oink! Oink!” said a third pig. He wasn’t the greatest at speaking Pig Latin. He was from Babe-a, a brat house.
Though twelve pigs wanted houses, there were only five houses available. The wolves at Porkhouse suggested a very simple solution to this problem of too many pigs. But Senate decided that the solution wasn’t kosher. Instead, they randomly selected a committee of seven pigs to choose which houses to approve. As you’d expect, the committee chose their own theme houses, or those of their pig friends, except for one of the pig members who’d been shut up with an apple stuffed in his mouth.
They approved Flea House, a place where Ham Mudtone and his lady pig friends could play games like pin the tail on the donkey. Or on the pig.
They approved Humor House. But since the author of this column has an interest in this house, before he writes about it, he’s going to close his eyes and put his hands over his ears.
Glad that’s over with.
As you’d expect, after the committee announced their decision, the pigs in the senate argued and oinked, and oinked and argued. They ignored their President Elard Squealson as she banged her hooves. They ate each other’s babies. They would have ripped out each other’s hair if they had any.
Oinkly Oinksinson was particularly angry. Even though feminist pigs had spent years trying to get women out of the house, she, with her Feminist House, wanted them back in one. When Senate voted her house down, she said, “Not by the hair under our army, arm, arms!” She huffed, and she puffed, and she tried to blow the other houses down.
Senate would probably have never decided which houses to approve if Campus Life Director Hog Swinethern hadn’t finally yelped: “If you don’t decide in five minutes, nobody gets a house!” At this point, they took a vote by oinking “oink”, or “oink”, and lived happily ever after.
They then wrote about how angry they still were in their school’s newspaper.
In case anybody feels insulted by this fairy tale, let me assure you that it has nothing to do with Knox College, one of the finest liberal arts institutions in the Midwest. It is a story of pigs, not people. I hope that’s clear. Now, go get your swine flu inoculations and enjoy your flunk day mud pits.