I had not planned on changing careers.  I was delighted to be the cow-herding celebrity on a Texas ranch of former fireball pitcher Nolan Ryan, who threw a record seven no-hitters.  I don’t much like baseball as it’s slow and boring but love football, a game in which my four hundred pounds of muscle would’ve been devastating.  It is on this point that I became a political activist, after the University of Texas decided, and pompously announced, I could not play middle linebacker for the Longhorns because I’m a wild pig.  I could characterize some of the administrators at UT, as well as at other schools that subsequently rejected me, but I’m a tactful creature and shall continue to outmaneuver them with superior agility, both cerebral and athletic.

I am running for office not merely as a Pigs’ Rights Activist but as a champion of freedom and dignity for all God’s creatures.  No candidate has ever proposed the comprehensive reform I’m advocating.  Rather than kowtowing to the gun lobby, I here state that no animal should ever be slaughtered, except in self defense.  Sport hunting is a sadistic crime and in particular an anathema to me.  You probably know my mother, minutes after giving birth to me and a brother and sister, was gut shot by a cretin.  My mother and siblings expired, and I survived only because ranch manager Mike Veara baby-bottle fed me a formula for orphaned calves.  I thus grew up around people, cows, and dogs, and have assimilated their most useful qualities.

Unsurprisingly, my enemies delight in asserting I’m an arrogant porker who hates all of the million and a half wild pigs in Texas.  That is untrue.  I bear them no malice.  I merely do not want to be around them.  Do you think that resolute champion of poor people, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, also hobnobbed with them?  Though generally avoiding social contact with pigs, I, like many professional females who desire a family, had a brief relationship that allowed me to last year become the mother of two fine little piglets.  Oh, but Squeaky isn’t married, my opponents snarl, she’s ethically unqualified for elective office.  Have you noticed how many of those moralizers are soon arrested or chastised for misdeeds in public and private places?

My adversaries are also quite hypocritically portraying me as an elitist who eschews hog slop while slurping sodas and gobbling fish sticks, eggs, marshmallows, and pizza.  (I promise never to eat pepperoni again.)  They further complain I should have been thankful for getting rations of cat food and deer corn.  Let me state this: if you want cat food, deer corn, or hog slop, eat them.  Very well, they’ll snipe, but Squeaky often breaks into the ranch house to get delicacies fully intended to be locked away from her and in reserve for humans; Squeaky’s a thief.  Listen, I alone can herd two hundred cows at once and generate international praise: I deserve the finest nutrition and my food forays are perks rather than crimes.

Terrified by my popularity and eminent electability, desperate opponents have begun lamenting that Squeaky, who loves wallowing in mud and hates being washed off, is uncouth and undiplomatic and would disgrace her constituents.  What hypocrites.  Couldn’t Lyndon Johnson lift his shirt to reveal a horrific gall-bladder scar across his flabby belly?  Couldn’t floppy-breasted Bill Clinton swim in public?  Couldn’t George W. Bush show his hairy legs in bike-riding shorts that were bikini tight around his ass?  Of course they could.  It was understood they’d tidy up before going to work.  And I will too.  I’ll have my pigskin washed and shined and my hair brushed and I’ll be a great President of the United States, perhaps the finest ever and certainly the best from Texas.

Source: Houston Chronicle, August 12, 2008.

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