Nothing says I love you like a piglet!It's this campaign Oxfam has going at the moment. You buy a pig for a third-world family and then you give your mother a card telling her about the pig. Or something. It's lame present-giving for the modern generation who think that 'feeling good' is it's own reward. Fuck that, I don't want to feel good, I just want money - or chocolate. I'm not fussy!
But anyway. What a difference a few grammatical markings make: later, I walked past the pamphlet, and it brazenly told me,
I love you like a piglet!What? The pamphlet didn't even know me, but it loved me anyway? And it loved me like a piglet? What kind of crazy kinky shit was this? I didn't want it to love me like a piglet, and I didn't want it to love me any other way! Screw this for a joke! I threw the pamphlet down on the floor and left the room in disgust!
A while afterwards I wandered threw the room again and the pamphlet looked me in the eye - I don't know how it did it, but it did - and it declared straight away:
Nothing says 'I love you' like a piglet!O God. It was the freaking piglet that loved me now. And it was a bloody talking piglet! I broke out in a cold sweat; I think I had visions of myself being raped in a seedy back-alley barn by hundreds of pink-skinned piglets, all squealing in sepulchral tones 'I love you! I love you, Timmy!'
I felt claustrophobic. I crumpled the pamphlet up, hurled it to the other side of the room, and ran howling outside.
But I still didn't buy the fucking piglet.