Not getting enough Pitchfork in your daily diet? Due to his limited brain capacity, Porcus occasionally spins out of control with information overload and resorts to his 'Notes To Self' scribblings and deep thoughts. These deep, beer induced thoughts have spilled over onto a new Pitchfork page titled, Porcus Pitchfork: WTF!, where Porcus puts his everyday observations into print. So, since you're here anyway, no doubt surfing the web on your bosses dime, make a mad dash over to: >>> Porcus Pitchfork: WTF! >>> • • • • • • • • • • • • • • You just may find yourself guilty as hell of the same thoughts and observations, so be sure to tune in from time to time.

What the hell am I going to do with this page? Skewer Korrectniks, brain-deaders, call 'em as I see 'em, and from time to time, give props to way cool individuals that deserve a hearty two-thumbs up, that's what I'm going to do, dag-nabbit!

Am I in direct competition with my Brother In Arms, Hambo? No way. This page is meant for Porcus to sound off and spout off on really important issues like Twatney Spears, Babes of The Month, and maybe some other pesky stuff like our upcoming election, border jumpers, and assorted scum that renders a "blip" on the PIG radar.

I won't claim to be the prolific writer Hambo is, but I'll post my musings from time to time, in between beers, pizzas and fishing trips.

As founder of PIG, I should have recognized the responsibility of sticking my neck out and offering up my two cents worth on an occasional basis, as I created PIG as a forum for everyday folks (Like me, Hambo, Staff and our contributors) to voice their opinions on any subject.

I thought I should make the clear distinction between Hambo and myself. While we are in many ways, very like-minded, we also are two very different individuals. He has his "ways", I have mine, but when we meet, 100% Guaranteed, we cook something up, each and every week.

So PIGsters, your humble publisher is finally coming out of the closet to launch what's left of his mind upon you, should you care to stop by.

Name is Porcus Maximus, founder, creator, builder, designer, and discoverer of talent, (Hambo & Staff) of the best damn website, PIG.

Enjoy.

P.S. No need to assemble outside of my house, mob-style, with tar and feathers, hockey sticks, pitchforks, shotguns, torches, etc. You'll never stifle the voice of freedom that's heard every day here at The Free State Of PIG.

An Irishman is never drunk as long as he can hold onto one blade of grass to keep from falling off the earth. - Irish Saying

It goes without saying that St. Patrick's Day goes hand in hand with parades, corned beef and cabbage, wearing of the green, and partying 'til you puke.

In the past, I have been a bit strident about St. Paddy's Day being the one day of the year when everyone wants to be Irish. I guess the same can't be said for Martin Luther King, Jr. or Cesar Chavez Day, when not everyone wants to be, well, you know...

This year, I'll lighten up and provide the McFaithful with some Irish humor I've lifted from other sources.

Oh, and don't call me from your local drunk tank to bail you out. Chances are, I'll be in one meself.

So, just to play along, I'll (in good humor) further perpeturate the stereotypical Irish as the hard drinking, happy-go-lucky, comical charmers that they are.

May the gas you pass the day after St. Pat's Day be filled with the fresh scent of crisp corned beef, cabbage and a nice warm Guinness.

Two Irishmen, Patrick Murphy and Shawn O'Brian grew up together and were lifelong friends. But alas, Patrick developed cancer, and was dying. While on his deathbed, Patrick called to his buddy, Shawn, "O'Brian, come 'ere. I 'ave a request for ye." Shawn walked to his friend's bedside and kneels.

"Shawny ole boy, we've been friends all our lives, and now I'm leaving 'ere. I 'ave one last request fir ye to do."

O'Brian burst into tears, "Anything Patrick, anything ye wish. It's done."

"Well, under me bed is a box containing a bottle of the finest whiskey in all of Ireland. Bottled the year I was born it was. After I die, and they plant me in the ground, I want you to pour that fine whiskey over me grave so it might soak into me bones and I'll be able to enjoy it for all eternity."

O'Brian was overcome by the beauty and in the true Irish spirit of his friend's request, he asked, "Aye, tis a fine thing you ask of me, and I will pour the whiskey. But, might I strain it through me kidneys first?"

Myth: Shamrocks are associated with the holiday because St. Patrick used them as a teaching tool for the pagan Celts he converted to Christianity. The Shamrock's 3 leaves symbolize the holy Trinity.
Reality: Shamrocks were just the first things Patrick saw when he woke up face down in a field after a particularly bad bender.

O'Connell was staggering home with a pint of booze in his back pocket when he slipped and fell heavily. Struggling to his feet, he felt something wet running down his leg.  "Please, God," he implored, "let it be blood!" 

Myth: "Luck of the Irish" refers to the abundance of Good Fortune long enjoyed by the Irish.
Reality: Good Fortune has included 1,000 years of invasion, colonization, exploitation, starvation and mass emigration. Then there was the "Gangs of New York" and as a final insult: those Colin Farrell sex tapes and the mere existence of Rosie O'Donnell.

An Irishman went for an interview with one of the major blue chip computer companies.  When the interview was over the interviewer told him that all applicants had to complete a test.

The interviewer took a piece of paper and drew six vertical lines in pairs of two on the paper and placed it in front of the Irishman.  

"Could you please show me a clever way to make this into nine?"

After thinking for a while the Irishman took the pencil and drew a canopy of leaves on top of the three pairs of lines, and handed the paper back to the interviewer.

The interviewer looked at the drawings and said: "But that is not nine!"  "Oh yes it is", said the Irishman with a broad Irish accent, "Tree + Tree + Tree make nine!"

The interviewer handed the paper back to the Irishman and asked him to make it 99. After thinking for a longer while the Irishman scribbled up and down the trunks and handed the paper back to the interviewer. The interviewer looked at the drawings and said:

"But that is not ninety nine!" "Oh yes it is", said the Irishman, "Dirty tree + dirty tree + dirty tree make ninety nine." 

The interviewer was now a bit cheesed off so he decided to do the Irishman once and for all, therefore, he handed the paper back to the Irishman and asked him to make it 100.

After thinking for a considerably longer time the Irishman suddenly grabbed the pencil and drew a little blop on the bottom right hand side of each three and handed the paper back to the interviewer. 

The interviewer looked at the drawings and said: "But that is not 100!"

"Oh yes it most certainly is", said the Irishman with a much broader Irish accent, "Dirty tree and a turd + dirty tree and turd + dirty tree and a turd make 100!!!!!"

Myth: St. Patrick's Day is a lot of fun with parades and games and merriment.
Reality: It's not just an innocent holiday. Think about this: if you rearrange the letters of SAINT PATRICK'S DAY... it spells out SATANIC KIDS PARTY! This would explain the perverted behavior of the Catholic Church.

On Saint Patrick's Day, an Irishman who had a little to much to drink was driving home from the city and his car was weaving violently all over the road. A cop pulled him over.

"So," said the cop to the driver, "Where have you been?"

"Why, I've been to the pub of course," slurs the drunk.

"Well," says the cop, "it looks like you've had quite a few to drink this evening."

"I did all right," the drunk says with a smile.

"Did you know," says the cop, standing straight and folding his arms across his chest, "that a few intersections back, your wife fell out of your car?"

"Oh, thank heavens," sighs the drunk. "For a minute there, I thought I'd gone deaf."

Myth: Green is the official color of St. Patrick's Day because it's the color of spring, shamrocks and fertility.
Reality: The official color is flashing red and blue as the officer writes out your DUI.

Padraic Flaherty came home drunk every evening toward ten. Now, the Missus was never too happy about it, either.

So one night sh hides in the cemetery and figures to scare the beejeezus out of him. As poor Pat wanders by, up from behind a tombstone she jumps in a red devil costume screaming,  "Padraic Sean Flaherty, sure and ya' don't give up you're drinkin' and it's to Hell I'll take ye'".

Pat, undaunted, staggered back and demanded, "Who the hell ARE you?".

Too that the Missus replied, "I'm the divil ya' damned  old fool".

To which Flaherty remarked, "Damned glad to meet you sir, I'm married to yer sister." 

Myth: The Irish are the world's most poetic people.
Reality: Limericks are to Poetry, as Paris Hilton is to Acting. In fact, the National Poet Laureate of Ireland has been named and it's...that Man from Nantucket.

Murphy told Quinn that his wife was driving him to drink. Quinn thinks he's very lucky because his own wife makes him walk.

Myth: Many young women think St. Patrick’s Day is a time to get drunk and experiment by kissing another girl in public.
Reality: According to St. Patrick, your actions will have you banished into a Lesbian Hell!

NOTE: Guys who make it into Heaven are allowed to visit Lesbian Hell to watch.

"O'Ryan," asked the druggist, "did that mudpack I gave you improve your wife's appearance?"

"It did surely," replied O'Ryan, "but it keeps fallin' off!"

This St. Patrick's Day posting wouldn't be complete without some Irish Limericks

On the t*ts of a barmaid named Gayle,

Were tattooed prices of beer, stout, and Ale,

And on her behind,

For the sake of the blind,

Was precisely the same, but in Braille.

>>>>>

There was a young lady from Brewster

Who's ass was so nice that I goosed her,

But her panties were thin

And my finger slipped in

And it still just don't smell like it used ter.

>>>>>

There was a young man named Dave

Who kept a dead whore in a cave.

Said he, "I'll admit

She does smell a bit,

But look at the money I save!"

>>>>>

There once was a woman from Hunt

Who smoked a cigar with her c***
Smoke rings did she blow

As part of the show

T’was really one hell of a stunt!

>>>>>

In the garden of Eden sat Adam,

Massaging the bust of his madam,

He chuckled with mirth,

For he knew that on earth,

There were only two boobs and he had 'em.

>>>>>

A dentist, young Doctor Malone,

Got a charming girl patient alone,

And in his depravity

He filled the wrong cavity

And my how his practice has grown!

>>>>>

There was a young man from New Haven,

Who had an affair with a raven.

He said with a grin,

As he wiped off his chin,

She sure was in need to be shaven.

>>>>>

A large-organed female in Dallas,

Named Alice,
Who yearned for a phallus,

Was virgo intacto,

Because, ipso facto,

No phallus in Dallas fit Alice

>>>>>

That's all for this St. Patrick's Day McPIGsters, and if, after reading all this you still think it's grand and glorious to be Irish even for a day, well join the club!

Six years ago, March 1st, 2004, the world was introduced to the loose cannons that unleashed upon cyberspace, with great fury and vengeance, The Free State Of PIG.

That’s right PIGsters, roll out the barrels, it’s our birthday, and as usual, I'm late for my own self-celebratory festivities.

We didn’t really come out of the closet to declare our incorrectness, more like out of the shadows where we had been lurking, planning and plotting our unique brand of skewering the status quo.

Our objective was to critique, humiliate, lampoon and stigmatize those zealous (ex) individuals, institutions and organizations that seek to impose their Cultural Marxism on sovereign individuals.

That said, we decided to toss our hat in the ring by nailing with ease, the huge bullseye that the Krusading Korrectnik Kool-Aid Krew, Liberals, Ethnocrats, Gendercrats, Educrats, Colonistas, Media Meatheads and other assorted smarty pants, loudmouths and zombies placed upon themselves by hitting that target accurately with what is so sorely lacking in their miserable little world: Truth, Humor, Facts and Fun!

And Fun we have had! Woo-woo!!!

For those not familiar with our humble beginnings, here’s a brief history of PIG’s conception, birth and development...again.

I mention this every so often and even further down on this page for the sake of those new to The Free State Of PIG, so bear with me, Old Timers.

THIS...
...BEGAT THIS

Conception: In 1993, as a very disillusioned and pissed off recent college grad, I took a whiff of the world around me and the pungency made me puke.

I had attended an extremely left-wing, political correctness on steroids art school where manufactured "sensitivity" and "awareness" to fly-by-night causes were more of a prerequisite to training and talent development.

I graduated during and very close to ground zero of the L.A. riots and was armed with a portfolio chock full of anger, attitude and incorrectness. My illustrations were definitely not fit for Better Homes and Gardens, The L.A. Times, Rolling Stone or any other traditional or mainstrean publication.

After shopping my portfolio around and getting rejected at every turn, I thought that somewhere, there must be a venue for the attitude I was trying to convey.

Out of frustration and a "Fuck it, I'll show them" attitude, I created a business card (pictured) showcasing my editorially and offbeat graphics and illustrations, naturally calling my new venture PIG: Politically Incorrect Graphics.

Then it hit me. Why stop with just graphics? There's no way I'm the only one with an incorrect attitude.

Then, the epiphany!!! Why not create a publication for like-minded individuals as forum to that would feature not only graphics, but articles, essays and editorials reflecting a politically incorrect bent.

As I got busy formulating an anti-status quo publication based on my business card, what do I call this “I’m Mad As Hell” publication?

I looked at the card, scratched my head and Oink-Ola! PIG: The Politically Incorrect Gazette.

Now I needed content and the right kind of help to assist in his venture.

After searching high and low for someone that met my criteria, fate stepped in, and along came a dude we’ll call Hambo.

The stars were in alignment when we met. Our attitudes and ideas were mutual we and began the long process of molding PIG into what it is today.

Birth: PIG was initially going to be geared for print, as the internet was in it's infancy at the time. I had to step aside for several years as life crept in and wouldn’t afford me the time needed to tend to PIG in a proper manner.

Hambo and I got back together in 2001 and dove headfirst into the development of PIG.

After much work and donuts, the final, initial version of PIG made it’s presence known on March 1st, 2004, our birthday.

Immediately upon launching the site, I emailed several friends and family members and 20 minutes later got a call from PIGster #1, we'll call him J-Cro.

His initial reaction, after laughing hard at the satirical points and even harder at the serious points, was that he got it. That was an indication that we've succeeded in striking a chord with those for whom political correctness made them puke.

Development: We haven't strayed too far from our original design, editorial policy or mission.

We can proudly say we haven't jumped the shark, nor will we ever sellout our core tenets.

We have added and expanded much more material over the past 6 years, and our bottom line is that PIG is, and always will be a work in progress.

We have clinged to the base notion that PIG is a forum for ANYONE, regardless of race, creed, color, age, ethnicity, country of origin, sex, tribe, religious beliefs, credit rating, political affiliations, criminal background, shoe size, hair color, cholesterol count, IQ, or socioeconomic level, who will one day, somehow, someway, be affected, offended, censored, angered, alienated, disgusted or amused by Political Correctness.

We have encouraged folks to send us their two-cents worth for posting and some have, on an ongoing, even daily basis.

Not wanting to preach to the choir, we will always welcome those that vehemently disagree with us as well. Wanna know why? So we can bag 'em and tag 'em.

Just to show how truely tolerant we are, we have never, nor will we ever ban or blacklist anyone from the Free State Of PIG based on their opinion, political affiliations, religious beliefs, blah, blah, blah.

In all seriousness, your most modest publisher is deeply grateful for the time you all take to visit us here at The Free State Of PIG. On behalf of Hambo & Staff, we give major PIG props to our readers - past, present and future - for playing with us these last six years and hope you'll stick around for our seventh year.

Party time is over. It's time to roll up our sleeves and begin work on Year Seven.

MARKING OUR TERRITORY
FSOP: Leaving Our Mark On The Status Quo Since 2004

That's 1,000,000 for the MONTH, PIGsters. Please don't make me go Glenn Beck on you with charts and chalkboards by explaining how this was destined to happen with projections and predictions and internet trends and blah, blah, blabbity blah.

Are we doing cartwheels over this news? No, as our work is not, and never will be done. We may however, hoist a cold one and pat ourselves on the back.

We don't know when that magic moment came nor do we know who the person is that helped us reach that pinnacle for the month, but we have a sneaking hunch it was somebody using the bosses time and computer.

Unfortunately, there was no fanfare, bells, sirens or whistles for that individual. However, there is a great reward waiting for that person and that prize can be claimed each and every day simply by tuning in to PIG and taking notes. That goes for the entire PIGdome, too.

What took us so long? We had a "If you build it, they will come" philosophy by letting nature, the internet and word of mouth take it's course.

We knew we would leave our mark not just online, but well after you've logged off your computer.

We are not going to go "Aw shucks" and neither are we going to go Tarzan and pound our chests and rest on our laurels, as we have much work ahead of us.

Instead, we will express our profound gratitude to our readers the only way we know - by continuing to provide you with our unique brand of Truth, Humor, Facts and Fun on a daily basis.

Thank you for playing with us and we hope to see much more of you in the future.

Porcus

P.S. You have to admit, we are pretty bad-ass, huh?

Yesterday afternoon my Mrs. took on the chore of preparing some crockpot culinary cuisine. And it was good. For a while.

Her culture and diet includes real he-man doses of extremely hot, raw and chest hair peeling chili's, including seranos, jalepenos, and habaneros.

It smelled great and dumbass, numbnuts, me, walked over to the kitchen after the wife warned me not to, as the peppers were still on the raw side.

Wannabe lumberjacks like me don't need to be told what to eat, and when. So I proceeded to help myself to a healthy hot plate, against my wife's warnings.

I ate the entire plate in front of her, wiped my mouth with my sleeve as my wife cautioned me that I'm going end up in much pain later, as she said she wasn't finished and the peppers weren't fully cooked.

Settling in for what I thought was going to be a most productive evening of TV watching and chips and dip, I was rudely reminded of what a powerful punch those chili's have on the human digestive system.

Nature sure wan't whispering sweet nothings in my ear, and it wasn't calling either. It was screaming for the bathroom, and God help anyone or thing that had the misfortune of being in my way.

Caution: The following information may be too explicit for those with weak stomachs.

At last count and numerous trips to the bathroom, in the time span of two and a half hours, the steaming load count went as follows:

2 Obama's (Supersized and extra stinky, of course)

Half a Harry Reid

One huge John Edwards

A rectum reaming Nancy Pelosi, complete with cold sweats

Had to make yet another return trip which I'll call the Barney Frank Midnight Run which for some reason had a very annoying lisping sound.

And for my encore and curtain call, the last one I couldn't decide to name it either Michelle or John Kerry. They both kept circling the drain so fast it made my head spin, thus inducing a vomitting episode, which was the fun part.

In those healthy and hearty chunks that got upchucked, I swear I saw the last of Ted Kennedy's legacy, some traces of Al Franken, Al Gore and in some puple liquid mass that looked like Kool-Aid, I saw Sean Hannity's face, too.

I recovered just fine, and thanks loads for asking about my culinary episode.

Oh shit! I forgot to mention 2010 is mid-term election time.

Tee-Hee!

Do we need any more proof than the recent Fruit Of Ka-Boom terrorist attempt to blow up Detroit bound Flight 253 to implement a system of profiling potential terrorists? Duh! Ya think?

Are these recent incidents cases of "What we have here is a failure to communicate"? You bet. As a matter of fact, going back to Pre-9/11, that's what we've had...a failure on the federal and international level to communicate and share sensitive information with each other.

Predictably, the usual Talking Heads Gas Bags, Hot-Aired Political Hacks and other Monday Morning Quarterbacks will spend weeks, months analyzing these incidents and asking, "How did this happen?" "How can we prevent this from happening again?"

Guess what? While the "experts'" attention is being diverted dissecting, analyzing, interpreting and talking about the most recent incident, Terror Scum is busy plotting yet another twisted attack in some other fashion in the near future.

When the hell are assholes like Homeland Stupidity's Janet Napolitano going to wake up and realize that these incidents are not "Man Made Disasters" but ongoing, never ending attempted acts of terror conducted by America hating cockroaches?

The time for talking, head scratching and finger pointing is way over, and the time to take pro-active, profiling measures is way overdue. It's high time to stop harassing honest law abiding airline passengers and focus on the problem. We don't mean putting anyone wielding nail clippers or too much hair gel on some Mickey Mouse watch list, either.

Drastic times call for nothing short of drastic, preventative measures.We're talking about profiling, at least to start with.

Profiling: First, profiling by itself is not a drastic measure, but the word and practice of "profiling" is such a dirty word to some as it conjures up images of racist, rouge cops singling out suspects based on skin color. I don't have a problem with that, especially if it means cleaning up the 'Hood, or in this case, airports.

Naturally, the ACLU and especially those being targeted (Radical Muslim Extremists, Terrorists and other scum) contend profiling is a violation of one's civil liberties and might cause some psychological and emotional boo-boo's. Tough toenail clippers. When it comes to potential threats, an emotional ding to one's delicate psyche by getting profiled is nothing compared to scraping up scattered body parts strewn across our fruited plains.

How is it that America went from taking in "...huddled masses yearning to breathe free" to becoming a dumpster for other countries to dispose of their riff-raff, undesirables, incorrigables and other malcontents, including terrorists?

There are many answers to that question, but in the context of deterring terrorist plots, we can add lack of screening and/or profiling to that list.

The first thing to do is determine who gets profiled and seperate the humans from the suspected sub-humans and we can begin with the obvious. Jihadikaze Extremists and apologists for the "Religion Of Peace."

Discrimminatory, shoot first, ask questions later system of screening aimed at...Muslims?

Well, since the Amish, the Girls Scouts, AARP, Good Samaritans and even Jehovah's Witnesses really haven't posed any threats to airline safety, why not Mecca Maniacs?

Since Homeland Stupidity is too weak, wimpy and politically correct to single out suspected terrorists at their level and actually do anything about it, The Pitchfork proposes an "unofficial" screening and profiling program called:

OPERATION S.C.R.O.T.U.M.
Screen, Curtail & Render Obsolete Terrorists & other Unhinged Miscreants

OFFICIAL SCROTUM UNIFORM

Operation: SCROTUM will replace the screening methods currently used by the incompetents running the TSA, and making the airline travel experience as unpleasant as possible for terrorist scum as it already is for the rest of us.

Operation: SCROTUM profiling criteria. If an individual falls into certain categories, such as an unpronouncable name, religion, country of origin, point of departure and destination, method of payment, mental health, is he/she bellowing "Allah Akbar!" and frightening other passengers, and how many goats, wives and RPG's he owns, he goes to the top of the unofficial SCROTUM "Shit List."

Unfortunately, the airlines won't implement an official "Shit List Profiling Policy" due to the anticipated avalanche of lawsuits and negative publicity. BUT who's to stop the airlines from probing, prodding and pitchforking suspected terrorists into "special consideration" status whether they're on a "Travel Shit List" or not, by using discretionary safety measures to weed out terrorists with a wink, wink and a nudge, nudge?

If the current TSA heightened security measures are good enough for the proverbial "87 Year-Old-Granny" and the "8-Year Old Freckle Faced Kid" it's good enough for everyone. However, Operation SCROTUM is not a one-size-fits-all, cookie cutter method of screening and profiling. It's basically a more specific, intrusive and intimate system of weeding out potential and real Jihadists and it works like this.

Upon entering terminal, everyone, no matter who you are, from high profile Pop Tarts and Political Hacks to Joe Six-Pack and yes, even YOU Ali Baba gets the obligatory once over after standing in line and growing old and collecting cobwebs for an eternity.

Once the preliminary screenings have been conducted, the real fun begins.

Using common sense, SCROTUM screeners (see picture, above) will then have the task of seperating the honest, law abiding travelers from those that may have raised some red flags either by their demeanor, mannerisms, behavior or fitting SCROTUM's profile.

Should all people with names like Muhammed, Achmed, Habib, Hussien, etc. be given "special" treatment? Yes, and HELL YES! As a matter of fact, why not have high profile Muslims and people with Muslim names "volunteer" for full body strip/cavity searches just to demonstrate they have nothing to hide.

Those that come to mind are Kareem Abdul-Jabber, Yousef Islam (formerly Cat Stevens), Muhammed Ali, and hell, even Paula Abdul. We can even have members of CAIR get in line for some rubber glove love treatment, too.

Don't think that SCROTUM doesn't realize that the terrorists already know that while the generic, garden variety terrorist straight out of central casting camel crap will be profiled, they will be cleverly trying to slip a few unconventional types that don't fit the typical terrorist mold past us. For that, we have the "Cockroach Culture Shock" test. Guaranteed to make any Muslim Extremist squirm, exposing their potential terrorist intentions, if they don't go postal first.

Have you ever noticed how cockroaches scatter and crawl under the nearest dark space when exposed to light? That's the principle behind the Cockroach test.

Since many airline passengers are already at a heightened level of discomfort, why not spread the misery all around, especially to wannabe Jihadikaze terrorists?

First, if you want to really make wannabe terrorists squirm, have a female infidel SCROTUM Screener conduct the strip/cavity search, wearing a wet Official PIG T-Shirt. Conversely, have a male SCROTUM Screener do the same to anyone wearing a burka.

Once on-board, passengers will be welcomed by their Jewish, Israeli, female or any Uzi toting Infidel pilot, crew and flight attendants. Bullets for the Uzi's made in Israel, too.

Next, there's the in-flight entertainment: 10 minute cartoon shorts featuring Porky Pig, followed by the main attractions, choice of either Babe: Pig In The City, or any Muppet Movie featuring Miss Piggy.

For dining consideration, a menu consisting of pork and beans, hot dogs, pork chops, pastrami and/or ham sandwiches, pigs in blankets, chicharrones, ham and eggs, pork rinds, pig's feet and anything else that once communicated with oinks and grunts.

If you're carrying a laptop on board, make PIG: The Politically Incorrect Gazette your homepage, and pass it on to your fellow passengers, assuring that any wannabe terrorist sees it on your screen.

Just to show what all-inclusive good sports we are, Muslims, Arabs and Africans are not being exclusively singled out. Indonesians, Phillipinos, those from Northern Ireland and even homegrown America Haters are also on the SCROTUM radar.

There will never be a fool-proof, terrorist proof system, but the morons at TSA seem to have it all backwards. Instead of doing their assigned task of screening innocent travelers who are light years from fitting any terrorist profile, the TSA lumps seem to be busy going out of their way with an empty Dog and Pony Shakedown Show to harrass, and in some cases abuse their "power" and the travelers they are supposed to "protect."

Enter The SCROTUM Screeners. SCROTUM Screeners will have at their disposal the full-body imaging system, but it's not what you think it's for. Sure, those that qualify for secondary screening will be subject to more intimate security measures, but in order to keep morale high on an extremely boring job, SCROTUM will have monthly incentive plans based on performance reviews for SCROTUM Screeners.

Whoever rates highest, gets the honors of conducting full body imaging and pat downs of Pam Anderson, Angelina Jolie and other hotness for a month. No doubt SCROTUM will have it's share of bad apples who will be offering full body images of high profile hotties to the highest bidders and will be dealt with accordingly by being assigned the glorious task of imaging, cavity searching and frisking SCROTUM Rejects, i.e., those resembling camel jockey's, goats and Rosie O'Donnell.

Instead of being on hyper-paranoid alert, whatever you do, don't stop flying. Use common sense and just go about your own business. Stay vigilant. Act as an Army Of One. Arm yourself with an Official PIG T-Shirt. Protect yourself and those around you and be on the lookout for anyone that walks, talks, shits, smells or sounds like a terrorist, and if the boot fits...lace it up and give 'em a swift kick into 72 Ugly Virgin Land.

Above all, DO NOT rely on TSA Twerps for you or your families security. They didn't exactly trade in lucrative or rewarding careers to be on the lookout for those wearing suspicious skivvies.

I'ts a sad day for America and a great day for Big Brother when we have to resort to forfeiting our privacy for the sake of safely making it home for the holidays, to a business meeting or vacation.

So, PIGsters, since the unavoidable invasion of privacy is going to happen unless a massive overhaul of screening and profiling procedures is put into place, and you're ready to assume the current TSA and Homeland Stupidity position, all that needs to be said is...

Ready! Set! Bend Over!

Giving most PIGster's the benefit of the doubt, and assuming our reader's are astute and on top of stuff and the junk that we do here at F.S.O.P., we already know you've read about Obama's Nobel Peace prize award.

That said, I would strongly urge you to check Hambo's Hammer for this evening's latest post.

It deals with "intentions" and the results of "good intentions."

Using POTUS as an example, and the Norwegian Nobel Committee as the enablers to feed an already leviathan POTUS ego, Hambo, who does his homework, pulled some great examples of international ass-kissing by the Nobel Committee.

I won't paraphrase PIG's Resident Philosopher and Scribe, Hambo, but he omitted several points I would like to cover here.

First, the theme of his posting was, as usual, right on.

However, your part-time straight jacket wearing Publisher has some burning questions myself for the Nobel Committee.

Question # 1: Did that committee look at Obama's "accomplishments?"

Doubtful. Truth is, there are none PIG worthy.

Question # 2: How many knee pads did he and his personal lobbyists wear out in order to get this now, diluted award?

Probably, a lot.

Question # 3: Was it his pirating, pickpocketing and hijacking of the American way, in order to appease his Socialist, Euro friends in an act of appeasement that got him the award?

Probably won some favors.

Question # 4: Was it his International Apology, and Hope and Change Tour that influenced the committee?

Scored points, I'm sure.

Question # 5: Are the Norwegians throwing this back in the Dane's face for humiliating a Messiah in His Own Mind in His quest for an Olympic bid?

Could be.

Question # 6: What kind of crack cocaine do they smoke in Norway?

Whatever the case or requirements are, the standards have just been lowered to a gutter level.

Hey, if once esteemed awards are now being tossed about like cheap confetti to those that accomplished nothing, except for talking, hijacking, lying, traveling on our dime while doing nothing, so freaking be it.

The Pitchfork would like to enter The F.S.O.P. in a new catagory for consideration for the Nobel Prize.The cure for stupidity.

Simply tune in on a daily basis to PIG, and watch in amazement as you transform from a once, brain dead zombie, into a free thinking individual, but since you're smart enough to be here, you can help lobby, nominate or petition The F.S.O.P. to the Nobel Committee.

It's not that we need international Euro approval. The cash award would put a Ferrari in one Publisher's garage, and since I split the money with my Executive Editor, well, knowing him, that would would keep him up to his eyeballs in donuts, pizza and beer.

One more thing Porcus picked up on the announcement of Mr. Messiah's award. A great quote from Time.com.

"By now there are surely more callouses on his lips than his hands." - Nancy Gibbs, Time.com

This just came to Porcus' attention and is a sign of Hollywood's Apocalypse and demise.

It's also outright blasphemous and has Porcus way pissed and insulted.

What is it? A Three Stooges movie starring...hold on to your hacksaws Shemp, Jim Carrey as Curly. Barf.

Sean Penn as Larry. Pass the rat poison, and make mine a double. Actually, pass mine over to Mr. Penn, courtesy of The 'Fork.

Benicio Del Toro as Moe. Smelling salts, please.

MGM will be the studio in charge of production and distribution. The "critically acclaimed" Farelly Brothers will be directing.

Well, I guess since "critically acclaimed" empty headed actor's and director's are in on the greatest cinematic insult to comedic genius, one has to assume the "critics" assessment will be a kiss ass, four star, two thumbs up review.

Porcus O'Film Reviewer has different, pre-screening opinions.

The issue isn't the choice of the airhead actors chosen to portray our beloved Moe, Larry and Curly. It's a matter of Hollywood lacking any creativity by piggybacking off the Holy Grail Bearers of comedy, and not having one shred of originality to create anything original on their own.

So what do overpaid Hollywood Hack artists do? Lazily produce a predictable piece of crap with high priced "actors."

My review, without even seeing this fiasco, goes as such: You leave genius alone. Period.

Would you, or anyone hire a spray paint can toting grafitti vandal named "Lil Puppet" from the East L.A. Barrio to restore Michaelangelo's painting of the Cistine Chapel?

Never.

Would you consider an inner city youth that wants to "express" himself with a switchblade, pants down to his, or it's knees, and a bucket of paint from the hardware store to come within 100 yards of the Mona Lisa?

Never.

This is what Porcus came across. Warning: due to the graphic nature of the image below, true Stooge believers may want to stop here.

NEW YORK — Sean Penn is going slapstick.

The studio MGM says the double Oscar winner has signed on to play Larry in the Farrelly brothers' big-screen update of "The Three Stooges."

Jim Carrey was "in negotiations" for the role of Curly, said MGM spokesman Grey Munford. The studio first featured the stooges in a series of shorts and features beginning in 1933.

Munford would not confirm reports that Benicio Del Toro will play Moe.

He said said filming begins this fall on the comedy, which is expected to be released in 2010.

The casting of a serious actor like Penn in the assuredly goofy comedy isn't such a stretch: The actor launched his storied career as goofball Jeff Spicoli in "Fast Times at Ridgemont High."

Hollywood can always use a good 'Forking for continually lowering it's standards and I hope I did my part by bringing this to your attention.

Mr. Penn, Mr. Del Toro, Mr. Carrey, you might reconsider this project, because when the day comes when you reach the Pearly Gates, Saint Peter might be on a smoke break and have Moe, Larry, Curly and Shemp standing guard waiting for you.

Porcus' thoughts and prayers are in order for the spirit of The REAL Stooges whose legacy will be raped, cheapened, diluted and denegrated with this insult.

Nyuk, Nyuk, Nyuk.

BLAMING RIO? NOT ME! I'M LOVING IT
Like Hambo, the Olympics are a huge snoozefest for Porcus. That said, since Rio, with all of it's natural beauty and splendor, why not allow Brazil to showcase it's culture and assets. Prime example shown above. If that will be showcased as a representative of Brazilian beauty, my phone will be off the hook, wife will be in the asylum, and I'll be tuning in.

Is this going to be a hit piece?

You bet, and Porcus is doing cartwheels at the International Olympic Commitee's decision to rub Messiah & Co.'s nose in some humble pie.

Obama, with his fair weather "I like America when I feel like it" wife, with that underbite that resembles an orangutan, and Oprah, made a plea to the International Olympic Commitee LOST and were left in the dust in their quest to have Chicago host the 2016 Olympics.

Gee, is this proof that the annointed one and his posse carry no clout overseas, or does the international community see something that the American Zombies that elected it are in denial about?

Probably, but not the case.

The 2016 host city was awarded to Rio De Janeiro.

While there was a deafening silence among Chicagoans upon the decision, Brazilians were ecstatic about the announcement.

Don't misread me. I'm as patriotic as anyone reading this, and am truely heartbroken for the hardworking people of Chicago. But, guess what. The wrong people were sent to bid for those Olympic Commitee's favors. And those that failed have to return to the country they hate, America, and hang their heads in shame.

Boo-hoo.

A Marxist dunce, his primate looking wife and an on again, off again pachyderm were sent as ambassadors to Denmark to represent the United States.

That's a WTF! moment.

Someone needs to put a dunce cap on Barry, exile him to Marxist Island where his ball dropping comrades can coddle and idolize him.

Obama & Co.earned no feather in his cap, no notches on his belt this time, as the Zombies fell silent and got even number than they were on election day. Obama flamed out with his face in the dirt, and here at the 'Fork, and that's why this a hit piece.

Obama, why did you blow chunks on foreign soil AGAIN? Was it because you didn't bow down to pissants and aplogize for America's right to defend ourself?

Wait. I bet you forgot your trusty teleprompter and went into your natural "Um, um, ah, well, um" terminal stuttering mode.

If you want a cut to the chase commentary on this vist Hambo's Hammer.

Sidenote: If anyone goes to the Olympics in Brazil and runs into the most fine Ferrara twins, with which your publisher had a brief encounter with on a beach one night, please direct them to The F.S.O.P.

"No Way. No God Dang Way" - Hank Hill

I thought I saw it all until I saw the following.

We've all seen those cheesy Chia Pet commercials on late night T.V.

They're cute and worthless and as far as the 'Fork is concerned, some fool is wasting money while some shrewd marketer or manufacturer is taking said money from the fool.

The commercials are tolerable, but Porcus woke up last night to a...this is too funny that I can't make this up, an Obama Chia Pet.

An Obama Chia Pet?

My first reaction was, "Gee, Pork, is this a flashback from your wasted youth?

No.

Is this a surreal dream I'm having?

No.

So, that confirmed, I picked up the remote, turned up the volume to make sure this was a real commercial. Lo and behold, yes, it was the real deal.

My next reaction was to protect my head for fear of cracking my skull while rolling to the floor in sheer laughter.

This is not a photo manipulated image. It may be satire in spirit by the creator, but it's a real commercial.

If your a channel surfing night owl and want a good laugh, you'll see it.

Hey, it's actually a great gift idea. See, with the holidays on the horizon, and Obama's grand scheme is to hijack our wallets, we won't have money to buy real gifts. We can all send our Barak voting friends and relatives an Obama Chia Pet.

Think about it. It's cheap, it's a novelty and eventually, disposable, just like him.

When you order yours, after watering it or pi$$ing on it a trillion time$ in the first 100 days and watching it grow a fro, would you please send me a photo?

Hey Ted! Hearty Congratulations!

You finally did it! You achieved martyr and crusader status and joined the ranks of your late brothers.!

Wow. Porcus is so damn proud you realized your lifelong dream without doing diddly, I honestly don't know whether to shit, fart, order a pizza and beer, or all of the above.

After a lifetime of piggybacking off your brothers' legacy, public sympathy, and your rum running father's ill gotten profits all geared toward grooming you and your siblings towards pickpocketing America's wallets, you finally achieved Mary Jo status.

Wherever you are, I hope Mary Jo is substituting for Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates the day you arrive.

Nighty night, dead Ted.

Porcus is now commencing to indulge in some Stimulus Style New England clam chowder, that comes straight from the "Kennedy" Compound.

Don't worry PIGsters, Porcus won't enjoy that meal too long. He'll puke it out on their front lawn, and continue on his quest to find that once forgotten place formerly known as...America.

We're all feeling the financial pinch one way or another. Some worse than others and will go to desperate measures to make ends meet.

Some have had to take unpdaid days off. Some have had to take menial jobs with a substantial pay cut. And others fall for get-rich-quick and fly-by-night scams, and the internet is ground zero for scam artists preying upon innocent folks looking for some extra scratch.

Unbeknownst to me, Mrs. Porcus, new to the internet, started filling out online surveys, in the hopes of winning cash and/or prizes. I have told her a thousand times, DO NOT FALL FOR THAT CRAP! They just want your personal information to sell to marketing list brokers who are going to fill your inbox with needless crap and tempting, empty offers for the unsuspecting.

Well, the other day, we recieved a swell piece of mail which contained a check made out to my wife's name in the amount of $2,975 from TCF Bank, Livonia, MI.

The name of the company is CONSUMER RESEARCH GROUP, WIGGINS, MS

TEL. 1-647-894-7303 FAX 1-212-918-9307 (A New York area code).

Basically, they bill themselves as a Mystery Shopper outfit.

The check came with instructions on what to do with it and how to go about "making money" for yourself.

Step 1. Cash or deposit check.

Step 2. Call the number provided and they provide you with a name and location to wire the money to. This must be done within 7 days, according to their instructions.

Step 3. Find the nearest Money Gram and wire $2,475 plus a $100 service fee.

Step 4. Find the nearest Wal-Mart, K-Mart, Best Buy, Macy's, J.C. Penny or Sears and use $100 to purchase an item that you keep. Just fax them the receipt.

Step 5. You keep the reamaining $300.

Step 6. Explain to the bank you had no idea how the check bounced and your bank will tell you they want their money back.

Porcus smelled a rat from the start, but was curious. I told Mrs. Porcus to go ahead and deposit the check and let it sit for 10 days - 2 weeks. If it clears, it's good. If not, the bank will only deduct the original amount of the check from her account.

She waited 2 days and checked with the bank. They told her there were no funds in the account of the check she deposited, but since she has been a long time customer, she will incur no fees or penalties.

When she returned from the bank, naturally she admitted I was right, as usual, and I called the company. The conversation went like this, almost word for word:

CONSUMER RESEARCH GROUP (CRG): Hello. (in either an African or Caribbean accent).

Porcus' Red Flags are at full mast at this point.

Porcus: Yes, my wife received a check from your company the other day and wants to go ahead with the instructions you provided her.

CRG: Great. Have you found a Money Gram outlet in your area?

Porcus: Yes.

CRG: Okay. Here's the name and address you wire the money to. (He provided me wit the information).

Porcus: I'll do it right away, but I have ask, 'Are you an offshore company?'

CRG: Yes.

Porcus: I thought so. See, my wife held the money in the bank, and went to check the account and her bank informed her there were no funds on your end to back up your check.

CRG: Oh.

Porcus: Do you make it a habit to take advantage of people looking for extra income?

CRG: (to my surprise, he answered) Yes.

Porcus: Have you ever had any complaints filed against you by any consumer...

At that point, I heard a "click" on the other end, and the line went dead.

I hung up the phone with a sense of accomplishment, civic duty and had some fun 'Forking them in the process.

I'm no crusader for any consumer advocacy or watchdog groups, but do not like to see good people falling for shady scams.

So, as all scam - saavy folks know, if it sounds too good to be true, it is.

There is an old familiar Latin saying: Caveat Emptor - "Let the buyer beware."

There is another, not so familiar latin saying that consumers should arm themselves with: Caveat Venditor - "Let the seller beware."

In other words, when you're asking Mr./Mrs. Scam Artist some hard questions, you're letting them know that you're on to them.

It's much like a burglar that skips your home because he/she/it knows you're armed to the teeth, and moves on the next unsuspecting, unarmed mark.

By arming yourself with information, checking with consumer groups, you can prevent the scammers, spammers, telemarketers and "get rich quick by sitting on your ass, part time" low lifes from invading your life.

Live long and prosper, Piggies.

I WANT YOU...
TO FIX MY DAMN GUITAR

You get on the phone and get the "That's not my department, I'll transfer you to the right department"song and dance, all the while being treated like a number.

You wait on hold forever in order to have your problem resolved, but in frustration, you finally hang up the phone in defeat.

If you're lucky, at least for a moment, you get to speak to an actual human that can come up with any host of reasons for them to deny you service.

"You didn't fill out the proper form in the alloted time."

"The computer doesn't have you in our database."

"That's not our policy."

The list of justified incomptence and excuses is endless.

One individual, musician Dave Carroll had a problem with United Airlines regarding the airline baggage handlers breaking his $3,500 guitar and not wanting to pay for damages.

Instead of going Old Betsy after getting the run around, he decided to write a song and post it on youtube.

The video got so many hits this past week, it drew the attention of the United Airlines slugs who have now resolved to come to terms with the problem.

Looks like United got 'Forked.

Enjoy the catchy little tune and the message it sends.

Good luck in your career Mr. Carroll.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5YGc4zOqozo

If you ever find yourself in Simi Valley, California, take advantage of the opportunity of a lifetime and stop by the Reagan Presidential Library.

PIG's unofficial Road Dog and Travel Guide Porcus found himself right there, yesterday.

I've been to the Library Of Congress. I've been to the Nixon Library. I've been to the Smithsonian. I've been to the National Air And Space Museum. Hell, I visit my own local library, pretending like I'm some sort of literate by checking out books I leave on my coffee table but never read, only to make any guests to the War Room feel inferior.

But nothing, and I mean nothing compares to the Reagan Library. It is one awesome tribute to one awesome president, and the planners couldn't have picked a finer location, most befitting Ronald Reagan's outdoor spirit.

The first thing that stuck me was the drive uphill to the entrance. Once outside of my ride, I took in a most breathtaking view of Simi Valley. One great thing about the environment, you can't see the filth that is Los Angeles from there. Added bonus, no beaners, no graffiti and no smog.

As I entered Cowboy Country with Mrs. Porcus, I was really impressed by the politeness, and the knowledge of the guides. At that point, I wondered out loud to Mrs. Porcus, I either was beamed up by Scotty to a far off land that has no resemblance to the cess pool of SoCal I just left, or I accidentally time traveled to a little pocket of SoCal inhabited by America lovers.

Once inside, I couldn't help but notice the look of tranquility on the other visitors' faces as they perused the artifacts and legacy of Ronald Reagan's Presidency.

The Library even has a jar on Ronny's favorite...jellybeans on display.

There is on display a chunck of the Berlin Wall.

There is so much to get absorbed in that I almost forgot my mission: to see Air Force One.

She was there in all her stature. A beautiful 707 completely maintained, and it sure does shine. Not a speck of dust.

Two stipulations upon entering Air Force One. The first, no still photography. I get that, for security reasons. The second, it's $12.50 per person which I gladly forked over.

Once inside, the feeling that overcomes any visitor, is that you are now entering the confines of Reagan's place of policy making, speech writing, decision making, and probably horsing around.

I won't bore you anymore.

Scroll down for a few pictures I chose to share with the PIG faithful.

The entrance.

Air Force One.

Air Force One.

Look close. How the hell did they not only transport and get the jet inside, but get it positioned on concrete pedestals?

Marine One.

Presidential Limo. Yes, the very same where the assassination attempt occured.

America lover and preservor, Ronald Reagan.

PIGsters, if you ever want to get high and wasted and even overdose on liberty and freedom and celebrate you being fortunate enough to be born in America, even if it's temporary, visit the Reagan Library.

The other evening was bittersweet in Late Night Television. Jay Leno most humbly passed the torch to Conan O'Brien as the new host of The Tonight Show.

Beginning Monday, Conan will be the new Late Night King, unless he flames out and falls flat on his Irish face.

Jay Leno is a hard act to follow, much like his predecessor, Johnny Carson. Talk about big shoes to fill, Jay stepped in after Johnny Carson, and immediately won everyone over among a lot of skepticism and criticism.

Jay went out of his way to thank and give props to his writing staff, producers, cameramen, catering staff, and of course, his good friends Kevin Eubanks and John Melendez.

Some memorable Jay-isms:

Here's something to think about: How come you never see a headline like 'Psychic Wins Lottery'?

Iraq began destroying those missiles they don't have over the weekend. See, President Bush may be the smartest military president in history. First, he gets Iraq to destroy all of their own weapons. Then he declares war.

I went into a McDonald's yesterday and said, "I'd like some fries." The girl at the counter said, "Would you like some fries with that?"

Politics is just show business for ugly people

You can't stay mad at somebody who makes you laugh.

For the first time in history, sex is more dangerous than the cigarette afterward.

War continues in Iraq. They're calling it Operation Iraqi Freedom. They were going to call it Operation Iraqi Liberation until they realized that spells 'OIL.'"

The Supreme Court has ruled that they cannot have a nativity scene in Washington, D.C. This wasn't for any religious reasons. They couldn't find three wise men and a virgin.

The University of Nebraska says that elderly people that drink beer or wine at least four times a week have the highest bone density. They need it - they're the ones falling down the most.

Today President Bush ordered an investigation into whether it is appropriate to have civilians with no experience running a Navy sub. Hey, how about an investigation into whether it's appropriate to have a civilian with no experience running the country?

The reason there are two senators for each state is so that one can be the designated driver.

The Secret Service has announced it is doubling its protection for John Kerry You can understand why - with two positions on every issue, he has twice as many people mad at him.

If God had wanted us to vote, he would have given us candidates

There was another war-related casualty today. The French were injured when they tried to jump on our bandwagon.

Isn't this amazing? Clinton is getting $8M for his memoir, Hillary got $8M for her memoir. That is $16M for two people who for eight years couldn't remember anything.

The Washington Bullets are changing their name. They don't want their team to be associated with crime. From now on, they'll just be known as the Bullets.

In a speech yesterday John Kerry said that before November he may go to Iraq. Is that a good idea for him to go to Iraq? You thought Bush didn't have a reason to bomb Iraq before.

President Bush said it's now time for a change in Iraq and he wants them to have a Western-style democracy like ours. So right now in Iraq, the economy is collapsing, businessmen are corrupt, and Hussein wants his son to take over as president. Sounds like mission accomplished.

Bush reiterated his stand to conservatives opposing his decision on stem cell research. He said today he believes life begins at conception and ends at execution.

Now see, a lot of critics are saying Arnold can't get elected because he's just an ambitious guy with a famous name, who doesn't know anything about running the government. Didn't hurt George Bush.

The crime problem in New York is getting really serious. The other day the Statue of Liberty had both hands up.

John Kerry speaks French fluently. Democrats are saying he's one in a million. A war hero who speaks French, isn't it more like one in a trillion?

An Israeli man's life was saved when he was given a Palestinian man's heart in a heart transplant operation. The guy is doing fine, but the bad news is, he can't stop throwing rocks at himself.

President Bush announced tonight that he believes in democracy and that democracy can exist in Iraq. They can have a strong economy, they can have a good health care plan, and they can have a free and fair voting. Iraq? We can't even get this in Florida.

If God doesn't destroy Hollywood Boulevard, he owes Sodom and Gomorrah an apology

You're not famous until my mother has heard of you.

Congratulations to Floyd Landis, young man from Pennsylvania, for winning the Tour de France. This is the eighth time in a row an American has gone through France and into Paris. Eighth times! Even the Germans only did it twice.

Congratulations to the Italian people for winning the World Cup. ... They won after France’s best player got ejected for head butting. That’s the closest anyone in a French uniform has come to combat in 60 years

And Starbucks is finally opening a store in France. You know it’s very hard to get an American store over there because the French are very protective of their culture and their customs and their food. It took Starbucks years; in fact they kept Starbucks out longer than they kept Hitler out.

There are reports that France may agree to train Iraqi soldiers. Don’t the Iraqis already know how to surrender?

People ask what drives him. I can understand what "drove" Lance Armstrong; if I was an American traveling in France, I’d like to get through that country as fast as I could.

Lance Armstrong just won his fifth Tour de France. You know, that means he now has more victories in France than the German army. And the Germans only marched through twice – he did it five times.

In the latest tape, bin Laden has called for the destruction of America, opposition to the war in the Middle East and labels our government an evil crusader. Oh, that's not bin Laden. I'm sorry. That was the president of France.

The Hitler miniseries on CBS, seven nominations. The Napoleon miniseries also got seven nominations. So Hitler is up against Napoleon. Do you realize this could be the first time the French beat the Germans?

They say over in France the wine region over there is going through an incredible heat wave, destroying all the crops. The crops are ruined and this has devastated the French economy. Proving once again: Prayer works.

The French decided to use Woody Allen because he’s the one guy on the planet who doesn’t frighten them.

While President Bush was over there, a lot of protesting. People throwing rocks, breaking windows. Great, now the French start fighting.

France has accused the U.S. Of being rude and abusive to them and they’re taking it personally. And remember, every time an American is rude and abusive they’re taking a job away from a Frenchman.

For those of you not familiar with this holiday, Cinco de Mayo celebrates a victory of Mexico over the French army in 1862. Beating the French, who hasn’t done that? I think the piñatas put up more fight than the French.

France has asked Iran to allow more thorough international inspections of its nuclear program. And if Iran won’t do it, France is threatening to ... you know, ask again.

U.N. weapons inspectors said they want to go back into Iraq. And now the fighting is over, so do the French.

The leaders of Russia, France and Germany – or, as I call them, the "axis of envy – gathered for a summit on what their part in the rebuilding of Iraq should be. You know something? I think France should participate in rebuilding Iraq. When it comes to having experience about what to do after losing a war, nobody does it better than the French.

We had another war-related casualty today. France hit the ground when they tried jumping on our bandwagon.

Today is April Fool's Day, the day we traditionally honor the French.

The United States Navy is training sea lions to protect our ships. They are teaching sea lions how to find bombs. Sea lions will help us, but the French won’t.

What we’re doing, basically, is giving these key Iraqi officials instructions on how to surrender. See, this is where we could have used the French.

They’re going to use sea lions to guard ships, and they use dolphins to locate mines. In fact, you know the only animal that won’t help out? French poodles.

According to the tabloids, Michael Jackson is making plans to move to a chateau in France. You thought the French hated us before.

This was a front-page story in USA Today – American tourists in Paris report being yelled at, attacked and spit on by the French. So things are finally getting back to normal.

A member of Canadian Parliament named Carolyn Parrish said she hates Americans and that we are bastards. So my guess is she's French Canadian.

As you know, the French continue to resist the war in Iraq or even help us. And now Bill Clinton has even come out against France. In fact, to show how serious he is, he’s vowed not to French kiss anybody until this thing is settled.

Well, it’s Valentine’s Night, which means right about now millions of couples are doing to each other what the French did to us today at the U.N.

If you liked those, his most memorable quote came a week after the 9/11 terrorist scumbag attacks and I'll paraphrase:

"You know, America suffered a devasting loss last week. My Dad was a boxer, and to use his terminology, we were sucker punched."

Jay, we wish nothing but continued success and hope to see you motoring around SoCal in any of your fine automobles.

Thanks for getting Porcus to sleep in a good mood on a nightly basis.

We don't know her name, don't care, only because whoever she is, she looks like she can quench some thirst.

Don't worry. Once Porcus comes down to earth and lands on his own pitchfork, and it's only a matter of time, he'll be forced to toss that fine wine for his usual beer-ski's.

Remember, the following was submitted by a recently converted beer drinker, and once you scroll down, you'll understand why.

Cheers.

Why a Good Bottle of Wine Costs So Much

I was at a friend's house recently and he offered me a glass of wine.

 It was a very good Margaret River wine, so I wrote down the name and vintage and stopped by my favorite wine store the next day to purchase a bottle.

 When they told me it was twenty-five dollars a bottle I was going to opt for something in the ten to fifteen dollar range.

 However, the shop owner showed me a chart that explained
why some wines are more expensive, and after he explained it to me; I bought two bottles of the more expensive wine.

 I asked him for a copy of his chart so I could share it with you on-line.

 If you like a good wine and have shied away from the more expensive wines, this information may convince you as to why it is more desirable to go for the more expensive brands.

See the chart below.

Hopefully, you've had your fun, you wino's.

We did.

My recent absence - and thanks for noticing - was due to a failure of the technical kind.

Seems my brand spanking new chock full 'o bells and whistles with dual processors and a gazillion megabytes of RAM computer on steriods took a dump.

Yep, seems like old times. It was about a year ago that my Piece 'O Shit Mac - as Hambo referred to it - took the ultimate crap, right into cybersomewhere.

So, being in a postion where I had to have a computer, I switched to a PC platform.

I was convinced she was state of the art, and the damn thing actually worked great for about a year. The thing started to fade out, freeze up, call me names and then peter out.

So I bring it to the shop to see what the problem was. It was explained to me, so I brought it home.

Not two days after I bring it home from the shop...ta da! It acts up again. This thing doesn't need a "tune up." What it needs is a techno bitch slapping.

Well, here is where I could ramble on about man's utter reliance on machines and technology in order to function and communicate, creating a social void between uninteracting humans, and furthermore retarding the necessary connections...zzzzzzzzz.

Why bother. I really can't get mad at an inanimate object like a computer or my dependence on one.

I can go Texas chainsaw at the manufacterers, salesmen and repairmen that convince suckers like me that what I bought 10 years ago, or 10 minutes ago, is somehow obsolete. They'll tell you you'll be the first kid on the block to be the proud owner of a whiz-bang beauty of a computer like this.

To all you computer geeks that talk over me with terms like gigazoombobalators, quadruple titanium laser processors, mega free flowing ionic simulators and look at me like I'm from another planet because I don't understand a word you're saying, I have something to say to you in plain English. But first, assume the position while I wedge this tower up your microteenymegastinkyorifice.

Comfy? Good. Now...BITE ME you virtual geeks.

I really miss my old Mac.

The following was brought to my attention from the good folks at Hallmark Greetings Cards Legal Division.

In essence, it states that they don't appreciate PIG's use of Maxine's likeness on our website.

Boo-Hoo.

It strikes me odd that I did not hear from Maxine's creator himself, John Wagner, rather, Hallmark's squadron of lawyers.

Dear Sirs,

  Your posting of the Maxine cartoon captioned in Pig's Gallery on
  http://www.pigazette.com/pigprattle.html was recently brought to our
  attention.  While we have complete respect for your right to voice your
  opinion on all matters, we must object to your use of our trademark and
  copyright-protected Maxine character as the "voice" of your opinion.
  Please remove the images of  Maxine posted on this site.

  Your cooperation is appreciated.

  Best regards,

  Hallmark Legal Division
  Hallmark Cards, Incorporated
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Here is my reply:

To Whom It May Concern:

My name is XXXXXXX Y. ZZZZZZZ, founder of PIG: The Politically Incorrect Gazette: http://www.pigazette.com/

It came to my attention that you have some objections to our use of your copyrighted image of Maxine on our website.

As per your legal department's request, we will remove the image, and all likenesses of Maxine from our website.

I also apologize for not asking or consulting beforehand, as many of our contributers are huge Maxine fans, but I guess that's your loss, as many of our reader's are big fan's of Maxine's.

I completely understand any ideological, or political differences between us and The Hallmark Legal Department and the artist who created Maxine.

We will remove any and all images, likenesses, references and depictions of Maxine from our website, unless you see or say otherwise.

However, if one of our contributor's send us something with a Maxine image or likeness, who is to prevent us from posting what is considered "free domain?"

A bunch of pin-striped suit wearing lawyers?

Anyway, thanks for taking the time to peruse PIG and congratulations on your smooth move, to have us remove Maxine from PIG.

Just wondering? How did you find us?

XXXXXXX Y. ZZZZZZZ

Publisher - PIG: The Free State Of PIG

P.S. Hallmark, Here's a parting gesture, just for you.

Recently, while having a whole bunch of nothing to do, I found myself watching a little more TV than allowed and reading a real hoot called the L.A. Times, I ran across a few images that hit close to home. The PIG home to be exact.

Before I get into particulars, I should mention I've worked in the creative field for years, both editorially and on the advertising/marketing side as well, and might know a thing or two about how the creative process works with artists and writers.

At times, a writer or an artist may hit a creative "wall" and be stumped as to how to approach a given assignment or topic. Been there myself, many times. Witness the image of Barbi Q. Ribs. I partially stole from the artist that created Jessica Rabbit, and admitted it.

While studying art, it was always recommended to compile as much reference material as possible either for style or contextual reasons, lift what you need, preferably from the best, and take it from there, in your own fashion.

Here is where Porcus uncovered some examples of some original PIG themes that were incorporated into other artist's work, for profit.

EXAMPLE ONE:

Author and National Review editor Jonah Goldberg was on the Glenn Beck show, promoting his book, "Liberal Fascism: the Secret History Of The American Left From Mussolini To The Politics Of Meaning."

Probably a good read, as the topic of that particular show has a lot to do with PIG and political correctness.

What struck me was the cover art for his book. A Smiley face with a Hitler-esque mustache.

So what's the big deal?

Surf the Preamble section of PIG, to our Declaration Of Incorrectness page and you might see some similarities in the artwork created for PIG, by me...in 1993! Or at least the message the illustration was saying bears a lot of resemblence to the same topic.

Looks like a Smiley face with a Hitler-esque mustache, huh? Am I only one to see the similarities?

Do I think I was plagiarized? No. Well, maybe.

Sour grapes on my part? No, but if my idea was ripped-off, I wouldn't mind getting some credit.

Money works, too.

Did that get me tee'd off? Nope.

ITEM TWO:

I was looking for the daily crossword in the L.A. Times, and on the opposite page was the following cartoon, published April 16, 2009.

It doesn't matter what the hell the caption read, but the image depicted Superman wearing panty-hose and garter belts to boot.

What's the big deal, Porcus?

Here's the big deal:

The above image is for our Girlieman section, which was executed by me, graphically, and collaborated with, creatively with Hambo, several years ago.

We here at PIG are personally complimented when folks use bits and pieces of our creative and intellectual material, either graphically or with our PIG-isms or Hambo-isms.. To us, it means we're reaching out and making a difference in our readers.

However, when we smell creative rip-off "artists" taking credit, money and career-boosting props for something that was inspired by us here at PIG, we do take exception.

If you are creatively inspired by what you read, see, learn and practice here at The Free State Of PIG, fine. But, give PIG credit, when it's due, if you infuse our material into your own.

We don't wish to play Creative Cops at all by hunting down suspected plagiarists, but a lot of work goes into what we do, and we hope our hard work and passion reflect what we're doing.

Hambo and I go light years out of our way to be as original as possible with the material we present on a regular basis with a PIG-ish approach and attitude.

All we ask is a little respect. But if we catch you, we have a forum of our own to expose rat-plagiarizing bastards.

You know who you are, too.

We all see the cute little shamrocks and leprechauns posted outside of storefronts, restaurants and homes. That's fine.

Is it insulting to the Irish to be pigeon-holed as drunken, harp wielding, barroom brawling, happy-go-lucky charms types - 365 DAYS A YEAR - only to have that stereotype amplified on St. Patrick's Day? Don't know, I can't speak for all Irish, but one thing I do know, the Irish do have a great sense of humor and the gift of rolling with the punches. Such trivial matters of being labeled with what Ethnocrats call negative stereotypes mean squat to the Irish.

With all of the other "National Pride" and "Awareness Months" cluttering up the calendar, one has to wonder, are these groups celebrating certain, specific achievements accomplished by members of their group? Or, as I suspect, remind anyone within shrieking distance of the centuries of oppression "they" have endured, only to rise from the ashes, and do an annual, month long end-zone dance ritual in whitey's face as a reminder. It almost gets to the point of being a pissing contest - who can out-oppress the next group.

St. Patrick's Day separates itself from the herd by actually being festive. In spite of the crappy history the Irish had at the expense of the British, the Irish don't celebrate or wallow in the misery of their historic past. They revel in it.

Is this going to be another "I Am Irish, Hear Me Roar" rant? No way, McGillicuddy, but certain facts that can't be ignored will be emphasized.

The Irish have never demanded 40 acres and a mule, reparations or special rights.

The Irish, on St. Patrick's Day wave the American flag, proudly, in their parades and beer-drinking orgies.

The Irish have also proudly and gratefully assimilated themselves into the melting pot, with no beefs, complaints or demands.

The Irish in America historically have done the work that even black slaves wouldn't do, so Chico, Pedro and Lupe, the Irish beat you to it as the first "Green Card" holders, and you don't have a monopoly on menial labor either.

Excerpt from Roger D. McGrath:

When U.S. participation in the slave trade was ended in 1808 (as required by the Constitution) and cotton became an important crop, slaves became very valuable. A good field hand might go for $2,000 (some $150,000 in today's inflated currency). This meant that the most severe and dangerous work was left to hired white laborers, usually immigrant Irish. Frederick Law Olmstead, the architect of New York's Central Park, traveled throughout the South on the eve of the Civil War and was surprised to find, again and again, that Irishmen were used instead of slaves for the work of preparing swampland, felling trees, digging ditches, quarrying rock, and clearing forests because "it was much better to have Irish do it, who cost nothing to the planter if they died, than to use up good field-hands in such severe employment."

At a landing on the Alabama River, Irish deckhands were employed in catching and stowing cotton on ships after the heavy bales had come hurtling down a long chute from a towering bluff. When asked why slaves were not used to do the job, the ship's captain replied, "The niggers are worth too much to be risked here; if the Paddies are knocked overboard, or get their backs broke, nobody loses anything!" The death rate among the Irish laborers was shocking. The construction of the new Basin Canal in Louisiana alone cost the lives of more than 10,000 Irishmen. They were buried where they fell, in mass graves. Throughout the South in the antebellum era, black slaves were better fed, clothed, and housed, worked shorter hours, and lived longer lives than immigrant Irish laborers. Inconvenient facts, one and all.

Do the Irish use that as ammo for certain, special demands by saying, "See, we had it worse than you?"

No, and hell no. Instead, we can all take notes and learn from the quiet pride and humility of the Irish. When life steps on your toes, spills your beer and spits in your face, hit back, laugh it off and move on.

So, all of you shrill, misery-mongering, annoying Ethnocrats, Gendercrats, Colonista shakedown artists and squawkers, sometimes you have to take one on the chin or up the chute, so sit down, shut up, go back in the closet and listen up.

Now, with the help of their corrupt Politician brethren, the Irish are going to go a step futher than merely having one day to celebrate. They're going to test drive an Irish Awareness month and show the Peanut Gallery how to celebrate and get your Shamrocks off, too!

At the end of the month, if one stricly adheres to and survives our proposed schedule of activities, and don't find that elusive Pot 'O Gold at the end of the rainbow, you'll probably wish you were anything but Irish.

Here is O'Porcus' proposed "Irish Awareness Month Boot Camp " schedule and being all inclusive, Non-Irish are encouraged to partake in the festivities.

DAY ONE:

1.) Wake up, or come to. Drink beer.

2.) Get dressed. Drink beer.

3.) Have some corned beef and cabbage. Drink beer.

4.) Go to work at brewery. Drink beer.

5.) Go to parades. Drink beer.

6.) Go to pub. Recite poetry to pretty lass. Drink beer.

7.) Get in fight with boyfriend of pretty lass. Shake hands afterward. Drink beer.

8.) Go to drunk tank. Pee and puke beer.

9.) Get out of jail. Drink beer.

10.) Crawl home. Drink beer.

11.) Puke and pass out in your own mess. Rinse with beer.

DAY TWO:

1.) Wake up, or come to. Drink beer.

2.) Get dressed. Drink beer...

If you can survive a month of that, than by golly, you're an honorary Irishman. That schedule sounds a whole lot more festive than spending a month shoving historical injustices, not done to you, upon the rest of us. Besides, you can't complain, shriek, snivel, moan, groan or bellyache with a mouthful of Guinness. Think of the spillage.

Moral of the Story? 'Tis better to have a beer in your mouth than a chip on your shoulder, huh?

So, outside of the corrupt politician reputations, the Irish for the most part are a pretty happy lot, but if you piss off an Irishman just enough, he may end up creating a website called PIG.

Don't forget - eat, drink, pee and puke proudly, St. Patrick's Day McPIGsters.

With all the attention - both positive and negative - Barack Obama is receiving from all angles, I decided to do a pictorial display, offering my two cents worth. After all, what can I write or say that hasn't already been written, spoken and many times, recycled, rewritten or respewed.

Much like the Pet Rock, Tickle Me Elmo and the cuteness of a newborn approaching the Terrible Two's, the novelty of the Obamamania fad will wear off in time, but with legions of catatonic-like Obomunists, Obamamaniacs, Obamatopians, and ObamaZombies lurking around every corner, saturating every TV and radio station outpost, Ivory Tower, damn near every magazine cover, blogging outpost, websites, etc., don't expect the novelty to wear out anytime soon.

Both sides of the media aisle are having a love affair with The Annointed One.

The conventional outlets are propping him up higher than the water they believe him to walk on, AND overlooking any personal or Presidential flaws in his bag of tricks.

The pundits on the fringes and outskirts - aka - The Right, are also having a love affair of a different sort. They've got Mr. Messiah under a microscope of Hubbel capabilities and are waiting for the slightest slip up to magnify. They're on a feeding frenzy, capitalizing on every boo-boo Odumbo makes, and loving it. Secretly, so am I.

Is the American public being force-fed the media's puppy-love crush they have on Odumbo? No, as of now, we're still free to change the dial to channels that haven't been "liquidated" by the Un-Fairness Doctrine, but there is such a thing as overkill.

I'm no conspiracy theorist, but I do wonder about the saturation of this non-stop Obama-thon.

Are we the subjects of repetitive conditioning and exposure to Obamamania for the purpose of behavior modification? The gullible and easily persuaded may be, but for the rest of us individuals, no.

I guess the Obama novelty is a phase in the form of a nightmare, even torture we're all going to have to endure.

In time, this too, shall pass, LIKE AN OVERSIZED, RAZOR SHARP KIDNEY STONE!!!

If you want a more articulate, table pounding rant on a related subject, I highly recommend you read: Hambo's Hammer: February 25, 2009.

And now, hold on to your hot dogs and enjoy the Porcus pictorial of the perpetrator of the Porkulus Plan.

One of the great PIG favorite's, Clint Eastwood, in his new feature film, Gran Torino, came up with another classic phrase.

"Get Off My Lawn."

The premise and context is that there are a bunch of delinquents, punks, malcontents and otherwise the breed that lowers your property value.

In this case, the hoodlums barked up the wrong tree, by deciding to mess with Clint's Gran Torino and messing with his private property.

That's the small picture.

The big picture invovles American's certain rights, like, oh, The Right To Keep And Bear Arms, property owner rights, and maybe a little peace and quiet in your pursuit of happiness.

When the plague of criminal scum invades your 'hood, dust off that box of ammo, load, lock and take aim.

It can be in the form of a crossbow, slingshot, pellet gun, peashooter, rock, rifle, hand grenade, stick of dynamite, or Hambo's old trusty, Old Betsy, but it will never end there.

There will always be tyrrants and terrorists that will spare no expence to extinguish your fundamental rights.

You'll find them lurking in your neighborhood in the form of baggy pants wearing, spray can weilding wannabe tough guys, to the rats that dwell in Washington D.C.

The "Get Off My Lawn" policy has applied to the American Spirit since our inception as a new nation.

Remember George Washington during the winter at Valley Forge when he inspired his troops to cross the Delaware?

By him doing that, Washington set the tone for the American spirit to say to the British, "Get Off My Lawn."

Fast forward to the Pearl Harbor bombing in 1941. The Japanese took a major league dump on us on that Day Of Infamy.

What did the American's do? Say "You stepped on our lawn, invaded us, and now you're going to pay, bitch."

Then there's 9-11. We got pissed on, big time.

As tragic as that is, it gets waaaay worse in the formerly subvert, but now, overt form of something called Political Correctness.

These little Korrectnik limp wristers step on our toes every damn day, when we allow them to.

They want to mold your way of thinking to someting they deem as "acceptable" according their standards, and much of it begins in Grammer School, and succesful Korrectniks will carry that torch and wave the Korrectnik Banner throughout theirs lives.

Fine, just don't step on my lawn or toes with your empty, warm fuzzy rhetoric.

Come to The Free State Of PIG with a Korrectnik attitude, guess what you get?

Two choices.

One. You can stick around for doses of reality, free of charge. You may end up seeing the light.

Option Two: If you are so brainwashed and braindead and terminaly Korrect, you better think twice before entering The Free State of PIG, and pontificating your emptyheaded, airhead pussy whipped views on us, your are barking up the wrong tree, sissy.

Bottom line: Hambo has his Old Betsy and Porcus has his friends, Louisvellie and Slugger.

So Korrectniks, of whatever galaxy you were hatched from, and it's not Alpha Centuri, but probably Saturn, Neptune or Jupiter, maybe Mars in some cases, Porcus issues this warning.

Get off our lawns with your empty, feel-good crap, otherwise, we will resort to having you evicted, our way.

Later, over and out and pissed off.

This photo was submitted by dedicated PIGster, Skyeye, and was found to be too good to not be posted.

Thanks, Skyeye.

Americans seem to have a unique ability to turn lemons into lemonade.

In the case of the couple pictured, they used their imagination for the use of her "duality."

Too cool. Let's see the Chinese replicate those cup holders.

Porcus has one question for PIGster Skyeye.

Where can I get a fine pair of bottle holders like that?

Ace Hardware? Home Depot? Wal-Mart? K-Mart? The local tavern at 11:30 PM, when the female pickings are too easy?

We're all subjected to our parent's whims by Mom and Pop having the authority to label you for life with your given name upon your birth and entry into this world. It ends up on your birth certificate...forever.

We all have grand, or great-grandparents with off the wall, old fashioned names. Guess what? Your parents will insert that name in your birth certificate.

Sucks. Royally.

If you're a dude with a uni-sex name like Gene, Francis, Rene, Pat, Kim, Marcel, or Jacques, French version of Jack, or in Maury Povich's father's case, Shirley. Even better, "A Boy Named Sue" by Johnny Cash.

Conversley, the same notion works on the other end of the gender spectrum. If you were born genetically as a female, tip the scales at a massive, muscular 350 pounds, your name is Pat, you wear flannel shirts cut off at the shoulders, wear steel toed boots, want to be referred to as "Rosie's Ex," or Butch,"

But in comparison to some of history's most notorious and reviled bloodthirsty types, having a unisex name is nothing.

How would you like to go through life with a name like, say, Attila...as in The Hun?

Judas...as in Iscariot, All-Time metaphor for selling out.

Genghis...as in Khan?

Vlad...as in The Impaler?

Benedict...as in Arnold, another sellout and turncoat?

Adolf,,,as in Hitler?

Josef...as in Stalin, or Mengele?

Idi...as in Amin?

Pol...as in Pot of the Killing Fields of Cambodia?

Jim...as in Jim Jones, cult leader.

Charles...as in Manson?

Hillary...as in The Bitch?

Barak...as in Obama, the decline of America?

The list can drag on. What parent in their right mind would name an innocent newborn with a crappy name like the ones just mentioned?

Crappy ones, I guess.

Thank you Mrs. Hitler, Himmler, Stalin, Pot, Hussien, Mussoloni, Amin for making big, murderous, megalomaniacal monsters out of little ones.

This one is targeted at Nitwits and Obama Zombies.

But first up, Lame Duck Sellout, George Vicente Bush. He isn't escaping the wrath of PIG.

Why?

Simple. He sold us out. In too many ways.

Here's a parting shot.

From the easing of immigration laws to the development of Homeland Security (what a joke) to outsourcing American jobs to Punjab in India with American corporate giants in harmony with the Judas/Benedict Arnold administration.

Later, Vicente.

Tough nuts for us. But it gets worse.

Come January 20th, 2009, we're going to be be eating the crap the Zombies voted in, that usually gets scraped off the bottom of your shoes after "stepping in it."

Now for the News Nitwits.

They built him up, hyped him up to the max with his "Hope and Change" platform, downplayed his associations with a racist black minister, Jerry Wright and a corrupt Illinois Governor.

The News Nitwits are accessories to the crime, guilty of aiding and abetting an empty token suit.

That's right, Obama is going to be the H.N.I.C., even though he's only half black, or half white. Depends if you're an optimist or pessimist. He may need to consult with Tiger Woods about clearing up any misinformation regarding his pedigree.

As H.N.I.C., he will be Commander-In-Chief to our troops. I wonder what kind of respect or inspiration he will generate from within our military. Probably nothing but contempt.

Now comes the Brain Dead Zombies.

Hope. Change. Hope. Change. Hope. Change. Hope. Change. Hope. Change. Hope. Change. Hope. Change. Hope. Change. Hope. Change. Hope. Change. Hope. Change. Hope. Change. Hope. Change. Hope. Change. Hope. Change. Hope. Change. Hope. Change. Hope. Change.

Enough, Dammit!!!

What Hope? What Change?

Any foreign policy? Any domestic policy, beside hijacking working folks' witholding taxes on payday and more than likely, socialized medicine and health care.

Now comes the personal attacks on Porcus.

I have a niece, who happens to be half black. I recently spent time with her, as she is a wonderful young lady, but way misinformed.

She's only 13, but she wants her Obamamaniacal voice to be heard.

I told her that she's too young to vote, but she could always write her local fishwrap, call a talk radio show, or even start her own website.

But the accusations of your most humble publisher being a racist on her part went beyond insulting.

She asked who I voted for. I told her it sure wasn't Obama, and it's really none of your business.

She then accused me of being racist because I didn't vote Ozombie. Typical Zombie.

I then told her. "Well, I guess I am, because I didn't vote for the white guy, either."

I furthermore told her that Ozombie is nothing more than a transparent, token novelty. All sizzle, no steak.

No leadership, lots of baggage, especially his loudmouth wife and Pastor.

PIGsters, politicians of any persuasion only have their own interests in mind. They only acknowledge their voting block when election time rolls around.

They'll try and persuade you into voting "their" way.

They will gladly take your vote, money, and even your grandmother's gold tooth filling.

Prostitutes. All of them.

So, we're going to get what the voting populace wanted.

Nothing.

Crap. I've got to talk Hambo off the ledge and ease Old Betsy away from him.

This is an actual event that just can't be made up. Scout's Honor.

Several years ago, Porcus was warming up on the stationary cycle machine next to a cute, blonde at his local gym.

She was giggling as she was reading a men's magazine, Maxim.Then, she broke broke out into uncontrollable laughter.

I asked if she was okay, and she said "Yes, but you've got to read this article."

She passed the magazine, and oh boy, this was too funny, to not be true.

I read the article and found to my astonshiment, that Taiwanese men were buying minature cell phones, giving them to their wives and girlfriends, and asking the girl's to insert the phones into an intimate "womanly" place, and set the phone to vibrate mode.

What the men would do would call the women every five minutes, for her pleasure, of course.

That's far from the kicker.

The cherry on top is the fact that the emergency rooms in Taiwan were being filled with young ladies having to have their poon tangs removed of cellular, vibratating objects by ER physicians.

Leave it to the Chinese, what, with a population of a billion plus? Like they don't know what or how to score is?

You can't make that stuff up.

Has anyone seen Dr. Porcus Welby's cellphone...or forceps?

Sorry folks, but that had to be posted, but the next time your woman squawks about you not getting her anything, give her the gift that keeps on ringing (and vibrating) and won't let her forget who loves her.

Sending that kind of message all day long will not let her soon forget your true love for her, or her true love for whomever stuck that device up her love canal.

Guys can be sick, but women are sicker for falling for that load.

Excuse me. Wife has a call, and it wasn't from me.

Did the recent election of President-Elect Obama cause Porcus to binge drink himself into his garage in a fit of pique and stomp his feet as a sore loser?

Hardly. It would take way more than the likes of him or his loudmouth wife to do that.

Is Porcus pissed that McCain lost?

Not even. Had no horses in that race either.

See, Porcus is not going to approach this "Hope" and "Change" with neither contempt nor sarcasism, but rather with objectivity.

Okay, that lasted all of one minute before I started laughing and crying, but we here at The Free State Of PIG had been advocating alternate candidates for well over a year.

Here's where the extra sharp Pitchfork comes out.

This election was a lose-lose propostition for the American voters, mostly.

Look at our choices. Not much except for utter transparency on both sides.

The electorate chose an inexperienced ex-cokehead as winner.

It's really not Obama's fault, but more so, as it is his myopic Zombie followers that roll out a red carpet for him, and have cast fragrant rose petals his way, wherever he goes.

No. It's the Zombies that would mindlessly crawl belly down through cactus needles to cast their ballot for non-tangible figure heads, which includes McCain, too.

Hey, Obama can't help if he's a novelty, the Brain Dead Zombies, Spin Doctors, Media Meatheads and News Nitwits created him, and the rest of us have to endure the Obama Zombies blindly bumping into the rest of us on their way to "Hope" and "Change."

We can hear the air leaking out of our nation's tires already.

You Obamamaniac Zombies will soon find out that the cloud nine of euphoria you're floating on will soon dissipate, causing you to crash land into the real world. Head first, hopefully.

Did the race factor get mentioned? How neglectful. See, when Obama does right and good, that will be the black half of Obama. When he screws up, that will be the white half of his heritage. Guess what's going to be there to do end zone dances when either occurs. Race Card Wranglers, i.e., Je$$e, Al, the Reverand Je$$e Wright, and the rest of their lot.

I was accused by a 13 year old girl of being racist because I didn't vote for Obama, and I was being critical of his lack of a game plan. I should have realized just what level of conversation I was engaged in, and fired back that that kind of logic and deduction would have the 50 million plus voters that didn't vote for Obama are racist, too in her Zombie-Like state of mind.

I was also accused of throwing my vote away by going Monkeywrench and writing in Hambo for President. Who the hell said my, or your choices were limited to the lame-asses on the ballot.

Was it a vote in the form of protest? You can bet the herd on that. After all, America was founded on the principle of protest, and frankly, Porcus is up to here with Sellout, Talking Figure Heads that "act" as an executive commander in chief.

Politicians can't help their own nature, much like rattlesnakes and rodents can't help their nature, either.

PIGsters, be vigilant and on the lookout the next 4-8 years and watch for the catatonic glazed over Zombies that will be mindlessly following the herd.

Don't say we didn't warn you.

Always remember, the bigger they are, the harder they fall.

Get used to the rhetoric, PIGsters, we're going to be neck deep in a leaky septic tank of "Hope" and "Change."

Hambo, I'll be needing that beer bottle opener...NOW!!!

Screw that. Pass me the Jack Daniels, binoculars and a slice.

Well, it and some mighty stinky shit happened to America on Election Day.

We, as a nation are all going to be waist deep, upside down for at least four years.

Heaven help us.

We will have to bite the bullet and get accustomed to pulling those "Hope" and "Change" arrows out of our rears, all the while guarding our wallets the next four years.

What foreign policy does Obama have?

As President, he will now be Commander-In-Chief. Talk about a morale booster for the miltary.

Withdraw willing troops from arena's of combat and negotiate with terrorist scum rather than blow them to smithereens is no foreign policy and has Ronald Reagan and Teddy Roosevelt turning in their graves.

Economic policy? Business owners are already feeling the pinch, not to mention their employees, aka you and me.

So what does Mr. Hope and Change propose? Raising your taxes, both personal and business in a most Marxist way.

Cabinet members? Oprah, Je$$e, Al Sharton, and the token white guy, Imus.

First "Lady" will be his loudmouth, "For the first time I'm proud to be an American," wife Michelle. That's going to be yucky, folks.

Brace yourselves, PIGsters, this is going to be a long haul, but never fear, Porcus has already talked Hambo out of the bell tower and told him he is more useful here at The Free State Of PIG than in a prison cell or pushing daisy's.

Are we chewing on sour grapes because he's black?

Hardly. It's a matter of his lack of policy, and the catatonic Obamamaniacs that naively play follow the leader.

The Free State Of PIG has decided to break out the lawn chairs and casually watch as our nation circles the drain the next 4, maybe 8 years.

That's a lot of beer, pizza and donuts.

Won't you join us?

Get A Gun, You Won't Have To Run. - Porcus

With Halloween on the horizon, the Cable Monsters are airing some pretty lame, so called "Horror/Slasher Movies."

Every cheesy B movie is being shown.

From Michael Myers in "Halloween", Leatherface in "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre," Freddy Kruger in "Nightmare On Elm Street," (the list is endless). The common theme seems to be a psychopathic, bloodthirsty killer on the loose.

Another common theme is the screaming damsel in distress, who, while being chased by the bad guy, who has to do the mandatory trip, fall and even more ear piercing screaming.

That problem would be solved if someone whipped out an Old Betsy.

We have some "Little Friends" we would like to introduce you to, should you have a Leatherface lurking in your neighborhood

The Free State Of PIG advocates the Adopt A Gun And Box Of Bullets Program.

What the hell is that? Happy you asked, and happy to explain.

See, when a cowardly cat burglar, peeping tom, purse snatcher, rapist, serial killer or any other domestic terrorist knows you have no problem introducing them to their "Little Friends" Mr. .44 Magnum, Mr. Colt, Mr. Glock or Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson, they will skip your house, and make an attempt at the next one.

So, bleeding heart gun control advocates that want to regulate and disarm American's from owning guns, when your heart really is bleeding all over your carpet as a result of a break-in from a criminal, don't say we didn't warn you.

Remember, limp wristed gun controlers, there would be no 1st Amendment without the 2nd Amendment.

Stay locked and loaded PIGsters.

Who is "Joe The Plumber?"

He or she, is not just a plumber.

"Joe The Plumber" is the man or woman that keeps this country rolling with their hard working, business spirit, soon to be sacked, raped and plundered by Hope and Change.

"Joe The Plumber" is the person who bust's ass every day to make ends meet for his or her family.

"Joe The Plumber" is someone we all know.

Is "Joe The Plumber" a metaphor, or a symbolic step ladder for the candidates to appeal to?

You bet.

Who is "Joe The Plumber?"

You get your early morning coffee and donuts from "Josephine The Plumber."

Then, on your way to work, you fill your tank from the gas station "Joe The Plumber" owns.

When you need your hair cut, nails done, car washed, oil changed, it's done by a "Joe The Plumber."

"Joe The Plumber" is the person that vends produce for you, from their Mom and Pop venue.

We get our piping hot pizza and ice cold brews from "Joe The Plumber."

But to a certain politician with big ears and his empty assed plan for "Hope" and "Change" "Joe The Plumber" is a primary target of Big Government, and doesn't give a rip about you, personally, except for your wallet, come tax time.

And boy, oh boy, both of these fools, Hobama and McPain, and the fools that elect either one of them are in for it, along with the innocent bystander's that will be, too. Damn fools.

Candidates, using "Joe The Plumber" as an exploitive, self appealing voter blow job technique, ain't working, here at The Free State Of PIG anyway.

"Joe The Plumber," wherever you are, you should regard the candidates using you for political advantage, and borrow Hambo's Monkeywrench on Election Day and toss it right between their eyes and should take the "Joe The Plumber" comment as an insult.

By the way, what about all the "Larry The Cable Guy's?"

Mom and Pop Main Street business owners, if you want your personal and business taxes increased to compensate for the defeceit the current moron's legacy will leave, go ahead, make their day by voting for either one of them.

So, do you feel lucky? Well do you?

After all, we need those tax increases to help with bailouts, corporate and personal welfare programs.

Remember, you get what you vote for, and no refunds for the next four painful years.

Enjoy the ass crack. It's going to get stinky.

Chuck Norris recently wrote and published a book titled, "Black Belt Patriotism."

Wanna take a wild guess what that's about? If you're a Korrectnik, take flight, and do it fast, because Chuck ain't the the one to mess with, with your rhetoric and lip flapping, he will perform a roundhouse kick, on you, into reality.

A student and friend of Bruce Lee, Chuck Norris not only kicked ass with his physical skills, but he has major mental skills as well.

That, by itself is very impressive, but what really struck me was his love of country and patriotism.

Chuck Norris represents one of the last few Americans that have some cast irons and stands for his country and God given rights as an American, and not because of his movies or status, but his "Screw you" attitude towards Korrectniks, terrorists and sworn enemies.

Bottom line, don't fuck with Chuck, or people like him.

Have a nice day!

The following was sent to us by dedicated PIGster, Bill T.

Absolutely beautiful:

Read this excerpt from a Romanian Newspaper. The article was written by Mr. Cornel Nistorescu and published under the title 'C'ntarea Americii, meaning 'Ode To America' in the Romanian newspaper Evenimentulzilei 'The Daily Event' or 'News of the Day'

An Ode to America

Why are Americans so united? They would not resemble one another even if you painted them all one color! They speak all the languages of the world and form an astonishing mixture of civilizations and religious beliefs

On 9/ll, the American tragedy turned three hundred million people into a hand put on the heart.

Nobody rushed to accuse the White House, the Army, or the Secret Service that they are only a bunch of losers.

Nobody rushed to empty their bank accounts.

Nobody rushed out onto the streets nearby to gape about.

Instead the Americans volunteered to donate blood and to give a helping hand.

After the first moments of panic, they raised their flag over the smoking ruins, putting on T-shirts, caps and ties in the colors of the national flag. They placed flags on buildings and cars as if in every place and on every car a government official or the president was passing. On every occasion, they started singing: 'God Bless America !'

I watched the live broadcast and rerun after rerun for hours listening to the story of the guy who went down one hundred floors with a woman in a wheelchair without knowing who she was, or of the Californian hockey player, who gave his life fighting with the terrorists and prevented the plane from hitting a target that could have killed other hundreds or thousands of people.

How on earth were they able to respond united as one human being? Imperceptibly, with every word and musical note, the memory of some turned into a modern myth of tragic heroes. And with every phone call, millions and millions of dollars were put into collection aimed at rewarding not a man or a family, but a spirit, which no money can buy.

What on earth can unite the Americans in such way?

Their land? Their history? Their economic Power? Money?

I tried for hours to find an answer, humming songs and murmuring phrases with the risk of sounding commonplace, I thought things over, I reached but only one conclusion... Only freedom can work such miracles.

Cornel Nistorescu

That, PIGsters is why the American Spirit is not confined to our borders. The yearning to free oneself from oppressive despots, governments or economic conditions, compel people all over the globe to give it all up in their homeland and want make America their new home.

Now, all rise, put your hand on your heart and recite the Pledge Of Allegiance.

If you don't know our nation's pledge, learn PIG's Pledge.

Works just as well.

MARITAL AIDS

What's she doing? She's delivering our groceries...Duh. Don't you wish you had one, or two, like that? See, if there were more like her and the Mastadon Men Haters became extinct, so would divorce punk ass lawyers. The joy!

What a myth, perpetrated by ugly, unshaven, man-hating Feminazi Mastadon's

No battles here between the lovlies brave enough to sink into marital bliss and abyss with your humble Hambo and Porcus.But on the Porcus Front, here at The Free State Of PIG, however, a recent incident inspired this posting.

Your humble publisher and wife recently purchased a new DVD player, and she asked if I could get some DVD movies at the local library.

"Sure thing, toots."

Well, the first time I go in, I was helped by a most gorgeous young lady of Indian descent, and thought, "Wow, talk about some hot Tandoori."

Went home, told the wife how beautiful the woman was, and she said, "Great, your'e out of my hair for the night."

So she thought.

Returned the DVD's a few days later, and yet another beauty was there with the Indian woman together behind the counter, and Mrs. Porcus asked if I could get a romance type mushy ass movie. Being a dude, and way clueless, I asked the now, two lovlies behind the desk about something that my wife may enjoy.

More than happy to help, they drove in the winning run and helped me round from third with their selections of movies with my Mrs. and score the winning run.

Returned those DVD's, thinking, wow, what a way to enhance a marriage, and not buy Viagra. But upon return, I encountered HER.

HER is a most beautiful young Asian woman Porcus ever laid eyes on. One of those women that turns a grown man's legs into wet noodles, and make your throat go dry due to her sheer beauty.

Thinking I was being suave, I asked in Korean, if she was Korean. She said no, I'm from Jakarta, Indonesia. I informed her I was now in a pool of knee deep shit because Mrs. Porcus hails from the same city.

Mrs. Porcus stormed into the library and started some real stinky stuff by marking her territory, aka, me, and letting every library babe know, and I mean KNOW, I was spoken for, any wink, smile or flirtatious gesture on anyone's part, was to be reported...STAT.

That, my friends, is a prime example of why, when some dudes get married, their balls get chained..to her, for life.

This week will commemorate the 7th anniversary of the horrific attack on innocent Americans known as 9/11. It was, is, and will always be a defining moment in our nation's history.

Much like the rest of the world, The Free State Of PIG will never forget that day, and those people that perished should not have died in vain. As American's we need to carry the torch in rememberance of all that were tragically taken away from their loved one's into an eternal afterlife.

When the victims were either laid to rest, or memorialized, America rolled up it's sleeves and started going to town on terrorist scum. More specifically, ragheads in search of those elusive 72 virgins.

Vicente Bush casually had some aircraft carriers that were looking for a parking spot in...Ta-Da, just outside of Afghanistan, and then Iraq.

To digress for a moment, there once was a rotten piece of sub-human life that came up with what he called a "Final Solution." Hitler the name, evil the game. His claim to fame was execution and slaughter of innocent people.

The Free State Of PIG has what we would like to introduce as "The Ultimate Solution." This is in regards to saving innocent lives by extermination of the human cockroaches of the world known as terrorists. You can spot them at airports all the time. The one's with dishrags on their heads, NOT getting profiled, while your Granny is getting strip searched under the Homeland Security farce of a program.

How? We're so damn glad you asked.

The Free State Of PIG has a secret weapon in the Monkeywrench Plan. We would have two, Top Secret operatives named Agent Oink and Barbi Q. Ribs, gaining all the intelligence we need. Once the information is gathered, Chief Executive Hambo would give the order to Smoking Joint Chief of Staff Porcus to have Sergeant Pork deploy EVERY B-12, B-29, B-52, B-2 Stealth, with full payloads, carriers armed to the hilt with F-15's and drooling vengeful fighter pilots that want a few more notches in their belts, and whatever else we have in our arsenal.

Realizing that blowing those rat, scum bastards to smithereens would glorify them as martyrs, thinking they are headed to a heaven filled with milk and honey and 72 virgins, we have that covered too.

We would have every pig farmer in America donate strips of bacon, smoked ham, anything pork filled, and strap them on our bombs. But that's not the kicker. We would have The Free State Of PIG's logo printed or illustrated on every bomb we intend to drop over the sandbox.

We have some mercenary's up our sleeve's, too, Achmed, and it ain't what you think. Outside of the La Cosa Nostra, Asian Triad members, and members of the Columbian Cocaine cartels, we have way more. We have prisons filled with bloodthirsty convicted killers that we want to get rid of and have them parachute
into your kitty litter box of a country, let them ply their trade, on you, with no mercy.

Doesn't end there, raghead. The Fat Lady sings when we deploy female Korean Liquor Store owners to render the executioners final blow, when they say "You pay now!!!" Guess what? You will, but if you're lucky, she may ask if you have a last request before giving you your passport to Hell.

We have a question about those so called 72 virgins. What the hell did they do wrong to end up stuck with the likes of you, you terrorist worm? You are way delusional if you think they saved their virtue, anxiously awaiting the likes of murderers like you. And the 72:1 ratio doesn't quite compute either. But then again, being brainwashed or drinking camel piss doesn't either.

To any survivors of victims of 9/11, we are in no way are making light of your tragic loss. Hambo and Porcus have nothing but somber reverence for what you went through. We know that you are decent people, coping with a bad tragedy, and if you thought for a moment we would ever seriously sink to terrorist level, well, we would, but we hope you never would.

We just hope that we could ease the pain with some comic relief.

In all seriousness, one member of The Free State Of PIG was a young boy who used to fish in Long Island Sound and witnessed the World Trade Center being constructed, so 9/11 has had a very personal impact on that member of The Free State Of PIG.

You started it, you Mohammed Loving Raghead Terrorists. Americans will finish it with our "Ultimate Solution" and love of freedom.

As Americans, and all freedom loving people, we need to be vigilant in our fight with terrorist scum, and not just symbolically on 9/11, but each and every 364 days of the year.

Hey, Jihadist scum, see that picture? That's an image of a WILLING woman to pose semi-nude.

Guess what else, you camel turds?

Infadels like me are looking at her. And liking it. Alot.

Don't like it, go hunt down and tell Bin Fucking Laden.

You'll probably have to go through his security force, Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble.

The United States allowed you into our country, and how do you show your gratitude?

You commit acts of mass murder and terrorism against your hosts.

We bet your mommy is awful proud about the first RPG she and your camel shit shoveling father confiscated and gave you for a birthday gift.

The Free State Of PIG has hereby put ALL on the way low end of the Totem Pole Jihadist's on our Official Shit List.

The Free State Of PIG has, from time to time, or actually, on a daily basis, posted and published some inflammatory material that may ruffle some (so-called) people's feathers and administer some "emotional hurts and boo-boo's."

Oh boy, and aw shucks! Are we sorry for sticking our brand of commentary into your more, Oprahsized, feminine side?

No way! In fact, get lost! But to show you the sports we are, we have an unsung heroine in the PIG Bunker commonly, and affectionetly refered to as "Staff."

She has been a dedicated, ultimate PIGal from day one.

A true, in the trenches, dedicated trooper, her trademark phrase is, "Just shoot the bastards."

Why is this on the Pitchfork?

Well the fact that some nutballs out there might want try to do harm to either Hambo or Porcus, she is diligently dedicated to protecting PIG's Co-Commanders, standing guard, locked and loaded.

If her "Get out of my face" stare into your eyes doesn't send you scampering and crying with your tail between your legs, Staff has some way trusty backup.

Wanna eat hot lead? She is way more than willing to give you your last meal before she boots you to the highway to hell.

But Porcus, you are having a woman stand guard and protect you and do the dirty work.

Right. Ever watch National Geographic when they show mother Polar Bears with their young? Wanna come within a mile of a Polar bear mother guarding her young? Didn't think so. Same thing for any smart alecks that think they can come within Staff's sniffing distance or firing range.

I think a female Polar bear with her young just may show a little more mercy on Korrectniks than our Guardian Angel At Arms, Staff.

But in the event that her hot lead doesn't do the deed, we at PIG have one more, totally Top Secret weapon called The Exploder.

The Exploder? Porcus, what the hell is that?

Sorry you asked, but I'll tell you.

The Exploder is the creature we keep locked in our basement, on a leash. Once a night we toss a bottle of water and some raw sirloin down the staircase, and every day we have to flip a coin to see who gets to put on the straight jacket and muzzle on her and take it out for a walk.

She also has some fangs on her that serve as great beer bottle openers.

Enough about The Exploder. Because of her, I'm still getting Tetanus and Rabies shots, and looking for my other testicle.

Tasmanian Devils make for better pets.

Summary: The Free State Of PIG is backed by a wonderful, way supporting staff, and frankly (or beanly) we try to thank them as best we can by staying the hell out of their way.

In sincerity, there would be no Free State Of PIG if it weren't for a dedicated Staff. We are so glad Staff is on our team, that we actually pity the unfortunate, numbnut Korrectnik that strays into Staff's path.

DROP AND GIVE ME 20 !!!

How would you like to wake up to THAT, in your face, at 4:30 AM, screaming "What is your major malfunction, numbnuts?" Takes a way special breed of American Warrior called a United States Marine to withstand that brand of mental and physical training, ladies.

This posting is a twofold shout out to our brave, United States Marines, and in particular, Gunny John, PIG's number one fan for life since PIG went online.

Gunny John had related some personal and professional insights with The Free State Of PIG, Hambo and myself over the years.

We consider ourselves privliged for having Marines like Gunny John visiting PIG and corresponding with us.

Before I continue, I am in no way discounting the bravery and dedication of the other members of the branches of the armed services that serve our country in harm's way. In fact, Gunny John is going to stick his bayonet where my sun don't shine, but several members of my family served in the Navy, during the Korean War, Vietnam, and the first Gulf War as pilots and officers.

I hope I didn't make Gunny John's Shit List by disclosing that, but that's a fact, Jack. The Free State Of PIG need's Gunny John & Co. on our team.

Back to The Corps. What inspired this posting was when I recently watched the DVD of Full Metal Jacket, for the 20th time, and more specifically the guy that stole the show, Marine Sergeant R. Lee Ermey, who in the movie portrayed Gunnery Sergeant Hartman, one hell of a hard-ass.

I don't know if Gunny John uses that film as a training guide for new jarhead recruits, but I did, for my kid. It instilled some fear in him that solved a few "teenage" related problems. The Marine mentality worked like a charm on my son, as I threatened to take that approach toward him unless he changed his tune.

From the Halls Of Montezuma, to the Shores Of Tripoli, The Free State Of PIG offers our utmost gratitude, and totally salutes The United States Marine Corps for all you do, on a daily basis.

Hey Gunny John, if it weren't for you defending our liberties and way of life, there would be no PIG, and I would be writing this from a Commie Gulag, and speaking either German or Japanese.

Oh, one more thing John. Do you think next time you're stateside, can you bring your platoon to my neighborhood to perform a clean-up job? See, I've got real bad neighbor that uses the whole surrounding area as his personal urinal, ash tray and trash can. I live in a way private, family oriented area, and we don't need the likes of this guy spoiling a good neighborhood.

I know, you Marines are handling more important stuff like hunting down terrorist scum, and keeping us safe. But, if you were to autograph a grenade, and send it over, Scouts Honor, I'll put it to good, creative use once the pin is pulled.

Gunny John, I hope I didn't get too mushy or sloppy with my expression of gratitude for what you do for us, and willingness to make the ultimate sacrifice for a lump like me.

Hambo and Porcus wish you and your undercharges Godspeed and come home soon from those front lines. In the meantime, The Free State Of PIG will maintain our stronghold and continue and stay dug into our trenches on the Homefront.

I would close out by saying "God Bless America", but America wouldn't be blessed if it weren't for Marines like you.

Thanks.

True PIGster's don't need the likes of a wannabee, failed, ex-outlaw, Porcus to explain the difference between cops like Barney Fife and "Dirty" Harry Callahan, but for those going into personal, legal problems, which may have required handcuffs and brief incarceration, I'll tell you the difference.

Barney Fife types, for some reason, cannot think outside "The Box." Spit on the sidewalk on his watch? He'll have you hauled in, and prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Top that off with him telling Floyd The Barber and Aunt Bea about his big time bust.

Now, let's move onto a guy that has no conception of what "thinking inside a box" is, "Dirty" Harry Callahan.

Ficticious? Yes, in the sense of movies, but there are some pretty cool, veteran cops, that have the ability to think creatively, and way outside "The Box."

If you thought for a second a cop like Dirty Harry would compliment you by hauling you in for puking on the sidewalk after too much tequila, you're wrong. If, however you make the fatal mistake of barfing on his shoes, different story.

I don't think he would whip out his way trusty .44, but if he did, he would probably make you wipe the vomit off of his shoes, and let you go along your merry way.

Moral?: Too many small minded cops, not enough Dirty Harry's and way too many scumbags.

Famous Dirty Harry Quotes;

"A man's got to know his limitations."

Harry Callahan: "You heroes killed a dozen people this week. What are you going to do next week?"
Officer Davis: "Kill a dozen more."

Lieutenant Briggs: "Suppose they panic and start shooting?"
Harry Callahan: "Nothing wrong with shooting as long as the right people get shot!"

Harry Callahan: "Briggs, I hate the goddamn system, but until someone comes along with changes that make sense, I'll stick with it."

Then of course is the all-time classic, when Harry is enjoying a hot dog but notices a bank robbery in progress.

Callahan walks across the street with his .44 drawn, locked and loaded.

One dillweed makes the fatal mistake of taking a shot at Callahan.

Harry responds with some rounds of his own, killing the son of a bitch, and wounding his crime partner.

The real fun starts when Harry encounters the wounded bank robber, whose rifle is arms lenght away.

Harry's .44 is pointed right at him almost reached for the rifle, and Harry said, "Uh-uh. You know, in all this excitement, I don't know if I fired five shots, or six."

"This is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world. It can take your head clean off. You've got to ask yourself one question, Do I feel lucky?, Well, do you, punk?"

The classic moment came when the wounded perpetrator said, "I gots to know."

Harry pulled the trigger with a deafening, silent "click," smiles, and walks away.

No offense to the dedicated law enforcement peace officers, whose sole duty, when they put the badge on and holster up, looking out for the citizenry's safety and security, but Jimminey Crickets, when you see Otis The Drunk staggering down the street, by all means, haul him/her in and let them sleep it off. No need to issue him a court appearance, summons or citation. He's a real good repeat customer.

But, future law enforcement types, tin stars, rent-a-cop wannbees, don't be so damn zealous upon graduating from the academy.

National Geographic Channel just aired a documentary about the L.A. Riots in 1992.

As an up close and "right there" witness to that mayhem, I'll tell you, the cause is simple. Mob rule.

Was race a factor? Hell yes, and here in the Pitchfork, nothing is sacred, not even the skin color of criminals.

Certain ethnic groups, and we all all know who they are, felt shortchanged for shit that never happened to them, were awaiting the Simi Valley jury's decision of the four L.A.P.D. officers in the Rot-Knee King trial.

6:30 PM, First day of rioting. I'm at my college, in the lounge, where a T.V. is airing the opening ceremonies of the riots at the intersection of Florence and Normandie. That's where Damien "Football" Williams made his debut by kicking the crap out of Reginald Denny, an innocent trucker, caught in the wrong place, wrong time.

I called my buddy, Mike, in Beverly Hills, who I was supposed to meet for dinner with his parents, and he said he was scared shitless, and can I come by.

No problem. I entered the Santa Monica Freeway, westbound, and as I looked to my left, (south, or South Central L.A.) I saw what I had only seen on news reports from war-torn regions in the Middle East. Fires and loads of black smoke, all over the damn place. Looked like Beirut.

I get to my friends place in Beverly Hills, and he was on the phone with his parents who decided not to come to L.A. because of the riots.

I used his phone to call my mother, who lived in Simi Valley at the time, to let her know I'm OK and I'll be up there later, and I'll check on my brothers in the San Fernando Valley on my way up.

Mike and I watched the news reports, live from downtown L.A., especially, City Hall.

Numbnuts (me) came up with the brilliant idea us of going back to downtown with a camera and see up close what all the fussing is about.

He was game, so we get in my brand new truck, and arrive in Little Tokyo, about a quarter mile from City Hall.

We ran over to City Hall, and what do we see? A mob consisting of a mixture of a bunch of disgruntled blacks, hispanics, and wait, white suburbanites. Spoiled white suburbanites at that. What the hell were they doing there? Mix in some media photographers, alcohol, some way misguided fools who tipped an unmarked cop car, and that's my cue to tell my friend, "I'm SO outta here."

We made it to my truck, after dodging some bricks and bottles being hurled our way, and cruised though downtown L.A. The looting already started and there wasn't a cop in sight. It was a No-Shit-Free-For-All, No-Rules-Anything-Goes Fiesta.

I got up to my mother's house at about 2 AM and she was scared to death. The Sheriff's department had deployed helicopters over the Simi Valley area, anticipating that some gorilla's would emerge from the mist, and try to storm Simi Valley.

The next morning had a classic front page photograph of Simi Valley residents lined up outside of the local gun shop, buying ammo and firearms. Guess who/what never made it to Simi Valley? Codename: Gorillas.

Day Two: I had to go back to L.A. for a final exam. I loaded an aluminum baseball bat in my truck for "equalizing" purposes. On the way in, the smoke and smell from the fires blanketed the entire L.A. basin. I picked up my friend Mike, and we were the only two students that showed up for our finals.

Our professor, a trendy, liberal, Westwood, Starbucks type, ran in and simply said, "I'm scared to death. Since you two showed up, you both get an A+. Bye."

With that out of the way, I told my friend I want to check on some other people I know in Koreatown.

First stop, 9th and Vermont. I had a friend, Victor, who owned a carniceria, or hispanic meat and produce market. At that intersection, three of the four businesses were burnt to a crisp, except for Victor's place.

We rolled up and we see Victor with a sizable posse on the roof, armed to the teeth with rifles and shotguns. I had to ask, "Hey, how the hell is your store the only one standing?"

He replied by giving a pump on his shotgun, and simply said "There's no way those Miates (Mexican slang for June Bugs, or niggers) are taking my place.

Cool.

After checking in on some other friends, I had to check my home in Rancho Cucamonga. On the way, a cop pulls me over to alert me that I was going over the speed limit.

He didn't issue me a ticket, but did ask, "Do you play baseball?"

"Not recently" I said.

"Did you know I can arrest you for carrying a concealed weapon with that bat behind your seat?"

I snapped back and asked if he had been to L.A., like in the last 24 hours. His answer of course, was no.

With that, I told him I was coming from L.A. and this was my means of protection, and I came pretty close to using it, too.

Sometime Around Day Three: The day "They" come out of the woodwork, like the cockroaches they are. "No Justice, No Peace" creeps were echoing their sickening mantra all over the fucking place. To counter that however, the California National Guard were also all over the place. My girlfriend at the time was a Korean, and she felt the need to stock up on supplies...in Koreatown.

We hit the Korean and American markets and on the way back to Cucamonga, we were at a stop light on Wilshire Boulevard, were a bunch of Guardsmen standing post. I told my girlfriend to give me the 12-pack of Pepsi, which I gave to the Guardsmen.

I expressed my gratitude for their service, and wished I could have given them some brews instead of soda, but they were on duty.

What came in the aftermath? Not much. Some "No Justice, No Peace" crumbs still refer to the riots as "civil unrest."

The L.A.P.D. is now more reluctant than ever to profile or clean up the 'hood, for fear of "violating" someone's civil rights.

If you thought Korean's mistrusted blacks before the riots, well, nevermind. They're not exactly holding hands around a campfire singing Kumbaya in unison.

People lost businesses, homes and lives.

One dumbass Korean business owner, was nailed for insurance fraud, claiming he lost his business due to arson. That part was true, but the problem was, he forgot to turn off his surviellance camera, while HE torched his own place.

What's the point of this post? I don't know, but National Geographic started it by airing their L.A. Riot documentary.

My mother told me in the aftermath of the riots, that every generation has a defining moment, where one never forgets where they were, or who they were with at that moment in history.

Hers was the assasination of JFK. The L.A. Riots were my generations, then she reminded me of the 9/11 tragedy.

About a year ago, I found myself in the Alaska Airlines terminal awaiting a flight in the lounge in Portland, Oregon.

All was quiet, as folks were waiting to board the plane. I was doing a crossword puzzle. An elderly woman was fiddling around with her purse. A few National Guardsmen were joking around. A few snot gobblers were playing musical chairs.

And then..."IT" came into the lounge.

"IT" is the one person NOBODY wants to end up sitting next to. She, and her 450+ pounds of hot air waddle up to the desk, and insisted upon letting not just the poor souls behind the desk know each and every ugly part of her personal life, but she was so loud, nobody could escape her personal Mickey Mouse, trailer park drama.

I just laughed as the two guys behind the counter found something else of high priority to do, like scrubbing toilets, and excused themselves from her bellowing.

At first, I thought she must have strayed from her mental center's group outing without her meds. I was wrong. She was a passenger. Utter doom for the person that ended up sitting next to "IT."

When I finally boarded the plane, I found myself squeezing into a window seat next to another beached whale. This dude however, was very courteous, saw my discomfort and asked if I wanted to exchange seats with his mother.

Damn right I do!

Naturally, my new seat was right next to...IT! Why me? Why? Why? Why?

I'm no Stephen King, but this was sheer horror, worthy of being made into a movie, or a novel at the very least.

In a way, I guess I was blessed, as when I took MY half of MY seat, she actually moved her blubbery fat ass arms about an inch to allow me access to a seat I paid for.

Then comes the non-stop stupid ass small talk, but at a very high decible level, for all the passengers to hear.

"Are you married?' "Do you have kids?" "What do you do for living?"

All these questions while I had to sit at a 3/4 angle with my legs extending into the aisle, no thanks to Her Fatness spilling over into MY seat. That's right. A good portion of her arms, legs, gut, mammaries and hot breath were invading MY paid seat.

At that point, I wished I had a portable, Pocket Hambo to talk me off the ledge and put Hot Air Blimpo in her place. Honestly, I was about to lose it, and fortunately, the stewardesses saw my lack of comfort and offered up extra snacks and drinks.

When I politely declined, Fatso told me I should have accepted and that she would have eaten them. Duh, you think?

Luckily, it was only a one hour flight, and when we landed, I made like an NFL running back for the gate, looking for an opening, and my wife. The other passengers were very sympathetic to my ordeal and gave me a wide berth to scramble fast and far from "IT."

After claiming baggage and leaving the airport, I had Mrs. Porcus take me to the nearest liquor store for some liquid relief. I honestly would have settled for a gas station that sold anti-freeze to erase the horrors of that flight.

Moral Of The Story: If airlines refuse to charge double wide loads extra, that's fine. But then us folks of regular build ought to be discounted if we have the misfortune of enduring a flight where we are treated like packed sardines when seated next to human mastadons.

Also, when booking a flight, specify that you DO NOT want to be stuck next to a human hippo, otherwise, demand a discount, up front. It is your money after all.

Did I mention it was Alaska Airlines? At least Southwest has some nads when it comes to double and triple extra wide loads.

Okay, this one scalds my skillet.

In the previous posting, I mentioned my need for "qualified" help, and I found some help in the lovely lady pictured.

She said she would love to help The Free State Of PIG, as long as her privacy was maintained.

When I asked why, she told me her family would disown her if they found out she was associated with PIG.

When I asked why, again, she said her family thought we were pigs and I'm a good girl.

I told her, her secret was safe with me, and your family was right,we are pigs, and as far as the "good girl" stuff goes, I informed her I was way willing to change that image.

Well, someone, and I know who that someone is, followed her on her assignment to fetch me some watermelons at the Farmer's Market, breeched her privacy, and posted this picture.

Porcus is not a dictator and always gives folks the benefit of the doubt, but my edict is as follows to the person in question:

No pizza, one week.

Beer is being rationed to one case per day, also, one week.

Also, hereby sentenced to one week of either The View, or Oprah. Pick your poison.

Suffer.

Now, the lovely lady pictured, whose only duties were described to her is allowing Porcus to gawk at her, while she does pretty much...nothing, is distraught, and now I have to lure her back to the PIGdom.

In my quest to lure her back, I commented that those two melons in her hands, were nothing compared to the two sweet juicy fruits right behind them, under her blouse.

Anticipating either a cinder block dropped on my head, or five across the eyes after that comment, she surprised me by blushing, smiling and said she would give me a second chance.

After that I said "Great! By the way, you like fondling your melons, but how about nuts"

Needless to say, she's gone.

Alright, dammit!

Somebody posted a picture of the Porcus Personal Staff on Page One, and I know who the culprit is, too.

The nerve! How dare you!

I'm not a snitch or name dropper, but I can provide the initials of the dude who dropped the dime on my way personal Staff.

Does H-a-m-b-o ring a bell to anyone out there?

Just what qualified them in the first place for the coveted job of babysitting Porcus? That is a "Well, Duh" question.

The anonymity of these sweeties, for The Free State Of PIG's sake must always remain top priority.

They might not like their privacy invaded.

Crap. Now I have to recruit some new "personal assistants."

Thanks alot, pal, now I have to conduct interviews for new "personal assistants."

Ladies, if interested, you need to be informed, we are not an equal opportunity employer.

Far from it, ladies. Strict criteria and raising the bar are top priority.

However, if you can match the measurements of the ladies pictured, all you have to do is show up, and the job is yours, I'll be real busy smoking cigars, leafing through important publications like Playboy, and breaking out my tape measure, you know, to check your qualifications.

Your qualifications:

1.) Ability to serve pizza and crack open cold brews at our whim.

2.) Ability to pick up Porcus' car keys when he intentionally drops them... three times in 15 minutes.

3.) The ability to go Bruce Lee on the person looking over my shoulder, Mrs. Porcus, and protect your commanding officer, me and second in Command, Captain Hambo, at all times, and if it requires Commander Porcus to unsnap your bra, and use it to launch projectiles towards the enemy, well, Commander Porcus will happily award you with a medal, and happily pin it where it counts.

Thanks ladies. Porcus already knows none of you will be showing up, but if you happen to know a chick that loves to wash cars in her bikini, send her over.

Thanks for the mammaries, ladies.

In Memorium: R.I.P. Old Friend

Rest In Peace, or Reqiescat In Pace (Latin)

Well, PIGsters, my recent hiatus from The Free State of PIG is attributed to me not tending to my Piece 'O Shit MacIntosh. It took a major league dump, and I tried and tried to bring it back to life, but to no avail. It's fried. Toast. History. Why? Because of neglect on my part, probably.

I suppose in dog years, that workhorse of a computer would be well over 70 years old. I rode that thing until the hubcaps fell off and worked it to it's maximum capacity, like right into the ground, and truth be told, that machine somehow helped me 'Git - R - Done', day after day, week after week...etc.

In many ways, it was more than a computer to me. It housed my inner most PIG notes, my portfolio, resume, graphics, a little way cool porn, bookmarks from the PIG faithful, email addresses, settings, and some most important software that I used and needed to build The Free State of PIG.

But I can't complain. It served PIG and me well for many years. It helped Hambo and I forge a trail of individualism, free thought and expression and satire not really seen online before on the internet superhighway. Well, that, plus Al Gore, of course.

Hambo used to joke about my old computer as if I were dating the ugly duckling at High School, but I showed him that my "ugly duckling" or "Piece 'O Shit Mac" could crank out some cool graphics for The Free State of PIG - Steaming Loads, Sereant Pork, Hambo's Hammer, Girlie Man and Barbi Q. Ribs are among my favorite PIG graphics - and only I, your humble publisher, knew how to push the right buttons to make The Bitch perform.

I had made the switch to a PC, and I'm not going to lie. My new system is, to me, like going from an old Al Bundy Dodge, to a streamlined Corvette, complete with a bikini clad Hambo Honey sprawled on the hood. Juicy indeed. I have dubbed my new unit, The Beast, and it really does compliment PIG's War Room quite nicely.

What I'll do next is one last try at reviving my old motherboard partner in politically incorrect deeds. I'll take it up to a Mac specialist and see if there is any hope of life left, or at least burn some discs to retrieve my original files and fonts.

If the verdict is final, that it's flatlining it's way into the digital afterlife, and no hope of retrieving my files, well, it's time to grab my aluminum baseball bat and put it out of it's misery.

I commented to Hambo that while my old Mac was unplugged and taken off it's long held perch on my desk and thus relegated to a dark corner of the room status, I swear, The Bitch was staring at me, as if I had a lingering ghost lurking in my home, much like the car in Stephen King's "Christine".

Now that I have The Beast, I can't help but feel a really creepy feeling that The Bitch is stalking and watching me begin a new relationship with The Beast from it's exiled spot in the corner, much like an ex-girlfriend that finds out you're dating someone else one day after you break up. Spooky.

Does size matter? In this case, hell yes. It really is a Beast of a computer, capacity wise, plus the size of the monitor allows me to read files without my reading glasses.

So PIGster's, we're entering a new era of the PIGdom. Hambo will no longer have to hear me moan, groan, whine or snivel about my Piece 'O Shit Mac being in the shop, on the fritz, freezing up or getting moody on me, and conversely, I won't have to hear his smart-ass remarks about my computer.

A moment of silence from the PIG Faithful would be much appreciated before I do the final deed. It will probably be a Kleenex moment as it's going hurt me more than it will hurt The Bitch.

Always remember this: The Free State Of PIG was created and constructed with a Non-P.C. unit.

Goodbye Bitch, I bid you a fond farewell, you served me and The Free State Of PIG well, and Hello Beast, Porcus is back in the game.

"From My Cold, Dead Hands."

QUOTES FROM CHARLTON HESTON • • • • • • • • • • • • "Political correctness is tyranny with manners." • "Here's my credo. There are no good guns, There are no bad guns. A gun in the hands of a bad man is a bad thing. Any gun in the hands of a good man is no threat to anyone, except bad people." • "As I have stood in the crosshairs of those who target Second Amendment freedoms, I've realized that firearms are not the only issue. No, it's much, much bigger than that. I've come to understand that a cultural war is raging across our land, in which, with Orwellian fervor, certain acceptable thoughts and speech are mandated." • "Get your stinkin' paws off me, you damned dirty ape!"

Socially conscious and historically and culturally way ahead of the rest of his peers, Heston had a way of articulately telling his adversaries to kick rocks, pound sand and pretty much screw themselves with such a quiet flair and touch of class, that you never heard his critics even try to start something with him ever again.

Hear those crickets making their noise over in Hollywood? That's the only sound you'll hear from the likes of Michael Moore, George Clooney, Ice-T, Rosie, Spike Lee and the rest of the lip-flapping crowd he managed to silence while he was still alive. Even in death, his critics are silenced and it's too late for insincere, pathetic posthumous apologies.

Heston always championed the importance of our Second Amendment rights, contending that without them there would be no First Amendment.

From Al Gore to Michael "Maggot" Moore, Heston was TOO REAL.

From Time-Warner and Ice-t to Harvard Law School, again, he proved TOO REAL.

To show you just how TOO REAL Heston was, even while battling Alzheimer's late in life, these examples just might say it all for Heston the gentleman:

• In the 2002 documentary film Bowling for Columbine, Michael Moore interviewed Heston in his home, asking him about an April 1999 NRA meeting held shortly after the Columbine high school massacre, in Denver, Colorado. Moore criticized Heston for the perceived thoughtlessness in the timing and location of the meeting. Heston, on-camera, excused himself and walked out. Moore was later criticized for his perceived ambush.

• George Clooney, while receiving a special filmmaking achievement award joked that "Charlton Heston announced again today that he is suffering from Alzheimer's."

When asked if he went too far with his remarks, Clooney responded, "I don't care. Charlton Heston is the head of the National Rifle Association; he deserves whatever anyone says about him."

Heston: "It just goes to show that sometimes class does skip a generation," referring to Clooney's late aunt, Rosemary Clooney.

Heston further commented on the Clooney "joke": "I don't know the man - never met him, never even spoken to him, but I feel sorry for George Clooney - one day he may get Alzheimer's disease. I served my country in World War II. I survived that - I guess I can survive some bad words from this fellow".

Heston was way more than another dime-a-dozen Hollywood pretty boy, and as hard as Porcus may try to describe Heston as a head and shoulders above the rest type of dude in the context of the Pitchfork, I'll shut the hell up and provide this link for those of you, like me, with short attention spans to his Harvard speech and let his own words do the talking:

Charlton Heston On Culture Wars At Harvard Law School

Porcus Prediction: When you get finished reading this, you'll realize the timelessness of those words. Important now. Important 100 years from now. Because of his stature, Heston could get away with saying "politically incorrect' things most mere mortals would be tarred and feathered for saying, if not thinking, publicly.

With his death, Heston has passed the torch in the spirit of all Old Betsy's across our fruited plains to the rest of us, ever reminding us to stick to our guns, even until the day someone tries to hijack your rights and guns from YOUR cold, dead hands.

So, Her Royal Highness hit another snag on her road to Her Coronation. Boo- Freaking-Hoo.

It's no secret, here at the Free State Of PIG, that PIG's founder, me, created PIG and was majorly inspired by the Clinton-Rodham's commandeering of the White House, back in 1991.

I'm sitting here, in PIG's War Room, where even Hambo needs special clearance to enter at his own risk, recalling Her Highness apologizing for a made up story about her being a victim of Bosnian sniper fire.

I expect that real stinky load of shit from a pathological, opportunistic, thinly veiled whore like her. What makes me pissed, and has me scratching my head is, Bosnian's are either, A, bad marksmen, or B, the Bosnian's didn't put a bounty high enough to justify the cost and waste of a bullet, thus leaving alleged sniper to say, "Fuck it."

Talk about a missed opportunity. Oh well. If Her Highness thinks she's dodged real sniper's bullets, she really hasn't seen anything, yet. Just wait, as her campaign progresses, and she sticks her fake facade of a face further and further out, she will suffer and incur the wrath of not only the Free State Of PIG, but the likes of Porcus, Hambo, Staff, and other pundits.

Keep it up, Bitch, the American public just may give you enough rope to hang yourself with.

PIGster's, come November, don't say we didn't warn you, and I'll expand.

During Bill & Hillary's Two-For-One felonious occupation of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, they somehow managed to garner nothing but comtempt from our military, specifically, Air Force One, and Marine One. Why? Because they themselves offered up nothing but disrespect for our military themselves.

Enough of that. This "Thing" running for the highest office in the land, is as Rush Limbaugh states, is nothing but "Symbolism over substance." If you have a brother, sister, aunt, uncle, in-law or friend serving in any branch of the Armed Forces, please think before casting you vote. Do you want a military that is armed with state of the art weaponry, but no ammo?

That's one part of what you'll get when you cast your vote for Hitlery.

Please, help Porcus in his quest to remove the "Beat The Bitch" and "Kountdown To Klitocracy" banners from your beloved Free State Of PIG site. By doing so, you would also be contributing to what's left of my sanity.

Hambo & Staff give you thanks in advance.

P.S. Did Porcus neglect to mention how he's getting all cyliders fired up and getting ready for a real "Beat The Bitch" campaign? If he didn't just keep tuning in.

Help Porcus in his quest to Keep America Beautiful by Beating The Bitch. Thanks.

Exactly how much time do some of you have on your hands to be counting our typo's, grammatical and punctuation no-no's. From time to time, some of our readers have offered some helpful, constructive criticism by pointing out blatantly overt scribbling screw ups on our part. For that, we we say thanks and correct the problem, most of the time.

Loyal PIGster from Day One, and our biggest fan for life, Gunny John, recently brought to our attention a Top Story in which both Hambo and myself overlooked a boatload of typo's and errors, and he was correct in taking us to task. The tone of his email to us also implied (in a most friendly way) that he was probably wondering just what the hell were we smoking this week.

What Gunny didn't realize is that he wasn't the first to fall prey to our typo trick. See, we do that on purpose, and for those of you that you were unaware, and all of you are, I'll explain.

We have a set limit of typo's allotted per week to us under PIG's "Under The Influence" editorial clause, which, in a nutshell means either Hambo, myself, or both are usually buzzed from too much caffeine or ice cold brewskies, and a set amount of typo's per week are designated as the norm. Truth be told, it's usually me that's guilty, but don't tell Hambo, he'll accuse me of not sharing my beer with him.

To us, our allotted typo's are like cell-phone rollover minutes. If we don't use 'em, we loose 'em. This week we were way short of our typo/grammatical/punctuation quota throughout the rest of PIG, so we had to dump them somewhere, and this week, it was our Top Story.

Sorry we have to inflict that form of nuisance on you, but seriously, we really are aware of our grammatical errors and typo's. I prefer to let the little ones stand for a couple of reasons.

One, is that it demonstrates to our reader(s) that we are just regular dudes, not a couple of corporate suits barking orders from a sterile executive suite or ramrodding strict editorial policy to Staff or each other.

The other reason is that it's bound to get the attention of some anal-retentive humor-phobe, that will never see the humor between the lines and wants to find us at fault for something, anything, and I humbly admit, that since we're right most of the time in the messages we try to convey, all they've got on us are little tiny micro typo's.

What that does is it allows them to feel superior to us for about a nano-second, thinking we (PIG) are a couple of gun-racked illiterates. Once they start nitpicking us by pointing out our obvious mistakes, they then begin the predictable name calling; Racist, sexist, homophobe, xenophobe, etc. We've heard it all from these sanctimonious assholes.

For the way over-the-top Korrectniks who think they've put us in our place, we simply hold them up to ridicule by posting their holier than thou piss-ant rants in our PIGPEN/Forum, complete with a Hambo ass-ripping rebuttal.

We really have received such messages from assorted dorks with nothing better to do than to go over every syllable of PIG with their Korrectly honed fine-tooth comb and put us under their microscope. To them, we simply and politely say, "Good luck, get a life and get lost."

To the rest of you PIGsters like Gunny John still residing on planet earth that put your pants on one leg at a time, please don't be shy in pointing out our obvious mistakes. We do appreciate our readers' participation and input.

Thanks Gunny, for correcting us with kindness. we owe you one.

Class dismissed!