The power of carnivory to warp reality has never been more clearly demonstrated. Our last post showed us animals willing to fight for their chance at death's tangy, sweet embrace.
Here we have a pig who has turned his psycopathy into a lucrative career. He kills not for sport, but for a paycheck. And, surely, emotional satisfaction of a magnificently insane nature.
Hooded, empty-eyed, he drools at the prospect of bringing the hatchet down on the necks of the innocent. With every chop, his cruelty is stoked. Hotter and hotter it burns! Nothing can extinguish it! Not conscience! Not reason! Nor love?
Love! Even as the word lingers on his lips, it offends, a horrid thing, hateful for its smallness. It is a sop for weaklings! The pig answers to a higher calling, the very highest! Survival of the fittest. Kill or be killed. He is that callous creed's apotheosis!
And being such a trusted servant of the crooked state, he must know that his time in the pit will come. Soon enough, his will be the hatcheted neck. This brings him nothing but peace. The hope that his turn is coming brings him the only happiness he knows.
May we assume that we are now scraping the bottom of the meat mascot barrel? We have seen demons, sluts, and a certain god-awful monstrosity. But this paid killer, this merciless mercenary who would no doubt do his job for free, could be the worst.