The pig is alone on his island, his only company the playful sailboat that appears occasionally just past the lagoon. Apart from that fey blue sail, the pig has no one to talk to, no one to dream with. He has a coconut palm. He has food enough, thankfully. And he has the insane nightmare world that blooms brilliantly in his brain.
How else to explain what on earth he's doing?
Some have argued—believe us, we know—that the pig is merely capering. Or maybe gathering coconuts for his meager subsistence.
Please. We've been around the block a few times. We know what's what. The pig has gone out of his way to enact an elaborate ritual suicide. He will shinny up the slender tree until it bends just so, whereupon he will loosen his awkward grip and splash into the seasoned broth simmering in the wok. He intends to cook himself—with curry, coconut juice, and fish sauce—so that the sweetly calling birds will pick him apart and scatter him from one end of the island to the other in their droppings.
Addendum: Every year or so, we bring you one of these illustrations, from livestock pharmaceutical giant Baytril. Take a look at the most recent.