Zapata County Pig

Once, after a time, times, and a half, in a Galaxie far, far away from Kansas, two wolves and a sheep buzzed north along US 83. The top was down and the sun was high. The terminally handsome wolves were in the front, listening to a hip-hop remix of Eagles tunes in Spanish. The driver casually looked up from the road and noticed a pair of flashing lights in the rearview mirror. “Lycan’s fur!” he muttered. “It’s the pigs!”

“Nothin’ like Zapata County Pigs to ruin your day,” sneered the other wolf.

The Galaxie slowed down and pulled over to the side. The police car stopped a car length behind and sat there for a few minutes. The sheep started to fidget nervously.

Finally, three figures stepped out of the police car and walked toward the Galaxie, two on the passenger side and one on the driver’s side. The driver glanced in the sideview mirror and noticed that the porcine figure waddling toward him was dressed all in black and carrying a Colt M4 Flat Top assault rifle. He inhaled sharply.

One of the black-clad figures took up a position at the back of the car in the center. The other two slowly walked up the sides, stopping in the middle of the car. The sheep started to breathe erratically, like a prelude to hyperventilation. The wolf on the passenger side turned his head slightly in order to peripherally watch the figure behind him. He exhaled a low growl.

The figure on the driver’s side stopped just behind the driver’s door, about a foot away from the car and turned slightly toward it, his gun leveled at the back of the driver’s head. The sheep chanced a look sideways and twittered when he noticed that the figure had a black knit mask over his ears and around his snout, showing only a pair of large, swinish eyes.

Hola, señor! May I scan your identification, please?” he grunted, with an accent of southern Mexican Castillano.

“Of course, officer,” the driver said smoothly. As he held out his left hand for scanning, he turned his head slightly toward the pig. His eyes narrowed when he noticed the masked snout.

With his left hand holding the Applied Digital Systems CarnoScanner, the pig uploaded the driver’s ID data. He silently looked over the displayed text. He snorted, “Do you have a license to transport this sheep, señor?” The sheep started to sob.

“Er, I thought this was a democracy, officer…” the driver said as his right hand slid between his seat and the center console. The sheep emitted a low, sobbing moan.

The other wolf casually crossed his left hand over his chest, under his right arm, which lay on top of the door. A gunshot suddenly blasted the pig on the passenger side in the stomach, while the driver whirled left and threw his head back toward the center console. His shot grazed the pig’s head while the M4’s bullets shattered the windshield.

The pig placed behind the car instinctively pulled the trigger on his M4 and accidentally obliterated the sheep’s head with a burst of gunfire. As the passenger wolf spun around and up, sighting his Walther PPK on the pig in back, the pig used his left hand to sweep his aim to the right while flicking the trigger. As the wolf squeezed off an errant shot at the pig, M4 fire cut across his torso.

Meanwhile, the driver and the last pig rained gunfire at each other, over and through the side of the Galaxie. Then the gunfire from the car stopped.

The driver’s side pig stepped back, then held his M4 up high to aim down at the wolf laying across the center console. He squeezed off a couple of bursts at the wolf’s head. The pig from behind the car stepped around the other pig’s body and did the same to the wolf on the passenger side. Then both stood still for a moment, watching for movement in the car.

The pig on the passenger side kneeled down. “Strawboy is dead,” he said matter-of-factly. “Didn’t wear his armor today. How about you, Sticks?”

“I’m fine. No tripas for you today, huh?”

“Don’t think so, cerdito.

Todos somos pingüinos.” They both waddled toward the police car.

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