The pig was in a serious tizzy. She cursed aloud, “Why the fuck why? Why?” She was running, mid-stride; why did she not heed the warnings? Three days ago, on the news, there was a report of serious weather approaching. It had the potential of becoming the perfect hurricane.

She snorted, “Perfect hurricane?! Hah! What the fucking ‘h’ does that even mean? Why is it even a thing?”

Perfect hurricanes or storms, are actually extra tropical cyclones created by warm air from a low-pressure system coming from one direction meeting a flow of cool and dry air generated by a high-pressure from another direction. Add some tropical moisture, kick back, and watch the storm grow to epic proportion. Like anger from a steroid freak after a seemingly whimsical car accident.

All she knew was this. A hurricane was 12-14 hours away, and she needed bottled water and Cheetos®. She sighed a sigh of relief, followed immediately by a sigh of disgust. A horrible primitive banner was draped over the entrance of the local market. It looked like it was scrawled in blood: NO MORE FOD!

“Fod?” the pig thought out loud, “No one misspells food…” Then under her breath she grumbled, “Trump supporter.”

Just then, two monkeys hopped on top of the pig. Before the pig could even react, the monkey named Ringo said, “Take us to the Wal-mart® in Naperville.”

At the risk of being animalist, most monkeys are very rude. It is in their character to jump on one’s back without asking. Let me reiterate, not all monkeys, but most of them, display selfish behavior. Just like most North Koreans are tightwad cheapskates, in fact, they are now officially cheaper than most Russian Jews. Let’s face the truth; this is how stereotypes work. One bad apple, and all that.

The pig asked, “Which one? There’s at least eight Wal-marts®.”

The other monkey, named Gringo, snapped, “All of them. Pronto.”

Pointing out the difference between Gringo and Ringo is futile, for Gringo was, in fact, Hispanic and wore a ring on each finger, while Ringo refused to wear jewelry and was not a drummer. Ringo chose to be Ringo only because he did not want to be Bingo or Dingo. SPOILER ALERT: The sole survivor of this story will become the chosen cyber-monkey. SPOILER ALERT PART 2: It ain’t the pig.

The pig realized she was not going to ditch these pesky monkeys, so she did what any pig would do, she ran like the wind. Within minutes, she arrived at the closest Wal-mart®, all the while thanking God for the invention of GPS.

She ran through the automatic door, and to her great surprise, the store was fully stocked. She zoomed through the aisles, loading her shopping cart with bottled water and Cheetos®. She picked up a package of applesauce, then put it back on the shelf. What was she thinking? Applesauce is for self-consuming pigs, and she was definitely not that. The thought of cannibalism made her vomit up in her mouth. She was slightly ashamed because she detected a hint of pork in her bile.

The monkeys loaded their cart with bottled water, Pepperidge Farm Orange Milano Chocolate Cookies®, and bananas.

After waiting in line at the register, which was an adventure all to itself, they were ready to hunker down and survive a hurricane.

She looked up at the sky. The clouds were black. She remembered something her mother told her when she was a mere piglet. When under duress, count the things you want to bless, think about your home sweet mess, and you’d better run, bitch. Run like your fucking life depends on it.

With this in mind, she sped off, faster than before. The monkeys held on for dear life and their groceries, as they ran into the menacing storm. The pig halted seeing how the roads were congested with so much traffic.

The monkey without jewelry, Ringo, said, “Quick, make a right.”

The other monkey, Gringo, said, “No, make a left.”

The pig was exasperated. She squealed, “Fuck the two of y’all.” With this, she ran forward without even looking and rear-ended a Confederate statue holding a sword. As luck would have it, she skewered herself pretty good. So good, she died instantly, shish-kebobbed on a loser’s sword. The GPS added and advised, “Veer gently to the right.”

The two monkeys looked at each other as they fell to the ground. One shrugged his shoulders, and ran off with a bag of groceries. The other monkey, not sure which one, maybe the one wearing rings, stood there dumbfounded. He wanted to laugh so bad. This was comedy on the highest level of slapstick. The weight of the pig on the statue forced it to teeter forward, and it fell atop the monkey, crushing him to death. His dying words were, “Heh.”

MORAL: Attempt not impossibilities.