Chickens vs. Pigs: Which Will Rule the Earth?

Your Tax Dollars at Work

The following is a series of e-mails sent between myself and a fellow employee over the course of the last year or so to kill time while working in the exciting world of local government. A heated verbal debate had been slowly brewing between he and I about which was the tougher animal, chickens or pigs, and it kind of took on a life of its own from there in the e-mails we occasionally sent to each other. The debate continues to this day, and he’s now gotten other employees involved, people who claim sheep, lizards and other animals will one day be the true heirs of the planet. I personally think they’re all crazy as loons, for reasons I enumerate in the e-mails that follow. Any mentions of the “Orange Death Machine” are references to my car, a beat up 1978 Toyota Corolla liftback that overheats every time I hit a stop light. In order to differentiate who’s saying what, I’ve bolded his responses.

—–Original Message—–
From: Jimmy Alvarado
Sent: Thursday, May 18, 2000 3:31 PM
To: Jason Stinnett
Subject: World Affairs, Famine, Disease and the Happiest Place on Earth

I think this pretty much says everything that needs to be said.

(Included was a wave file of the verse of the Eyes’ “Disneyland” containing the lines “Disneyland makes me communist/Makes me plant the bombs in the trash can lids…. Blow up Disneyland/Blow up Anaheim.”)

—–Original Message—–
From: Jason Stinnett
Sent: Thursday, May 18, 2000 4:01 PM
To: Jimmy Alvarado
Subject: Disney Bomber

Hmmm,

I’ll have you know I will be speaking to the FBI and the ATF upon news of any mysterious explosions at the Mouse’s house. I thought you looked a mite suspicious. I mean really, not everybody drives around in an orange punk rock car. It’s like a psychedelic automobile version of the yellow submarine. I suspect there are plastic explosives and uranium PU236 space modulators (like the Martian dudes from the Bugs Bunny cartoons) stored in the trunk. I’ll be watching.

—–Original Message—–
From: Jimmy Alvarado
Sent: Thursday, May 18, 2000 4:23 PM
To: Jason Stinnett
Subject: RE: Disney Bomber

First off, the Yellow Submarine was a psychedelic reference to Valium, I believe. Second, The “Orange Death Machine” is not a “punk rock car,” but rather an urban assault vehicle capable of reaching 0-60 mph in 2.5 minutes. It is not a vehicle one should scoff at. Third, it has no trunk, per say. It’s a liftback, allowing for easier mobilization of troops in the event of an “incident.” Finally, go ahead and inform the FBI, ATF, hell, even MADDD (Mothers Against Ding-Dong Ditching) for all I give a hoot. There’s a new day dawning, brother. One in which the name “Mickey Mouse” will no longer be uttered without serious repercussions from the chickens and ducks that will rule the earth following the soon-to-come “Barnyard Revolution” and, one day, the universe. THE RAT IS GONNA FALL, SO KEEP A HOLD OF THOSE MICKEY MOUSE CLUB SOUVENIRS, NUDE PICS OF ANNETTE FUNICELLO AND KISS THE WHOLE DANG PARK GOODBYE! HAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA!!!!!!

P.S. I kinda overdosed on Coca Cola this morning so I’m a little high-strung today.

—–Original Message—–
From: Jason Stinnett
Sent: Thursday, May 18, 2000 4:35 PM
To: Jimmy Alvarado
Subject: RE: Disney Bomber

What nude pics of Annette Funicello????????

—–Original Message—–
From: Jimmy Alvarado
Sent: Thursday, May 18, 2000 5:44 PM
To: Jason Stinnett
Subject: RE: Disney Bomber

The ones with the finger prints on only one side, located in your sock drawer next to the press photos of Val Kilmer with the lipstick strikingly similar in color to the stick in your medicine chest. Or, uh, so I heard. Don’t, uh, ask about my sources ’cause they’re confidential and all. Yeah, I can’t divulge names ’cause that’s a violation of freedom of the press, or the right to arm bears or somethin’.

—–Original Message—–
From: Jason Stinnett
Sent: Thursday, May 18, 2000 5:51 PM
To: Jimmy Alvarado
Subject: RE: Disney Bomber

Oh, those pictures. Heh. Oh yeah, I would just like to emphasize that those lipsticks just look strikingly similar, okay! They aren’t the same. I bought it for my girlfriend alright? And they’re her pictures too. Yeah, and those are her pictures off Val Kilmer too, yeah, that’s it.

P.S. Nuff said bout the sources. Last thing we need is armed bears entering the urban fray with law enforcement and gang members.

—–Original Message—–
From: Jimmy Alvarado
Sent: Thursday, May 18, 2000 5:59 PM
To: Jason Stinnett
Subject: RE: Disney Bomber

RE: Your P.S.: And chickens, dammit!! They will one day rule the earth, while the ducks, which are nothing more than buoyant chickens, rule the seas!

—–Original Message—–
From: Jason Stinnett
Sent: Friday, May 19, 2000 9:07 AM
To: Jimmy Alvarado
Subject: RE: Disney Bomber

buoyant chickens? THE HORROR. You have so quickly abandoned thy loyalty to the chicken hordes, totally forsaking the nestling bosom of mankind. You have far exceeded the transgressions of which government agencies can have power over. I will now be forced to consult with the most powerful protectors of this planet Earth to punish your sins against the human race. The Swine deny you. Ham always beats eggs. Hah! Pork forever! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! The Pigs shall rule!!!!!

And that was without a Coke!

—–Original Message—–
From: Jimmy Alvarado
Sent: Friday, May 19, 2000 3:11 PM
To: Jason Stinnett
Subject: RE: Disney Bomber

Silly, silly little boy. Pigs are just that. Chickens, however, are a different breed of creature. Have you ever seen a pig eat its own kind, nay, its own shit, and ask for seconds? I think not. Only chickens are brutal enough to munch on a cousin, eat an excrement entree and ask what’s on the dessert menu, bucko. Yet, strangely, they are very moral creatures as well. When’s the last time a chicken got drunk and slid their car into a family of six? When’s the last time you heard that a chicken went home and beat the hell out of his hen? I rest my case.

As far as the “nestling bosom of mankind,” man’s days are numbered. Their little nuclear playthings have made it fairly certain that he’ll be lucky to survive the next decade, let alone the next millennium. The downside is that Slinky technology, the only truly worthwhile thing man has ever devised, will go with him. Then again, he can’t lay eggs…

You don’t buy the warnings that I impart to you thusly? Howzabout a quote from a little book called the BIBLE (Well, it’s from a book that didn’t quite make the final cut for the bible. Er, actually, it didn’t even make it into the “Top 250 books we’d put in the bible if we had enough papyrus rolls and jars to hide them in so that someone would find them 1966 years later while searching for a lost Superbounce Ball in the middle of the African desert” list. It was found written on the bathroom wall of a Roman fast food linguine joint in the year before the great heifer stampede)? I quote liberally from the Book of the Prophet Philbert the Mustard Sniffer:

“…And lo, over the horizon a great shadow appeared, and an intimidating tornado of dust and feathers sent pangs of terror through the hearts of the remainders of mankind. The Messiah, who had saved the people from the 10-headed beast of Babylon a week previous, said anon to the people, “Thems is chickens! I’ll go to the mat for y’all when it’s a 10-headed Babylonian serpent with an area code tattooed to its noggin, but I ain’t foolin’ with no poultry!” He signaled for a flying disc and joined Moses and Elijah in time for the in-flight movie, leaving the masses to ponder on what exactly was this area code he had mentioned.

And soon the sky went black and there were the horrendous sounds of flesh being rendered and torn asunder, screaming men women and children. This was coupled with a chilling Bkacking sound, which seemed to emanate from all the corners of the world. In 48 seconds, the last vestiges of mankind was laid waste and a new ruler took hold of the earth.

The new chicken overlords….

They gave charge to their aquatic, buoyant brethren the ducks to serve as masters of all minions of the seas, and they ruled with firm yet just beaks….

The ancients have said that the chickens will rule earth anon until the end of time, that is to say when the Holy Baster of Chattanooga returns to escort its children to the land of Bwabwabwa, or the Great Chicken Co-op….

These are the visions that I, Philbert the Mustard Sniffer have seen. Oh, were they not to be! If only that man had not messed thus with vastly superior poultry! That man had seen where he erred and left the chickens anon playing in their own excrement when he had the chance! Damn these eyes! DAMN THESE EYESRRRRRRRRR….”

At this point in the narrative, Philbert apparently ran out of wall.

So you see, user of the profane Saxon word “pig,” chickens got Holy Scripture backing their move up. If you’re smart, you’ll heed the word and join the wining side. Who can argue with scripture? Look it up. I DARE YOU.

—–Original Message—–
From: Jason Stinnett
Sent: Friday, May 19, 2000 5:19 PM
To: Jimmy Alvarado
Subject: RE: Disney Bomber

Such scripture is obviously a hoax. Pigs or Pigge (the Middle English word from which Pig was derived) are far superior to chickens on the intelligence scale, are more aggressive and warlike and lack all the petty morals of these petulant poultry who do not become inebriated and slide their car into a family of six or beat their hens. In fact, roosters use the talons on their legs to set their hens feathers straight in much the same way that a pimp beats his hos’ on their thighs to avoid obvious marks of violence (Which is a rather handy skill for pimps and roosters to have, especially when conversing with law enforcement officials investigating a domestic violence report, whether on the street or in the henhouse).

This false prophet, “Dilbert the Mustard Sniffer” is more than likely some six celled ancestor of the still devolving poultry population who’s era of greatness passed long ago when the world was young and egg layers were a hot commodity. Even the contemporary wisdom of today’s stock market will tell you. Yes my friend, I would sooner invest in pork bellies than chickens and their “eggs.” Really now, Farmer John is not known for his chickens, but his bacon and sausage.

Had he been a catsup sniffer perhaps this would lend credibility to his outrageous claims. Were it not for a breakdown in the quarries he’d have scrawled an almost infinite amount of useless graffiti on these poor defenseless walls, fueled by his mustard induced hallucinogenic haze.

Pigs are in fact mentioned in scripture. At one time when the pigs were of a less bold and more insidious society they somehow convinced religious leaders of the times to preach the wisdom of not consuming animals (as if) with a cloven hoof. Now they no longer need to hid behind scripture, for their time to rule the Earth, nay, the Universe has come.

In perhaps the most compelling evidence of the superiority of Pork you know as well as I do Black Sabbath does not have a song named after chickens. I mean really…”WARCHICKENS???” You see? The effect is lost entirely. Now do you begin to understand?

If all of this poultry you so vehemently champion were Foster Farms chickens, perhaps there would be cause for concern and pandemonium would ensue among the masses this is not the case. I implore you to abandon this cruel and hopeless cause on behalf of these excrement imbibing, cannibalistic fouls.

Hail, Hail the coming of Das Piggenstein, Savior of Hamkind and Future Emperor of All Space and Time

P.S. Your historical facts were incorrect. It was actually the 37 Limbed Slime Monster of Sumeria the Messiah saved the people from a week prior to this fictional era of chicken rulership you so incorrectly referred to. The 10-headed beast of Babylon was actually a harmless side show freak who opened up for the bearded lady at the height of his brief popularity.

—–Original Message—–
From: Jimmy Alvarado
Sent: Friday, May 19, 2000 5:19 PM
To: Jason Stinnett
Subject: RE: Disney Bomber

A. It’s Philbert the Mustard Sniffer, not Dilbert.

B. Sabbath was AFRAID to name the song “War Chicken,” which, by the way has a more delightful ring. I spoke with Geezer Butler during their last tour and he said that Ozzy was “bloody piss scared” to perform said song in it’s original form, known as “Battle Fowl.”

C. Scoff and make jokes all you want about P the MS’s prophecy. The fact remains that although man has the ability to change these visions, he won’t, being nothing more than an aberrantly-evolved troglodyte (look that word up, boyo).

D. The fact that chickens are moral creatures makes them the optimal leaders following the predicted “Barnyard Revolution” in the imminent future. Pigs don’t even have sweat glands, which is why they spend so much time lazing around in mud, for chrissakes! Chickens get things done. If they can’t achieve their goals through politeness, they MAKE you listen.

E. Farmer John was a punk with a fetish for bovine internal organs and leiderhosen.

F. The reason that pork bellies are preferred on Wall Street is because chickens are not for sale (not willingly at least, which brings us back to the “Barnyard Revolution”).

G. Catsup is less effective than mustard, hence the greater validity to P the MS’s prophecies. How many people have you heard of dying from the effects of Catsup gas. Need I say more?

H. The Sumerian Monster to which you refer is ancient history. The 10-headed Beast of Babylon has yet to be. This explains its prominence in P the MS’s prophecies (cf. Phil 3:31-53, 120:1-1 1/2, 6:35-2107) and its failure to appear in the rest of most scripture (Revelations notwithstanding).

That’s all I got to say ’bout dat.

—–Original Message—–
From: Jimmy Alvarado
Sent: Tuesday, October 10, 2000 2:59 PM
To: Jason Stinnett
Subject: RE: Things more important than who becomes leader of the free world

Look, I really see no need to feed your delusional flights of fancy by trying, once again, to make you see the truth in POLLO POWER, but I do feel I need to inform you that chickens are hitting the big time, bucko.

CBS’ “Sunday Morning” program this past weekend featured prominently the story of “Miracle Mike the Headless Chicken,” who apparently had his head cut off to be turned into a fryer and instead lived for two years and made the rounds (and oodles of money) for his “owner” (as if any man could actually ever “own” a chicken!). Now the town Mike lived in pays homage to him every year.

Now, before you start babbling “hoax” this and “put up job” that, They provided extensive clippings and photos from Life, Time and an assortment of other legitimate publications.

I really don’t have to go into the religious implications of a headless chicken surviving two years, do I?

—–Original Message—–
From: Jason Stinnett
Sent: Tuesday, October 10, 2000 6:11 PM
To: Jimmy Alvarado
Subject: RE: Things more important than who becomes leader of the free world

Jimmy, my dear, misinformed poultry plagued colleague. I too, am aware of “Mike the Headless Chicken,” and I do not cry hoax. I first heard of Mike on the KROQ Kevin and Bean morning radio show. The show highlighted a great deal of information on Mike and his hometown whose name escapes me (for Pigssakes it was home to a mere chicken). The town holds an annual festival in Mike’s honor. However, there is a tragic side to Mike’s story, moreso because he finally made poultry mildly interesting. As Mike was of the traveling variety of chicken he spent a great deal of time on the road. As many who must make their home while traveling the open highway between gigs to make a buck or two, Mike was drawn into a descending spiral of drugs, alcohol and pleasures of the flesh. Although he went on that way for quite some time, a testament to his vitality (which of course makes sense, given that there is no afterlife for fowlkind. I’d cling to life too if I knew there was only impending doom waiting for me), Mike succumbed to his debauchery on a cold lightless morning, having choked to death on his own vomit after a long, hard night of drinking with his best friend Jack Daniels. Of course you know, and I know the media was more protective of public figures back then so the spin was something like he choked on a piece of corn or he ran into traffic (inspiration for the video game of Atari 2600 fame (is that an oxymoron or what) “Freeway) or some other such fiction. The most interesting part of the story though is really unsettling. It is much in the same vein as the alleged gunpig behind the grassy knoll conspiracy theory. Mike’s owner recalled him leaving for the strip club with 5 big, pink, burly lads with coiled tails. Did these “lads” have it in for Mike? Did Mike know something he shouldn’t have? Did Mike have a sick fetish for Annette Funicello (er…ignore that)? I don’t know the real story, but it sounds like a plot from the “X-Files” or a possible “In Search of…” episode. So before the phrase “I wanna be like Mike,” is shared with other Homo sapiens (although the entertainment value of beheading ourselves and being fed with an eyedropper is not to be underestimated), please take a long look at the downward spiral of decadence that cost poor Mike the Mishapful Chicken his misbegotten, feathered life.

Sincerely,

Your friend, and friend of pigkind

PS By the way, if any burly pink lads with coiled tails ask if I refer to you as anything other than a chicken loving, subversive miscreant say no. Also agree heartily with any pigisms or derogatory comments regarding chickens and ducks. Oh, and don’t accept gifts of corn on the cob or Jack Daniels.

—–Original Message—–
From: Jimmy Alvarado
Sent: Tuesday, October 10, 2000 6:11 PM
To: Jason Stinnett
Subject: RE: Things more important than who becomes leader of the free world

Sacrilege!

Lies!

Leave it to a pig lovin’, star-bellied sneetch to make sad, misinformed and wholly pathetic attempts at defaming “Miracle Mike the Headless Chicken.” Then again, it says volumes about those wretches in society who find solace in the worship of an animal whose sole claims to fame are a couple of cheesy movies featuring someone’s future BLT sandwich, voiced by E.G. Daily, and as poster boy to Carmelita Chorizo, which, incidentally, is made up of the stuff that couldn’t legally be put into hot dogs. You shall suffer unduly for such transgressions of FACT, knave, following the imminent Barnyard Revolution. Los Pollos Chingones are just creatures, true, but they are also very harsh on those who sully the good names of their martyrs and revolutionaries.

Mike was not a drug addict, alcoholic nor a hen-izer, as you’ve implied with the subtlety and finesse of a Mack truck in the throes of a macarena conniption. He, in fact, was called home to the great Chicken Co-op after a valiant attempt at liberating 600 proto-chicks from a Shakey’s Pizza parlor in El Segundo (immortalized in the Beastie Boys’ anthem “Egg Raid on Mojo”). Not having a head, poor Mike, or to use his revolutionary nom de guerre, El Pollo Loco sin una Cabeza, took one for henkind while trying to navigate his way around a stepladder while personally shouldering the burden of 25 proto-chicks by his bad self.

At his funeral (known as the “Great Roasting” and later lifted wholly by the unimaginative Vikings), a rare reading of “Psalm 28.279” took place. The psalm, which is recited at the funeral of only the most valiant of winged warriors, is said to have been penned circa 1452 BCE by the prophet Cornellus Sandercus following a Slurpee-induced vision of man’s future (cf. the writings of High Prophet Philbert the Mustard Sniffer). Let me translate a brief passage for you:

The lord is a chicken
I shall not squawk
He maketh me to lie beneath mother’s down
For he knows that to be the warmest spot in the whole yard on a winter morning when the heater’s busted
He restoreth my Buick (Actually, there’s some debate as to whether this line was another of his great prophecies, seeing as not a single Buick existed until nearly 4000 years later)
He replenishes my spit
So that I may smite mine enemies with the dreaded “Long-lipped Loogie From Lafayette”
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
I will fear no evil
For I have been crowned with the holy hair net
Anointed with sacred oil
and lightly breaded for war
Forget me not
In my crusade to completely lay waste to thine enemies
I will smite their elbows
Tweak their noses
Soil their dentures….

I must stop there, for reasons best not discussed (not to mention that it goes on for another 38 pages).

Anyway, Mike was the recipient of the honor of having this most sacred of texts read at his funeral, which would’ve never been the case had he been the foul fowl you have described. I suggest that, for your own safety, you walk softly when traversing through darkened streets. The renegade chickens have been put on alert and they’re a-gunnin’ for you, bucko. Mind you, I had nothing to do with the information being given to them. It’s common knowledge that they are privy to a host of information, which they glean in ways that are yet to be divulged. I’ll try to put in a good word for you, but, again, they don’t take lightly the sullying of such an important figure in the Barnyard Revolution.

I’m praying for you.

-Jimmy

P.S. There’s a reason why police consider it an insult when you call them pigs, you know.

—–Original Message—–
From: Jimmy Alvarado
Sent: Friday, November 03, 2000 3:47 PM
To: Jason Stinnett
Subject:

CHICKEN POWER!!!

—–Original Message—–
From: Jason Stinnett
Sent: Friday, November 03, 2000 3:47 PM
To: Jimmy Alvarado
Subject:

Jimmy,

Much like your flimsy, flatulent feathered masters you have far too much time on your hands if you’re sending false, pointless statements over the email system. However, since I consider you a friend (no matter how deluded) I feel I must warn you that the Pigs have powerful surveillance systems designed to locate and punish purveyor’s of messages such as this “Chicken Power” tripe. Beware of the pigs.

More evidence of Swine Superiority:
* El Pollo Loco. Why you ask? Pigs would never allow themselves to be consumed in such massive quantities at a fast food chain.
* Chicken is good for people to eat. Pork products such as bacon and sausage are not. They speed the demise of the foolish humans who partake of them by clogging veins/arteries and exacerbating health conditions such as heart disease. Clear evidence of the continuing evolution of an already close to perfect biological race. The message is simple, eat a pig, suffer a slow and painful death.
* The treatment chickens allow themselves to be subjected too. You’ve seen the trucks full of feathered “fouls” on the freeway so you know what I’m talking about. You’ll never see pigs in such a predicament.
* The emergence of Swine Core Music. An excerpt from the song “Hate Hog” from the band “Insane Wild Hateful Boars” is a prophetic example of poetic beauty:

Shiny, muddy, hateful hog
come and slay the hapless creatures
The ones who do not know you’re glory
Snort, Kick, Bite and Chew
The Hateful Hog knows what to do

He will come and take the earth
Awing all with his massive girth
Let flightless birds cower in fear
Now that their Pig God Master is here

Kill the chickens, fuck the ducks
Burn baby burn, then no more clucks,
Kill the chickens, fuck the ducks,
Burn baby burn, then no more clucks

I hate to be the one to tell you, but their time is nigh. The pigs will rule Jimmy, and there’s nothing you or your beloved chickens (buoyant or otherwise) can do about it. I’m trying to help you here man. Denounce these feeble, feathered fiends before its to late. If you don’t, you will rue the day you denounced Pig kind.

Jay

—–Original Message—–
From: Jimmy Alvarado
Sent: Friday, November 03, 2000 3:47 PM
To: Jason Stinnett
Subject:

Allow me address your wildly inaccurate claims point by point:

1. Ever heard of carnitas? Ham hocks? chitterlings? Chicharrones? PORK CHOPS?!? Hell, mister, not only are pigs eaten en masse, people apparently go out of their way to make a separate dish out of every damn piece of a pig that’s there to eat! When’s the last time you heard of anyone salivating for chicken feet? Okay, except for the occasional Chinese guy. I’ve yet to see Chicken beak flambé on a menu, mister. Why? because eating chicken is done with the same instinctual reverence as other fowl, such as quail. But I digress, for you see, the eating of chickens is one of the basic reasons why a Barnyard Revolution (led by chickens and NOT some pathetic quadruped that’s not even high enough on the evolutionary scale to have sweat glands) is imminent.

2. No meat is good for you to eat, if you wanna be perfectly honest about it. Chicken is, however, better for human consumption than pork because chickens are, again, higher up on the evolutionary chain. Pigs are fat, lazy and thus incapable of ever being as svelte as the aerodynamic chicken and his buoyant cousin, the duck. It is the fat from its inactivity and not the animal itself that makes the pig such a lousy thing to eat.

3. Two words: Farmer John. As far as how chickens are treated, don’t think that they don’t take their own little pot shots at humans. Remember the deadly flu scare last year? Why do you think the Chinese were going out of their way to subject their country’s chickens to a holocaust filled with death and destruction? Because the friggin’ chickens were givin’ that deadly dose of phlegm and fever to humankind as payment for all the eons of scramblin’, flouring and fryin’. Obviously, someone in that country didn’t learn that you DON’T PISS OF A CHICKEN WITH A DEGREE IN GENETIC ENGINEERING. Don’t even think about mentioning the so-called swine flu, ’cause everyone knows that that couldn’t harm anyone but old people that shoulda died decades ago to make space for roomier coops.

4. As for that trite fantasy put to music you included, I am confident that the stupid, slovenly swine population will never muster enough intelligence or energy to even be a threat to an unhatched chick, let alone the blitzkrieg onslaught of the mighty chicken overlords once they get their feathers in a ruffle.

5. Denounce pigs? I’ve never done such a thing. To do so would mean that I have some sort of reverence for them, and how can I possibly revere something I’d rather wrap in a tortilla, slather with Tapatio and digest with glee? Please.

You’re right about one thing, though, the time of the chickens is nigh. And if I were you I would think twice about what’s in that omelet the next time you bite down, bucko. Learn something the Chinese shoulda picked up long ago: Treat the chicken with reverence, for that sniffle you suddenly develop afterwards may be more than a cold.

—–Original Message—–
From: Jimmy Alvarado
Sent: Friday, November 03, 2000 3:47 PM
To: Jason Stinnett

(Sound bite sent of verse from Cypress Hill’s “3 Lil Putos, which contains the line “Break you off like a chicken wing/Bkawk!/So you can just suck my cock like a fat blunt/Stoned is the way of the walk…”)

See, even Cypress Hill is down with the chickens. I don’t hear ’em singin’ about pigs, ‘cept in a derogatory manner (cf. “Pigs,” from their first album, and “Looking Through the Eyes Of A Pig” off their latest). Get with the times, gee. Chickens are the way of the new millennium. Down with the ham hock and up with the beak!

—–Original Message—–
From: Jason Stinnett
Sent: Tuesday, November 07, 2000 2:10 PM
To: Jimmy Alvarado
Subject: RE: Chicken endorsement from the Hill

Contrere mon frere (sorry, my French is sorely lacking)! Apparently you have misinterpreted the meaning of Cypress Hill’s lyric in this song pertaining to chickens. “Break you off like a chicken wing” does not state any kind of identification or admiration of chickens. In fact, the lyrics make reference to the fragility of chickens. After all what’s easier to break off, a chicken wing or a ham hock? Additionally, the lyrics are followed by a chicken sound and a rhyming fellatio reference. I can assure you there are no such rhyming references applicable to pigs.

Also, Cypress Hill’s use of the term “pig” in numerous songs refers to law enforcement officers, which are well known authority figures to humankind. As you perhaps, possibly might be aware, many of the group’s lyrics are Cannabis induced. They are also sometimes, as in this case, eerily prophetic. Pigs will one day rule with absolute authority over both man, beasts and even the pathetic chickens.

Continue your foolish dalliance with chicken kind at your own risk. Remember, pigs cannot be petitioned with prayers. As you can see from your misinterpretation of the aforementioned lyrics your judgement is biased and unclear. The more contact you have with chickens the more of their characteristics you begin to acquire. A word of advice, straighten your back to avoid forward leaning posture, which would easily allow one to scan the ground for feed. I’m trying to help you Jimmy, alas, I fear we may have lost you to the chickens. It’s the Pigs man! The Pigs!

—–Original Message—–
From: Jimmy Alvarado
Sent: Tuesday, November 07, 2000 2:10 PM
To: Jason Stinnett
Subject: RE: Chicken endorsement from the Hill

Uhhh…no. Anyone with ears and at least a brain stem knows that when B-Real refers to chicken wings, that there is a part of the sentence he feels is unnecessary to vocalize – “Break you off like a chicken wing (can smack a pig’s tail straight ’cause they ain’t nothin’ but punk poop-butts with a wack-assed god complex).” Might I remind you that the word “cock” is another term for rooster? The reference to fellatio, of course stands, but not in the way you’re trying to infer. You are right again, there are decidedly no similar references to pigs, primarily because pigs, once more, are punks.

Law enforcement (“Pigs”) are viewed by the Hill as fat, lazy, donut-chompin’ symbols of oppression who must be destroyed by any means necessary. I suggest you pay close attention to the lyrics of those songs again, amigo.

—–Original Message—–
From: Jimmy Alvarado
Sent: Tuesday, November 22, 2000 2:10 PM
To: Jason Stinnett
Subject:

Look, before you start in on me about turkeys and chickens being in the same genus classification and how we eat turkeys on a certain Thursday in November, I just wanted to make it patently clear that turkeys are very, very different from chickens. While we have both conceded that chickens are a comprehensively evolved creatures (SHADDAP!!!) blessed with hyper-intelligence, perfectly symetric shapes and (dare I say it) superfowl powers (cf. Mike the Miracle Headless Chicken), turkeys, sadly, are blessed with none of these attributes. First, turkeys (especially the domesticated stock) are incredibly stupid. Many of their ilk have been known to drown themselves by looking up during rainstorms. The females, which seem to have a dash more brains than their male counterparts, have to all but smash their partners over the head in order to reproduce. Second, they’re too danged big to fly much (unlike chickens who simply are too cool to waste their time flying for long distances) and their size makes them easier to hit with a thirty-ought-six, AR-15 or a missile. Lastly, I have yet to hear of a turkey having its head severed, living for two years, and subsequently making beaucoup bucks as an oddity. Don’t even get me started on that long, fleshy thing that hangs down over their face and obstructs their vision, making it damn near impossible for them to fire an anti-tank weapon with any accuracy.

On an interesting side note, what’s the second most requested meat at a Thanksgiving dinner?

Ham.

What’s ham made out of?

PIG.

On average, how many chickens do you think are slaughtered and ingested at the typical Thanksgiving meal?

ZILCH. ZIP. NADA.

I see no need to go any further with this little tangent.

By the way, chickens do not celebrate Thanksgiving. They see it as an affront to the Indian population that once roamed this land in harmony and solidarity with their poultry pals. It is a little known fact that chickens and Indians were once so close that the Indians took upon many chicken attributes to show their reverence for these vastly superior creatures. Look at their feathered headdresses one of these days. Why did they use eagle feathers, you ask? Because even they knew, all those centuries ago, that you don’t mess with renegade chickens. Eagles were a little more easygoing about their feathers back in those days.

Just a few things to think about on Thursday.

—–Original Message—–
From: Jimmy Alvarado
Sent: Thursday, January 18, 2001 1:25 PM
To: Jason Stinnett
Subject:

I don’t get it.

Number 47 says to number 3,
“You’re the cutest jailbird I ever did see…”

And so on.

Was Elvis gay? Desperate? Oblivious to the fact that the only other people in a men’s jail are other guys? What?

I just don’t get it.

Which brings me to another point.

On Boogie Down Production’s “Edutainment,” KRS-One starts off the song by saying, “Wake Up! Take the pillow from your head and put a book in it!”

Why?

Pillows can’t read. Putting a book in your pillow won’t make it any more comfortable to sleep on, either.

What the hell’s going on with these people?!? It was bad enough when my friend Shane coined the term “greedom” in a song because he couldn’t think of anything that rhymed with “freedom,” but he’s an idiot, so one can forgive such a thing.

But these are people who are idolized by millions.

These are people who rake in mounds of cash. Couldn’t they have spent at least $100 of it to enroll in a logic class?

Don’t even get me started on Mariah Carey saying she envied starving children ’cause they’re so damned thin.

Nope. I just don’t get any of it.

—–Original Message—–
From: Jason Stinnett
Sent: Thursday, January 18, 2001 4:42 PM
To: Jimmy Alvarado
Subject: What I don’t get…

Me either. I don’t get it.

The crass idolization and emulation of worthless chickenkind.

What I don’t get either is similar adulation of their also worthless relatives ducks and turkeys.

I mean that makes about as much sense as bowing in servitude to the mighty pigeons. Hell, I’ll just start a new cult…Pigeon’s Gate. I like the sound of that. Everyone must wear black Nike’s and put plastic bags over their heads fastened at the neck with a rubber band while under a blanket. And, and…everyone has to move to Montana, yeah, that’s it, that’s the ticket. I can write a book of pigeon scripture called the Pigeonicron and name the Almighty Power Pigeon’s prophet Wilbert the Mayonnaise Sniffer. And, and, the A.P.P. (forgive me, I love acronyms) will wear a crown of thorns and he’ll be banded on each almighty pigeon toe (not to be confused with a camel toe) to signify the abuse he has suffered from the ignorance of mankind. I think I’m on to something here.

Y’all write back now ya hear? Below is an application to my cult:

First Name:
Last Name: Pigeon (note: As a new member your new last name is non-negotiable)

Occupation: Kickin’ it in the park or local food court waiting to be fed bread crumbs by old men wearing ugly old hats.
Monetary/Property Donations to Cult: Mandatory minimum, all you have (keep your orange punk rock car)

Please make checks payable to Jason Stinnett, Treasurer
Your plastic bag and pair of black Nike sneakers is reserved

—–Original Message—–
From: Jimmy Alvarado
Sent: Thursday, January 18, 2001 5:24 PM
To: Jason Stinnett
Subject: RE: What I don’t get…

See, there you go again, wantonly mocking that of which you haven’t even the slightest understanding. There is no worshipping of chickens, but rather a respect for their vast superiority, which is painfully obvious to even the most casual observer. Screw the pigeons (figuratively, of course. Wouldn’t want anyone going to jail for something that bizarre). Rats with wings, that’s what they is. About as low in worth as a pair of black Nikes, come to think of it. Now, a good pair of combat boots would provide ample pata protection during the imminent Barnyard Revolution.

But, I digress.

Look, start whatever silly, sad-sack cult you want. Center it around pigeons, pork (the other white meat), penguins, hell, Pee Wee Herman for all it’s worth. You won’t find me beefing up your roll call lists. I plan to be on the side of right AND might, that of the mighty poultry hordes come Barnyard Judgement Day.

What all this has to do with Elvis’ apparent interest in gay prison life and KRS-One’s desire to sleep on the classics is beyond me. Jeez, I impart some of the things that keep me up late at night and, in return, you berate my faith in chickenkind.

I bet you didn’t even like “Chicken Run, ” which WILL sweep the Academy Awards this year.

You’re inhuman.

I hope your television goes out during the most crucial play of the Superbowl.

I hope your goldfish get the measles.

I hope your dog leaves you for another master.

Other than that, I hope all is well for you.

—–Original Message—–
From: Jason Stinnett
Sent: Thursday, January 18, 2001 6:11 PM
To: Jimmy Alvarado
Subject: RE: What I don’t get…

Referring to me as inhuman is incorrect. It should be inhumane, but only when dealing with the tawdry poultry you mistakenly hold in such high regard. My television will not go out during the Super Bowl unless market priced energy induces rolling blackouts in my area. I do not own a goldfish. My dog is dead so that would be something to see.

As for you my fowl weather friend, may the flees of a thousand camels infest your armpits.

May the lighter in your punk rock car stop working thus disabling your nicotine addiction.

May you hock a large green loogie upwind.

And may you own a dog infested with the fleas of a thousand camels, you know, so you can experience curse #1.

Other than that, have a good one man.

Later

—–Original Message—–
From: Jimmy Alvarado
Sent: Friday, January 19, 2001 2:16 PM
To: Jason Stinnett
Subject: RE: What I don’t get…

What the hell is the world coming to?

We have an illiterate dweeb, the son of one of the most dangerous men on the planet, poised to hold the highest political position on the planet, taking the place of a whoremonger with no apparent need for Viagra (who, according to the news this morning, got off with a slap on the wrist for perjuring himself over his intimate relationship with Monica’s mouth).

The heir to Martin Luther King’s glory finds himself in a pickle after getting jiggy with an employee 20 months ago (who will probably regret opening her mouth after the press gets through running her life into the ground).

California’s plug is literally on the verge of being pulled.

New “Survivor” episodes from the Outback are coming to television, as if the first batch weren’t bad enough. The winner of the other episodes was openly gay (nothing against my effeminate brethren, mind you. Just an observation that they seem to be getting pretty gutsy these days).

Tony Dow, “Wally” from television’s “Leave It to Beaver,” admits to hittin’ the bottle.

Clinton apparently can’t even buy a pretty woman to get caught with.

The presidential race boiled down to a choice between sex and violence (Bush and Gore. Think about it).

The Xerox machine in Marie’s office keeps breaking down.

Disco seems to be making a comeback.

I don’t know about you, but I’m gettin’ mighty nervous over here. I strongly urge you to rethink your position on this whole chicken thing. These are SIGNS, bud.

The end is near.

Repent before it’s too damn late and you end up covered in batter and deep fried.

—–Original Message—–
From: Jason Stinnett
Sent: Thursday, January 18, 2001 6:11 PM
To: Jimmy Alvarado
Subject: RE: What I don’t get…

Your reference to batter and deep frying rings of prophecy and wisdom. I think I’m going to KFC for dinner.
mmmmmm. Battered and deep fried reminds me of the last chicken I came across. A rather tasty bird as I recollect.

Signs of the Apocalypse to watch for in the coming year, which mind you, have absolutely nothing to do with the worthless chickens you blindly honor in:

Rolling blackouts will destabilize the Earth’s magnetic field thus prompting further shifting of tectonic plates that will cause California to break off of the North American Continent, falling into the sea leaving only Bakersfield still above water.

Pork will be publicly embraced as healthier than beef and chicken.

Ricky Martin will declare he is no longer a member of what you have termed your “effeminate brethren” and found a bilingual punk rock band named “Los Guys.”

Disco will make its long-awaited return. Dust off those bell bottoms Jimmy and…DO THE HUSTLE!

A new cult called Pigeon’s Gate will sweep the populace of the U.S. in record numbers for such an organization. The cult will dissolve amidst rumors of fried chicken replacing eucharistic pigeons during official ceremonies and allegations of embezzlement aimed at the cult’s mysterious founder.

MTV’s show “Cribs” will begin featuring the homes of Heavy Metal stars of the mid and late 80’s, specifically all the ones that have fallen upon lean times since their reign as metal gods. The first episode will feature Kevin DuBrow of Quiet Riot and his 1.5 acre mobile home/ostrich (now there’s a bird that will survive the apocalypse. The newest white meat) ranch located in the lovely city of Bakersfield, CA.

The statues on Easter Island will be found with newly recarved faces of four legged cloven hooved mammals with a curly tail. The ruins at stonehenge will be found lying end to end to spell the word Swine.

Animal Farm will repeat its original climb to the top of the NY Times best sellers list.

The Apocalypse is upon you Jimmy. Denile is a river in Egypt and will not help you nor your smoothly plumaged feathered friends. You’d be better off consuming 2 pounds of refried beans with extra cheese then driving around in the punk rock car with the heater on and the windows up.

—–Original Message—–
From: Jimmy Alvarado
Sent: Friday, January 19, 2001 2:16 PM
To: Jason Stinnett
Subject: RE: What I don’t get…

Here’s a fun little thing you can do.

I have attached an appropriate sound file to facilitate in the fun.

All you have to do is turn the computer volume to full, click this

(A Wave file of the “THX Sound” theme attached here)

and repeat the following at the top of your lungs:

“I, Jason Stinnett, do hereby pledge my undying allegiance to the mighty Chicken Hordes,
Supreme rulers of all that is on land and in air,
And to their buoyant brethren the ducks,
Who control the seas with a just yet firm hand.
May my allegiance be well rewarded following the coming apocalypse
Known as the Barnyard Revolution
May my wretched, inferior, featherless hide be spared from incessant pecking
Basting,
Broiling,
Butterflying,
Butaning,
Boiling
Boulliabasing
And other cruel adjectives related to cooking that I cannot right now think of.
May their inevitable reign be long and fruitful.
May those martyred for the cause be remembered
And forever mentioned in the roll call of the valiant
Wherein effigies of the Colonel and that fat bastard from the Pioneer commercials be burned.
May their human subjects be honored with jobs that don’t involve anything resembling civil service,
Or at least get first dibs on the Slurpee machines.
You want allegiance,
I’m givin’ it, bucko.
I do so freely, of my own volition, and all that jazz.
If I happen to stray from the path,
I will gladly give my right pinky toe,
My left nostril,
And my lifetime subscription of “Babes with Boobs and Bucks in Beemers”
As penance.
So sez I,
Jason Stinnett,
Chicken lover and all-around swell guy
Esq.”

Of course, you’ll have to either say it really fast or click the file again, ’cause it’s only 15 seconds long. I highly suggest you try it, though.

Chicks really dig it.