If the scriptures had made refence to GOF’s Ark instead of Noah’s, the world would be a very different place.
There would be no paralysis ticks, snakes, bandicoots, white-tailed rats, cockatoos, possums, leeches, bunyips, mosquitoes, aphids, termites, Clostridium welchii Type D’s, or intestinal tapeworms.
But most importantly, there would be no pigs.
You see, feral pigs give me the absolute screaming #%@&!%# sh.. reason to feel slightly annoyed.
My irresponsible neighbouring landowner, the National Park Authority, through neglectful and incompetent management, breeds thousands of pigs in their rainforest, then allows them to dine out for all three meals a day at GOF’s Place.
Some years ago we grew the world’s most magnificent half-acre of taro (root vegetable).
Two weeks before harvest time, the “Oinker Weekly” newspaper must have leaked this information in the “Dining-out” supplement, because by harvest day there was nothing left.
Q. Why did I not call upon my human intellectual superiority, ingenuity, and high-powered artillery to obliterate these looters?
A. Well……let’s not beat about the bush, pigs are smarter than GOF.
If I hunted them during the day, the pigs would hide in the jungle, building up their appetites until after the sun went down.
When I tried spotlighting at night, they would smirkingly hide just inside the leafy borders of the demilitarised and protected National Park until my batteries went flat before gathering up their eating utensils and serviettes to enjoy a moonlight taro dining experience with their entire extended family.
By strange coincidence we don’t grow food crops any more, so the pigs just entertain themselves by digging up my lawn and gardens.
I still make token attempts to enforce sovereignty over our 46 acres. With shotgun in hand, I conduct Elmer Fudd style foot patrols and stake out their favourite haunts and nightclubs to ambush them.
Every pig knows that, being as blind as a bat wearing welding goggles, GOF couldn’t shoot a side-on bull elephant at ten paces, so they continue to conduct business as usual.
These days they just taunt me with rude trotter gestures, and arrogantly wander around wearing ear muffs donated by the
do-gooding Animal Liberationist folk to protect themselves from any hearing loss which might result from frequent exposure to close-range firearm discharge.
This sort of over-confidence will eventually lead to their downfall.
I swear that if one ever gets to within two metres of me I’ll clobber the bastard over the head with the blunt end of my shotgun.