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[[An Obvious Ripoff of Orwell]] Chapter 2 ~ The Crazy Farm~ THREE nights later old Major Con died peacefully in his sleep. His body was buried at the foot of the orchard. This was early in March. During the next three months there was much top secret activity. Major Con's speech had given to the more intelligent Herd members on the farm a completely new outlook on life. They did not know when the Rebellion predicted by Major Con would take place, they had no reason for thinking that it would be within their own lifetime, but they saw clearly that it was their duty to prepare for it. The work of teaching and organising the others fell naturally upon the Neo-Cons, who were generally recognised as being the cleverest of the Herd. Pre-eminent among the Neo-Cons were two young boars named Klinton and King George, whom Lord Rottenchilds was breeding up for sale. King George was a swaggering, rather wimpy-looking Harvard boar, the only Harvard boar on the farm, a slanderer of words, but with a reputation for getting his own way. Klinton was a more vivacious Neo-Con than King George, quicker in speech and more inventive, but was not considered to have the same depth of character. All the other male Neo-Cons on the farm were pork barrel porkers sometimes called the RePignicans. The best known among them was a shady dark haired RePignican one certain Neo-Con called Wolfowizz, with very narrow penetrating eyes, rat quick nimble movements, and a panicky urgent voice of Doom and Gloom. He was a brilliant think tank talker, and when he was arguing some difficult point he had a way of skipping from side to side, as if he need to urinate, and whisking his tail, clasping his Hooves, as if he knew something new or different about something old, all this of which was somehow very persuasive. The others said of Wolfowizz that he could turn peace into war and war into peace. These three had elaborated old Major Con's teachings into a complete system of thought, to which they gave the name of "Herdism" Several nights a week, after Lord Rottenchild was asleep, they held secret meetings in the barn and expounded the principles of Herdism to the others. At the beginning they met with much stupidity and apathy. Some of the Herd talked of the duty of loyalty to Lord Rottenchild, whom inanely kept referring to as "Master," or made elementary remarks such as "Lord Rottenchild feeds us. If he were gone, we should starve to death." Others asked theosophical questions as "Why should we care what happens after we are dead?" or "If this Rebellion is to happen anyway, what difference does it make whether we work for it or not?", and the Neo-Cons had great difficulty in making them see that this was contrary to the spirit of Herdism. The stupidest questions of all were asked by That Slut Ann Colter, the white mare. The very first question she asked Klinton was: "Will you still be there with my 'sugar' after the Rebellion?" "Akkkk. Ptoohhh. No. No! I would rather have Sex with Rozeanne. No. No.I will NOT have sexual relations with you Polity Slut" said Klinton firmly. "No mane Ever had the means of making sugar with you on this farm. Besides, you do not need sugar slut. You will have all the falafels and dallydoes and batteries you want." "And shall I still be allowed to wear sweaters with sugar on them?" asked That Slut Ann Colter. "Herde," said Klinton, diverting his eye from the rabid Slut, "that 'Sugar' that you are so devoted to is the sweater of Adultery. Can you not understand that Herdism is worth more than Klinton Sugar? " That Slut Ann Colter agreed, but she still looked like rabid skanky ho in a cocaine induced passion. The Neo-Cons had an even harder struggle to counteract the lies put about by Lybby, the tame raven. Lybby, who was Lord Rottenchild's especial pet, was a spy and a tale-bearer, but he was also a clever talker. He claimed to know of the existence of a mysterious country called Sugarcandy Mountain, to which all of the Herd went when they died. It was situated somewhere up in the sky, a little distance beyond the clouds, Lybby said. In Sugarcandy Mountain it was Sunday seven days a week, clover was in season all the year round, and lump sugar and linseed cake grew on the hedges. The Herd hated Lybby because he told big fat Lies and Tales and did no work, even took charity, but some of them believed in Sugarcandy Mountain, especially that slut Ann Colter and the Neo-Cons had to argue very hard to persuade them, using 'reality-based' Herdism that there was no such a place. Their most faithful disciples were the two cart-horses, Prole and Cloture. These two big stoops had great difficulty in thinking anything out for themselves, but having once accepted the Neo-Cons as their teachers, they absorbed everything that they were told, and passed it on to the other Herd by simple arguments. They were unfailing in their attendance at the secret meetings in the barn, and led the singing of Beasts of Empire, with which the meetings always ended. Now, as it turned out, the Rebellion was achieved much earlier and more easily than anyone had expected. In past years Lord Rottenchild, although a hard master, had been a capable farmer, but of late he had fallen on evil days. He had become much disheartened after losing money in a lawsuit, and had taken to drinking more than was good for him. For whole days at a time he would lounge in his Windsor chair in the kitchen, reading the newspapers, drinking, and occasionally feeding Lybby on crusts of bread soaked in beer. His CEO whore men were idle and dishonest, the fields were full of weeds, the buildings wanted roofing, the hedges were neglected, and the Herd were underfed. June came and the hay was almost ready for cutting. On Midsummer's Eve, which was a Saturday, Lord Rottenchilds went into Willingdon and got so drunk at the Red Lion that he did not come back till midday on Sunday. The CEO whore men had milked the cows in the early morning and then had gone out rabbiting, without bothering to feed the Herd. When Lord Rottenchild got back he immediately went to sleep on the drawing-room sofa with the News of the World over his face, so that when evening came, the Herd were still unfed. At last they could stand it no longer. One of the cows broke in the door of the store-shed with her horn and all the Herd began to help themselves from the bins. It was just then that Lord Rottenchilds woke up. The next moment he and his four men were in the store-shed with whips in their hands, lashing out in all directions. This was more than the hungry Herd could bear. With one accord, though nothing of the kind had been planned beforehand, they flung themselves upon their tormentors. Rottenchild and his CEO whore men suddenly found themselves being butted and kicked from all sides. The situation was quite out of their control. They had never seen a Herd behave like this before, and this sudden uprising of creatures whom they were used to thrashing and maltreating just as they chose, frightened them almost out of their wits. After only a moment or two they gave up trying to defend themselves and took to their heels. A minute later all five of them were in full flight down the cart-track that led to the main road, with the Herd pursuing them in triumph. Queen Rottenchild looked out of the bedroom window, saw what was happening, hurriedly flung a few possessions into a carpet bag, and slipped out of the farm by another way. Lybby sprang off his perch and flapped after her, croaking loudly. Meanwhile the Herd had chased Rottenchild and his CEO whore men out on to the road and slammed the five-barred gate behind them. And so, almost before they knew what was happening, the Rebellion had been successfully carried through: Rottschildewas expelled, and the Whoremore Farm was theirs. For the first few minutes the Herd could hardly believe in their good fortune. Their first act was to run wildly in a body right round the boundaries of the farm, as though to make quite sure that no inhuman CEO whore men being was hiding anywhere upon it; then they raced back to the farm buildings to wipe out the last traces of Rottenchild's hated reign. The harness-room at the end of the stables was broken open; the bits, the nose-rings, the dog-chains, the cruel knives with which Lord Rottenchilds had been used to castrate the Neo-Cons and lambs, were all flung down the well. The reins, the halters, the blinkers, the degrading nosebags, were thrown on to the rubbish fire which was burning in the yard. So were the whips. All the Herd members capered with joy when they saw the whips going up in flames. Klinton also threw on to the fire the straps with which the slut Anne Colter liked so much. "Straps," he said, "should be considered as whorish, which are the mark of a inhuman CEO beings. All Herd should be moral." When Prole heard this he fetched the small straw hat which he wore in summer to keep the flies out of his ears, and flung it on to the fire with the rest. In a very little while the Herd had destroyed everything that reminded them of Lord Rottenchild. King George then led them back to the store-shed and served out a double ration of corn to everybody, with two biscuits for each dog. Then they sang Beasts of Empire from end to end seven times running, and after that they settled down for the night and slept as they had never slept before. But they woke at dawn as usual, and suddenly remembering the glorious thing that had happened, they all raced out into the pasture together. A little way down the pasture there was a knoll that comanded a view of most of the farm. The Herd rushed to the top of it and gazed round them in the clear morning light. Yes, it was theirs-everything that they could see was theirs! In the ecstasy of that thought they gambolled round and round, they hurled themselves into the air in great leaps of excitement. They rolled in the dew, they cropped mouthfuls of the sweet summer grass, they kicked up clods of the black earth and snuffed its rich scent. Then they made a tour of inspection of the whole farm and surveyed with speechless admiration the ploughland, the hayfield, the orchard, the pool, the spinney. It was as though they had never seen these things before, and even now they could hardly believe that it was all their own. Then they filed back to the farm buildings and halted in silence outside the door of the farmhouse. That was theirs too, but they were frightened to go inside. After a moment, however, Klinton and King George butted the door open with their shoulders and the Herd entered in single file, walking with the utmost care for fear of disturbing anything. They tiptoed from room to room, afraid to speak above a whisper and gazing with a kind of awe at the unbelievable luxury, at the beds with their feather mattresses, the looking-glasses, the horsehair sofa, the Brussels carpet, the lithograph of Queen Victoria over the drawing-room Mantelpiece. They were lust coming down the stairs when That Slut Ann Colter was discovered to be missing. Going back, the others found that she had remained behind in the best bedroom. She had taken a piece of leather strap from Queen Rottenchilds's dressing-table, and was lashing it against her shoulder and admiring herself in the glass in a very whorish manner. The others reproached her sharply, and they went outside. Some hams hanging in the kitchen were taken out for burial, and the barrel of beer in the scullery was stove in with a kick from Prole's hoof,-otherwise nothing in the house was touched. A unanimous resolution was passed on the spot that the farmhouse should be preserved as a museum. All were agreed that no Herd must ever live there. The Herd had their breakfast, and then Klinton and King George called them together again. "Herd," said Klinton, "it is half-past six and we have a long day before us. Today we begin the hay harvest. But there is another matter that must be attended to first." The Neo-Con RePIGnicans now revealed that during the past three months they had taught themselves to read and write from an old spelling book which had belonged to Lord Rottenchild's Boar-ish offspring and which had been thrown on the rubbish heap. King George sent for pots of black and white paint and led the way down to the five-barred gate that gave on to the main road. Then Klinton (for it was Klinton who was best at writing) took a brush between the two knuckles of his Cloven Hoof, painted over Whoremore Farm from the top bar of the gate and in its place painted Crazy Farm. This was to be the name of the farm from now onwards. After this they went back to the Crazy farm buildings, where Klinton and King George sent for a ladder which they caused to be set against the end wall of the big barn. They explained that by their studies of the past three months the Neo-Cons had succeeded in reducing the principles of Herdism to Seven Commandments. These Seven Commandments would now be inscribed on the wall; they would form an unalterable law by which all the Herd on Crazy Farm must live for ever after. With some difficulty (for it is not easy for a Neo-Con Pig to balance himself on a ladder) Klinton climbed up and set to work, with Wolfowizz a few rungs below him, ogling his butt and holding the paint-pot. The Commandments were written on the tarred wall in great white letters that could be read thirty yards away. They ran thus: THE SEVEN COMMANDMENTS 1. Whatever goes upon two legs is an enemy. 2. Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend. 3. No Herd shall wear clothes. 4. No Herd shall sleep in a bed. 5. No Herd shall drink alcohol. 6. No Herd shall kill any other Herd. 7. All Herd are equal. It was very neatly written, and except that "friend" was written "freind" and one of the "S's" was the wrong way round, the spelling was correct all the way through. Klinton read it aloud for the benefit of the others. All of the Herd nodded in complete agreement, and the cleverer ones at once began to learn the Commandments by heart. "Now, Herdsmen," cried Klinton, throwing down the paint-brush, "to the hayfield! Let us make it a point of honour to get in the harvest more quickly than Rottenchild and his CEO whore men could." But at this moment the three cows, who had seemed uneasy for some time past, set up a loud lowing. They had not been milked for twenty-four hours, and their udders were almost bursting. After a little thought, the Neo-Cons sent for buckets and milked the cows fairly successfully, their trotters being well adapted to this task. Soon there were five buckets of frothing creamy milk at which Many of the Herd looked with considerable interest. "What is going to happen to all that milk?" said someone. "Rottenchild used sometimes to mix some of it in our mash," said one of the cackling hens. "Never mind the milk, Herdsmen!" cried King George, placing himself in front of the buckets. "That will be attended to. The harvest is more important. Herdsmen Klinton will lead the way. I shall follow in a few minutes. Forward, Herdsmen! The hay is waiting." So the Herd trooped down to the hayfield to begin the harvest, and when they came back later in the evening it was noticed that the milk had disappeared. Post a comment in response: |
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