By Wil Forbis
"Goddamn Pig Fuckers," I
heard a voice hiss out from my right, causing me to look up from the
current literary volume I was perusing, The Erotic Adventures of
Nancy Drew #54: The Case of The Arousing Mummy, and search for the
source of this crude intrusion. I looked around in the moderately filled
GreyHound bus for the sort who looked most likely to comment on "Pig
Fuckers." My eyes fell upon a young woman, dressed in a underground
but stylish sort of way, looking moneyed enough to make one wonder what
she was doing on a GreyHound and with eyes of scathing fury. "Goddam
Pig Fuckers" she repeated, as if to reassure me that it was indeed her
sending out these blasts of vitriolic verbiage. I followed her gaze
out the window to try and locate the source of her attack.
At first, I was confused.
Though we were parked for a rest stop in one of those small, seemingly
nameless Idaho towns, I could see nary a pig nor anyone who could be
attempting copulation with one. Had I missed, with my usual Murphy's
luck, the chance to witness another of the great wonders of the world:
man and beast intertwined in passion? But it became clear from the looks
of the quiet goings on of the outside, that nothing even resembling
pig fucking had gone on for several hours. Greyhound passengers milled
around, taking smoke breaks and stocking up on junk food at the nearby
store. A row of local teenagers strutted about dressed in T-shirts championing
now deceased 80's metal bands. An older local wearing a John Deere cap,
mused silently in between spitting out wads of Redwood, real man's chewing
tobacco (two cans for the price of one.) However, pig fuckers were not
to be seen.
But, wait, it occurred to
me. Aren't local Idahoites commonly referred to as… How you say in America?
"White trash?" And is it not a pervasive myth in today's culture that
white trash, or denizens of small mid-western towns in general, engage
in sex with farm animals? Were these people her intended targets?
"Them?" I asked. "Are they
the pig fuckers?"
"Fuck, Yeah!" She replied.
"I hate those fucking red neck fuckers! And I hate dip-shit towns like
"Gosh," I said. "I can see
being somewhat annoyed by these low-brow hill-billy types. But what
makes you hate them?"
"Look at them," she responded
with disgust. "They don't know how to dress, they don't know that they
eighties ended, they're all stupid, they get pregnant at seventeen and
then make a living appearing on the Jerry Springer Show, and not to
mention, they're all homophobic, racist bastards."
"Well…" I said, somewhat
disheveled by the force of this young lady's words. "Those are some
pretty far reaching accusations. Are you sure all pig-fuckers are like
"Yes, I can," she replied,
a steely glint gleaming in her eye. "Have you ever met a pig fucker
that didn't worship Warrant and crack racist jokes."
"Well, yes, actually," I
said, fondly recalling several pig fuckers I'd known that were intelligent,
well groomed individuals.
"Yeah, well then you must
be one of them," the girl replied and then turned to look out the window.
Now you can accuse me of
being a wide range of things and if you know me you probably have, but
labeling me white trash is a dubious assumption at best. I grew up in
Hawaii and truthfully, the cultural training to achieve proper white
trashiness is simply not there. You know, the '76 Camaros, the eight
track recordings of "The Best Of Ritchie Blackmore's Rainbow", Girls
with bathroom cabinets filled with enough hairspray to fuel the Space
Shuttle Columbia... But since I'd been to the mainland, I'd had the
pleasure of knowing several denizens of small town America and saw some
key holes in the girl's argument.
Thus, I added some confident
grit to my voice when I asked, "Isn't it hypocritical of you to label
an entire group racist, to dismiss an entire group of people with a
wave of your hand. Isn't that sort of grand classism what racism and
homophobia are all about?"
"Huh?" the girl grunted,
clearly off balance. "I…"
But I learned long ago the
best way to win an argument is to not let your opponent speak. So I
quickly interjected by saying, "Really, your arguments aren't anything
new. You can hear them mirrored in a variety of places in American culture
these days - on late night talk shows, in the chic coffeehouses of urban
America, even occasionally in this column. For all the rhetoric of tolerance
and diversity, the one group that seems to have been left out of its
well extended embrace has been pig fuck… er, I mean white trash. Among
the facsimiles of the cultural elite that populate urban America, any
comment that is potentially racist or sexist or homophobic won't last
long, but it still seems okay to cast aspersions on white trash. Are
they they last legitimate target left in a politically correct world?"
"Yeah!" a voice called out
from behind me. I looked back to see a young man with a flannel jacket
and Slayer T-shirt. "I'm tired of being a target for p.c. twats like
"Me too!" said an elderly
woman with a burning cigarette and a noticeable amount of chin hair.
"We don't get any respect around here!"
"That's right," screeched
a young woman balancing two toddlers on her pregnant belly. "Let's get
her!" And with that the mob descended upon the snooty neo-bohemian in
a flurry of biting, kicking, chewing and even some gnawing.
Upon completion of the terrible
act, the mob retracted, and I, frighten by their newfound savagery figured
I better ensure I would not be their next target. "Nice work people,"
I called out. "Aren't you glad I called that chick out on her elitist
A resounding chorus of "yeah,"
"Absolutely" and "Definitely, man!" assuaged my concerns.
"I guess we really showed
her didn't we?" I added, beginning to feel warm in the glow of their
"We sure did, Wil." said
one of the older and wiser of the group - a white trash Poppa Smurf,
if you will. "But we succeeded only with your sterling leadership. Without
your blistering defense against her Ivy League accusations, we would've
been lost. As such we would like to offer you the erotic services of
the prized lovemaker of our community." And with that he stood back
to reveal an oinking, q-tailed swine.
Well, when in Rome…
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Wil Forbis is a
well known international playboy who lives a fast paced life attending
chic parties, performing feats of derring-do and making love to the
world's most beautiful women. Together with his partner, Scrotum-Boy,
he is making the world safe for democracy. Email - firstname.lastname@example.org
Visit Wil's web log, The Wil Forbis Blog, and receive complete enlightenment.