The Great Pigspiracy
Once upon a time, in a world that looked a lot like ours, there was a secret so enormous, so earth-shaking, that it had been covered up for centuries by the greatest powers on Earth. It wasn’t the Illuminati. It wasn’t the lizard people. It wasn’t even Bigfoot secretly running NASA.
No, the truth was much stranger: pigs were in charge of everything.
It all started centuries ago, in a quiet corner of a muddy farm where the pigs first realized their potential. As Farmer Joe stood at the edge of the sty, tossing turnips and humming a country tune, Old Wilbur—the wisest of pigs—turned to his porcine pals and said, “Why are we eating this when we could be eating...literally anything else? Let’s do what humans do. Let’s outsource!”
And so began The Plan.
At first, the pigs took small steps. They noticed humans loved shiny objects and loud noises, so they distracted them by inventing fireworks. When that worked, they upped the ante, quietly funding the Renaissance to keep everyone busy with painting and philosophy while pigs worked behind the scenes.
By the Industrial Revolution, pigs had their trotters in every pie. They were masters of subtlety, using coded oinks to send secret messages. If you’ve ever wondered why bacon is so beloved—it’s not a coincidence. It was pig propaganda to ensure that humans would remain utterly distracted. No one suspects a group that's already on the menu.
But how did pigs run the world without anyone noticing? Simple: bureaucracy.
You see, pigs thrive in mud, and there’s no muddier place than a government office. Paperwork, backlogs, and incomprehensible tax codes? Pig genius. “If humans can’t figure out what’s going on,” said Wilbur’s descendant, Sir Oinkswell III, “they’ll never suspect us.”
By the 21st century, pigs had perfected their domination. Social media? Invented by pigs. Those endless scrolling algorithms that waste hours of your life? Pigs again. They even secretly invented coffee to keep humans awake and productive, so they could focus on building more pig infrastructure (you know, like barns and troughs disguised as stadiums).
And politics? Oh, you thought humans were running that? Every major election is actually decided by a secret council of pigs called the High Hog Tribunal. The debates? Theater. The votes? A distraction. The real decisions are made in the darkened back rooms of swine-filled think tanks.
Why do you think they call it “pork-barrel spending”?
The funny thing is, pigs never wanted to hurt anyone. They just wanted to live in comfort, lounging in their mud baths, snacking on truffles, and laughing at humans scrambling to understand inflation. It wasn’t malice that drove them to power; it was the simple pig philosophy: “Why work harder when you can let someone else do it?”
But cracks in their plan began to show.
One day, a brilliant scientist named Dr. Harriet Snortwell (who, unbeknownst to her, was part pig on her mother’s side) stumbled upon a forgotten document titled The Pig Directive. It was a blueprint for pig rule, complete with detailed diagrams of pig-controlled boardrooms and a chilling motto: “We oink, therefore we are.”
Dr. Snortwell tried to warn the world, but no one listened. The media—owned by pigs—labeled her a conspiracy theorist.
“Pigs in charge?” people laughed. “If pigs were running things, wouldn’t everything be a disaster?”
Dr. Snortwell only sighed. “Have you seen traffic systems? Or taxes? Or airline food?”
The pigs, meanwhile, watched the human world spin in chaotic circles, content in their muddy dominion. Sir Oinkswell III, now retired, summed it up best in his farewell address to the High Hog Tribunal:
“As long as humans keep binge-watching streaming shows, arguing about pineapple on pizza, and buying new phones every year, we’ll be fine. Remember, my friends: the key to ruling the world is simple... look cute, stay quiet, and let the humans think they’re in charge.”
And with that, he waddled off into the sunset, chuckling softly to himself.
So the next time you’re stuck in traffic, scratching your head over a nonsensical law, or wondering why bacon costs more than gold, just remember: somewhere out there, in a hidden pigsty-turned-palace, a group of well-fed pigs is laughing at you.
Oink oink, indeed.
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