Three Lil Pigs

By Christopher R Rice for Underground Newz

Here's a story about the three little pigs. The first pigs name is Capitalism, he built his house on credit and debt. But, bubbles and balloons are not a very strong foundation, and will only hold you up for so long. Before the next bust.

The next little pigs name is Communism, built his house from whatever Capitalism left behind. But Capitalism was so hungry and ate so much, that Communism often went hungry. Had to stand in 'bread lines.' And wherever Communism went, Capitalism was sure to follow. And when consuming the whole Earth was not satisfying enough, Capitalism ate the f'n moon. Capitalism became so greedy that it wanted everything. The whole universe.

The next little pig is the bastard child of the first two and his name is Socialism, built his house, but it was just a pay-to-play. Tax the working man, pinch the poor and give the rich a pass, same system everywhere. These three little pigs conned the world that everything must be this way or we'd have to deal with a big bad wolf named Fascism.

When big bad Fascism first came around it attacked the Communist, ate the Socialist and was on the verge of destroying the house that Capitalism built. When that old wolf named Fascism would huff and puff every tree on the planet would shake. But Fascism has a very short shelf life, left unchecked it begins to eat its own tail for nourishment.

But that fat dirty pig named Capitalism was hungry again, bit into something called Syria that tasted rather bitter. At first Capitalism didn't even notice, it just continued to gorge itself on poor Syria. Let him with an ear hear or just continue to gorge yourself.  

As it happened, Capitalism began to vomit and out popped a lil baby fascist, kicking and screaming. Capitalism looked at baby fascism in disgust. Capitalism wouldn't even pick the baby up. It laid there on the floor, kicking and screaming and flailing about. Then Capitalism broke a beer bottle and handed it to their Queen, told her to kill baby fascism. She took that broken beer bottle and plunged it into poor baby fascism, over and over again. Not once, not twice but three times.

It looked as if baby fascism was dead.

But they don't let a woman kill you, not in the tower of song. And that wolf, that lil baby fascist he got back up and he huffed and he puffed and he blew all of their little houses down. And then he arrested the Queen.

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