I’ll never forget where I was. 1:02 pm, Tuesday, August 4th. I was refreshing the Facebook fan page of Miss. Piggy, hoping for a new bikini shot, when there it was:
— Kermit the Frog (@KermitTheFrog) August 4, 2015
It was the news I’d been waiting for since I was a 12-year-old boy, jerking it to VHS copies of the original Muppet Show. Miss Piggy was finally single and, now, I finally have my chance to bone her brains out.
Now, you might be saying to me, Clayton, we know you’re doing great. You own a thriving a pig farm, with over 30 unique animals that you have sex with on a consistent basis. You have it all, why throw it all away chasing a celebrity pig?
The answer is simple. I’m tired of having sex with these uneducated, country pigs. Sneaking out to the pen and luring them into my sex den with a trail of apple cores that leads to my penis is a routine that has grown old and bothersome.
I want a real courting process. I want to have copulate with an animal that is classy and sophisticated. I want to fornicate with a pig that has seen the world and that has mostly made love to a frog whose penis I can only assume is very small, so small in fact that even a below average human penis would put it to shame easily.
I want deep conversations. I want to increase my awareness of culture and the arts. I want to make love without constantly worrying that I can’t compete with a big fat pig dong.
So, mark my words Miss Piggy, I’m coming for you, and nothing—not even crushing inadequacy issues—will stop me.
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