How oppressed are transgender pigs, really?  Was there ever a time when gay people were tough, maybe even cool?  What was it like in the dark ages, when people had too much self-respect to wear their kink in their Army photos?  Were they afraid to wear their puppy mask like a medal of honor because they might get lynched, or were they afraid to do it because it looks terrible, and is ridiculous?

When did becoming an Admiral in the U.S. Navy become cosplay?

Is disposing of nuclear waste just another kink, a harmless, if radioactive golden shower?  Is it a job you can do while dressed like a female extra from Logan's Run, or a character in a gospel tract about the New-Age Antichrist Army at the end of days?

I don't want to talk about it.  Not because I'm afraid of the topic, but because the answer is readily apparent, and barely worth discussing.  What does interest me is the history of transgender animals in the arts, especially pigs and rock stars.  The way our respected, qualified officials talk, you'd think they invented the idea of rolling around in the underwear of whoever's bag you stole at the airport, while dressed like a farm animal from a sci-fi movie.  They're really full of themselves.  It's unsightly.

I'm not a Bowie fan, but I won't deny that he's a great artist.  This is him in a dress, way back in the super-oppressive 70s, when people were totally oppressed.  You couldn't do anything back then.  The president wouldn't even call you brave for wearing a dog mask in an official military photo.  Here's David Bowie trying to break out of his oppressive music career and do something really brave and liberating, like becoming a ranking officer in the Military Industrial Complex.  Because it was the dark ages, they turned him down.

Here's Billy Corgan exuding a strong masculine vibe, perhaps in an attempt to join The Breeders.

The Breeders didn't let him in, because they preferred masculine clothing, and were of a dubious sexual bent.  You know the band is lesbians when they have a dude on drums.  Nothing screams lesbians like a chick band with a male drummer.  I always wondered about those guys, those dudes on drums in a band full of chicks.  Were they in doggie heaven, or super-uncomfortable in their surroundings at all times?  I always suspected the latter.

Still a great song though.  I bought the album, but have never told anybody about it until now.  I liked the album, which is a sentiment I have never expressed.  The reason I've never "come out" about liking The Breeders is not because I'm oppressed, or secretly gay and afraid to admit it.  It's because I'm a Straight Guy, and bands like The Breeders and Le Tigre make me uncomfortable.  As they should.  It doesn't mean I can't like the band.  Dig the manly vibes coming from everywhere except the drums:

The vocals are pretty girly, which I like.  Coy and cute, like the kind of chicks who would walk around looking for slackers to beat up, while comparing earth tones and thrift-store flannel at the indie coffee shop.  Unlike The Runaways, who were so straight they dressed like the NY Dolls.  Who does this chick think she is anyway, dressing like a fake gay dude?

Y'know what, I just had an epiphany.  I wasn't even looking for it.  You know what's really "stunning and brave?"  Wearing your sexuality on your sleeve when you're actually attractive.  It actually takes a lot of guts for Cherie Currie to walk out on stage like that.  Any fat guy with a hairy ass can wear a dog mask in an Army pic; those people are just begging for attention, which is weak.  What's really tough is walking onstage in your underwear when you're actually hot.

Not a problem for these guys.  Thank God they're wearing women's clothing, at least:

And if it isn't obvious by now, I'm really trying to get through these overwhelmingly numerous examples of people living under hardcore sexual oppression, so I can get to the point of this article, which is about a transgender pig at the turn of the last century and the abuse he suffered at the hands of his would-be mistress.  Not only was the poor animal friend-zoned, he was stripped of his tuxedo and forced to prance around in a dress for the amusement of whatever creep is operating the camera.  Tragically, we can observe his transformation from confident suitor to depressed cosplay donor, who surely left his Muppet parts to Furry science when he died.  It's a sad, tragic tale.  But before we get to it, let's ignore all the 80s hair-metal guys who dressed like women, and go straight to Jamie Farr from M.A.S.H., who was so oppressed that he couldn't get discharged from the military even though he dressed like a woman at all times.

It's almost like it was a joke or something.  Like they had a sense of humor way back in the dark ages, in those prehistoric times before it was super-edgy to put on a dress and act like a chick.  Even though it's an act of colonial hate, since "Klinger" is dressing like a brave, stunning hero in an attempt to get discharged and sent home, it's also an act of institutionalized tolerance, since the Army keeps him around anyway.  Whatever the case, M.A.S.H. was woke before it was uncool to be woke:

Okay, so back to the pig.  I already told his sad, sorrowful tale.  Let's watch it unfold before our eyes, while we listen to the sexually-ambiguous lyrics from the hateful white imperial songwriter.

Doesn't that just make you want to cry?  The Dancing Pig is such a simp, he turns from Capitalism to cross-dressing, just to impress a girl.  I really feel bad for him.  Okay, so she throws his attempts at hooking up with her back in his face, which is only normal.  But instead of turning him away and letting him suffer the pain of rejection with his dignity intact, instead she takes his clothes off.  She peels off his tuxedo and throws it away while dancing around with an air of conquest and victory.  He is obviously ashamed, and makes a futile, sad attempt to cover himself with a tablecloth.  To no avail.

What's up with that?

Was it a joke, designed for the entertainment and amusement of the audience, who are obviously supposed to be impressed by the animatronic capabilities of the puppet itself?  Or was it an act of feminist colonization, in which the female dancer emasculates an insulting caricature of the free-market economic model, which gives her the freedom to insult it in the first place?

I dunno, the dancers seem to be having fun regardless, but the fruity lyrics at the end really grate on me.  What kind of self-respecting colonial imperialist sings, "I'm the prettiest girl I've ever seen?"  Doesn't the hard, artistic fact that the lyric has more interesting teeth when sung from a female perspective have to subjugate itself to the religiously-held belief that all sexuality must be political?  Doesn't the writer know that I'm a woman today, and can't possibly change perspective from character to character like someone who creates characters for his own amusement?  And what does he mean when she or he or they or thus or those or it or tit sings, "I'm an armor-plated robot-killing machine?"  Doesn't he know straight white guys can't sing about female robot-hunters unless they're in the middle of a pajama party full of drunken Furries and Asian people?

That is the cold, hard science of acceptable fun, right there.  FYI.

Well that's about all I wanted to say.  The white colonialist author of this article is a rigid adherent to character fluidity in his own songs, which damnable artistic heresy is readily apparent in writings of questionable moral fidelity like "I Wanna Skip School."  In this faithless, low-quality character study, the perspective between the degenerate male protagonist and his psychotic female counterpart fluctuates even more than the emotions on which our entire democracy is based.  It's a terrifying indictment of the tenuous nature of our civilization, the selective nature of our fake democracy, and most importantly, the rich, vibrant culture of sex-obsessed farm animals on a power trip that create the conditions for our prosperous, happy way of life.  You can listen to it here if you like, in all its colonial kung-fi, lo-fu glory.  Or is it colonial lung-fi, kung-fu, glory?

Lo-fi?  As in sound quality, or fidelity?  As in, y'know, faith?

When did our society get so lo-fi, anyway?

And what is "Semper Fi," if not cooking instructions for the damned? 

Simmer forever, o ye of little faith?

Semper Fu, no MSG.  Emasculated pork Tofu in a dress.  Policemen dressed like mice, drenched in nuclear waste while trying on other people's stolen underwear.

A page of madness will not suffice, I am afraid.

Thanks for listening.