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Green Acres

Arnold Ziffel

Arnold is staring out the window of the rusty green 1978 Chevy double-cab pickup somewhere in Colorado.

He’s got sunglasses on, and he’s smoking.

And he’s a pig.

He’s down to two cigarettes.

That is a problem. This problem cannot stand.

It’s 20 miles into town.

Can he make it?

He’s a pig on a mission. Cigarettes, smokes, coffin nails.

The dry dusty landscape of Colorado rolls by. Arnold’s in the passenger seat, such as it is and he’s looking at the driver. “Can this fucker pull it off?” Arnold knows it’s about a 50/50 chance that there will have to be violence and he plans to be the one who walks away with all his internal organs intact.

He keeps his big yap shut though, as he can’t actually drive a car on his own, being a pig ‘n that. The rig rattles into the parking lot of the gas station at the far end of town where hope goes to die. There’s cheese fries and the droppings of the emotional leavings of the foodstamps of gawd-aweful desperation.

Arnold watches the driver stick a glock down his pants like he thinks he’s some kind of anti-hero in a Tarrantino nightmare vision. He’s got a toothpick stuck in his mouth like it’s making up for his own personal tobacco problems.

“Ok pig, are you ready to make this happen?”

Who is this pig?

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