Celine hams it up as Pig Month poet

Inspired by the divine swine, Celine Papizewska promotes Pig Month! (Loosely based on the US tradition of celebrating National Pig Day, the month of March 2011 marks the second annual Prince Edward County Pig Month. Pig Month is an opportunity for us to celebrate the swine, the farmers who raise these adaptable creatures and the cooks everywhere who prepare and serve its’ many dishes.)

Twas the night before Pig Month, and down on the farm
The piglets were tucked in all cosy and warm.
The good farmer’s wife gently snored in her bed
While visions of pork dumplings danced in her head.
But that night in the barn, amongst bales of feed,
Farmer Fudd was prepared to commit the vile deed.
A smile lifted his lips as he sharpened his knives
And dollars signs clouded the light in his eyes,
When out in the sty, a dread figure arose
Splattered with mud from his head to his toes.
Of iconic clothing, he wore a plethora,
From his loud, checkered suit to his porkpie fedora.
As I saw his pratfall, his demeanour so dorky,
I was moved to exclaim, “It’s none other than Porky!”
Across his pink belly, there showed not a wrinkle
But a tear graced his eye, in place of a twinkle.
His trotters were quaking, he gave a great shudder,
Then rallied, and stoutly declaimed with a sputter,
“I’ve c-come with a message! N-now cease and d-desist!
M-my army is ready! We’ve c-come to resist!
But first turning my ch-cheeks, and my c-cruel foe befriending,
A solution we’ll f-find f-for a sweet happy ending.
In p-place of ham salad, and p-p-pork vindaloo,
Why not f-fish on a b-bun, or a n-nice beef ragout?
B-before you lay out those p-pork ch-chops in your p-pan,
Make Chef Child’s c-classic entree, c-coq-au-vin!
If you’re trying to b-break out of your b-b-bacon habit,
M-m-might I suggest a smooth rillette of rabbit?”
He suddenly squealed in a high, light soprano
As on his head Farmer Fudd dropped a piano.
Porky dug through debris, ivory keys in a flurry,
Eyes bulging in rage, tongue distended in fury.
And laying a finger aside of his snout,
In a voice like a thunderclap, started to shout,
“Come, Wilbur! Come, Piglet! Abandon your Pooh!
Come, Arnold of Hooterville! Sooey! Sooey, soo!
Come, Babe! And come Hamm! And my own sweet Petunia!
With glazes and apples Fudd plans to festoon ya!
And Three Little Pigs! Forget your housing crisis!
Fudd’s sole aim this night is to trap us and dice us!”
Forth came Miss Piggy, that martial arts hellion,
Followed by tyrannous porkers Orwellian.
From Arkansas hills, land of Moonbeam McSwine,
The Razorbacks took up position in line.
The farmer advanced; from his hands swung a hatchet,
His dinner before him, if he could but catch it!
“Don’t give me twouble,” Fudd intoned. “Dagnabit!
I’m tiwed of twying to catch that damn wabbit!”
Porky, eyes bloodshot, with nary a stammer,
Crying, “On, gallant pigs!”, then swung the sledgehammer.
Sidestepping, Fudd cried, “My final word! Hawk it!
These piggies this day will be going to mawket!
You wascally cweatures!” With this dreadful cuss,
He pulled from behind him his prize blunderbuss!
Through black clouds of smoke, buckshot started to whistle
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle!
Scattering quickly o’er hill and o’er dale, Farmer Fudd in pursuit  “ but to what avail?
Yet I heard him exclaim as he dashed out of sight,
Mewwy Pig Month to all! And Good Appetite! 
(Th-th-that’s all, folks!)