Boom chick a baa baa - love potion from Labville

I have too many pigs. Pink pigs, pot belly pigs, black pigs, white pigs, and wasabi pigs. No wait, make that ossabaw pigs. (Although, wasabi pigs would make some pretty spicy chops and bacon.) Anyway, I decided to sell a few today. But as I clicked on Sell, a thought occurred to me. Where do the poor pigs go? Off to slaughterville? Or worse, Do they go to a lab? I believe they do. How else would they be able to come up with neon pink valentine pigs? All of those poor animals I sold, and for what? So they could be poked, prodded, and genetically altered for the sake of our enjoyment. How could I have been so naive to think pink pigs with cute little party hats and noise makers could come from Mother Nature. Labville is more like it. Thousands of little avatars in tiny white lab coats just waiting for you to click on SELL. That’s why you can hunt for truffles AND share one with a friend, AND get one back. Oh it’s all becoming so clear to me now! I should have known my pigs couldn’t find truffles on a farm in a country I don’t even live in. I hang my head in shame.
What becomes of all the wandering stallions that no one gives shelter to? And the thousands of unclaimed poncho lamas? Let’s face it, no one has claimed one of those in months. And while I’m at it, who made all those ponchos for the lamas? A ten year old child avatar from sweatshopville, that’s who! And you can bet your chicken coop those poor childatars don’t have fancy-schamcy clothes or costumes to change into when the mood strikes them. Just a sewing machine in a warehouse. Day in and day out, making teeny-tiny hats for party pigs, and thousands of ponchos with matching sombreros for the lamas.
Oh hell, I’m on a roll now – so let me continue. The “instagrow potion” that sprays out of the crop duster… back when I went to school, anything that made crops grow that fast was called toxic fertilizer. Potion my ass.
And then there’s the pot of gold. I have enough gold to buy 12 Clover Chickens which, I have come to conclusion, (because I am just too smart for my own good) are a combination of “Potion” grown clover, and Labville chickens. No sir, not this girl.
But it doesn’t stop there, now there’s the English Countryside. Oh how I waited. I frantically clicked on my neighbors for help as not to wait four grueling days to get there in my British airship blimp. And what happened after I completed my sheep pen? S-E-X that’s what. A “Boom chick a baa baa” sign appeared outside the pen after the (unsuspecting) sheep went inside with the genetically altered purple ram. A-Ha! That is probably the Lab! Like a wolf in sheep’s clothing – A lab in sheep’s housing. God! Those poor little sheep. Why, it’s like an alien abduction. They get probed in places one doesn’t speak of (at the dinner table) And what do we do???? We feed it “Love Potion” Oh those Farmville communist leaders are big on potions. Once the lamb is born, we ease the mama into the fact that she has given birth to an orange lamb with purple polka dots. (Lest we bring back the repressed memories of the lab probing.) We don’t let her know until the poor little thing has had ten bottles.
Good will come of this blog. The people at my Zanganon meeting will take comfort in the fact that stopping their addiction to Farmville benefits not only them, but many, many others as well.