Dammit, I knew this was gonna happen. I take one tiiiiiiiiiiny lil peek into the brutality of the factory farming system, and all of a sudden I can’t help but wonder whether my neighbor Doug’s pet pig might not enjoy me butchering him and consuming his flesh. Maybe Friedrich had dreams of his own, maybe he wanted a family, with the delightful pitter-patter of little baby piglet feet running around the house. Maybe he was a spiritual successor to Wilbur and was gonna change the world. We’ll never know, I guess, because I just ate him. But I felt really bad about it while I was doing it. 

Dammit. Now on top of having to clean up all this blood and bury the carcass before Doug gets home, I’m gonna have to deal with these nagging emotions of “shame” and “disgust” in therapy for years. This never would have happened if I hadn’t read any goddamn animal liberation philosophy. Curse you, Peter Singer!