No sooner had the governor signed the bill legalizing Sunday sales for hooch than a murmur broke out in the back of the room.
“That can’t be what I think it is,” said one aide, peering out the window.
It was a peculiar sight: a ragged V, like returning geese, but much pinker. Not honking but oinking. Sources say the blood drained from the governor’s face and the pen fell from his hand.
“What have we done?” he muttered. “What have we done?”
Yes, pigs were flying. Hundreds of them.
At a hastily convened news conference, proponents of Sunday sales brushed away blame; as one senator said, “We’d always say there would be Sunday sale of strong beer in stores when pigs flew. The fact that pigs flew after the bill was signed is pure happenstance.”
But flying pigs and Sunday sales had long been connected in the public mind, and it was hard to believe that the change in laws hadn’t summoned the peculiar creatures. They were not cute, as many had imagined; the wingspan required to keep a pig aloft was enormous. And, frankly, the sign of the porcine pterodactyls, bleating and squealing, was horrifying. Several hundred roosted on the dome of the Capitol, with dozens sliding off and more taking their place.
University scholars from the Farm Campus in St. Paul were seen on TV, explaining: “First of all, it’s not the Farm Campus,” said Prof. Angus Sodacre, with evident irritation. “Stop calling it that. It’s a fully accredited university with an agricultural emphasis.”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Dirt Professor,” said the interviewer, “but can you explain how pigs could evolve the ability to fly so quickly?”
“I cannot. They’re not that evolved. From what I understand, over 300 have already smacked into the glass at U.S. Bank Stadium.”
Annoying at first, they soon became accepted. When several dozen fell through the thin ice of Lake Harriet, there was sympathetic media coverage of attempts to save them. In Uptown a few people were seen with winged pigs as pets, flying on a tether like a fat kite.
When the stores finally opened for Sunday sales, the pigs all flew away. To be honest, we were sad to see them go, but at least we learned that we can adapt to new situations. Did this mean we might get Sunday hours for car dealerships?
One state legislator rolled her eyes. “Sure. When incontinent rabid 9-foot-tall monkeys fly.”