Note to the world: never trust a snortlepig. Today I was doing some long-overdue gardening, and in the course of pulling out three gone-to-seed parsley plants the size of trees I accidentally terminated a tiny spring onion. As I’d just put on some chicken soup - incidentally, you might like to pause at this point and contemplate the picture of virtuous and wifely industry I paint here - I handed the spring onion to the snortlepig and said “Go tell Daddy to put this in the soup. Can you give it to him and say “Daddy, soup”?” “Daddy, soup, okay!” said the pig, and disappeared with charming alacrity. By the time she returned, I had accidentally pulled up a baby carrot as well. “Can you give this to Daddy for the soup as well?” I said, and she disappeared indoors once more - but feeling a slight premonition, I followed her inside, just in time to see her up on a chair by the stove, attempting to stuff the entire carrot - dirt, greens and all - into the bubbling pot.
It turned out she had, indeed, shown the spring onion to Helpdesk Man - who, with typical male cluelessness, responded to her enthusiastic “Soup!” by informing her condescendingly that while spring onions can, indeed, be used for soup, they can also be used to cook many other things. At which point the snortlepig must have realised one of life’s great truths, and decided to do the deed herself.
Snortlepig: 1
Helpdesk Man: 0
Smokey: 0
Soup: …still edible, I think. The spring onion wasn’t that dirty.