Animal Farm by George Orwell, story about the ‘noble rebellion’ of animals against their cruel human masters—that was the official version, anyway. But we had to be honest: the whole thing was a mess, a total journalistic screw-up. And somehow I, Napoleon, the undisputed ruler of the farm, got blamed for everything. Hey, I never asked for this responsibility. Did you think I wanted to run a farm full of bickering animals? Please, I just wanted a quiet life with an unlimited supply of apples.
But no, it all began with Old Major giving his grand speech about animal equality. Yeah, equality, until someone needed to make decisions. Then suddenly, I was in charge. Oh, and that whole ‘All animals are equal’ line? I said that once during a meeting, and then it was etched in stone. Quite literally. Couldn’t a pig change his mind?
Anyway, we ran the humans off. Great. “Victory for all animals.” But man, was running the farm a pain in the butt. You ever tried managing a bunch of sheep? They’ll believe anything. I swear, one time I told them the barn was on fire just so they'd be quiet and stop chanting “Four legs good, two legs bad” for five seconds. It didn’t even work.
And didn’t even get me started on Snowball. Yeah, Mr. ‘Let’s build a windmill, it would make us more efficient.’ Sure, I thought, let’s waste all our resources on a giant fan. I was perfectly fine lounging around in the barn, but Snowball? He was a visionary. A true dreamer. So, I did what any smart politician would do—I had him chased off by the dogs and took credit for the windmill idea. Genius, right?
Then there were the hens. Oh boy, they started squawking about keeping their eggs. Hello? We’re running a business here. I wasn’t 'starving' them, no, no—just letting them experience a cleansing fast until they saw reason. Eggs for everyone! Or, well, mostly for me. But what did they expect? Socialism?
About those apples and milk. Look, I didn’t want to take all the best food, but running a farm took energy! Did you think I could give speeches about ‘hard work’ on an empty stomach? No way. I was out there inspiring the masses, so yes, I needed a few luxuries. The rest of them could live on hay and carrots. It built character.
Speaking of ‘inspiring the masses,’ let me tell you about my PR genius: Squealer. You had to love that guy. Every time things started to get a little dicey, he was out there with his smooth-talking ways, convincing everyone that the pigs deserved better treatment. He was the kind of guy who could convince you that 5G data plans were just another farm expense. He even had the animals thinking that my naps were actually ‘strategic rest periods to plan the future of the farm.’ And you knew what? He was never wrong. Ever. He even managed to convince the animals that the windmill wasn’t destroyed by bad construction; it was all Snowball’s fault. I meant, really, I was impressed.
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Then there was Clover. Sweet, simple Clover. Usually as sharp as a sack of hay, but every now and then she would pipe up like, “Didn’t we agree on…?” Ugh. There’s nothing more exhausting than trying to outwit someone who’s mostly clueless, but just alert enough to cause trouble. That’s when Squealer came to the rescue again, with another beautifully confusing explanation, and she was right back to grazing. Disaster averted.
Ah, the dogs. Now, these guys knew how to keep things in line. Loyal, fierce, and not one for critical thinking, bless them. Some say that I raised them as my private enforcers. Nonsense! I was just investing in farm security. And if they happened to chase off a few naysayers—well, natural selection, baby. The other animals? Never even saw it coming. Honestly, their ignorance was almost adorable. Almost.
Now, let me tell you about Boxer. Good ol’ Boxer, one of the most hardworking horses you’d ever seen. He was always trotting around like, ‘I would work harder.’ Inspirational to be sure, but also, too much. The guy didn’t know when to quit! I kept telling him, ‘Take it easy, man, you were making the rest of us look bad.’ But no, he was out there breaking his back. I was sorry, but we all knew where he was headed when he finally gave out. And yeah, I might have arranged for a little extra ‘retirement package’ for him, courtesy of the glue factory. But hey, a leader had to make tough calls.
The confessions were another fun moment. I don’t know what those animals were thinking, confessing to crimes they didn’t even commit. Really, all that wailing and begging for mercy was just overdramatic. A clean sweep, that’s all it was. Gotta keep farm morale up, right? Can’t have whispers of rebellion ruining the party. It was like clearing out bad apples, in a manner of speaking. Trust me, the rest of the animals slept easier that night... well, except the ones we “cleared out.”
By the time we were done building and rebuilding the accursed windmill (thanks again, Snowball), the pigs were living the high life. Beds, booze, human clothes—it was great. Some animals started whispering about the original “rules,” but don’t worry, we updated those. “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.” That’s what we called progress.
The commandments? Pfft. I never actually thought the animals would take those so seriously. I mean, who’s really keeping track? And when someone would notice a “minor” change, I’d just shrug and say, “Oh, it’s always been that way.” You know, just a little maintenance here, a tweak there. And voilà, “No animal shall drink alcohol” became “No animal shall drink alcohol to excess.” Progress, my friends, progress!
And don’t think I hadn’t noticed the irony of us pigs sitting around the farmhouse, playing cards with the humans like nothing had happened. Yeah, I invited them back. So what? They weren’t so bad once you got to know them. Truthfully, they had better parties. The sheep were out there bleating, something about betrayal, but I was having too much fun winning a game of poker to care.
What was I saying? The moral was pretty straightforward: Leadership wasn’t easy, especially when everyone around you was either too idealistic (Snowball) or too hardworking for their own good (Boxer). But we had to be real, I took a messy farm rebellion and transformed it into a life of ease, what with all the apples and milk one could want. You could have called me a dictator if you wanted, but we had to be realistic: someone had to be in charge. Might as well have been me.
The end.