The Christmas Pig: A Fable

The Christmas Pig: A Fable

by Kinky Friedman

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Overview

It's a Christmas tale only a man called Kinky could tell.

King Jonjo Mayo the First is in a bind. Every Christmas, he commissions an artist to paint a traditional nativity scene to be dramatically revealed after midnight mass. This year, though, the date is mere weeks away, and he still has not yet found his painter. The king decides to take a chance on a peculiar, mute boy whose artistic genius and clairvoyance are rumored throughout the kingdom. He sends three valiant, if begrudging, knights to seek out the boy in the remote countryside. Finally, they find Benjamin — and he is, indeed, peculiar. Nobody knows if the child is up to the task, but the king's Christmas tradition — and Benjamin himself — might just be saved by a Christmas miracle that comes in the form of a very special pig — who is rather peculiar herself.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781451643381
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Publication date: 04/02/2011
Pages: 176
Product dimensions: 4.90(w) x 7.90(h) x 0.60(d)

About the Author

Kinky Friedman lives in a little green trailer somewhere in the hills of Texas. He has five dogs, one armadillo, and one Smith-Corona typewriter. By the time you are reading this, Mr. Friedman may either be celebrating becoming the next governor of Texas or he may have retired in a petulant snit.

Read an Excerpt

The Christmas Pig

A Fable
By Kinky Friedman

Simon & Schuster

Copyright © 2006 Kinky Friedman
All right reserved.

ISBN: 1416534989

CHAPTER ONE

Where Are Feinberg's Shoes?

He was a good king but he was in a bad mood. Christmas was only a month away and he still had not commissioned an artist to paint the traditional nativity scene to be unveiled at the conclusion of the midnight mass.

"I've crushed whole armies for not celebrating Christmas," complained the king to his chief advisor, Feinberg. "Now I can't even properly celebrate it myself. Is there not an artist left in the kingdom? Have they all been burned at the stake?"

"Nay, my liege," said Feinberg. "They certainly have not all been burned at the stake. Some of them have merely starved to death."

"I see," said the king, which, of course, was unlikely. That was because he was a king and not an artist.

Still, he was a good king, as kings go. His name was Jonjo Mayo the First, and, as fate would have it, he would also be the last. As history marched inexorably by, his tiny kingdom would be gobbled up and spit out repeatedly by the Pagans, the Vandals, the Arabs, and eventually, that group that always had considered itself less savage than the other savages, the Christians. Today, sadly, the kingdom can no longer be found on any map. Its boundaries, its nooks and crannies, its very heart and soul have been incorporated by a large, gray, boring country. Indeed, theentire reign of King Jonjo Mayo the First might have been forgotten completely had it not been for the fortuitous intervention of a small silent boy and a pig.

Feinberg, like practically all advisors to royalty, came from mysterious, humble origins. Thus it was that he was not particularly facile in his relations with the knights, noblemen, and other members of the court aristocracy. Indeed, he regarded them as useful idiots, which, indubitably, most of them were. They often mocked Feinberg's eccentricities, of which there were many, and his social skills, of which there were few. Feinberg encouraged this by providing them with various odd behaviors such as occasionally appearing in formal court without his shoes. Whenever these supposed incidents of absentmindedness occurred, King Jonjo would invariably rush to the defense of his advisor like a mother duck to a wayward duckling.

"Where are Feinberg's shoes?" the king would thunder from the throne.

The members of the court would then mutter dutifully amongst themselves for several moments until at last Feinberg himself would make a great show of looking down and pretending to suddenly realize that his feet were bare.

"Whosoever has taken Feinberg's shoes shall return them immediately!" shouted King Jonjo. "All of you! Out of my sight until Feinberg's shoes have been found and reunited with Feinberg's feet!"

The entire court aristocracy would then scurry hither and thither around the castle under the stern displeasure of the king and, of course, the private enjoyment of Feinberg. Feinberg knew with a certainty that without King Jonjo there would be no Feinberg. On the other foot, the king realized that without Feinberg, there would probably be no one there to follow his orders to search for Feinberg's shoes.

By the time the disgruntled courtiers returned empty-handed, they were further chagrined to find that Feinberg's feet were no longer bare. Not only had the advisor to the throne, mysteriously, perhaps magically, located his shoes, he'd also come up with another harebrained idea that was sure to please the king.

"Your majesty," said Feinberg, when the court had reassembled. "I know of an artist who may just be able to produce the nativity painting in time for the midnight mass."

The court mumbled and rumbled in reaction to this new brainstorm, particularly the small group of noblemen who had been discussing it within earshot of Feinberg, but had been afraid to set it forth themselves before the king.

"Who is this man?" said the king.

"He is not a man, your highness," said Feinberg, as the court giggled and sniggled around him.

"When is an artist not a man?" asked the king, somewhat rhetorically. Every time he asked a question, it had the effect of being rhetorical.

"An artist is not a man," said Feinberg, pausing for dramatic effect, "when the artist is a child."

The king gasped. The court gasped. The king looked at Feinberg. The court looked at Feinberg. Feinberg looked down at his shoes. They were nowhere to be seen, however. His feet once again were bare.

"You are suggesting," said King Jonjo rather incredulously, "that I commission a child to paint the nativity scene for the midnight mass on Christmas Eve?"

"Who better than a child, your highness," reasoned Feinberg, "to paint a child?"

"It's ridiculous, your majesty," shouted a nobleman.

"It's blasphemous!" shouted another.

"And so it is," said the king. "But I admit to being rather taken with the idea. Just who is this child?"

"A ten-year-old boy, my liege," said Feinberg. "From a small village along the northern coastline. He's considered to be a magical boy. Never spoken a word in his life, but paints like a dream."

"Bring him to me," said the king.

Copyright 2006 by Kinky Friedman



Continues...


Excerpted from The Christmas Pig by Kinky Friedman Copyright © 2006 by Kinky Friedman. Excerpted by permission.
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The Christmas Pig: A Fable 2 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 1 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Twisted tale christmas or not. Despite this will head to my library who can afford another archived book as had four in a row being out of light reading . Kinky is like the jewish pizza maker on pbs cooking disconcerting but my favorite norther chinese take out had a polish cook