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Original, as found on in the discussion:
“Pigs”
The gate splashed open with a torrent of sparks, and forty-odd pink, writhing forms poured after it, spilling onto the highway at eighty miles per hour. They bounced over and into each other, like a tub of rubber balls liberated on a flight of stairs, growing both less and more pink with each bound. The headlines would inevitably be filled with words like “bacon,” and “pork chop,” but all you could think of, as a one-hundred-and-sixty-five pound sow came through your windshield, was who you could get to pick your daughter up from day care tonight.
– Reilly